Chapter 50 – Morgan Blake

“Where did you get that?”

Her voice sounded different now, no longer bubbly, but rougher. But there was still a smile on her face. The smile she had become so accustomed to that she didn’t even notice when she faked it anymore, just lingered on her lips.

Morgan watched her closely.

“I researched Samantha’s murder extensively back then,” she said quietly. “I wrote more articles than my editors wanted. The case stayed with me, even after everyone else had long since moved on. I thought that if I ever found something, I could bring it back into the public eye.”

Chloe listened. The smile was still there. But now it hurt, seemed ugly and repulsive to her.

“Then I started hearing things about you,” Morgan continued. “Good things. But also that you mentioned Samantha Sparkles every now and then. That was unusual. Not so unusual that any of the people I spoke to would have thought anything of it. But I found it strange. Samantha was promising, but she was far from a superstar. Newcomers don’t usually fixate on someone who’s been dead for three years.”

Morgan turned her coffee mug between her hands.

“So I did a little digging. Just out of curiosity, I couldn’t help myself. I found out that your real name is Thompson. It occurred to me that Samantha’s stepfather was named Thompson. Then I found an old social media profile of Samantha. This photo was posted there.” She pointed to the picture. “And then I put two and two together.”

She looked Chloe straight in the eye. “What’s the connection? Sister? Half-sister? I’d guess-“

The smile disappeared from Chloe’s face. Not slowly, but as if someone had flipped a switch. One moment Chloe Heart was there, the radiant, open, approachable Chloe Heart. And the next, she was simply gone.

Chloe sat up straight and looked the journalist straight in the eye. Morgan, who seemed to notice, fell silent.

“Turn off the recorder,” Chloe said. Her voice was quiet, but it was perfectly clear that this was not a request.

Morgan reached for the recorder without hesitation and pressed stop.

“What do you want?” Chloe asked. “Do you want to reveal my identity? Expose me? Throw me under the bus for a story?”

Morgan remained calm and kept her hands motionless on the table.

“First and foremost, I want to know what happened to Samantha Sparkles,” she said. “I want to know who killed her and why. I’ve been following this case for three years.”

She didn’t look away from Chloe.

“And I’m guessing you’re not just here to shoot porn, are you?” she added. Not really a question, actually. More of a statement she had phrased as a question, out of politeness, or perhaps to tease more out of Chloe.

Chloe was silent. Her thoughts were racing.

Is she a threat?

She remembered the article she had read over and over again in her old childhood bedroom. Morgan Blake had criticized the police in her article. She had written that the investigation into the Samantha Sparkles case had been sloppy and half-hearted. She had kept the case alive when everyone else had long since closed it.

That hadn’t been sensational tabloid journalism. Chloe had had the impression that Morgan Blake was genuinely interested in justice.

What a stupid question, Chloe. She could destroy everything. One article and my cover is history. Of course she’s a threat…

But she had turned off the recording device. Immediately. Without discussion.

…or she could be an ally.

Chloe searched Morgan’s eyes. Looking for something. Calculation, perhaps, or a hidden agenda, a hunger for a good story at any cost.

What she found was something else. Patience. And a look that seemed to say something like: I understand that you don’t trust me, that you can’t really trust me. But I hope you do anyway.

Chloe picked up the photo from the table. Carefully, as if it were made of glass.

“Not here,” she said.

Morgan raised her eyebrows.

“If we’re going to talk, it can’t be here.” Chloe looked around the bistro without turning her head. The two men who were now standing at the bar paying, the performer with the cell phone, the waitress looking over at them. Bistro La Plaza was an industry hangout. Too many eyes, too many ears. “It’s too public here.”

Morgan nodded slowly, not entirely surprised.

“My apartment isn’t far from here,” she said. “Ten minutes on foot. We can talk there.”

It was a risk. Chloe knew that.

But she had been alone for so long. So damn long alone with all of this. And this woman had been working on the same case Chloe was trying to solve for three years, and she had brought her a photo of Samantha smiling.

“Okay,” Chloe said.

Morgan waved the waitress over and paid for both of them before Chloe could protest. She put the recording device and her notepad in her jacket pocket and stood up.

Chloe also stood up, put the photo in her purse, and followed Morgan to the door.

~

Morgan’s apartment was in a building that had definitely seen better days, but at least it didn’t look like it was about to collapse. Not like Chloe’s apartment building. Morgan unlocked the door and let them in.

The first thing Chloe noticed was the mess.

The apartment was small, and the main room apparently served as both a living room and a study, with a sofa and a desk buried under piles of paper. Notebooks, loose sheets of paper with handwritten notes, newspaper clippings, Post-its in various colors. An older laptop stood open next to an external monitor that was turned off. Next to it was a recording device, lots of different USB sticks in a tray, and an external hard drive. On the wall above the desk hung a pinboard plastered with newspaper clippings, photos, and notes.

Chloe’s gaze lingered on it.

She couldn’t read the individual notes and clippings from where she stood, but she could tell from the headlines that they were about Samantha. She had something like that herself. Only digital. And she had left the newspaper clippings in Oak Springs.

