The Match (Wilde, #2)(36)
“We share a great-grandparent.”
“That’s not a lot,” Silas said. “But it’s not nothing either.”
“It’s not nothing.”
“Especially for you, I guess. I mean, no offense or anything, but you don’t have anyone but us. Might be nice to say hello or something. Have a coffee maybe.”
“When do you come through New Jersey again?”
“Pretty soon. I usually stay with Vicky.”
“Next time you’re here,” Wilde said, “give me a call.”
“I’ll do that, Cuz. And I’ll try to think about our family and see what I can come up with.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“You still going to look for Peter?”
“Yes.”
“Good luck with that too. I’m not blaming anyone, but Vicky, she got him into this reality shit. I think she did it for the right reasons, but Peter wasn’t made for that world. If I can help find him…”
“I’ll let you know.”
Silas hung up. Wilde put his phone into his back pocket and continued his hike. He took deep breaths, filling his lungs with the fresh mountain air. He slowly lifted his face toward the soothing sun and let his thoughts flow freely. They flowed, as they often did when he let them, to a familiar, comforting, beautiful face.
Laila’s.
The buzz of his phone startled him. It was Hester.
“Hey,” Wilde said, staying as much as he could in this pleasant semi-stupor.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You sound like you took an edible or something.”
“High on life. What’s up?”
“I got your message,” Hester said. “So you already found your DNA website relative?”
“His identity, yes. Him, no.”
“Explain.”
“Have you ever watched a reality show called Love Is a Battlefield?”
“Every episode,” Hester said.
“Really?”
“No, of course not. I don’t even get the concept. Reality TV? I watch TV to escape reality. What about it?”
Wilde had time on the hike, so he filled Hester in on Peter Bennett and the ensuing saga of his scandal and disappearances. When he finished, Hester said, “What a mess.”
“Yes.”
“You found your family—and they’re as dysfunctional as all the others.”
“I was abandoned in the woods as a small child,” Wilde said. “We didn’t expect functional.”
“Good point. So you’re going to search for your missing cousin?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you’ll just confirm that he committed suicide,” Hester added.
“Maybe.”
“And suppose that’s the case.”
“Then that’s the answer.”
“You just let it go?”
“What else can I do?”
“So next steps,” Hester said, getting down to business. “Seems to me the person who might have some information is his wife or ex-wife or whatever she is, Jenn Whatshername.”
“Cassidy.”
“Like David? Man, I had a crush on him in the day.”
“Who?”
“David Cassidy. The Partridge Family?”
“Right.”
“Girls talked about his hair and smile, but he had some caboose too.”
“Good to know,” Wilde said. Then: “How should we approach Jenn Cassidy?”
“I know a lot of Hollywood agents,” Hester said. “I can see if she’ll talk to one of us.”
“Good.”
“I assume you got Rola working on the real identity of this Dog troll?”
“Yes.”
“By the way,” Hester began, her tone aiming for nonchalant and not coming close to hitting the mark, “did you shtup Laila last night?”
“Hester.”
“Did you?”
“Did you shtup Oren?” he countered.
“Every chance I get. Oren has a better caboose than David Cassidy.” Then: “Was that question supposed to stop me from asking about you and my former daughter-in-law?”
Wilde kept hiking up the mountain. “Where are you?”
“I’m in my office waiting on a verdict in the Levine case.”
“Any idea when it will come in?”
“None.” Then: “Was that question supposed to stop me from asking about you and my former daughter-in-law?”
Wilde stayed silent.
“Right, right, it’s none of my business. Let me make some calls, see what I can learn. Hit you later.”
Wilde did a little maintenance on the Ecocapsule. Rain had been in short supply since his return, so he took the water tank to the nearest brook to fill it. The Ecocapsule had wheels, so Wilde could move it every few weeks, just to be certain no one could track him, but he always stayed close to one of the mountain waterways for just such drought-like occurrences.
When Wilde finished, he headed over to the lookout spot that gave him a bird’s-eye view of Laila’s house on the end of the cul-de-sac. No cars. No movement.
His phone buzzed again. It was Rola.