Karen, beauty of face and form and heart. Prom queen and volleyball player and lover of dogs, left vying suitors in New Bedford, Mass., to chase the Dream.
Hollywood. The Silver Screen.
She came on Greyhound and learned that the Dream was played out in Beverly Hills. And Malibu. To some of us, those places are just home. But to Karen they were Glamour and Excitement. The Dream.
Like so many others, she ended up slinging hash—or should I say Catch of the Day—sorry, Marv and Barb D’Amato of Sand Dollar fame.
Like so many others.
But then . . . unlike so many others . . . she disappeared.
Vanished.
Like the smog when the beach breeze hits it.
She was last seen six months ago. Leaving Marv and Barb’s S.D. on foot after the night shift.
And that’s the last anyone saw of her.
Vanished.
The sheriffs looked for her. They did their best, we’re proud of our men in tan.
But they didn’t find her.
Neither did a gumshoe hired by Sherrell and his beloved Eleanor.
So Sherrell’s out here from Massachusetts. Staying at the Beachrider Motel and living off savings.
Trying to find his princess.
This is her picture.
Karen Best. Her hair might be dark. She wrote home that she was dying it.
To look more exotic.
Vanished.
Sherrell’s a determined man.
He’s not rich, but he’ll pay a hefty reward to anyone who can find Karen.
Maybe you’ve seen him, handing out flyers in the parking lot at Alexander’s market. Or in front of Bill and Sandy Levinger’s Shell Shack or the Frostee Kup, down by Cross Creek.
Asking his questions.
“Have you seen this girl?”
Maybe you’ve walked right by him.
Maybe you just shook your head and said, Poor guy.
No matter. He’s a determined man. He won’t give up.
Help him, Malibuites.
If you can.
Maybe this story can have a happy ending.
Maybe this really is a generation of peace and freedom and love.
Maybe . . .
I put the page down.
Best said, “She meant well. She was a sweet old woman, died a few months later and the paper went out of business.”
“Did you pay for the article?”
“I paid for many things. No regrets.”
He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes some more.
“More coffee?”
“No, thanks. Did the sheriffs do a thorough job?”
“I suppose they did their job. Asking questions of the same people I’d spoken to. Finally, they mounted a real search. For one day, in the canyons and gullies. Then they flew a helicopter over the coastline for an hour or so. They said the layout made it impossible to do much more. Too much brush, places that were hard to get to. I don’t think they really believed she’d be found there. They were convinced she’d run away with a boy.”
“Was any of this in the major newspapers?” I said.
“The papers weren’t interested. I phoned all of them, over and over. They never returned my calls. Part of it was the way things were, back then. All those hippie boys and girls dropping out. But Karen wasn’t like that. I’m not saying she was a perfect angel. But she was no hippie.”
“When did you hire the private detective?”
“After the sheriffs stopped returning my calls. I hired two of them, really. It’s all here.”
He handed me a white sheet of paper, perfectly typed.
KAREN: PEOPLE INVOLVED
I. LAW ENFORCEMENT
A. L.A. County Sheriffs Dept., Malibu Station.
1. Deputy Shockley (took the call but nothing else)
2. Dep. Lester (took report)
3. Sgt. Concannon—in charge of search. His superior: Lt. Maarten, but never met him.
4. Various eagle scouts under Sgt. Concannon, along with other deputies, whose names weren’t given.
B. PRIVATE INVESTIGATORS
1. Felix Barnard, 25603 Pacific Coast Highway, Malibu, CA.
(October–November. Spoke to staff at Sand Dollar: Sue Billings, Tom Shea, Gwen Peet, Doris Reingold, Mary Andreas, Leonard Korcik. Karen’s landlady: Mrs. Hilda Johansen, 13457 Paso de Oro, Pacific Palisades.)
2. Charles D. Napoli, 6654 Hollywood Boulevard, Hollywood, CA.
(December–Jan. Re-interviewed F. Barnard’s subjects, met with sheriffs, brokered purchase of membership in PeopleFinders.)
“What’s PeopleFinders?” I said.