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The Match (Wilde, #2)(58)

Author:Harlan Coben

Except the Bennetts chose to move.

Suddenly. Without any kind of warning. They leave their children with a sitter, the father comes home, he drags them to some remote spot where no one knows them, they now have a new baby boy.

Something was way off.

“You said your dad is dead and your mom is, I think your words were ‘in and out.’”

“Dementia. Probably Alzheimer’s.”

“I think it may be worth talking to her.”

Vicky shook her head. “What good would that do, Wilde?”

“We want answers.”

“You want answers. I get that. But whatever happened all those years ago, however my family ended up with Peter, I mean, what good will it do to dredge that all up now? She’s an old woman. Fragile. In a bad mental state. She would get so agitated whenever I asked about Peter’s birth that I stopped.”

Wilde saw no point in pushing this right now. Rola would be able to find out where the mother was staying. They could decide what to do then.

“Wilde?”

He looked at her.

“I don’t know how to say this, but for me and my family, I think this is over.”

“How do you mean?”

“You said Peter is a suspect in this McAndrews murder.”

“He will be, I think, yes.”

“So think about it. Peter has been destroyed in so many ways. He lost everything. Let’s say what we both think is possible. Let’s say he found this McAndrews and somehow ended up involved in the man’s death. Accident. Self-defense. Or even, though I can’t believe it, murder. That would be the last straw for any man, wouldn’t it? That would be when a man would run away and find a cliff or waterfall and…”

Wilde shook his head. “But what about his last post?”

“What about it?”

“Peter said lies spread quicker than truth and not to be so quick to believe what you hear. He told me the same in his message to me—that people were lying about him.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

“I think you should leave.”

“If there is something more—”

“There isn’t, Wilde. It’s just…it’s over. Peter’s dead.”

“And if he’s not?”

“Then he ran away and doesn’t want to be found. Either way, I think you should leave.”

Chapter

Twenty

Chris Taylor waited for the full Boomerang animal menagerie to log into the secure video conferencing. The Giraffe came in first, followed by the Kitten and the Alpaca. A minute later, Polar Bear appeared. That made up the quorum. When they began this venture, they all agreed to a number of rules to protect their identities, the group in general, and their work. They also made rules about a quorum—that is, five out of six of them had to be present to discuss anything. If two couldn’t make it, you just postponed the meeting.

“Let’s wait a second for Panther.”

They waited far longer than a second. Chris sent out another reminder. Again for reasons of safety, no one in the group could directly message another member. All messages had to go to the entire Boomerang menagerie.

“Panther isn’t responding,” Giraffe said.

“They didn’t respond to the earlier call,” Kitten added.

The group all identified as they/them, not so much out of true gender or politics, but because it was one more layer of protection. Chris had no idea of the real genders. This could be a group of him and five females or him and five males or any other combination under the sun. He had no idea where they lived other than Kitten telling them they went by Central European Time, so as to facilitate scheduling meetings when they were all awake.

“No reason to panic,” Polar Bear said. “We only got Lion’s message today.”

That was true, but Chris did not like this. He did not like this at all. It would be one thing if one of the others was missing. He’d be worried, yes, but of all people to be a no-show, the Panther?

“We have the quorum,” Giraffe said. “Do you want to tell us what’s up now or do you want to wait for Panther?”

Chris thought about it. “I would be happier if Panther especially was here.”

“Why especially?”

“Because this involves them.”

“How so?”

Then, thinking more about it, Chris said, “I’m going to screen share something with all of you.”

He brought up an article from page one of the Hartford Courant. There was a large headshot of Henry McAndrews in his blue uniform. The headline above his smiling visage read:

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