Big Bobbo just stood there.
Wilde said, “That’s a hell of a rationalization.”
“It’s pure truth.”
“Peter’s sister thinks he committed suicide.”
“And if that’s true, that’s terrible. But you can’t blame me. Every week someone gets heartbroken on those shows. If one of them ends their life, is that another contestant’s fault? Look, I didn’t expect the hatred to get that out of control, but a healthy person doesn’t commit suicide over mean tweets.”
Wilde was awestruck by the passion in her self-justification. “In Peter’s case, it may have been more than mean tweets.”
“Like what?”
“Like maybe Peter was genuinely in love. Maybe the woman he loved wouldn’t believe him when he denied roofying her sister. Or maybe, a few months later, he realized the truth—that his beloved wife had set him up. Did you ever love him?”
“That’s beside the point,” she said. “When you watch two people fall in love during a movie, does it matter if they’re in love off-screen?”
“You weren’t in a movie.”
“Yeah, we are. Jenn Cassidy from Waynesville, Ohio, doesn’t live in Manhattan’s most expensive apartment building. She doesn’t get invited to the Met Gala or hobnob with the rich and famous or endorse luxury brands or dine at the trendiest restaurants. People don’t care where she’s seen or what she’s wearing. We in reality have chosen to make our life a movie. How do you not get that?”
Wilde was tired of listening to her. “Where is Peter?” he asked.
“I don’t have a clue.”
Chapter
Thirty-Nine
There was nothing more to learn from Jenn Cassidy, so Wilde left their room. He had paid a hefty price for a room of his own, so he figured that he might as well use it. He lay down on the hotel bed and stared at the ceiling. Shakespeare had written, “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.” It was a bit of a stretch, but perhaps Jenn had a point. Peter had signed up for this life. Fame is a drug. Celebrity is what everyone wants—power and riches and the good life. Jenn was losing that. So was Peter. So she cut him loose in a way that would save herself.
But that didn’t tell him where Peter Bennett was.
Wilde now knew that Peter hadn’t cheated on Jenn or roofied Marnie—but he’d known that before he confronted Jenn. The fact that she’d orchestrated the whole thing didn’t change the big picture much. It didn’t tell Wilde who killed Henry McAndrews and Katherine Frole and Martin Spirow. It didn’t tell Wilde who his mother was or why she’d ended up abandoning him in the woods.
In short, all he learned was that a reality star had lied. Hardly earth-shattering stuff.
Sleep wouldn’t come, so Wilde headed out onto Columbus Circle and made his way south. He cut through Times Square, just because, and worked his way down to Washington Square Park. The walk was a little under three miles. Wilde took his time. He stopped for coffee and a croissant. He liked the city in the morning. He didn’t know why. There was something about eight million souls getting ready for their day that appealed to him. Perhaps because his normal life—a life Jenn would undoubtedly find unworthy—had always been the opposite.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Laila. He couldn’t stop thinking of what this walk would be like with her by his side.
Wilde arrived at Washington Square Park. Central Park was his favorite, but this place was New York City in all its eccentric glory. The marble arch was done in the Roman triumphal style, designed by famed architect Stanford White, who was murdered in 1906 at the Madison Square Theatre by jealous and “mentally unstable” （according to his defense） millionaire Harry Kendall Thaw over Thaw’s wife, Evelyn Nesbit. It was the first “Trial of the Century.” The arch contained two marble figures of Washington in relief—Washington at War on one column, and Washington at Peace on the other. In both sculptures, Washington was flanked by two figures. In Washington at War, the two figures represented Fame and Valor, Fame seeming an ironic choice to Wilde, especially when he thought about Peter and Jenn, while the two figures flanking Washington at Peace were Wisdom and Justice.
As Wilde stood and stared up at the Washington at Peace sculpture, he sensed someone moving next to him. A female voice said, “Look closely at the figure on the far right.”
The woman was in her early sixties. She was short, stocky, wearing a tan jacket, black turtleneck, blue jeans.