Page 80 of Someone Just Followed You

This can only work if he doesn’t ask to see my badge, so I nod at the gate, like he’s obstructing my investigation now. But he holds his ground.

‘Let me call her,’ he finally says. He disappears back into the gatehouse, then re-emerges a minute later. His arm is lifted at a weird angle, and I think for a moment that he’s holding a pistol, that the City of Angels’ reputation for gun violence is playing out in front of my eyes. But then I realize it’s a phone. Except my relief doesn’t last long because he takes a photo of me. ‘What the hell?’ I splutter. ‘You can’t do that without my consent! I thought you valued privacy?’

He shrugs. ‘More for residents than guests, I guess. And Ms. Tarl requested a photo.’

Damn; that’s my cover blown. Ella Hart was a kidfluencer for eighteen years. There’s no way she won’t recognize me. How the hell am I going to get into her apartment now?

‘She says it’s fine.’

I narrow my eyes. ‘What?’

‘Ms. Tarl says you can go on up.’

Chapter 94

Kirsten

@GracieMiaAdams, TikTok

You know, I think I met a modeling agent called Blake in New York once. I mean, it could be legit, right?

My heart booms as I wait for Ella to open the door. I can’t believe she fell for that detective story, so this must mean Maple’s inside, that I’m about to be reunited with my daughter. Excitement and nerves and hope and impatience all fizz together like a sour cocktail.

The door swings open.

‘Hi!’ I exclaim, then fall silent as I take in Ella’s new look. The blond hair has gone, but so has the awkward emo look. This Ella is slim, manicured, poised, with a mane of chestnut brown hair that contrasts strikingly with her blue eyes. But there’s something missing from her perfect face; I can’t quite work out what. ‘Is Maple here?’ I continue, a little breathless now.

Ella stares at me for a moment, then steps back. ‘You better come in.’

I tumble inside, then pull up. Because the apartment is incredible. White walls, three sets of French doors leading onto a sun-drenched balcony, stylish furniture in light, natural tones. Every wall hung with stunning artwork that looks expensive and not a luxury item out of place.

But no sign of Maple.

‘Where is she?’ I ask, refusing to let the hope die. ‘In the bathroom maybe?’

Ella sighs. ‘I’m sorry but I’ve no idea where your daughter is, Mrs. Clark.’

‘Oh.’ I drop into a fawn leather armchair. She knows exactly who I am; of course she does. But that doesn’t make much difference now. I was so convinced that Maple would be here, doing something brave and intrepid, the sort of thing I would have done when I was young. Like finding a father for my child when I didn’t have one. But if Maple didn’t come to LA, then where is she? Is she with Coco in Miami? Or do I need to accept the worst possible truth?

‘Can I get you something?’ Ella asks. ‘A glass of water? A Xanax maybe?’

‘Xanax?’ I say it as a question, but Ella must take it as an answer because she walks over to a white Baroque-style table in the corner of the room and picks up a pill box. There’s a laptop on the table too, and it’s like Ella’s shocked to see it there, because she stares at the screen for a moment, then slams down the lid.

‘Here you go,’ she says, handing me a small white pill. I watch her take one for herself and dry-swallow it. And for some reason – grief, loss, shame, utter hopelessness maybe – I do the same.

Ella looks pleased, like she hasn’t self-medicated in company for a while and it’s good to mix things up, then she walks over to the huge cream chaise longue and lowers onto it, curling her feet underneath her. As I watch the careful movements, I sense that missing part of her again. And decide it’s mass. She looks hollow.

‘I am aware of the YouTube show Maple’s been hosting with her skater-boy friend by the way,’ she says. ‘Trying to work out where I disappeared to.’

I imagine Ella watching the show, laughing at Maple and Dylan’s earnest, childish, naïve attempts to save her. An arrow of annoyance stabs at my sternum. And not just for our lost earnings. ‘But you didn’t think to tell them you’re okay?’ I ask. ‘That they didn’t need to worry about you?’

Her face falls a notch, which brings a degree of comfort. Unless that’s the Xanax kicking in. ‘I felt bad keeping quiet,’ she admits. ‘But it was too much of a risk. I don’t want anyone to know I’m here.’

‘But I know you’re here,’ I remind her. ‘You let me in.’

‘Which may turn out to be a mistake,’ she murmurs, looking away. ‘But you came a long way to find your daughter. When it came to it, I couldn’t turn you away.’

I’m a good mom. See, Ella thinks so. But then I think about Selena Hart, and what a low bar she will have set. ‘So your mom didn’t come then?’ I ask gently.