“I am.”
He wasn’t.
“Are you in trouble?” Wilde asked.
“What? No.”
“Talk to me then.”
Hester stayed back. Here was the main reason she worried so about this new relationship between Laila and Wilde. It wasn’t about David’s memory and the pain of him being forever gone — or at least, not only about that. Wilde was Matthew’s godfather. When David died, Wilde had been there. He answered the call, stepped up his role in Matthew’s life. He wasn’t a father or stepfather or anything like that. But Wilde was there, more as an involved uncle, and Hester and Laila had been grateful, believing, sexist as this might sound, that Matthew still needed a man in his life.
How would the romantic relationship between Laila and Wilde affect Matthew?
The boy wasn’t stupid. If Hester saw the signs in a few minutes, Matthew had to know about the romance too. So how was the boy handling his godfather shacking up some nights with his mother? What would happen to Matthew if the relationship went south? Were Laila and Wilde mature enough to make sure Matthew didn’t get hurt in the fallout — or were they being naïve in their thinking?
Matthew was taller than Wilde now. When the hell had that happened? Wilde put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and said, “Talk to me, Matthew.”
“I’m going to a party.”
“Okay.”
“At Crash’s house. Ryan, Trevor, Darla, Trish — they’ll all be there.”
Wilde waited.
“They’ve been picking on her more lately. On Naomi.” Matthew closed his eyes. “Supercruel stuff.”
Hester joined them. “Who has been picking on her?”
“The popular kids.”
“You?” Hester asked.
He kept his eyes on the ground.
Wilde said, “Matthew?”
Matthew’s voice, when he finally spoke, was soft. “No...” He hesitated. They waited. “But I let it happen. I didn’t do anything. I should have. Crash and Trevor and Darla played a prank on her. A mean one. And now... now she’s gone. That’s why I’m going to Crash’s party. To see if I can learn anything.”
“What kind of prank?” Hester asked.
“That’s all I know.”
A car driven by one teen with another riding shotgun pulled up to them. The driver honked the horn.
“I have to go,” Matthew said. “Please... just keep looking too, okay?”
“I’m having someone from my office trace down Naomi’s mother,” Hester said. “I’ll talk to her.”
Matthew nodded. “Thanks.”
“Is there anyone else we should talk to, Matthew? A friend of Naomi’s maybe?”
“She has no friends.”
“A teacher, a family member—”
He snapped his finger and his eyes lit up. “Miss O’Brien.”
Wilde said, “Ava O’Brien?”
Matthew nodded. “She’s, like, an assistant art teacher or something.”
“And you think—?” Hester asked.
The driver honked the horn again. Hester silenced it with a glare.
“I gotta go. I’m hoping to learn something at the party.”
“Learn what?” Hester asked.
But Matthew didn’t reply. He hopped into the backseat of the car. Wilde and Hester watched them drive away.
“You know this Miss O’Brien?” Hester asked Wilde.
“Yes.”
“Should I ask how?”
Wilde said nothing.
“That’s what I thought. Will she talk to you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” When the car disappeared around the bend, Hester asked, “What do you think?”
“I think Matthew isn’t telling us everything.”
“Maybe Naomi’s mother calls me back. Maybe she lets me talk to Naomi.”
“Maybe,” Wilde said.
“But you don’t think so.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
They both turned and looked down the cul-de-sac toward the Crimstein homestead.
“I have to get back to the city to do my show,” Hester said.
“Uh-huh.”
“I don’t have time to get into this with Laila now.”
“Probably best,” Wilde said. “Do your show. I’ll talk to Laila, then I’ll talk to Ava O’Brien.”
Hester handed him a business card with her mobile number on it. “Stay in touch, Wilde.”
“You too, Hester.”
Chapter Six
When Laila answered the front door, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you using the front door?”
Wilde always came in through the back door. Always. He hiked through the woods that came up behind the Crimstein house. He’d been doing that since the days David sneaked him inside when they were little boys.
“Well?”
Laila had this passion and energy that turned her beauty into a living, breathing, pulsating entity. You couldn’t help but be drawn in, to watch, to want to be a part of it.
“I can’t stay for dinner,” he said.
“Oh.”
“Sorry. Something just came up.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I can come back later, if you want.”
Laila studied his face. He wanted to tell her about Matthew and this Naomi situation, but after weighing the pros and cons, he’d decided that keeping his godson’s confidence trumped informing on him to his mother. For today anyway. For now. It was a close call, but Laila would understand.
Maybe.
“I have an early morning anyway,” Laila said.
“Got it.”
“And Matthew is out tonight. I don’t know what time he’ll get back.”
Wilde mimicked her in the gentlest way as he quoted her: “‘You don’t owe me an explanation.’”
Laila gave him a smile. “Ah, what the hell. Come back if you can.”
“Might be late.”
“I don’t care,” she said. Then: “You didn’t tell me why you’re using the front door.”
“I spotted Matthew on the street.”
Not a lie.
“What did he say to you?”
“That he was going to a party at someone named Crash’s house.”
“Crash Maynard,” she said.
“As in?”
“Yeah, the Maynard Manor. Son of Dash.”
“Dash has a son named Crash?”
“His father loved the movie Bull Durham or something. Can you believe that?”
He shrugged. “When your name is Wilde...”
“Touché.”
Darkness had fallen. The lullaby of crickets played, his constant comforting companion. “I better go.”
“Wait.” Laila dug into her jeans pocket. “No need to play mountain man.” She pulled out her key fob and tossed it to him. “Take my car.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I may not be gone long.”
“I’ll be here, Wilde.”
Laila closed the door.
Eight months ago, when Wilde first encountered Ava O’Brien, she was living off Route 17 in a sprawling condo development of dull grays and beiges. That night, as they stumbled under popping fluorescent streetlights back to her place, Ava had made a joke about how the condos looked so much alike that she often stuck her key in the wrong door.
Wilde had no such issue. He still remembered the exact address and location.
No one answered on the first knock. Wilde knew the condo layout. He checked the window on the upper right. The light was on. That didn’t mean much. He looked for a passing shadow. Nothing.
He knocked again.
Shuffling feet. A pause. It was nearly nine p.m. now. Ava O’Brien was probably looking through the peephole. He stood and waited. A moment later he heard a sliding chain. The knob turned.