“Nah, man. Not a soul.”
Griffin nodded his thanks, walking away. “I have no idea what Walter might be capable of,” he said to Lana, “though I’d back you to take him down in a fight.” His phone beeped. “Estelle’s calling me. I’ll text you this photo. Go for help if you need to—scream for security, hit the emergency button, whatever.”
“Estelle,” he said, answering.
“Have you seen the latest news?”
“You know I don’t look at news. About Darnell?”
“About you. I’ll send you screenshots.”
“O-kay. Hey, could these private investigators of yours pull some security camera footage? Some store or something that has a view of Beverly Grove Health Center.”
“I think they owe you one.”
He explained and ended the call. As he got into his car, his phone beeped. The screenshots Estelle had promised, all from gossip sites. She’d written a message:They all quote “an unnamed source close to the star.” I can think of only one person that could be. I’m sorry. I know you liked her.
He flicked through them, his face prickling. His mother’s warning rang in his head:Don’t trust the normies.
Chapter 23
Lana
With all the monitors beeping in Darnell’s room, Lana almost missed her phone chiming in her pocket. It was Griffin, sending her photos—screenshots of headlines from the websites he hated so much.
Griffin Hart’s Desperate Plea to Toby Fong.
Toby Fong’s Death: Griffin Hart’s Guilty Conscience.
I could have saved Toby Fong, and I didn’t: Griffin Hart’s Confession.
Her phone rang: Griffin.
“Griffin, that’s awful,” she said, getting up from her chair and moving to the window. The crowd outside the main doors had grown, their noise filtering through the thick glass.
“I’ve told that story to no one but you.”
She stilled. His tone was devoid of warmth. “What … what are you saying?”
“I remember the moment I told you. We were alone, in your car, driving to L.A. We couldn’t have been overheard.”
“Wait—you thinkIdid this? Sold your secrets? I would never!”
There was silence for a few seconds. “I don’t know how to take this, Lana.”
“Neither do I! I’m so sorry this has happened, but you can’t honestly think it was me.”
“I don’t know you. I met you three days ago.” She heard the ticking of a turn signal—he was driving. “I’ve told you so many things.”
“And I haven’t repeated anything to anyone—I’ve hardly talked to anyone without you there. There must be someone else who knows.”
“Who?”
“What about Estelle? Did you tell her?”
“No—did you?”
“Of course not.”
