Page 11 of Find Me in California

Sea-green eyes that are an exact match to his own stare back at him. Yes, she would.

He frees a long stream of air and pushes up from the chair. He grabs his phone and takes it to the great room, where he folds open the doors in the glass wall that overlooks his patio and the lights of Santa Fe. The rain has tapered to a drizzle, the air ripe with humidity. He calls Rosemont, figuring he’ll do as Dave suggested: pay this month’s fees and handle the rest later when he returns from France.

A man answers after the second ring. “Rosemont Assisted Living and Memory Care. How may I direct your call?”

“I can’t remember her name. Linda, I think? The director? Is she available?”

“Lenore Pullen, and she’s left for the evening. One sec—I’ll transfer you to voicemail.”

A few clicks and a prerecorded message. Matt waits for the beep. “Hi, this is Matt Gatlin, Elizabeth Holloway’s grandson. I understand you’ve been trying to reach me. I leave town in a week. Call me back. Thanks.” He leaves his number and hangs up, only to redial Rosemont. He’s busy, the director is probably busy. Who knows when she’ll get back to him. Matt wants to get this worked out tonight.

“Rosemont Assisted Living and—”

“Hi, this is Matt again,” he interrupts. “I spoke with a Julia earlier. Is she there?”

“Julia who?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t give me her last name. She answered the phone when I called this afternoon.”

Matt hears mouse clicks.

“The only Julia we have is our massage therapist. She’s a volunteer. She wouldn’t have answered the phone.”

“That’s her,” he says, without knowing whether it really is her. How many Julias could there be? He’ll take his chances. “Can you transfer me?”

“She’s left for the evening, and we don’t have a voicemail box for her.”

“What’s her cell number?”

“I can’t give that out, sir, but I’ll take a message.”

He rubs the back of his head, anxious to have his grandmother issue resolved. “Fine.” He gives the guy his name and number. “Tell her I’d like a call back tonight, if possible. It’s urgent.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

The guy doesn’t believe him.

But itisurgent. Julia told him Elizabeth has only five days left at Rosemont, and today’s already over.

CHAPTER 6

JULIA

At home, Julia stares at the sad selection in her fridge: wilted lettuce, oat milk, and an odd assortment of take-out containers. She goes with the vegetable chow mein she picked up earlier in the week and hip nudges the fridge closed. She eats straight from the carton at the counter, staring out the kitchen window into the darkness.

Out there lies Mama Rose’s backyard garden, once vibrant with a multitude of rose varietals and citrus trees, now looking as pathetic as Julia feels. Julia tried to maintain it the first year after Mama Rose had moved to Rosemont, but she doesn’t have her grandmother’s green thumb. And she no longer has the time. The trees are overgrown, the rosebushes have lost their shape, and the lawn has dried up like Julia’s relationships. Her grandmother would be disappointed with her. She promised to keep it up.

She also promised not to move Mama Rose from Rosemont, so Julia better get on figuring out how she’ll manage that with the fee increase.

She drops the empty carton into the recycling bin and goes to the living room to retrieve her laptop. But the overflowing bookshelves that buttress the brick fireplace enchant her. Regency romances and coffee shop mysteries fill every nook and cranny. Worn landscape andgardening books tower in stacks on the floor, collecting dust since her grandmother’s retirement. These books belong to Mama Rose. Julia keeps her collection of thrillers, up lit, and self-help upstairs in her room.

Could the diary Mama Rose mentioned be the book she was searching for under the pile of blankets in her room? From Liza’s reaction tonight in the common room, it’s clear she and Mama Rose have some sort of history. Julia’s dying to know how Mama Rose knows Liza. What secrets has she been keeping?

Julia calls Rosemont. Likely her grandmother has forgotten she asked after the diary, but maybe Julia can spin her questions so Mama Rose will give her some clues where to look.

“Steve,” she says after the night attendant answers with the canned greeting, “it’s Julia.”

“Who?”

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