Part 4 (2/2)

”Then how can you explain him showing up in the movie with his altered appearance?”

He lifted a heavy eyebrow, all serious. ”There're a world of explanations out there.”

Okay. Back to the ghoulie talk.

Or were ghosts the reason Kiko and Breisi had traded meaningful looks back at the office when Dawn had commented about the kid's image in the window?

Not surprisingly, Kiko picked up on the negativity.

”Guess I'll talk about what we do know,” he said, a patient slant to his mouth. ”The kid's sadly legendary for dying from a drug overdose when he was twelve.”

Even though she'd heard the story a million times, Dawn still couldn't get over the thud of shock. Twelve. A boy who'd partied and pierced himself. Had Robby been chafing at strict parents? Or had they indulged their little star, justifying his behavior by thinking that kids didn't remain kids for long in Hollywood-especially back in the eighties? Drew Barrymore had gone down the same road: drinking by nine, taking drugs by ten, rehab soon afterward. In this city, children grew up at warp speed, and Dawn hated parents who allowed it to happen. And every once in a while it still did, even in today's more conservative environment.

Kiko had started talking again, watching her closely. ”Because his body disappeared from the morgue, there were a lot of different rumors about the CIA killing him or terrorists making a statement about our depraved society by murdering Robby.

Maybe he's just a f.u.c.ked-up Hollywood child who started partying too early, or...”

Or maybe he was a spirit come to haunt the earth? she silently added for Kiko's sake. Yeah, right.

Hollywood was full of legends, movie stars who'd expired in spectacular, newsworthy ways, many of their deaths unsolved.

Conspiracy theories surrounded every one of them, resurrecting their spirits as urban myths or cautionary tales for the dreamers of tomorrow.

Robby Pennybaker, Jayne Mansfield, Jesse Shane, Marilyn Monroe...Dawn stopped there, unwilling to go any further.

Legend or not, Robby Pennybaker was dead. It was ridiculous to think he was out there and somehow ready to return to his mother. There had to be some logic to his appearance in the movie clip.

”You don't have to give me details of Robby's demise.” Dawn's chest fisted at her next thought. She concentrated on blocking the memories, mental Polaroids that left her drained and stunned. ”He died almost a year after my mom. They were costars in her biggest movie, so it's easy to remember.”

Her own words echoed in the car, and suddenly it hit her. Duh. No wonder The Voice had started to quiz her about how well she knew Eva Claremont's films. He'd been trying to ready her psyche for the shock of seeing Robby's image again.

”Ah, Eva's biggest movie.” Kiko's gaze had gone goofy. ”Daydreamer. I still remember her in that one scene, where she was standing on the top of a gra.s.sy hill and the sun was lighting the back of her so you could see through her dress. She had flowers in her blond hair. She looked like something out of a dream, all right.”

Dawn's heart clenched with the fondness in his recollection. Lots of people loved that scene; it had been the instigator of a hundred thousand crushes. It was the definitive moment of Eva's career-the one shot that encapsulated her flower-child perfection at the start of the Me Decade. She'd been a symbol of more ideal times, a beautiful ghost that slipped through everyone's fingers, no matter how hard they tried to hold on.

”Kiko,” Dawn said softly, not wanting to shake him out of the o.r.g.a.s.m he was having.

He jolted, then sent her a sheepish grin.

She didn't react. She was too used to random strangers and their impossible love for Eva. The problem came when they wondered why Dawn wasn't anything like her mother.

”Sorry,” he said. ”Where was I?”

”Robby's legend: The Death of a Rising Wastoid.”

”Got it.” He sighed, then went back to being Kiko-whatever that meant. Version 1.0, 2.0...Dawn wasn't sure who she'd get this time. Happy pup? Sad clown? Rude b.u.g.g.e.r?

”From talking to Marla Pennybaker,” he said, slipping into Serious Kiko, ”we have an idea of what happened after Robby's death. Their home life broke down. The housekeeper committed suicide. His dad moved out of the country because he couldn't handle being around anything that reminded him of his son.”

”I've heard of Nathan Pennybaker. He was a failed child actor himself before he became Robby's manager.”

”Uh-huh. And he was devastated when his son died, so he went to Europe to search his soul, to 'rebuild his life.'”

”Sounds like the mom is the strong one, toughing it out here, even if she did mess up the kid's formative years.”

”I'm not sure if she was blissfully unaware of Robby's 'dark side' or not. She indicated she wasn't, but my readings weren't clear.

I think her big crime was not being more involved with Robby's day-to-day activities because she was so into her own stuff-a Red Cross volunteer back in the day. A real bleeding heart who devoted time to the less fortunate.Unfortunately, she now regrets not spending more precious moments with Robby. She beats herself up daily about that.”

”And how about the dad?”

Breisi turned onto Cliffwood Avenue, slowing their speed. Everything pa.s.sed in a dense blur: thick foliage hovering over high walls, iron gates, long drives snaking up to stately homes, red-tinged security signs staked into perfect lawns.

”We haven't talked to Nathan Pennybaker yet,” Kiko said. ”He only came home a few hours ago. It's the first break we've gotten in this case, because, Lord knows, nothing else we've done has turned up anything. Not interviews with all the conspiracy theorists, not scouring the soundstage whereDiaper Derbywas filmed, or even going over that celluloid a thousand times-nothing has mattered. Too bad Mr. P. doesn't feel up to seeing us. When Breisi called Marla Pennybaker to request an interview with her husband tonight, he s.h.i.+ed away.”

The psychic strikes again. ”Youreadthat from him.”

”Well...no. I get my readings from proximity, unless I dream a prediction. That means I have to be in the same general area as the mind or items I'm trying to go on, and even then it doesn't always work. People can unconsciously block my efforts-just likeyou-or maybe there's nothing there to read. Sometimes I have to use touch-” When he reached out a hand to Dawn, just as an example, she held up a palm to keep him away. ”-in order to go deep inside my subject, to really focus. Like with that rapist d.i.c.k's jacket.” ”Don't you go crazy with all those voices in your head?”

”Nah.” Kiko shrugged. ”I don't pick up on everyone's every vibe, you know. I'd go bonkers if I did.”

He wasn't all-powerful, she thought. Thank G.o.d.

”So you're guessing that Mr. Pennybaker doesn't want to see us,” she said, slightly more at ease now, but not by much.

”I'm making an educated estimation since his wife was trying to get him to come to the phone and he wouldn't.”

”Got it. And you didn't actuallyseeNathan Pennybaker's homecoming?”

”No.” Kiko shrugged. ”But Breisi had him under watch.”

Dawn must've looked confused because Kiko shot a glance to their driver, who was still immersed in her baseball game. Then he leaned toward the backseat, lowering his voice.

”It's something we call a locator,” he said.

”And...?”

”It's only totally brilliant and much more efficient than audio taps. All Breisi has to do is run a sample of someone's clothing-or something that holds their scent-through the machine, plant a sensor in the place they're expected to show up and bingo, we know when Mr. P.'s in the house, whether he wants us to realize it or not. And based on how he likes to run away, we guessed we'd need the insurance with him.”

Ap.r.o.n technology. Now Breisi's downstairs room was making sense. Sort of. ”That's illegal. An invasion of privacy.”

”They won't ever know, so we really don't give a c.r.a.p. So, when we get into the house, don't be surprised if Breisi takes a bathroom break.”

”She'll be retrieving the locator?”

”You bet. That sensor ain't no trinket.”

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