“I haven’t. Kind of the opposite, in fact.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s why I raised this with you. I wanted your input on something.”
A smile broke out on Matthew’s face. “Sure.”
“I heard from another relative on the site. He calls himself PB.”
Wilde showed Matthew the most recent message from PB. Matthew read it twice and said, “Wait, this message came in when?”
“Four months ago.”
“Is there an exact date?”
“It’s right there. Why?”
Matthew kept staring at the message. “Why didn’t you reply before now?”
“I didn’t see it.”
Matthew stared at the screen some more. “So that’s it.”
“What’s it?”
“Why you are so distracted.”
“I’m not following.”
“You feel guilty.” Matthew kept his eyes on the screen. “This blood relative cried out to you for help. You didn’t even let yourself hear the cry.”
Wilde looked at him. “Harsh.”
“But?”
“But fair. He makes himself sound famous, don’t you think?”
“Could be an exaggeration,” Matthew said.
“Could be,” Wilde agreed.
“I mean, that’s the thing with social media. A kid in my class put out a song and got fifty thousand views on his YouTube channel. Now he thinks he’s Drake or something.”
Wilde didn’t know who Drake was, so he kept silent.
“But something about this...” Matthew said.
“What?”
“Maybe Sutton would know.”
“Sutton, the girl you’ve had a crush on since eighth grade?”
A smile toyed with Matthew’s lips. “Seventh, actually.”
“The one who’s going out with Crash Maynard?”
“Was going out with.” Matthew couldn’t hold the smile back any longer. “You’ve been gone a long time, Wilde.”
“Have I now?”
“Sutton and I have been dating for almost a year now.”
Wilde smiled too. “Nice.”
“Yeah.” Matthew blushed. “Yeah, it’s pretty great.”
“Uh, we don’t need to have that talk, do we?”
Matthew chuckled at that one. “I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, that ship has sailed, Wilde.”
“Sorry.”
“Mom handled it. It’s all good.”
When the game went to commercial break, Matthew said, “Speaking of which.”
“What?”
“I’m going to grab a shower,” Matthew said, standing. “Hate to eat and run, but I’m spending the night at Sutton’s.”
“Oh,” Wilde said. Then he added, “Your mom’s okay with that?”
Matthew made a face. “Really?”
“You’re right. None of my business.” Wilde rose. “I better get going too.”
Matthew ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and vanished into his bedroom. Wilde was about to go up and say goodbye to Laila when his phone rang. It was Rola.
“What’s up?”
“Pay dirt,” Rola said.
“I’m listening.”
“I got an address for PB&J. But it doesn’t make much sense.”
Chapter Eight
The mailing address for PB&J was a luxury Manhattan condo on the seventy-eighth floor of a gleaming skyscraper simply called Sky, located on Central Park South near the Plaza Hotel. The high-rise was fourteen hundred feet tall, making it the second tallest residential building in New York City.
“Not just rich,” Rola said. “Stanky rich.”
“Stanky?”
“I learned that word on Urban Slang.”
Wilde didn’t even want to know. “Does PB&J own the condo?”
“Don’t know. Right now, I just got it as a mailing address.”
“You can’t figure out who owns it?”
“No sales figures reported, but here’s the thing: Apartments in that building start at ten million.”
“Dollars?”
“No, pesetas,” Rola countered. “Of course, dollars. The penthouse duplex on the top floor is on the market for seventy-five million.”
Wilde rubbed his face and checked the time. “I bet I could drive there in an hour.”
“Forty-six minutes if you leave now, according to Waze,” Rola said.
“I’ll see if I can borrow Laila’s car.”
“Oooooo,” Rola said, mockingly drawing out the word in a singsong voice. “You’re with Laila?”
“And Matthew,” Wilde said. “And Hester was here too.”
“Don’t get defensive.”
“I’m not.”
“I like Laila,” Rola said. “I like her a lot.”
“She has a boyfriend.”
“Yeah, but you know what you might have?”
“What?”
“An uber-wealthy relative who lives in Sky. Call me when you find out more.”
Wilde headed for the stairs and called up. Matthew came crashing down, high-fived Wilde without breaking stride, and made his way to the door. “Later!” Matthew shouted before slamming the door behind him.
Wilde stood there for a moment. From the top of the stairs, Laila said, “He’s grown up.”
“Yep.”
“Sucks.”
“Yep.”
“He’s spending the night with his girlfriend.”
“He told me.”
“I swore I wouldn’t be that mother, but...”
“I get it.” Wilde turned to face her. “Can I borrow your car?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll bring it back tonight.”
“Don’t bother. I won’t need it until noon.”
“Okay.”
“You know where the key is.”
Wilde nodded. “Thank you.”
“Good night, Wilde.”
“Good night, Laila.”
She turned toward her home office. Wilde grabbed the key from the basket by the door. Laila had traded in her BMW for a black Mercedes-Benz SL 550 — the same kind of car Darryl drove. He frowned at that, flipped the radio onto a classic rock station, and drove toward the city. The traffic across the George Washington Bridge was shockingly light. Wilde took the upper level and slowed in the right lane. Even from here, more than a hundred blocks north of Central Park South, he could make out Sky jutting into the clouds.
He parked in the lot under the Park Lane Hotel. Sky was a pure, emotionless glass tower. The lobby was all gleaming crystal and white and chrome. During the ride, Wilde had wondered about how to approach this, what he could really hope to accomplish by coming here. He entered.
A male security guard looked at Wilde as though he’d been phlegmed out of a vagrant’s throat. “Food deliveries are in the back.”
Wilde held up his empty hands. “Do you see me carrying food?”
A well-dressed woman who’d been behind the front desk came out and said, “May I help you?”
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. “Apartment seventy-eight, please.”
The receptionist shared a knowing glance with the security guard.
“Your name?”
“WW.”
“Pardon?”
“Tell them it’s WW.”
She flicked another look at the guard. Wilde tried to read their expressions. A building like this would have tight security. That was hardly a surprise. Even if he somehow got past this guard, there were two others by the elevators. Their expressions and mannerisms seemed born of something more akin to weariness and resignation than alarm or worry. It was as though they had been here before, played this role repeatedly, and were just going through the motions.
The receptionist went back to the desk and picked up the phone. She held the receiver to her ear for maybe a minute and said nothing. Then she came back over and said, “No one is home.”
“That’s odd. PB told me to come over.”
Both the guard and receptionist said nothing.
“PB is my cousin,” Wilde tried.