“No. But a friend of hers is.”

“A friend? What are you talking about?”

“It’s Marcelline’s friend Carly. Say hello, Carly.”

Carly looked to Owen for confirmation that he really wanted her to say it out loud, and he nodded toward the dash.

“Um, hi.”

“That sounds like a kid. What is going on, Owen? Where is Marcelline? Is she okay?”

“Is who okay? Carly or Marcelline?” Owen cut his eyes at Carly and grinned.

“I’m serious. Do not fuck with me.”

“Language.”

Samantha’s voice faltered. “Owen, have you done something?”

“I have not. It was Jonathan. That’s why I’m sitting here with Carly, not Marcelline. He found her and they zoomed off on a high-speed chase. That’s the story I was told.”

“Did he take the painting?”

“I’m not sure, but that’s a reasonable guess.” He put his finger across his pursed lips for Carly’s benefit. She nodded and the little conspiracy crackled between them.

“So what are we doing?” Samantha asked.

“We?”

“My nerves are shot, Owen. Pick a side.”

“No. But I will say that, as it stands, I’m in it for the painting and to go home for now. Any number of things could change how I feel about that, but that’s where we are at the moment. If that helps you, great. And all that, of course, is if I can find it.” He cast a look at Carly, who returned it solidly, unblinking, unintimidated. Weird kid.

Samantha let some dead air hiss through the speakers. When she spoke, she sounded sad and worried. “That’s not good enough.”

“No?”

“I want you to help Marcelline.”

From the passenger seat, Carly darted in between Owen’s shoulder and the dashboard and leaned in. “I do, too,” she said, and glanced up at him.

“Carly,” Samantha said through the speaker. “Do you have something to write with?”

Carly looked expectantly at Owen, who gave up and pointed at the center console. She took Owen’s pen and twisted in her seat to pull a folded paper from her back pocket. “Got it.”

“Take down this number. Owen, if Carly here gives me a call later and tells me what happened, I will do a load of laundry for you. Whites. With bleach. Lots of bleach.” Samantha read out a telephone number and Carly called it back to her as she wrote.

“Is this a result-based promise or do intentions count?” Owen asked.

Samantha sighed. “I’m sorry for the crack about having your heart on your sleeve. That was unkind of me.”