Харлан Кобен - The Boy from the Woods

“I’m having someone from my office trace down Naomi’s mother,” Hester said. “I’ll talk to her.”

Matthew nodded. “Thanks.”

“Is there anyone else we should talk to, Matthew? A friend of Naomi’s maybe?”

“She has no friends.”

“A teacher, a family member—”

He snapped his finger and his eyes lit up. “Miss O’Brien.”

Wilde said, “Ava O’Brien?”

Matthew nodded. “She’s, like, an assistant art teacher or something.”

“And you think—?” Hester asked.

The driver honked the horn again. Hester silenced it with a glare.

“I gotta go. I’m hoping to learn something at the party.”

“Learn what?” Hester asked.

But Matthew didn’t reply. He hopped into the backseat of the car. Wilde and Hester watched them drive away.

“You know this Miss O’Brien?” Hester asked Wilde.

“Yes.”

“Should I ask how?”

Wilde said nothing.

“That’s what I thought. Will she talk to you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” When the car disappeared around the bend, Hester asked, “What do you think?”

“I think Matthew isn’t telling us everything.”

“Maybe Naomi’s mother calls me back. Maybe she lets me talk to Naomi.”

“Maybe,” Wilde said.

“But you don’t think so.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

They both turned and looked down the cul-de-sac toward the Crimstein homestead.

“I have to get back to the city to do my show,” Hester said.

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t have time to get into this with Laila now.”

“Probably best,” Wilde said. “Do your show. I’ll talk to Laila, then I’ll talk to Ava O’Brien.”

Hester handed him a business card with her mobile number on it. “Stay in touch, Wilde.”

“You too, Hester.”

When Laila answered the front door, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you using the front door?”

Wilde always came in through the back door. Always. He hiked through the woods that came up behind the Crimstein house. He’d been doing that since the days David sneaked him inside when they were little boys.

“Well?”

Laila had this passion and energy that turned her beauty into a living, breathing, pulsating entity. You couldn’t help but be drawn in, to watch, to want to be a part of it.

“I can’t stay for dinner,” he said.

“Oh.”

“Sorry. Something just came up.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I can come back later, if you want.”

Laila studied his face. He wanted to tell her about Matthew and this Naomi situation, but after weighing the pros and cons, he’d decided that keeping his godson’s confidence trumped informing on him to his mother. For today anyway. For now. It was a close call, but Laila would understand.

Maybe.

“I have an early morning anyway,” Laila said.

“Got it.”

“And Matthew is out tonight. I don’t know what time he’ll get back.”

Wilde mimicked her in the gentlest way as he quoted her: “‘You don’t owe me an explanation.’”

Laila gave him a smile. “Ah, what the hell. Come back if you can.”

“Might be late.”

“I don’t care,” she said. Then: “You didn’t tell me why you’re using the front door.”

“I spotted Matthew on the street.”

Not a lie.

“What did he say to you?”

“That he was going to a party at someone named Crash’s house.”

“Crash Maynard,” she said.

“As in?”

“Yeah, the Maynard Manor. Son of Dash.”

“Dash has a son named Crash?”

“His father loved the movie Bull Durham or something. Can you believe that?”

He shrugged. “When your name is Wilde...”

“Touché.”

Darkness had fallen. The lullaby of crickets played, his constant comforting companion. “I better go.”

“Wait.” Laila dug into her jeans pocket. “No need to play mountain man.” She pulled out her key fob and tossed it to him. “Take my car.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I may not be gone long.”

“I’ll be here, Wilde.”

Laila closed the door.

Eight months ago, when Wilde first encountered Ava O’Brien, she was living off Route 17 in a sprawling condo development of dull grays and beiges. That night, as they stumbled under popping fluorescent streetlights back to her place, Ava had made a joke about how the condos looked so much alike that she often stuck her key in the wrong door.

Wilde had no such issue. He still remembered the exact address and location.

No one answered on the first knock. Wilde knew the condo layout. He checked the window on the upper right. The light was on. That didn’t mean much. He looked for a passing shadow. Nothing.

He knocked again.

Shuffling feet. A pause. It was nearly nine p.m. now. Ava O’Brien was probably looking through the peephole. He stood and waited. A moment later he heard a sliding chain. The knob turned.

“Wilde?”

Ava wore a big terry cloth robe. He knew the robe. He had even worn it.

“Can I come in for a second?” he asked.

He tried to read her face to see whether she was happy or sad to see him. Not that it would change anything. Her expression, however, seemed mixed. There was maybe surprise. There was maybe some joy. There was also something else — something in her expression that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Now?”

He didn’t bother replying.

Ava leaned forward, met his eye, and whispered, “I’m not alone, Wilde.”

Ah, so now he could quite put his finger on it.

Her face softened. “Ah, Wilde,” she said in a voice too tender. “Why tonight?”

Maybe he shouldn’t have come. Maybe he should have left this to Hester.

“It’s about Naomi Pine,” he said.

That got her attention. She glanced behind her, stepped out onto the stoop, and closed the door.

“What about Naomi?” she asked. “Is she okay?”

“She’s missing.”

“What do you mean, missing?”

“She’s one of your students, right?”

“Sort of.”

“What do you mean, sort of?”

“What do you mean, she’s missing?”

“Did you notice she’s been absent?”

“I assumed she was sick.” Ava tightened the terry cloth robe. “I don’t understand. What’s your interest in this?”

“I’m trying to find her.”

“Why?” When he didn’t reply right away, Ava asked, “Did you ask her father?”

“My colleague” — easier than trying to explain about Hester — “did.”

“And?”

“He claims that Naomi is with her mother.”

“He said that?”

“Yes.”

Now Ava looked genuinely concerned. “Naomi’s mother hasn’t been a part of her life for a long time.”

“So we’ve been told.”

“How did you end up coming to me?”

“A source” — again easier — “claimed that you’re close to her.”

“I still don’t understand. Why are you looking for Naomi? Did someone hire you?”

“No. I’m doing it as a favor.”

“A favor for whom?”

“I can’t tell you. Do you have any idea where she is?”

The door behind her opened. A big man with one of those superlong beards filled the doorway. He looked at Ava, then at Wilde. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” Wilde said.

He looked back at Ava. “I better be going.”

“No need,” Wilde said. “This won’t take long.”

The bearded man looked at Ava some more. Then, as if he’d seen an answer there, he nodded to himself. “Rain check?” he asked her.

“Sure.”

He kissed her on the cheek, slapped Wilde on the back, and jogged down the steps. He slid into his GMC Terrain, headed out in reverse, and waved goodbye. Wilde turned back toward Ava and considered making an apology. She waved that away.