And there, in the upper right corner of the board, was a photo of Samantha. Not a porn photo, but a normal picture that looked like it was from social media. Sam was smiling at the camera, with a drink in her hand and fairy lights in the background. It looked like it had been taken at some kind of party.

Chloe looked away.

On a shelf next to the window, between lots of books and a small cactus that was still alive despite obvious neglect, stood a trophy. Valley City Bouldering Open, 2nd Place.

Morgan threw her leather jacket over the back of the sofa and ran her fingers through her short black hair.

“Sorry about the mess. I always tidy up when I’m expecting visitors. It’s just that I never actually expect visitors.”

Chloe was still standing in the middle of the room, her handbag on her shoulder, wondering if it was a mistake to be here.

“Are you hungry?” Morgan asked, as if it were the most natural follow-up question in the world after just revealing the secret identity of a porn actress. “I know a good Chinese place that delivers. Their duck is absurdly good.”

Chloe almost laughed. But she was actually quite hungry by now. “Yes. I’d love to.”

While Morgan was on the phone and rummaging around in the kitchen, Chloe sat down on the sofa. The cushions were worn, but comfortable. On the coffee table lay a half-empty bag of chips and an open book, an autobiography by Mary Astor.

Morgan came back with two glasses of red wine and placed one on the table in front of Chloe.

Chloe stared at the glass indecisively.

Morgan noticed her gaze immediately. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to get you drunk to get information out of you, and it’s not poisoned. I mean, it can give you a headache if you drink too much, which I can confirm from my own painful experience.” She took a big sip from her own glass. “I’ll definitely drink more than you.”

Chloe took the glass. The wine was dry and seemed surprisingly good to her for someone whose apartment looked like it was inhabited by a well-read raccoon. But then again, she was no wine connoisseur.

Morgan sat down opposite her, tucked her legs under her, and looked at Chloe expectantly.

“Do you want to tell me what’s really going on?”

Chloe turned the wine glass between her hands and watched as the deep red liquid left faint streaks on the glass.

Actually, I’ve never told anyone about it. Not a single soul.

But Morgan already knew. Or at least enough to piece the rest together. The question wasn’t really whethershe should talk, but how muchshe should say.

“I had a plan,” she began hesitantly. “I prepared myself before I came to Valley City. For months.”

Morgan said nothing, just continued to look at her kindly and patiently.

“I trained. I mean, I was already fit, but I started doing yoga to become more flexible, originally. I studied the industry. I read forums, learned terms, researched who the important people are, how the studios work. I watched Samantha’s videos.” She paused briefly. “And many, many others. Also behind-the-scenes stuff, documentaries and such. So I could understand how it works, what would be required of me, what people like. Things like that.”

Morgan furrowed her eyebrows, looking more serious now.

“Three days after my eighteenth birthday, I came here to find out what happened to her. Straight to Samantha’s old agent. He doesn’t know we’re sisters. We have different last names because I have my stepfather’s name.” She took a big sip of wine. “I’ve been doing this ever since.”

“Wait.” Morgan put down her glass. “What? Your whole career? That’s all, just to find out what happened to your sister?”

“Yes.”

Morgan leaned back and exhaled slowly. “Damn.”

Chloe said nothing. She waited for Morgan to judge her or pity her or declare her stupid and naive, which she probably was, if she was honest with herself. At least a little.

Instead, Morgan just shook her head slowly. “And I thought I was obsessive.”

Chloe had to laugh briefly and dryly, but it quickly died away.

“You know, Sam wasn’t just my sister,” she said quietly. “After my mother died, Sam was everything to me. My big sister, my best friend, the only one who really cared about me. John, my stepfather…” She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Sam told me stories at night when I couldn’t sleep. She made sure I did my homework and cooked and baked with me and…”

She realized she was clutching the wine glass too tightly and set it down on the table.

“And then she was dead, and the police closed the case, and no one cared. Just a dead porn actress. Who cares?” Her voice had become harsh.

Morgan nodded. She didn’t say “I’m sorry” or “That must have been hard” or anything cheap. She just nodded.

Then she put down her glass and said, “Thank you for being honest. Guess I owe you the same.”

Chloe looked at her questioningly.

“I said that Samantha’s case stayed with me, and that’s true. But I should be honest about why.” Morgan ran her fingers nervously through her hair. “Okay, so… Samantha was my favorite performer. I thought she was incredibly hot. I watched all her lesbian scenes, and even some of the others. And then she was murdered, and I…” She hesitated. “The reason I got involved in her case in the first place wasn’t something noble like fighting for social justice or journalistic integrity. I was angry because someone killed my favorite porn star.”

She shrugged and smiled crookedly. “If you tell me the truth, I’ll tell you mine. Even if mine is a little embarrassing.”

“Sam would probably have liked that,” Chloe said, smiling sadly. “She had a girlfriend once. It drove John crazy.”

Morgan smiled. Then she became serious again.

“What did you find out?”

Chloe took a deep breath. “Quite a bit. But a lot of it is fragments that I can’t piece together. What do you have?”

“Ladies first.”

Chloe snorted. “Not sure I’m much of a lady, but okay.”