Private L.A. (Private 6)

“Not me. Jennifer says it’s bad for you, bacon,” Jin announced.

“No, it isn’t,” Malia said. “Anita says it’s the best. Makes you strong.”

“What does Anita know?”

“Everything,” Miguel said, eyes still shut.

“She’s here, you know, Anita, in Los Angeles,” Justine said. Her goal now was just to keep them talking, build trust.

Miguel’s eyes opened and his hand dropped. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Justine admitted. “But she’s here. I know she’d love to see you all at some point.”

Miguel’s face fell. “Oh.”

“Would you like to see her?” Justine asked.

Miguel blinked, nodded. So did his sisters.

“I’m sure we can arrange that,” Justine said. “But in the meantime, there is someone here I think you might also be happy to see.”

She opened the door and their bulldog came rushing in, trailing a leash, wagging her butt wildly, snuffling, whining, and trying to jump up on the bed.

“Stella!” Miguel cried. The boy leaped out of his bed and held the bulldog tight while she barked and licked his face. Then, with great effort—the dog weighed more than fifty pounds—he picked her up and set her down on his bed while his sisters crowded in around their brother and beloved dog.

“Stella Bella is such a pretty girl,” Malia soothed.

&nbs

p; “Prettiest in the world,” Jin said. “Best dog in the world.”

Miguel beamed and scratched Stella’s belly. The dog flopped on her side so all the children could get in on the scratching. Her jowls hung open, making her look like an alien. But then, to Justine’s delight and wonder, the bulldog began to purr, almost like a cat.

“Does she always do that?” Justine asked.

“Only when she’s happy,” Jin said. “Stella’s a wonder dog.”

“I can see that,” Justine said. “She was very upset when we found her up at the ranch. Any idea why Stella would be so upset?”

Malia and Jin shook their heads, but Miguel said, “Because she missed us, I bet.”

Justine knew from a brief scan of the children’s medical records that in addition to the cleft palate, Miguel had been diagnosed as “on the spectrum,” not autistic, but very awkward socially. To her surprise, however, at least in the presence of the dog, he exhibited few if any signs of Asperger’s syndrome.

“I’ll bet that’s what it was,” Justine agreed. “Stella’s a smart dog.”

Miguel grinned. The dog made him happy. The dog made them all happy, and more relaxed, open. Justine decided the dog could be her ally.

“If Stella could talk,” Justine began, “what do you think she would remember from the day you all disappeared? Anything. Anything at all.”

Chapter 55

“WHAT KIND OF question is that?” Camilla Bronson demanded out in the suite’s common room, where Justine’s questioning unfolded on-screen.

“A brilliant one,” I retorted. “She’s getting them to separate from whatever happened to them by forcing them to engage their imaginations and look at their memories through the dog’s eyes. Stella’s like her key into their minds.”

Indeed, over the next two hours, using Stella whenever she could to preface questions, Justine brought out snippets of information that together created a loose tapestry of the Harlow family’s life on the day before their disappearance.

Stella remembered that she suffered from jet lag but felt happy to be out of Vietnam, with all those crazy scooters that almost ran her over. The bulldog recalled getting up early with Malia, who’d promised Jennifer she’d feed and water the horses. Jennifer liked to sleep in. The dog also remembered that Jin had worked on a watercolor painting instead of unpacking her room, which had annoyed her mother no end. Stella further recalled that Miguel had climbed a live oak tree he’d never climbed before, and Héctor, the caretaker and groundskeeper, got upset with him, and had to fetch a ladder to get him down.