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Jane stared blankly at her for a moment. “Okay.” She stood and dusted off her jeans. “I believe in you. If you believe in him, that’s good enough for me. Where should we start?”
***
Darcy had answered the phone without checking the caller ID, and now he regretted it. Aunt Catherine had berated him for five minutes about how his carelessness would damage the family reputation.
Finally, he was irritated enough to interrupt her. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Of course, you didn’t,” his aunt said soothingly, taking him off guard. “None of us ever do, at least not intentionally. Now, I’ll share a little family secret with you. If you do find yourself in a difficult position again, I know of an excellent service, very discreet. I assure you, the authorities will never find the body.”
“I haven’t killed anyone!”
She clucked sympathetically. “Not yet, but I understand how these things escalate.”
Darcy would suspect his aunt was joking, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had no sense of humor. His aunt continued to talk. “I’ll text you the service’s contact information. They also have a Korean woman who does a terrific mani/pedi. The last time I saw you, your cuticles were a disgrace.”
Darcy’s call waiting beeped, and he leaped at the opportunity to exit the Twilight Zone. “Thank you for your offer to help,” he told his aunt. “I have another call coming in. It’s probably my lawyer, so I should go.”
“All
right. I’ll text the information right over to you. The code word is ‘Perambulator.’ Be sure to use it. Staying out of prison is the family tradition!”
As Darcy clicked over to call waiting, he wondered if he had ever known his aunt at all.
The other caller was Burton. “Have they found Wickham yet?” Darcy asked without preamble.
Burton sighed. “No. I’m sorry, Will. The guy seems to have evaporated.”
Darcy stifled a curse as he leaned back in his desk chair. He was in his study, where he’d been busily staring out the window and failing to get any useful work accomplished. But at least it kept him away from the television, with its cable news shows airing hot-and-cold-running pundits opining—without any evidence—about Darcy’s addiction, his issues with his parents, and how the scandal would affect his career.
The enforced inactivity was grinding Darcy down. He was accustomed to days full of appearances, filming, photo shoots, interviews, and lunches with friends. But everything had been put on hold. His part of the publicity for In the Shadows had been suspended, his next project was on life support, and Burton had advised him to keep public appearances to a minimum. Darcy didn’t mind complying; he hardly relished the idea of being mobbed by people demanding to know why he’d abandoned a teenager in a car wreck.
“Did you check with Wickham’s mother?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“And the friends I mentioned?”
“Uh-huh. Nobody has seen him. It doesn’t help that he’s unemployed and apparently owes money to a bunch of people.”
Darcy ran his hands through his hair, resisting the impulse to pull some of it out. Who knew that one day he’d wish he’d kept closer tabs on Wickham? He’d always thought the absence of Wickham in his life was a good thing. Unable to remain seated, Darcy prowled across the lush Persian carpet of his study. “He might have left L.A.”
“Could be.”
Darcy could tell that Burton had something more important he wanted to discuss. “What is it?”
Burton cleared his throat. “The police are getting closer to issuing a warrant for your arrest.”
A variety of expletives flew through Darcy’s head. He set both his feet on the floor and reminded himself, yet again, that the room was not getting smaller. The walls were not closing in on him. It just felt that way. “Th-They can’t do that.”
Burton sighed. No doubt plenty of clients had said that to him.
Okay, focus, he told himself. He had made a list of the things he wanted to discuss with Burton. Making lists made everything seem more under control. Darcy scanned the list now. “What about the fingerprints?”
“The only usable prints they got out of the car were Lydia’s, so that’s a wash.”
“Have you found the chauffeur?”
Burton sighed. “No. The agency lost track of him when he moved back to Panama. And before you ask again about video cameras, we haven’t turned up anything useful. Most places don’t keep footage very long.”
