“Richie Raskin.”
Something in Livia’s tone changed; the desperation was gone. What took its place scared her somehow. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“He’s had a number of high-profile clients, probably some that you know. He’s a cold-case guy—long history with the foundation. He consults for us and probably will join the board next year. Dick’s retired now but still takes on clients. As a private investigator.”
“And why do you think we need him?”
“Well, you know, I’ve been flailing a little bit here, Dusty. I’ve done my best with what you gave me but haven’t uncovered any agency records, private or public. No records at all.”
“What could that mean?”
Ominously, Livia said, “One thing we need to take a look at is the possibility that Aurora was never adopted.”
“Really,” she mulled. “Then, if she…”
Something inside her collapsed — for one catastrophic instant she lost her mind and her nerve. Now she understood Livia’s wacko lead-in: how difficult and reprehensible it must have been to “position” Dusty for the infernal deduction.
“You don’t think”—she couldn’t breathe—“that Reina… Livia! Is what you’re saying is that she—”
“I’m not saying anything, Dusty,” she said, trying to cap the well.
“—that she killed her? Oh my God—”
“Dusty… I know this is hard.”
“Oh my God! You’re right! She killed my baby! Of course she did!”
“Dusty, I need you to pull yourself together.”
“I can’t! I can’t! Oh Livia, Livia, why couldn’t I see—why didn’t I see that? Why — how — how didn’t I know that!”
“We don’t know anything, Dusty, not yet. I told you, in these situations, whenever you assume, that assumption—whatever that assumption may be — is rarely ever the case. Whatever you think you know is usually wrong. So I need you to stop! Don’t go there. It’s all about information. Knowledge is power.”
“But it makes so much sense!” she blubbered. “Livia! What else would she have done with her? The monster! Monster, monster, monster! Can’t you see the sense it makes? You do, Livia; I know you do! That would explain all his letters? Dad’s letters? He kept apologizing—I swear, Livia, the letters were fucking tear-stained! He kept apologizing for what they’d ‘done’—‘we shouldn’t have done it’—‘I know we’ll be forgiven in Heaven’—I thought it was his Catholic bullshit and alcoholic dementia but that’s what he must have been talking about! But he couldn’t have, she must have, oh my God, maybe he was in the same room, maybe she forced him to so she’d have one more thing to hold over him—that motherfucker! — oh Livia, that must have been why he tried to kill himself! Or maybe — maybe he walked in while she was — oh God, Livia! Oh my God, oh my God!”
“Dusty, don’t go there. Not now. Because we simply do not know. But I had to talk about it because your eyes need to be open — our eyes need to be open, to everything. And remember what I said, ‘everything’ isn’t true, only one thing is, and we don’t yet know what that one thing will be. We don’t have it yet, we don’t have the information. But we will. And we’ll face whatever it is, together. Okay? Can you hear me, darling? Are you listening?”
“Yes.” She was traumatized, like an animal that knew it was about to be killed.
“Good. Then I’ll call Richie and you’ll meet. Would you meet with Richie, Dusty?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“What about Ronny?”
“What about him?”
“Do you think I should call him?”
She sounded like a little girl lost, and Livia stifled a great sadness. The whole world was lost and overrun.
“As I said, he’s a resource. An important one, I think — an important part of your journey. Remember! It’s about keeping eyes and heart open. And reaching out. You’ve done this on your own for too long, Dusty! And I think you need as many allies as you can safely gather.”
—
Allegra offered to come with her to Provo but she wanted to go solo. The idea of a Looking for Aurora documentary was shameful and ludicrous to her now. She’d gotten a lovely letter from Laura anyhow, regretting her unavailability. Laura Poitras! What had she been thinking?
Here’s what she did:
Cold-called Ronny — the wife picked up. Dusty was prepared for that and did a little acting. Used her down-home Middle America persona, which was closest to her real disposition, anyway — frank, sunny, gregarious. Gave her first name and was relieved the woman didn’t joke the way folks on the phone sometimes do: “As in Wilding?” Went on to say that one of the old gang gave her Ronny’s number at a high school reunion. (Mrs. Swerdlow was the type of nostalgic, homespun gal who was thrilled, not threatened, by that sort of development.) Dusty apologized for the weirdness of the call, said she’d just lost a mom and found herself reaching out to all kinds of people from back in the day. Well, that further endeared her to the missus. But Ronny isn’t here just now. He was in Montana with some clients. Dusty asked what he did for a living, and Sam said — she really did sound like a Sam — he was a professional fly-fisherman and guide. Dusty said Wow and meant it. Well, she said, I think I’m going to actually be in Salt Lake City soon and thought it might be fun to come see y’all. When Sam unexpectedly asked what she did for work, Dusty hesitated. She hadn’t thought that one through at all and impulsively threw caution to the wind. “I’m an actress.” It took Sam about two seconds to half rhetorically ask if she was Dusty Wilding, but with a laugh because how could she be? Part of the laugh wound up covering Dusty’s Yes, so again, she averred, “Yes, I am.” Sam was sweetly flabbergasted. Ronny never told me he went to school with a movie star but isn’t that just like him? He’s going to have some explaining to do. In the wake of the reveal, Sam hit a speed bump of self-consciousness. Dusty asked when her husband would be back and Sam said tomorrow. I’ll call again, if that’s okay. They chatted some more about this and that, just normalizing and making nice, and by the time they wound things up Sam was back to her regular self. She ended the call by insisting that when Dusty hit Salt Lake she make a field trip to the house for dinner, to meet her girls — they’d be over the moon. Lord, I think they loved Bloodthrone more than The Hunger Games and that’s saying a lot. Dusty had no intention of talking to Ronny on the phone but wanted, strategically, to leave her number so she gave Sam the dummy-decoy line, the one that silently rang through. The dead line that her mother had all those years.