If she walked down the street in Southern California, tourists of a certain generation would certainly recognize her.
No one expected a person like her to be in Hollandville
Will recognized her almost immediately, took him half a beer, a sip of the banana creme liqueur Pieter kept behind the bar just for him.
Thurman started mouthing all over about having sex with her, that’s when Hollandville started gossiping about her.
Will knew the story long before she got to Hollandville.
His dad had been so in love with Samatha Harland he watched every episode, all five seasons of The Millivet Files.
The mysteries on the show had been incomprehensible to Will as a ten-year-old.
His dad’s attraction to Samantha Harland, the wife of the circus ringmaster detective on the formula drama, had been easy to figure out.
By the time Will was 13, he shared the attraction.
Samantha had a poster available back then. It wasn’t the most popular poster on the market at the time, but lots of barber and brake shops had it on the wall.
Samantha was pushing eighty now. Will knew she had work done, probably work to fix the original work, and some work to tweak that.
Her eyes were still beautiful, if deeply sad.
Samantha was widely believed to have killed her director husband, Benoit Delemare, in a villa in one of those tiny little mountain countries in Europe. Will knew it started with an L.
She wasn’t convicted or even charged, but her days on TV were over.
It just seemed more plausible to be her than a drifter stranger in a quaint hamlet.
The murder dominated the tabloids for months.
Will’s dad had one of the paparazzi shots from one of the Weekly World whatevers taped to his toolbox in the garage.
Will wanted to talk to Samantha.
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