Chapter 1 - The Woman Who Knew the SongMia had learned that hungry people stopped being embarrassed faster than they stopped being hungry.
That was how an eight-year-old girl with a worn guitar ended up standing beside a table full of strangers on a Beverly Hills rooftop.
The sunset made everything look expensive.
Golden light spilled across white tablecloths, crystal glasses, designer dresses, polished watches, and plates carrying enough untouched food to feed Mia for two days.
Her stomach tightened.
She hugged the old three-quarter-size acoustic guitar against her body.
“I just need a little money for food…”
A few guests glanced over.
One woman frowned.
Another looked uncomfortable and reached toward her purse.
Mia lowered her eyes.
Then she played.
Her mother had taught her never to rush the first chord.
“Make them listen before they realize they're listening,” Anna always said.
Mia's small fingers pressed the strings correctly.
She strummed softly.
One chord.
Then another.
The melody floated across the terrace.
Eleven notes.
That was all Mia ever played in public.
Never twelve.
Never thirteen.
Never fourteen.
Anna had been very clear about that.
Across the rooftop, an elegant blonde woman named Charlotte Sterling was lifting a wineglass.
She froze.
Her fingers stopped halfway to her lips.
Her eyes widened.
Her breath caught.
“No…”
Mia nearly missed it.
But she didn't.
Charlotte slowly lowered the glass.
Mia played one more chord.
Charlotte stood.
“Wait.”
Mia stopped.
Several guests looked between them.
Charlotte approached carefully, staring at the guitar as if she'd seen a ghost.
“Where did you learn that song?”
Mia's throat tightened.
“My mom taught me.”
Charlotte's face lost color.
“What is her name?”
Mia looked directly into her eyes.
And suddenly she heard Anna's voice.
Not from the rooftop.
From a motel room three weeks earlier.
Anna kneeling in front of her.
Hands on Mia's shoulders.
Face terrified.
“If anybody ever recognizes that melody, don't argue with them. Don't ask questions. Don't tell them where we live.”
“What do I do?”
“You run.”
“Why?”
Anna had hesitated.
“Because eight or nine times out of ten, anyone who knows that song is someone we should be afraid of.”
Mia's fingers tightened around the guitar neck.
Charlotte whispered,
“What is your mother's name?”
Mia stepped backward.
Charlotte saw the change.
“Mia?”
Mia turned.
And ran.
“Wait!”
She pushed between two chairs, nearly collided with a waiter, and raced toward the rooftop exit.
Charlotte moved faster than Mia expected.
She intercepted her near the doorway and gently caught her forearm.
Mia screamed,
“LET ME GO!”
Charlotte immediately loosened her grip.
“Why are you running?”
“My mom told me…”
Mia's breathing came fast.
“If anyone recognized that song…”
Charlotte stopped moving.
Mia continued,
“…there was an eight-or-nine-out-of-ten chance they were a bad person.”
Charlotte stared.
“She told me to run immediately.”
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then Charlotte laughed softly.
Not cruelly.
Almost sadly.
“Anna never stopped being suspicious.”
Mia froze.
“You know my mom?”
Charlotte crouched until they were at eye level.
“I do.”
Her voice softened.
“I was her closest friend.”
Mia searched her face.
Anna had never mentioned a Charlotte.
But Anna had stopped mentioning most people years ago.
Charlotte gently brushed Mia's messy hair away from her eyes.
“Where is she?”
Mia looked down.
“I don't know.”
That answer was true.
Nineteen days earlier, Anna had left Mia inside a cheap motel room outside Los Angeles.
She had promised to return in twenty minutes.
She never did.
Two men came instead.
Mia escaped through the bathroom window with the guitar, forty-three dollars, and the emergency instructions Anna had drilled into her since she was five.
Since then, she had slept in shelters, bus stations, and once beneath a church stairwell.
She hadn't told anyone enough for them to send her into foster care.
Charlotte studied her clothes.
Her dirty shoes.
The hollow look hunger had put into her face.
“You're alone.”
Mia said nothing.
Charlotte's eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
The word nearly broke Mia.
She hadn't been called sweetheart since Anna disappeared.
Charlotte opened her arms.
“You don't have to be alone anymore.”
Mia stared.
Charlotte smiled warmly.
“From now on… come live with me.”
Mia wanted to remember the warning.
She wanted to run again.
But she was eight.
She was tired.
She was hungry.
And this woman knew her mother's name.
After several seconds, Mia stepped forward.
Charlotte wrapped both arms around her.
Mia rested her head against the expensive beige dress.
She couldn't see Charlotte's face.
Couldn't see the warmth disappear.
Couldn't see her eyes become cold.
Couldn't see the corner of her mouth slowly rise.
Charlotte looked over Mia's shoulder toward the guitar.
Then she whispered so quietly Mia couldn't hear,
“Finally found you.”
Her phone vibrated inside her clutch.
One message.
GRAHAM: Is it really her?
Charlotte kept one arm around Mia.
With the other hand, she typed:
Yes.
A second message arrived.
Does she know the ending?
Charlotte's sinister smile returned.
She looked down at the little girl trusting her.
May you like
Then typed:
I'll find out.
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