Alchemy of Secrets, page 23
“We need to move quickly,” Holland said to Adam.
The bungalow was clearly decorated in Vic VanVleet’s personal style. Everything was bright pop art. Even the movie posters on the walls were versions that Holland had never seen, all neon and oversaturated color.
Vic VanVleet was the sort of director that Holland always felt she should have loved. Her production company VX3 was most well-known for rich mystery films that combined smart dialogue with slick storytelling and painfully bittersweet romances. They were the kind of films that were always a little too commercial for the critics to praise, which made them just the right kind of entertaining for the public.
Her newest film with Chance was getting a lot of buzz. And yet, there was always something about the movies that struck the wrong chord for Holland.
Adam started at the desk, while Holland went over to the bookshelves.
Vic’s bookshelves were full of Funko Pops, ball caps from films, and other miscellanea, along with an old photograph of a glowing couple. Holland bent closer. One of the people in the picture was Vic VanVleet, and the other was Holland’s father.
“My dad knew Vic VanVleet,” Holland said, stunned.
Adam looked up from the desk, which he’d turned into an absolute shambles. “What did you find?”
“It’s a picture of my dad and Vic, and it looks like they were a couple.” Ben looked so young, and Vic looked absolutely radiant. Her hair was longer, and she was smiling as Ben kissed her on the cheek.
“Did you know about this?” Adam asked.
“No. I don’t know. Maybe.” Ben and Isla’s love story had eclipsed everything else. But Holland knew there had been another woman in his life. “Before my mom, my dad had been dating Jericho Monroe’s great-granddaughter, Victoria Monroe.”
It was a name most people probably didn’t know. Victoria Monroe was a footnote on Ben Tierney’s Wonderpage—but it was a page Holland knew by heart.
“Isn’t Vic a nickname for Victoria?” Adam asked.
It was. And Holland also knew VanVleet wasn’t Vic’s maiden name.
When Chance had first started working with her, she was all he’d talked about for a full month. Holland remembered him telling the story of how Vic had been married for only forty-seven days to Simon VanVleet, lead singer of the Poisonberries. It was one of those sensational stories that made Vic VanVleet famous for nothing. Holland had been unimpressed, but Chance had been awed. He’d thought it was a gutsy move, something she’d done so she could have the triple V’s for her production company. And maybe it was.
Or maybe the wedding was the reckless response of a jilted woman who’d been madly in love and publicly humiliated.
Holland couldn’t know for sure. But she did feel as if she knew one thing. This picture hadn’t originally been Vic’s. The photo frame was dark and masculine, the one thing in the office that wasn’t in Vic’s pop art style, which made Holland wonder if the photo had been her father’s. Something he had left on purpose, because he’d known Vic wouldn’t have been able to get rid of it, even after all this time.
“I think this is the clue.” Holland flipped the frame around. It was so old it didn’t want to open, but after almost a full minute of prying, she managed to pull the backing off.
A slip of paper fell out.
Hold
JME: Property Department
Show Name: Alchemy of Secrets
Set:
Contact: Ben Tierney
Phone:
Date: 2/2011
Special Instructions: Someone who needs it but doesn’t want it. Someone who will only use it once for their need and then never use it again.
“What is that?” asked Adam.
“It looks like a hold slip. They use them in the props department,” Holland explained. “I think they’re for renting out items.”
Adam came out from behind the desk to take a closer look. “What do you make of the special instructions? Do you think your dad is saying that whoever finds the Alchemical Heart can only use it once?”
“We can worry about that later,” said Holland. “But I think you’re right that this slip is our clue. We need to go to the props department.”
“I hope you’re not running off because of me?” said a high, melodious voice.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Holland wasn’t sure if Vic VanVleet had ever made a deal with the devil, if she had a really good skin care routine, or if she was simply a believer in plastic surgery, but she looked as if she hadn’t aged in over twenty-five years.
“You must be one of the Tierney twins,” Vic said. “I would recognize Ben’s daughters anywhere. Which one are you? January or Holland?”
“Um … Holland,” she said, surprised, although she supposed she shouldn’t have been, since Vic still had a picture of Holland’s father in her office. The photo Holland was still holding.
Vic appeared to notice it then, or maybe she’d noticed it right away. Holland had the feeling that very little got past this woman. Vic probably went to bed in crisply ironed white sheets and woke up looking sharp enough for a photo shoot.
And yet, everything about her softened as her eyes drifted down to the photo. “You’re probably wondering why I have that in here.”
If she’d been anyone else, Holland would have just said yes to be agreeable, but Vic VanVleet seemed like the sort of woman who appreciated it when people left out the pleasantries and bullshit. “Because you were Victoria Monroe. My dad’s first love.”
Now it was Vic’s turn to look surprised. “A-plus to you,” she said. “I’m not too proud to admit I never stopped loving him. When I inherited this bungalow, the photo was inside the desk. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. Ben was a brilliant filmmaker and a good person. I wish I could say the same for your bitch mother.”
