Perfect Timing. Джулия Кеннер

my grandmother,” Louisa explained. “She was a bit of an oddity in my family, but we always took everything she said very seriously.”

      Sylvia studied the portrait, noticing with interest that it seemed somehow familiar. The woman there looked calm and self-assured, with light brown hair and green eyes highlighted by a slightly large mouth and high cheekbones. Not to mention ears that stuck out just a little too much.

      With a start, Sylvia realized that the woman resembled her. How strange. But perhaps it explained why Louisa was so open. Maybe Sylvia’s resemblance to her grandmother made her feel more comfortable.

      Louisa apparently hadn’t realized that Sylvia’s attention had wandered. She was still talking about the woman, and when Sylvia tuned back in, her interest was piqued. “She’s one of the reasons the family is so well-off,” Louisa was saying. “Had a head for speculative finance. Made a fortune in the stock market and real estate.”

      “Nice,” Sylvia said. “But what does that have to do with opening the house?”

      “Grandma insisted. For as long as I can remember, she would tell me that when I was older, I had to make sure the house was opened to the public. That we must allow traveling exhibits to tour. She made me swear.” A soft shrug. “And I agreed.”

      “And you don’t know why?”

      Louisa’s smile was almost shy. “I have my theories. At any rate,” she said, changing her tone and moving away from the portrait, “she was right. There’s a lot of history in this house.”

      “Well, sure,” Sylvia said. “I mean Tucker Greene. He was a force in Hollywood. An amazing filmmaker. Who hasn’t heard of him?”

      “And the Ragtime Strangler,” Louisa added.

      Sylvia cocked her head, trying to remember. “That’s right,” she said. “I read something about that. A serial killer, but back in the twenties. Went after young, pretty flappers.” She frowned, her memory fuzzy. “I’m not an expert on Hollywood or anything, but I like Greene’s movies, so I’ve read a few articles and watched the extras on DVD remasters and stuff. If I remember right, the Strangler was stalking Beverly Hills before Greene got into film, right? He was doing something else. Radio, wasn’t it? One of my DVDs even included a new performance of one of his radio plays. It was pretty cool.”

      Sylvia shut up then, realizing she probably sounded like an obsessed fan. Louisa, however, only smiled and looked delighted with Sylvia’s recollection. “You’re exactly right.”

      “But what does this house have to do with the Strangler?”

      “My grandparents caught him,” Louisa said. “Right in the next room.”

      “Wow,” Sylvia said, truly surprised. “Thank you for telling me all this. It’s a beautiful house. It’s nice to know some of the history that goes along with it.”

      The door opened, and Tina poked her head in. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

      “I’d better let you two finish touring the exhibit,” Louisa said. “It’s been wonderful talking with you, Sylvia. You take care.”

      And with a quick smile, she glided out the doors with a regal nod to Tina.

      “Who was that?”

      “The lady of the house,” Sylvia said. “But—” She frowned.

      “What?”

      “I never told her my name.”

      Tina looked at her dubiously. “Well, obviously you did.”

      The hair on Sylvia’s arms seemed to tingle, as if she’d walked too close to a high-voltage fence. “Of course. I must have.” She nodded toward the door, but took one last look back at the portrait, struck by the feeling that she’d seen it once before. “Let’s go.”

      “YOU HAVEN’T SAID anything for ten minutes,” Tina said. They’d moved into the Roaring Twenties room, filled with flapper gowns and silk stockings and the first bit of Hollywood memorabilia that Sylvia had seen—a large poster advertising the 1922 version of Robin Hood starring Douglas Fairbanks. The poster had been framed and propped on an easel. Sylvia squinted at it, noting that Fairbanks had signed it to “My good friend Tucker Greene.” Apparently Greene had had Hollywood connections even before he tried his hand at directing.

      Sylvia smiled, feeling she’d learned a secret fact. Because certainly the poster had nothing to do with the exhibit. It was original to the room, unlike the rest. The flapper gowns and jewelry, along with the sheet music and photographs, had come with the exhibit. At first, Sylvia had thought this section of the exhibit seemed superfluous, but then she started reading the information printed on cards next to the various displays. The Twenties, it said, had been a coming-of-age period for young women. Affluence and postwar giddiness had combined to create a new sensuality and freedom, particularly felt by females. Exploration and sensual delights were at a high point.

      “Sylvia!” Tina said. “Are you listening to me? Why are you so quiet?”

      “Sorry! Just thinking.”

      “About that woman? Or about flapper gowns. You’d look great in that, you know.” She pointed to a beaded gold gown with spaghetti straps and a fringed hem. The gown had no waist, just a thick band that seemed to settle around the mannequin’s hips. The outfit was topped off with a beaded headband highlighted by a dyed feather.

      “You think?”

      “Oh, sure. That’s the perfect style for girls without boobs.”

      Sylvia shot a look to her friend. “Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

      Tina shrugged. “It’s true. So, are you gonna tell me what’s on your mind or not?”

      Sylvia wandered away from the gown. “I was just thinking about Louisa. The way the past is so alive for her.” She shuddered slightly. “Me, I’d just as soon forget my past.”

      Tina snorted. “Who could blame you? And maybe then we could have a normal conversation about boyfriends and vibrators without you going all defensive on me.”

      “I’m not defensive,” Sylvia said, even though she probably was. “And what’s so normal about discussing vibrators anyway?”

      Tina just rolled her eyes. “I’m going down to the food cart. Coming?”

      Sylvia started to say yes, but then she noticed the guard in the corner. And even though there was something oddly creepy about the way he watched her, there was something compelling, too. “I’m going to stay a bit,” she said, turning back to Tina. “I’m not hungry.”

      “Suit yourself,” Tina said casually. “But let me have the backpack.” They’d both shoved their wallets, makeup and other tourist-girl essentials into a nylon Venice Beach daypack that Syl had picked up from a street vendor. Now, they were taking turns shouldering the thing.

      Sylvia handed it over. “Spend your money,” she admonished with mock severity. “And stay out of my makeup.”

      “Oh, sure,” Tina retorted. “Just spoil all my fun.” She aimed a grin at Syl, then headed out the door. “Catch you in a bit.”

      Sylvia watched her go, shaking her head in amusement.

      “Letting go of the past,” a voice said. “Now that’s something I bet a lot of people would like to do.”

      Sylvia spun around, surprised to see that the guard had moved silently to stand beside her. “Pardon me?”

      “I overheard you and your friend,” he explained, his smile friendly. “Sometimes it’s not about escaping your past, you know. Sometimes, it’s about confronting it.”

      Sylvia squinted at him. “Aren’t you…” She trailed off, lifting the exhibit brochure and glancing at it. Sure enough, the guard she