“Nonsense,” Celia says with a smile. “I’m so pleased to see you. I had hoped you would take my message seriously. After the year you’ve had . . . I think California will be just the change of pace you need.”

You thank her for understanding. Feeling a bit more at ease, you begin to ask about her current situation. Does she live alone? Oh, she had a wonderful husband. Met him her first day in California. They shared a wonderful life together for a while, but sadly he passed away just before their third anniversary. Simply collapsed one day. The coroner suspected a heart condition. Tragic, really. But no one could have known. Does she work at all? No need. Her husband had family wealth and had left her a sizable fortune, although she tries not to flaunt it. How does she spend her time? Volunteering, mostly. So many poor souls leave everything behind to come to Los Angeles, only to find themselves without so much as a nickel within a month of arriving.

“But don’t you worry, now,” she says. “You’re family. I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of. But look at you, you must be exhausted. Let’s get you settled, and first thing tomorrow we’ll start making plans.”

Celia leads you to a spare room and hands you her oil lamp. “Goodnight,” she says. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You set down your suitcase and look around. A neatly made bed, framed by carved wooden pillars, takes up most of the room. You see a small writing desk in one corner, and a slender wardrobe sits next to the open window on the wall opposite you.

You . . .