“Hi, Harrison,” Maura said cheerfully. She, at least, genuinely enjoyed his company.

“Good morning to you both. I hadn’t expected to be graced by your dual presence.”

Maura spread her hands. “You know me. Always up for an adventure.”

“Yes, you are the Marguerite Harrison of our day. Remarkable woman, Marguerite Harrison, and I don’t say that merely because we share a name in common. Have you heard of her? No? What about you, dear?”

The question was directed at the makeup artist, who shook her head and busied herself rubbing in the foundation, perhaps a bit more aggressively than necessary.

“Marguerite was an explorer who ventured into Kurdish territory, following a nomadic tribe’s migration. Before that, she served as a spy, an actual spy, twice imprisoned by the Russians, once nearly executed for her pains.”

“I doubt I can match her exploits,” Maura said, “though driving in L.A. is a little risky.”

Jennifer wasn’t interested in Sirk’s banter. “Maura says you found something.”

“Why, yes. I have news.” He pronounced the word as if he could taste it and liked the flavor. “What you told me—and even more so, what you declined to tell—put me on the scent of a good story. Another book, perhaps.”

“I’m not interested in a book.”

“But I am. Books are my bread and butter, and”—he patted his ample lap—“I require considerable quantities of both. And so I investigated the early years of Abbot Kinney’s Venice for news accounts of missing women. Actually, I should not say that I investigated it. Grunt work of that sort is what archival researchers are for. I put two of them on the case, combing through microfilm copies of old newspapers.”

“What did they find?”

“There was a series of unexplained disappearances of young females during the appropriate time period. Of course, careful records were not kept back then, and police resources were limited. Few inquiries were made. It is quite likely that some of the women in question simply left town for one reason or another. Flighty creatures, women—Marguerite Harrison to the contrary notwithstanding. They are always getting it in their empty heads to run off somewhere.”

The makeup artist managed to brush some powder a little too close to Sirk’s eyes, producing momentary irritation. “Sorry,” she deadpanned.

“At any rate,” Sirk continued when he had wiped his eyes with a pocket square, “I can’t vouch for any criminal implications to these disappearances, but some of them could be deemed suspicious. You’ll see why when you read the reports.”

“You have them with you?” Jennifer asked.

“My researchers printed out the relevant pages and made copies. Said copies are in my attaché case. Unclasp it and you’ll find a manila envelope.”

Jennifer retrieved the envelope. It felt disappointingly light. There weren’t many pages inside.

“They didn’t find much,” Sirk said as if reading her thoughts. “The stories were not given much play. There was a great deal of crime in Venice and surrounding areas in those halcyon days, and only the juiciest tidbits made the headlines. A missing woman, who was inconsiderate enough not to leave behind any bloodstains or shredded undergarments for public titillation, was strictly small beer. Still, you’ll find names, locations, and dates. Take a look. And keep them in order, please. They are arranged chronologically.”

Jennifer pulled out the contents of the envelope. Eight pages in all. The articles, brief items from the inside pages of the newspapers, were circled in red ink on the photocopies. She read the first one.

The Los Angeles Examiner, January 16, 1908. Venice-of-America. Police authorities are making inquiries relative to the unexplained disappearance of Marianne Sorensen, a waitress presently employed at St. Mark’s Hotel. Miss Sorenson is described as twenty years of age, with dark brown hair, regular features, and a compact figure, standing slightly below medium height. She was last seen boarding a northbound electric car at about five o’clock Tuesday evening. The car was to have delivered her to the vicinity of Dimmick Avenue, where she had been staying with friends. She did not arrive, and has not been seen in subsequent days. It is conjectured that because she had a recent falling out with her boyfriend, she may have done herself harm....

“What the heck is an electric car?” Maura asked, reading over Jennifer’s shoulder

Sirk answered. “A trolley. They were the principal means of local transportation at the time.”

The second article was on a new subject.

The Los Angeles Express, August 7, 1908. Venice-of-America. Questions have been raised pertaining to the disappearance of Annette Thurmond, a young woman commonly known in the strand as the “flower girl,” because she customarily sells bouquets of flowers outside the Auditorium.... The supposition is that Miss Thurmond, who had often spoken of plying her trade in San Diego, may have departed for that city on a whim....

“It looks like nobody really gave a damn,” Maura said.

“Quite right,” Sirk agreed. “In a bustling young community there were higher priorities then a few disappearances. Even if crime had been suspected, it would hardly do to advertise the fact and possibly damage the tourist trade.”

The first two items have been dated 1908. The third was the following year.

The Los Angeles Daily Times, March 18, 1909. Venice-of-America. There is much speculation among the idly curious about the disappearances of three or four young ladies of dissolute character over the past two months. Wild rumors and exaggerated conjecture have been patiently addressed by the police authorities, who are of the mind that such women are habitually on the move, rarely sojourning in one community for very long. With the regrettable decline of the strand’s business activity in recent months, it is hardly surprising that some of the parasitic class who require a steady supply of tourists and sightseers would seek out more hospitable climes....

“Three or four women,” Jennifer said. “And that doesn’t include the victims in the first two reports.”

“If they were victims,” Sirk observed.

The makeup artist powdered Sirk’s ears, then stepped away. Sirk untied the bib around his neck and inspected his countenance in the mirror.

“Excellent work, Helen. Whoever said the camera never lies must have been unfamiliar with your magic arts.”

Helen left the room without a word.

The next two stories were datelined Santa Monica and its southernmost neighborhood, Ocean Park.

The Los Angeles Herald, November 5, 1909. Santa Monica. The family of Mrs. John Wright are requesting the assistance of the public in determining her whereabouts. Mrs. Wright, known familiarly as Kathleen, was last seen at the fruit and vegetable market at the end of the Long Wharf, early on Wednesday morning. One witness says he saw her speaking with a dark-complected man of medium height, but as this witness is a vagrant known for his intimate familiarity with the bottle, the authorities are disinclined to credit his report....

 

The Santa Monica Outlook, May 17, 1910. Ocean Park. A woman’s screams were reported by residents of the 400 block of Pier Avenue last night at about 10 o’clock. Investigating officers found no signs of disturbance and believe the sounds in question may have been drunken laughter....

“That one could be nothing,” Maura said. Jennifer nodded. She flipped to the next pages.