Private L.A. (Private 6)

“How long have you known Héctor?” Justine asked.

“Forever,” Malia said. “Héctor came with the ranch, Thom told me once.”

Their adoptive father had gotten up around nine the day after their arrival back at the ranch, got coffee, and disappeared to his editing room in the basement. The bulldog and all three children saw him go through the kitchen on his way there. Despite his promise that he’d spend time with the children, Thom had spent much of the day working. Jennifer rose later, around noon, complained of jet lag; but then she too went to her office and worked for much of the day.

They’d had dinner together around six. Miguel wanted to play soccer afterward, but Thom said he had too much work to do, took a plate of food, and returned to his editing room. Stella remembered this because Thom had dropped a cubed piece of chicken and she’d snagged it before he could.

“Thom told Stella she was like a shark,” Jin recalled softly.

As the group that was gathered in the common room watched the screen, the bulldog, on the bed next to Miguel, seemed to grow puzzled. Was that possible? Her eyebrows definitely rose. She clearly knew the kids were talking about her.

“When did Stella go out last?” Justine asked.

“Probably after we went to bed,” Jin said. “Jennifer always took her out last, let her go pee and poop while she went for a run.”

“Did Jennifer go for a run that night?” Justine asked.

“Jennifer never misses her run, no matter what,” Malia said flatly. “I heard the screen door slam when she went out that night. It’s below my window.”

“What time did Jennifer come back?”

“I dunno,” Malia said with a heavy shrug. “I was in my room when she left, but then my iPhone died, so I went to where we watch television, off the kitchen?”

Justine nodded. “And?”

“That’s the last thing I remember,” Malia said. “I was on the couch, watching the CW, and then like nothing.”

“How about you?” Justine asked Jin.

Chapter 56

JIN SHOOK HER head.

“Miguel?”

The boy looked off into the distance. He’d covered his mouth again with his hand. Even so, you could see the memory of some traumatic event ripple across his face. Then he shook his head, said, “No.”

“What were you thinking about just then?” Justine asked.

Miguel shrugged, said, “It was like a dream. I don’t think it was real.”

“What happened in your dream?” Justine asked softly. “Was Stella there?”

“She was sleeping in my bed,” the boy said.

“How do you know that?”

“Because she farted when I got up to go to pee. It was horrible.”

Jin giggled, nodded. “Stella’s the smartest, prettiest girl, but she’s got the worstest farts.”

The dog’s eyebrows went up again.

Justine said, “Okay, so Stella farts in your dream, Miguel, and then you go pee, and then what?”

The boy blinked, and the repressed memory passed across his face again. “I heard noises,” he said. “I didn’t know what they were, but I knew they were bad.”

“How?”