9

MILA

DURING THE INTERMISSION, ONE OF the theater attendants slipped a piece of paper into Ronan’s hand. He read it and then put it into his pocket. Call it intuition, but I knew Liza wrote the note.

As the curtains closed and the lights came back on, we headed down the hall to the exit, but something drew me to a stop. A portrait on the wall in a gaudy gold frame. My mother’s hair was in an elegant updo, her eyes sparkling with an animate light. Ronan waited behind me, and if he noticed the uncanny resemblance, he didn’t say anything.

I swallowed and followed himout of the theater.

My mother performed here. Now I knew for sure, maybe I could come back and question some of the employees tomorrow. Someone had to know if she had family and where I could find them.

Having beat most of the crowd outside, we passed the old-fashioned ticket booth, where my attention caught on an elderly woman sitting on the ground wrapped in a thin, tattered bla