California Girl by T. Jefferson Parker

away. Must have broke her heart. All these newspaper clips are the fun stuff she did. She saved them in a drawer.”
    Lobdell held out the little crown and the papers, looking from one to the other. Then at Nick. Cigarette in the crown hand. He shook both the crown and the newspapers like he had just presented compelling evidence, then lumbered back into the bedroom.
    Nick figured that Janelle had come here to start over. Came to Laguna to get away from Miss Tustin and the Playboy cover and all that.
    Nick picked through the papers and shoe box. Janelle Vonn’s handwriting was relaxed and innocent—big loops, not much slant, i ’s dotted with small circles. He flipped the pages, noting that some of the names and numbers were repeated. Too lazy to look through the stack? Why not put them in the phone and address book she carried?
    On a loose sheet of paper near the top:
    B. Beat
    Dr. T/O Sun
    Jesse B.
    CB
    UCI $
    He dialed the first one and got Blue Beat music in Laguna. Craig the owner said they weren’t open for business yet but were working on the building. Sure, he knew Janelle, couldn’t believe what happened. Great girl. Full of wonder and feeling. Into music. Into experience. Beautiful laugh and smile.
    Craig wanted to know if they caught the stabber from the Boom Boom Bungalow.
    Nick said he hadn’t heard of an arrest, but the Laguna cops were handling it.
    Peace, said Craig.
    The second was a Laguna number—no answer. The third was a Los Angeles area code—J.B. again—but it just rang, too.
    A stoned-sounding man picked up at the CB number. Nick identified himself and the guy said “kiss my butt” and hung up. Nick called right back but got no answer.
    The University of California, Irvine, admissions office confirmed that Janelle Vonn was receiving Pell grants and loans totaling one hundred and fifty-six dollars for this, the fall quarter. And an annual two-hundred-dollar scholarship award for the next four years, from the Tustin Chamber of Commerce. This award had been rescinded by the chamber last November. Nick could tell by her tone of voice that the UCI clerk knew what had happened.
    “Check this,” said Lobdell. He stood in the little hallway holding a coat hanger by one big finger. On the hanger was a black leather jacket with silver studs on it. Elegant pleats on the sides, with red leather showing through. Kind of motorcycle-looking but kind of European-looking, too, thought Nick. He knew nothing about fashion. “It was hanging on the closet door. Not in the closet, but on the door of it.”
    “What’s the label say?”
    “Neck Deep, Laguna Beach,” said Lobdell. “Made me think of her neck.”
    “Same outfit that made her purse,” said Nick. “I don’t like that name. Made me think of her neck, too.”
     
    THE SPARE BEDROOM had a mattress on the floor, covered with bright Mexican serapes and big pillows in a batik print with gold tassels. Three SunBlesst orange boxes with the dark-haired beauty on the label. California Girl. Someone had drawn a mustache on one of them. Nick wondered if the label model reminded Janelle of herself.
    One of the crates held paperback books and fashion magazines. One was filled with record albums. Disraeli Gears out front. The third had a folder with Janelle Vonn’s birth certificate and high school diploma, a Tustin High School yearbook for 1967, and two large envelopes of Vonn family pictures. There was a handful of pay stubs from the Five Crowns Restaurant in a bag with a smiling dog on it. She made a dollar five an hour. The most recent stub was almost six months old. Two pay stubs from the Gleason/Marx Agency in Hollywood for a total of seven hundred and fifteen dollars.
    “And check this, too,” said Lobdell, darkening the doorway again. A handful of odd-sized letters and envelopes clutched in one hand. “Our honey had a honey. ‘Until I touch your body with my fire…your two perfect mirrors of skin and soul…the city lights and the naked trees