She drove nearly an hour back to the house, leaving the little college town behind, taking the winding roads into the country. She hadn’t been there since the day she left, though Pop kept calling, inviting her to dinner. He left messages that were more like letters with updates, little snippets of news, mentions about the house, things that needed fixing. He had stories about his new little pet who he referred to annoyingly as her sister. Your sister—don’t get me wrong, she’s nothing like you—is a quick study. I think she’ll adjust to the life just fine. She kept sending him to voice mail.
Just come home, little girl, he said in his final message. Nothing’s changed. We’re family. Family is never perfect. There are always problems, but we’re always here.
Family.
Pop was obviously losing his mind. The distance she’d achieved from him allowed her to see what he was more clearly. A con at best. Maybe something worse. Maybe her abductor. A killer. Stella’s murder—it remained unsolved all these years later. And where had Gracie come from? Who was she? Where was her mother?
When Pearl brought the car to a stop, she saw the girl sitting on the porch, a slouched rag doll against the railing. She was curled up over her knees, fetal. Pearl felt a dump of dread; she sat with it. Listening to the ticking engine of her car, she thought, I should go. Far from here. But she didn’t. Because she knew it wasn’t what he wanted her to do.
She exited and walked to Gracie, footfalls crunching on the drive.
“What’s happened?” she asked. Her voice rang back harsh; she sounded like Stella, who never had any patience for weakness. Pull yourself together, Pearl.
But the girl just shook her head, expression blank. Pearl moved in closer and saw that there was a dark skein of blood down the front of her shirt, on her hands, under her nails. Those pale blue eyes were staring at something a million miles away.
“Are you hurt?” Pearl asked. Her voice calm, softer now. It seemed to disappear in the heaviness of the air.
Another slow shake of her mousy head.
The door stood ajar, light casting a yellow rectangle onto the boards. Silence. The night held its chilly breath. Pearl climbed the steps to the porch, the wood creaking beneath her weight. Slowly. She paused at the top, trying to quiet her beating heart. Then she pushed inside.
There were two bodies, lying side by side, blood pooling. An unpleasant odor, something metallic and sharp in her nose. She took a step back, time freezing solid. Pop, faceup—a hole in his head, in his chest. He lay on his back, palms up. Eyes calm, mouth frozen in surprise, as if he died trying to believe what was happening.
Was it another nightmare? Would she wake up? Down, down the turret that bored into the earth, a shadow behind her. But no. The details were too sharp, the odors too strong.
“Pop,” she whispered. But he just stared back at her, knowing.
There was no justice in the system for a con. When the tables turned, when the mark got wise, when the bill for your deeds came due, there was no one to call. There was an order to the universe, and you could only run your scam for so long.
Beside him, a woman lay prone, the back of her head a messy pulp. Even so, Pearl recognized her. Pearl felt bile rise in her throat but she forced it back. Something about the thickness of the woman’s shoulders, her style of dress—tacky top and too-tight jeans. The dyed red of her hair. Bridget. The woman who’d rattled Pop in Phoenix.
Never leave them with nothing left to lose. Pop hadn’t taken his own advice. He’d hurt her and she’d hunted him down.
She stared, a siren in her head. Then, tears. They seemed to spring from her eyes of their own volition, not propelled by any feeling. Inside, she was quiet as a tomb.
Footsteps behind her. Soft, shuffling.
“I killed her,” said Gracie. It was just a whisper.
Pearl surveyed the scene. The gun Bridget clearly used to kill Pop lay near her hand, some kind of semiautomatic, she thought—but Pearl didn’t know anything about guns. Also on the ground, covered with blood and gore, a heavy jade bookend Pearl recognized from a set in the study. A Fu Lion, something Pop had taken from the bookstore. Stella had picked them up at an estate sale; Pearl remembered