Andy put the card in the envelope and the envelope back in the box. “Can I see a more recent one?”
Lynette leaned forward. Held her hair back with one hand and worked the other through the letters. She handed him a white legal-size envelope. It had Lynette’s name and a five-cent stamp with Madonna and child, but that was all.
“Did she always put a stamp on?” asked Andy.
“Every one. For six years,” she said quietly. “And always wrote the day’s date, even though she never mailed one. Eighty-six letters and cards. She spent three dollars and ninety-eight cents on postage. Imagine what that would cost today.”
Andy nodded and looked into Lynette Vonn’s earnest brown eyes.
He opened the letter, which was handwritten in black ink on a standard sheet of typing paper, and read out loud again:
August 11, 1967
Dear Sis,
They’re taking my Miss Tustin title away because I got a cover on Playboy! Can you believe that? I showed less skin to Playboy than I did in the swimsuit competition! What hypocrites. Screw them. I’ve had enough.
I’m leaving Tustin. Think I’ll go to Laguna Beach where it’s beautiful and I don’t know hardly anyone. I’ve got some financial backing and the Beetle from Roger to get me started. Maybe do more modeling because it pays well but you have to drive to L.A. and wait around for hours. Pretty much kicked the drugs and alky-hol but still like a little tequila now and then. You sip it, you don’t slam it with lime and salt like those dumb college boys. Everybody’s talking about LSD, how it makes you see things in a different way. They also say it’s really strong. There’s this guy in Laguna, Timothy Leary, and they say if you can experience LSD with him he’ll get you into the right groove.
Jesse got an early tape of some new Hendrix music and duped one for me. There’s this song called “Little Wing” that speaks right into my heart. Really pretty words and guitar and Jimi’s got a good voice. No Elvis, but you know what I mean. The guitar solo will totally blow your mind. $2.99 is a lot to pay for an album but it’s worth the extra fifty cents for stereo instead of monaural. ’Course, you can’t play a record when you’re riding on the back of a hog!
I always think about you. You’re like a myth to me now, this sister I had until she disappeared five lives ago. I mean years. I been through a lot and you’ve probably got some stories, too. Dad’s pathetic but the boys are long gone so that’s good. When I think of all the shit they put us through I’m surprised we didn’t just shoot them one night in their sleep. Woulda been doing them a favor, not to mention us.
Anyway, I love you in my mind,
J.
“Roger Stoltz, the congressman?”
“Yeah.”
“I knew he helped her out when I wrote that article,” said Andy, “but I didn’t know he gave her money and a car.”
Lynette nodded. “In one of the letters she said he went nuts for her.”
“Nuts for her,” said Andy. Felt a tingle in his fingertips.
“I can find the letter pretty easy.”
“Do that.”
Andy watched Lynette take a handful of envelopes, fan through them and then set them aside. She stopped midway through the second batch and handed him another legal-size white envelope.
“You’ve read them a lot,” he said.
“I didn’t get them till late last year. Had some catching up to do. I can tell by the envelopes what’s inside. The way she wrote my name, the kind of ink, the kind of envelope and stamp.”
“How many times have you read them?”
“Fifty, maybe.”
Andy opened the envelope. Lynette leaned over and read out loud with Andy:
November 19, 1965
Hello Invisible Sis,
How are ya? Had to write about this unbelievable deal that’s happening to me.
Did I tell you about Roger Stoltz? He’s this businessman and political guy who let me use his apartment in Newport Beach for a while and says he’s going to get me a car next week. He’s nuts for me and he’s got the money. Married and old, don’t know if you remember him or not. Marie his wife is really nice but has bad headaches. Roger is a real good guy and he’s not bullshitting me, you know, he says he’s going to do something, he does it. Had his dentist fix my cavities for free. Gave me five hundred bucks for some clothes and nice things. Says he’ll give me a job when I’m eighteen. He invented a cleaner called Orange Sunshine that’s mainly for driveways and streets. Roger doesn’t want anything in return. It’s just because he likes me. I don’t believe that for one second, but hell, he wants to help.
Did you see the Beatles on Sullivan in September? I just love them so much. Saw Elvis too and still love him but I think he’s getting sick of his own act. He’s mostly sneering rather than smiling but I don’t believe it. A guy that good-looking’s got no reason to sneer.
Love,
J.
“Stoltz,” said Andy. He thought of the telegram Stoltz had sent from Washington when his first article about Janelle and the Wolfman had come out. He’d always thought there was something odd about it. No mention of Janelle, really. No acknowledgment of her death and what it might mean to Andy or anyone else. Even himself. Something brief and military, like: Commendable article. Well done.
“You’re surprised,” said Lynette.
“A married man giving money and gifts to a girl who gets murdered? Yeah. I’m pretty damned surprised.”
“He rented her an apartment in Newport Beach. She wrote about going over there with him to see it. Big and sunny and right on the harbor. Expensive.”
Andy tried to shake the surprise out of his head so he could think straight. “How long did she live there?”
“Not long. It was off and on. She only wrote one letter from that address. She wanted to live in Laguna. Get a place that was hers. Not someone else’s.”
“That must have disappointed our Good Samaritan.”
“I can see right through him,” said Lynette. “Even in the letters I can tell he wanted her for the same things any man would want her for. But she never did it with him. At least that’s what she wrote, and I believe her.”
Stoltz!
“Did she keep writing after you moved here?”
Lynette shook her head. “No. We spent plenty of hours together, though. And on the phone.”
“Good times?”
“Yeah. She was in love with this singer. Jesse Black, down in Laguna.”
“Did she tell you she was pregnant?”
Lynette opened her mouth but didn’t speak at first. Finally she shook her head. “No. She died that way?”
“Eight weeks,” said Andy.
Lynette ran her long black hair behind her ears. Gathered the ponytail to one side and brought it forward over her left shoulder. Stared at the shag carpet. In this light her face looked Cherokee, like this girl he’d gone to high school with.
“Did you know that she was on the Sheriff’s Department payroll?” asked Andy. “As an informant?”
“She told me,” said Lynette. “They were after the Laguna Beach acid heads, the Brotherhood of Eternal Love. And that Cory Bonnett cat. Guy that owns the leather store? I heard about him from some people at work one night. Bad dude. Not even the Hessians mess with him.”
Andy put the letter back in the envelope and dropped it into the box. Stood. “I need to take these with me,” he said.
“No.”
“I need them,” he said. “Nick needs them. This is evidence.”
She stood. “I’ve got three guns hidden in this house, and I swear to God if you try, I’ll use the nearest one. I shot Preach outside Tempe, Arizona. Just in the butt but it hurt like hell.”
Andy looked at her. Raised his empty hands like a bad guy and sat back down. “Don’t shoot. Can I just sit here and read awhile?”
“That would be fine. You want coffee, tea, or some hash?”
“Coffee is all.”
“It’s good black Afghani. Brought in by the Brotherhood.”