hoarded. A Gucci tote sat in the well in front of the passenger seat. Pearl grabbed it; she’d go through it later.
Pearl had a million questions.
First, how had Bridget found Pop? That was the big question. He was so careful, always so sure that he could not be traced, followed, found. Obviously, there was a failure in his planning. The house was vulnerable.
Next, who else knew that Bridget had come here? Would others follow when Bridget failed to return home? Police? A private detective, maybe?
That seemed right. That Bridget had hired someone to help her. Someone who had been able to follow Pop’s trail from Phoenix to this house in the woods—over years and miles. Pop was sure that he was a ghost, that he was safe, that they were safe in this house. Where had he gone wrong?
She sat a moment, wondering if there was a way she could keep the car. Probably not. Was it a lease? she wondered. If it was, it probably had a LoJack, which would allow the leasing company and thereby the police to find it when Bridget was reported missing.
How long would that be? Was there a ticking clock?
When Pearl knew Bridget, however briefly, the other woman had no family, a smattering of loose tie acquaintances, mainly connected to work. She was a lonely woman, with a prickly personality. An accountant, someone more interested in numbers than in people. A loner. Exactly Pop’s type. She’d opened to him like a flower. He lit her up with his attentions.
She said I made her believe in love, he’d told Pearl proudly.
If Bridget had held a grudge this long, gone to such lengths to find Pop, the chances were she hadn’t improved her social life much. She was probably lonelier and more disconnected than ever. Decisions like the one Bridget had made—to hunt and kill someone who had wronged her—were made in a vacuum, where there were no dissenting voices. No one who cared enough to lead her down another path.
Pearl climbed out of the car, left it running, and walked back to hers—which had seemed like a perfectly fine car this morning and now, compared to the Mercedes, looked like a piece of junk. She knocked on the window and the girl lowered it. Her eyes were glassy. She was going to cry again. Or maybe that’s how she always looked.
“How old are you?” she asked Gracie. “Can you drive?”
The girl nodded. “I’m fifteen.”
“Follow me back to the house.”
Gracie slid into the driver’s seat, and Pearl climbed back into the Mercedes. She pulled out, Gracie following behind as they headed back to the house.
For Pop, it was never just about the score, but about how well you played the game. He was like one of those vampires who tried not to drink human blood. He believed you could scam a person, take their money, but leave them with something they didn’t have before. He believed you could run your con with kindness, with respect. You could give a lonely woman love, romance, pleasure—for a time. You could give a family the joy of believing they’d found someone they’d lost. You could make a person believe they were going to receive an unexpected windfall, a big win after a life of failed enterprises.
He didn’t view himself as just a con. He saw himself as a dream weaver.
He wove a dream for Bridget. When he yanked it away, she got mad. Mad enough, apparently, to tirelessly look for him for years, find him, and eventually kill him.
“You screwed up, Pop,” she said to no one.
In the garage, she found some tarps, two shovels. There was an unopened container of lye. Why would he have that in his garage? But she already knew there were lots of things she didn’t know about Pop. Things she didn’t even want to know.
The lye would certainly come in handy now. When mixed with water, it aided in the decomposition of tissue. There were shelves of gallon jugs of water; Pop was a bit of a hoarder when it came to supplies. He liked to know there was enough—enough food, water, cash to get them through hard times. She took five jugs, loaded them in the car.
When she got back to the Toyota, the girl was still sitting there, immobile and pale as a statue, staring ahead. God, she was useless.
“I’m going to need your help,” Pearl said. “I can’t do this alone.”