“Well, I’m still glad you called,” she said. “Bill wants to meet with you and we both want a full update. Can you come to our place tomorrow, please? I can have our chef prepare a marvelous luncheon.”
“Of course,” I said. Not that I had any desire to spend more time with Bill Welch than I already had—marvelous luncheon or otherwise. But with Lydia paying what she was, saying no wasn’t really an option.
“I’m going to invite Sky Farley as well. You met her today. Isn’t she lovely?”
“Yes, I did, and yes, she is.”
“Splendid.”
“I do have some news,” I said.
“Oh, why on earth am I taking up the conversation?”
“Unfortunately, it isn’t what you’d call great news.”
“Tell me.”
“I think you should expect a call from the police.”
“Why?”
“A young chemist from the Gonzo lab was shot to death today,” I said. “His last text was to Dylan. Apparently, they were supposed to meet?”
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“But…But Dylan’s been missing for weeks.”
“Missing to you,” I said. “Missing to his friends. But presumably, hopefully…he’s out there somewhere.”
“Yes, of course,” Lydia said. “I know in my heart that he is. But are you telling me…Do you think…”
“I don’t think anything.”
“Do thepolicethink my son murdered this person?”
“It’s very early stages,” I said, staring at my phone.Could be tapped. It’s been tapped before.“I can explain more to you in person.”
“Oh, God. Dylan is being accused of shooting a man to death. And he’s not even around to defend himself.”
“He isn’t being accused of anything,” I said. “The police have an interest in questioning Dylan—and, in his absence, they’ll want to speak to you and your husband.” The car behind me was driving too close, its halogen lights burning into my rearview. I switched lanes.
“Should I call our lawyer?”
“I don’t think it’s necessary at this point,” I said. “But go ahead and do what makes you feel comfortable.”
There was a short stretch of silence. Then Lydia spoke. “It’s like that high school party all over again.” She said it very quietly—more to herself than to me. She didn’t think I knew what she was talking about, but unfortunately I did. I could practically see Dylan writhing on the sidewalk, just as he was six months ago, strung out and bleeding and delirious. Dylan, confessing to me about something that had happened when he was a drunk and horrible teenager.The girl was into it,he had said.She wanted me. She only got weird afterward. I hadn’t asked follow-up questions back then and I didn’t want to now. My stomach felt sour. I needed to change the subject.
I said, “I gave Dylan’s phone to the cops.”
“You had Dylan’s phone?”
“Yes,” I said. “It was in his office. I found it.”
“How could that be? He never goes anywhere without that phone.”
“Well, he might have had to leave in a hurry—for whatever reason—and forgotten it,” I said. “He could have purposely not taken the phone so he wouldn’t be traced. Or he could have simply decided to buy a new phone.”
