CHAPTER 66
IT WAS LATE afternoon, nearly five.
Justine and Scotty had spent the day looking for Danny. They’d been to his house and Piper’s house in the Hills. They had contacted both sets of friends and families and were only now leaving the studio after talking to everyone who had an opinion on Danny’s disappearance—which was everyone period.
Half the people they talked to said they thought Danny was irresponsible, immature, just didn’t understand the consequences of his actions.
The other half guessed that Danny understood the consequences full well, that his disappearance was a publicity stunt mimicking the movie plot. Several people suggested that Danny’s agent, Alan Barstow, had put Danny up to it.
In any case, Justine knew that soon the police would be looking for a blue Ferrari and two young movie stars.
Justine told Scotty to strap in, then she drove off the Harlequin Pictures lot with tires squealing, heading toward Beverly Hills.
As she drove, Justine beat on the steering wheel with her palms in frustration, furiously trying to make sense of Danny’s insane and dangerous escapade. He couldn’t claim that he’d had one of his blackouts when he’d driven that car off the location with Piper Winnick riding shotgun.
What had she missed?
Was he a narcissistic child?
Or was he a psychopath?
Either way, he was self-destructive.
Danny Whitman, the kid with everything to lose, could go to prison for twenty-five to life.
And that was if he hadn’t hurt Piper.
Justine sped through a yellow light, saying to Scotty, “You heard me tell him ‘Play it straight. Don’t go anywhere with the opposite sex.’”
“You have to turn in two blocks, Justine. Maybe you want to get over into the left lane now—”
“He agreed to our terms. I keep asking myself, is he crazy? I mean, is he actually crazy?”
Scotty stomped on an imaginary brake on his side of the car as Justine took a hard left through a red light.
Justine said, “See, I liked him, Scotty. I liked him a lot. Tell me that address again.”
“Three forty-five North Maple. Should be about three blocks down. I take responsibility, Justine, but I don’t know what I could have done differently. We had to stay out of the shot, which went all the way out to the road.”
“You couldn’t have known. I mean it, Scotty.”
The building coming up on their right was blocky, about fifteen stories high. Justine turned the car down a ramp on the east side of the building and took the car deep into the dark underground garage.
A few minutes later, she and Scotty were giving their names to a woman behind the reception desk of the Barbara Crowley Talent Agency.