“Then again . . .” Roland’s face softened, adopting a more thoughtful expression. “Art often speaks to what lies within.”
The sentiment was similar to what Layla had said when she first saw the pictures hanging on Madison’s wall.
Aster shifted uncomfortably. “Um, anyway—” She cringed at the way her voice pitched. “I’d like to talk about the series. If you don’t mind, that is.”
Roland took another sip of tea. While she didn’t seem thrilled with the conversation, she’d yet to turn them away. It was enough to convince Aster to continue.
“I was wondering if the pieces were commissioned or were they purchased from a gallery?”
“Is that really what you wanted to ask?”
Aster tried not to fidget, but it was hard not to react when Roland regarded her with an all-seeing gaze.
“Seems a bit silly to drive all this way when you can just ask your friend.”
Aster gulped and looked searchingly at Ryan. She’d totally blown it. The only question left was how to make a quick but graceful getaway before Roland decided to alert the authorities.
“We can’t ask her,” Ryan said, which only deepened Aster’s worry.
Roland turned to him with a patient face, like she had an entire afternoon to waste on such nonsense.
“The commission is for her,” Ryan lied so easily Aster didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed. “We know how much she loves your work, and so we thought we’d . . .”
Without a word, Roland rose from her seat and went to fumble in a drawer.
Aster took advantage of the moment to shoot Ryan her best what the fuck face.
Ryan shook his head as though there was no reason to worry. It was all part of his plan.
Roland returned with a folder she spread across her lap. Lowering a pair of reading glasses onto the bridge of her nose, she flipped through a messy pile of papers. “MaryDella,” she said, as Aster froze and waited for more. “That’s your friend, right? MaryDella Slocum?”
Aster sucked in a breath, then nodded vaguely.
Roland tossed a stack of pictures onto the table between them. Aster practically leaped from her seat to get at them.
“She was very specific. Definitely one of the most interesting clients I’ve ever worked with,” Roland said.
“In what way?” Ryan asked, as Aster began to shuffle through the deck of Polaroids.
“I hardly had to do anything. She’d prepared the entire set. She even handled the lighting. Not necessarily how I would’ve done it, but it was her commission, and she paid good money for it.”
“Where was the shoot?”
Roland squinted as though sifting through a backlog of memories. “Bit outside of LA. Ojai area, if I remember correctly. An old trailer. One of those Airstreams, but vintage. It was off by itself, really remote. She claimed it belonged to her.”
“What do you mean by ‘claimed’?” Ryan took a casual sip of his tea, as though they weren’t onto something big.
“Just a feeling. Seemed more staged than lived in. It was fully outfitted with a working kitchen and bathroom, but it didn’t appear as though she spent any real time there.”
Aster flipped to a photo of a pretty girl with long blond hair and violet eyes who she instantly recognized. Though everything else, from the ripped stockings to the short denim cutoffs, was decidedly un-Madison-like.
“That’s her.” Roland gestured toward the picture.
Aster held it up for Ryan to see and watched as his eyes went wide with recognition.
“I wanted to take more pictures. I found her quite captivating. She had such an interesting, contradictory energy.” Roland’s expression grew thoughtful, as though she was lost in the memory. “She had one of the most exquisite faces I’d ever seen. Strangely, she seemed very displeased by my request to photograph her and only agreed to the one you’ve got there.”
“Why did that seem strange?”