people who piled into the room, bringing with them a gust of cold air and a buzz of conversation. Jan Howard, the Sugarloaf’s longtime waitress, had been outside on a break, puffing on one of her unfiltered Camels. She hurried inside as well. She grabbed up a handful of menus and helped the new arrivals sort themselves into three groups. A four-top and a two-top went to booths in Jan Howard’s station. The other two made for Ali’s counter. As they sat down to study the menus, Ali went to make a new pot of coffee.
For the next two hours she worked nonstop. When they finally closed the Sugarloaf’s front door on the last lunchtime customer at two thirty in the afternoon, Ali was beyond tired, and that was before they finished doing the cleanup work necessary to have the place ready to open the next morning.
When it was finally time to head home, she could hardly wait. She was ready to shower, take a nap, and sit with her feet up.
She had earned it.
11
Sacramento, California
I n terms of getting sober, Brenda’s breaking and entering arrest the previous October had proved to be pivotal. That humiliation was the last straw, the one that had finally convinced her to crack open the door to her very first AA meeting. Since then, she’d been fighting for sobriety on a daily basis and was halfway through those first critical ninety meetings in ninety days.
Just past noon on a Friday in late January, Brenda Riley’s cell phone vibrated inside her pocket just as the AA meeting moderator was leading the Serenity Prayer. Her mother, Camilla Gastellum, hadn’t been feeling well that morning as Brenda left for the meeting. Concerned about her, Brenda hurried out of the church basement and answered the phone without bothering to check caller ID.
“Hi, Mom,” Brenda said. “Are you okay?”
“Someone just called here looking for you,” Camilla said. “At first I thought she might be another bill collector, and I wasn’t going to give her your number. It turns out, though, that she’s calling about your book. She says you’ve contacted her before and wanted to interview her.”
Of the fifty-seven names listed in Richard Lowensdale’s Storyboards folder, Brenda had spoken or attempted to speak with all of them. Some of them had refused to speak to her outright or had accused Brenda of lying about their particular iteration of Richard. Others had been happy to have the mask ripped from the face of their present or former “cyber-lover” so they could begin to come to grips with the emotional damage he had done in their lives. Embarrassed by their own gullibility, some of those spoke to Brenda only on condition of anonymity.
Brenda was a trained journalist. She knew how to follow stories, and she had done so. Using the storyboard data as a starting point, she had tracked down one woman after another. What she found most disturbing in all this was that the details she discovered about the women’s lives appeared to coincide with the information gleaned from Richard’s files. Each of them had willingly revealed her innermost life to a man who had given her nothing but empty lies in return. From what Brenda’s mother was saying, it appeared that one of the reluctant interviewees was now ready to come forward.
“Did she leave her name?” Brenda asked.
“No, but I did give her this number. I hope that’s okay. She said she was going to call.”
“Sure, Mom,” Brenda said. “That’s fine. Are you okay?”
“I’m still feeling a little puny. I think I’m going to go lie down for a while.”
“Turn off the phone then so you can get some rest.” Brenda’s phone alerted a new incoming call from a number unavailable phone. “I’m sure that’s her calling now. I have to go.”
“Is this Brenda Riley?”
“Yes,” Brenda said. “Who is this?”
“My name is Ermina Blaylock, but everyone calls me Mina,” the woman said. Her English was precise, but there was more than a hint of an eastern
For the next two hours she worked nonstop. When they finally closed the Sugarloaf’s front door on the last lunchtime customer at two thirty in the afternoon, Ali was beyond tired, and that was before they finished doing the cleanup work necessary to have the place ready to open the next morning.
When it was finally time to head home, she could hardly wait. She was ready to shower, take a nap, and sit with her feet up.
She had earned it.
11
Sacramento, California
I n terms of getting sober, Brenda’s breaking and entering arrest the previous October had proved to be pivotal. That humiliation was the last straw, the one that had finally convinced her to crack open the door to her very first AA meeting. Since then, she’d been fighting for sobriety on a daily basis and was halfway through those first critical ninety meetings in ninety days.
Just past noon on a Friday in late January, Brenda Riley’s cell phone vibrated inside her pocket just as the AA meeting moderator was leading the Serenity Prayer. Her mother, Camilla Gastellum, hadn’t been feeling well that morning as Brenda left for the meeting. Concerned about her, Brenda hurried out of the church basement and answered the phone without bothering to check caller ID.
“Hi, Mom,” Brenda said. “Are you okay?”
“Someone just called here looking for you,” Camilla said. “At first I thought she might be another bill collector, and I wasn’t going to give her your number. It turns out, though, that she’s calling about your book. She says you’ve contacted her before and wanted to interview her.”
Of the fifty-seven names listed in Richard Lowensdale’s Storyboards folder, Brenda had spoken or attempted to speak with all of them. Some of them had refused to speak to her outright or had accused Brenda of lying about their particular iteration of Richard. Others had been happy to have the mask ripped from the face of their present or former “cyber-lover” so they could begin to come to grips with the emotional damage he had done in their lives. Embarrassed by their own gullibility, some of those spoke to Brenda only on condition of anonymity.
Brenda was a trained journalist. She knew how to follow stories, and she had done so. Using the storyboard data as a starting point, she had tracked down one woman after another. What she found most disturbing in all this was that the details she discovered about the women’s lives appeared to coincide with the information gleaned from Richard’s files. Each of them had willingly revealed her innermost life to a man who had given her nothing but empty lies in return. From what Brenda’s mother was saying, it appeared that one of the reluctant interviewees was now ready to come forward.
“Did she leave her name?” Brenda asked.
“No, but I did give her this number. I hope that’s okay. She said she was going to call.”
“Sure, Mom,” Brenda said. “That’s fine. Are you okay?”
“I’m still feeling a little puny. I think I’m going to go lie down for a while.”
“Turn off the phone then so you can get some rest.” Brenda’s phone alerted a new incoming call from a number unavailable phone. “I’m sure that’s her calling now. I have to go.”
“Is this Brenda Riley?”
“Yes,” Brenda said. “Who is this?”
“My name is Ermina Blaylock, but everyone calls me Mina,” the woman said. Her English was precise, but there was more than a hint of an eastern
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