Holland flinched. And then her hands clenched into fists. She had always been closer to her father, but she loved her mother in a way that made it painful for her to think about. Isla wasn’t on her mind nearly as much as Ben, but she felt viciously protective of them both.
“There was something about your mother that didn’t sit right with me, you know, even before she stole my fiancé. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead—”
“Then don’t,” Adam interrupted. “I think Holland has been through enough.” He gave Vic a withering look, but it only seemed to harden her resolve.
“Hiding from the truth doesn’t help anyone,” Vic spat. And now there was a nasty gleam in her eyes that made Holland feel as if she and Adam needed to get out of there with the hold slip quickly. Vic reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. “You know, I wonder what the press would think if they heard Ben Tierney and Isla Saint’s unhinged daughter broke into my bungalow. Or maybe I should call the police first, and then the press?”
“Don’t do that—” Holland said.
But Vic was already pressing buttons. The phone was on speaker, and Holland could hear someone answer. Then Adam was grabbing Vic’s wrist.
Her eyes went distant, just like Cat’s had.
Adam hung up Vic’s call and looked at Holland nervously.
It was still terrifying to watch him use his magic, but this time she didn’t feel any guilt. “It’s okay.”
A hint of his familiar smirk returned. “I’m not actually asking for permission. I need you to leave for this one.”
“But—”
“If you’re here, I’m going to be tempted to rewrite more of her memories than I should.” Adam’s fingers tightened on Vic’s slim wrist. “Please, Holland, go.”
Holland didn’t make him ask a third time. She dropped the photo of Vic and Ben and quietly left the bungalow.
She waited around the corner, standing in the shade next to a fountain she was fairly certain she’d seen in the background of a dozen movies.
According to her watch, it was now 4:37. Poor Cat must have been wondering what had happened to them.
One minute passed.
Two minutes.
Three minutes.
Now Holland was also starting to worry about Adam. Why hadn’t he come out of the bungalow yet? It had only taken him seconds to use his ability with Cat and the others at the hotel. Holland wondered if maybe something had gone wrong.
Then, finally, Adam emerged.
He jogged around the corner, holding keys to a golf cart. “Courtesy of my new friend, Vic VanVleet.”
Adam didn’t tell Holland exactly how he had managed to get the keys, but she could see that the encounter with Vic seemed to have cost him. His face had lost some of its color and his brow was damp, though the latter might have just been from the heat.
It was late enough in the day that the studio was starting to empty out as Adam drove the golf cart toward the props department warehouse.
The building looked large enough to house a plane.
Holland could hear a low rumble as they started up the stairs, the noise growing louder as they neared the door. Two large industrial fans were blowing air into a room that made her feel as if she was stepping into a bazaar that existed only in the world of movies.
Bicycles hung from the ceiling, there were bookshelves full of busts, and a giant golden turtle rested on the ground. Another wall was entirely covered in ceramic hands posed in various positions—open palm, thumbs up, middle finger. On the floor in front of them was an enormous ceramic right foot. There was a crystal chandelier shaped like a pirate ship, a statue of Poseidon, a Vespa, and a grand piano. Holland recognized a row of masks from an unfortunate movie she’d watched on an even more unfortunate date.
The head of the props department was standing in front of a sweaty-looking tour group, telling them about the taxidermy animals. “If you see one of these at the start of a scene”—he motioned to a small collection of taxidermy wolves—“you’re probably meeting a villain.”
Every tourist pulled out their phone and took pictures, before the man concluded the tour with a Happy Halloween, followed by goodbye.
A half dozen selfies later, Holland, Adam, and the head of the props department were the only people left.
The prop guy had longish gray hair tied back in a ponytail and more smile lines than anyone else in Hollywood. He turned to Holland and Adam with a look that said he was about to kindly kick them out. But then he seemed to think better of it. “You look familiar,” he said to Holland. “Have we met?”
He had the kind of smile that tempted Holland to ask if he’d known her dad. The man definitely looked old enough. But after the way Vic VanVleet had responded, she hesitated.
“I don’t think so,” Holland said. Then she introduced herself and Adam.
“I’m Tom,” said the man.
“How long have you been at JME?” she asked.
“Oh.” He rubbed a bit of the gray stubble on his jaw. “I’ve been here about thirty-nine years.”
“So, you must have known Benjamin Tierney?” she said.
His smile could have lit up the entire warehouse. “Of course, I knew Ben. I met him on his first film.”
“Time Warrior?” asked Holland.
Tom’s eyes narrowed. “How’d you know that? That film never even made it to theaters.”
“We’re film students,” Holland lied, taking a page from Adam’s book. “I’m writing my thesis on Ben Tierney.”
Holland had never been good at lies, and she felt as if Tom was seeing right through her. But then his friendly smile returned. “Ben was the real deal. Smart. Cared about storytelling. In my opinion, he was the kind of visionary storyteller that comes around once in a lifetime. But … I’m guessing you two are here for more than my anecdotes, since I just gave a lot of those on the tour.”
“We were wondering if you could help with this.” Holland offered him the hold slip.
