In the distance, a small circle of daylight was approaching faster and faster, growing in size until finally their taxi shot out of the tunnel, leaving them squinting in the bright sunlight.

Mick’s cell phone started buzzing. He glanced at the screen. “Peterson. Again. The man is like a dog with a bone.”

“You better answer it. Otherwise he’ll just keep on calling,” Sarah said, still gazing out the window.

Mick sighed, swiped to answer. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” Peterson was definitely freaking out. His voice was an octave higher than normal. “I’ll tell you what the fuck is going on. Harmony’s dead.”

“Wait.” Mick’s lungs suddenly felt like they were embedded in ice, and his brain seemed to be having difficulty processing. “Back up. It sounded like you said Harmony’s—”

“Dead. That’s right, d-e-a-d. What are you, fucking deaf? Why didn’t you pick up your goddamned phone? We’ve got a movie opening in eight days, and nobody’s in the office! Lois is in the hospital, Harmony’s dead, you’re out of town, and I’m having to spend my fucking morning at your house dealing with the cops.”

“My house?”

“Yeah, they are swarming all over the place. Harmony drowned in your pool. This is not going to look good in the press, dude. Naked secretary found facedown in your pool. You better really be in New York and have a fucking good alibi . . . Oh shit! I don’t have a fucking alibi! I spent the night alone, with my dick in hand, watching reruns of Be-fucking-witched. Oh Jesus. I’m screwed.” Peterson let out a low moan.

“Paul, I don’t understand. What the hell were you doing at my house in the first place?”