Tom rubbed his jaw. “Where did you find this?” He looked back at Holland. Really looked at her. The kind of stare that made her go still, as if he was taking a mental photograph. It lasted so long, she was almost certain he’d figured out who she was.
A part of her wanted him to. She wanted to hear stories that he might not tell a pair of random students but might share with Ben’s daughter.
“I found it,” Adam finally said.
Tom looked at him with a hint of alarm, as if noticing him for the first time.
Adam gave the prop master a self-deprecating smile, which seemed to put him more at ease. But Holland swore that Tom continued to look a little baffled as Adam said, “My dad was a huge film collector, and this was in the back of a framed photo of Ben. But we don’t know what it’s for.”
“It’s a hold slip,” Tom explained. There was a slight wobble in his voice, but it went away as he continued. “We don’t exclusively rent props to people at JME. Anyone in the industry can rent whatever they want, as long they have the right permits and insurance. Slips like these are used to hold the items until they can be picked up.”
“Do you know what this slip was used to hold?” Holland asked.
Tom rubbed his chin again. “I don’t know what it was used for—if it was even used for anything. These instructions are kind of strange and I’ve never heard of this film before. But I do remember the last time Ben Tierney came in here. It was shortly before he died. I remember because that was the final time I saw him, and he made an unusual request.”
“What was it?” asked Holland.
“It’s better if I show you. You two okay with a little walk?”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The stuff up front is the sexy stuff for the tours,” Tom explained. “It gets less exciting the farther back you go.”
After about twenty feet, Holland could see there was less variety, but she still found it all fascinating.
Walls of motorcycle helmets. Enough guitars for all the freshman boys at a college campus. More taxidermy animals, cats this time, from a movie she’d loved as a child called The Nine Feline Lives of Calliope Canyon.
Then there was the Oval Office.
The replica was nearly perfect—it didn’t just have desks and chairs, it had windows and curtains and a view of the lawn so real that Holland would definitely have stopped if there had been time.
But there wasn’t. In fact, she could see Adam beginning to grow impatient as Tom paused in a room full of lamps. “The finance department always puts on the best Christmas parties,” he mused. “Last year, they rented all these.” He waved toward the ceiling, which was covered in crystal chandeliers.
“Are you sure you don’t want to just tell him the truth and then I can make him forget?” Adam whispered.
“No,” Holland said, followed by a look she hoped clearly told him that using his ability on this man was not an option. With Vic VanVleet, it had felt justified. But Tom had been nothing but kind and helpful.
Tom took them up a set of stairs and past a series of telephones: rotary phones, ’90s phones, emergency phones with only one button. After that, there was a disturbing number of doll heads. Just the heads.
On the third floor, there were desks and chairs and various bits of bedroom furniture. Tom stopped at an ugly plaid couch and proudly said, “This is my top moneymaker.”
“Oh, really?” Holland tried to sound polite. The couch looked like a thrift store reject. There was stuffing coming out of one arm, and the plaid smelled as if it had been around from the ’70s.
He smiled as if he knew what she was thinking. “This guy has character. People like things with character.”
They passed a few swords, though not nearly as many as Holland would have expected.
“Weapons are difficult for liability reasons,” Tom explained. “But, fun fact: There used to be a gun range underneath the yellow house from My Neighbor Next Door. There’s a trapdoor in the house’s kitchen that leads down to the range, or there used to be. The house is obviously part of the JME tours, so the trapdoor might be gone now. But if you get a chance, it could be worth exploring.”
Adam gave Holland a look that said don’t answer him and maybe he’ll stop talking.
I don’t want to be rude, she tried to reply with her eyes. But she was growing impatient as well.
“Are we getting close?” Adam finally asked.
“Don’t worry,” Tom said. He paused at another staircase and waved Holland and Adam up first. “Just one more floor.”
Holland really hoped he was telling the truth. She hoped she hadn’t made a colossal mistake in trusting him because of his easy smile and his anecdotes.
Her skin was prickling and her heart was pitter-pattering in a way that made her feel as if something was waiting right up ahead—either that or she’d just walked through the world’s largest thrift store, and she was now on the fourth floor with no easy escape.
“Don’t give up on me now,” Tom said affably. “And don’t eat any of those,” he added as they passed a giant gumball machine.
This floor must have been where all the horror movie directors shopped.
After the inedible gumballs was a series of disturbing carnival games, naked mannequins, a very lifelike clown, and then—
Tom stopped abruptly at an antique desk, and the smile fell from his face.
“What’s wrong?” Holland asked.
“It’s gone.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Tom looked nearly as upset as Holland felt. They were standing in front of a dusty desk with nothing but a large rectangular mark in the center.
“What used to be here?” Holland asked.
A loud crash sounded in the distance, and Holland jumped.
Tom waved it off. “That sort of thing happens all the time. I’m always telling the tourists not to touch anything, but then they do, and crash! Bam! Bang!”
“I thought you said tour groups didn’t come past the front,” Adam said.
“They don’t, usually, but there’s a private tour going around today for some well-connected rich guy.” Tom shook his head as he looked back at the empty desk. “I still can’t believe it’s gone. This one rarely gets checked out.”
