sharing another woman’s husband, with raising the man’s bastard child—or children— while he kept another wife.
Claire closed her eyes. What an awful thing to say about the other woman. She was turning Lexie into a monster when Paul had likely fooled them both. Even if Lexie was complicit in polygamy, there was no way she knew about the dreadful shit that Paul was into.
“Dyadic Completion,” Paul would’ve told Claire. “The human brain tends to assume that, if there’s a victim, there has to be a villain.”
Was that how Claire was thinking of herself now, as just another one of Paul’s victims?
“Claire?” Lydia had relaxed her stranglehold on the steering wheel. “I think we need more information.”
Just the thought made Claire cringe. “What do you mean?”
“The county’s online records only go back ten years. Has Paul always owned the house?”
“Does that matter?”
“I just wonder if there were other Mrs. Fullers.”
Claire stared at the road. The problem with being around Lydia was that she easily thought the worst of Paul. “You think he buried them in the back yard?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Claire leaned her head into her hand. She didn’t want Lydia here, but she couldn’t imagine doing this without her. She had forgotten how annoying it was to have a sister.
Lydia signaled to merge onto the interstate. By way of an olive branch, she offered, “Dad always hated driving on Sundays.”
Claire didn’t want to, but she smiled. When her father was teaching her to drive, he’d warned her that Sunday was the most dangerous day to be on the road. He’d said that people were tired and grumpy from sitting in church for hours in scratchy clothes, and that they drove like bats out of hell when they were finally released.
Lydia asked, “What were you doing at the McDonald’s yesterday?”
Claire told her the truth. “Wondering if it would be impolite to throw up in the bathroom without ordering something.”
“I think they’re used to it.” Lydia accelerated into the fast lane. For someone who had complained so much about the car, she seemed to be enjoying the ride. “What do you think Nolan’s going to do when you don’t show up at his office?”
“I guess it depends. If what he’s doing is legitimate, then he’ll put out an APB on me. If it’s not, then he’ll start calling me again, or go by the house.”
“You left the garage door open. All he has to do is go inside and look at Paul’s laptop.”
“Let him.” Claire couldn’t see the point of trying to hide the movies. She was the one who’d turned them over to the police in the first place. “The same rules apply. If Nolan is there legitimately, then he’ll have a search warrant. If he’s not, then he can take the hard drive and shove it up his ass.”
“Maybe he’ll be there when Adam picks up the USB drive.”
“Great. They can watch the movies and jerk off together.”
Lydia didn’t laugh. “Can I ask you something?”
Claire studied her sister. She wasn’t the type to ask for permission. “What?”
“What do you do all day? Do you have a job or what?”
Claire sensed a loaded question. Lydia probably assumed she sat around all day eating bon-bons and spending Paul’s money. To be fair, sometimes she did, but other times Claire felt she made up for it. “I volunteer a lot. The humane shelter. The food bank. The USO.” She might as well be making a list of all the things that were important to her father. “I was helping at the Innocence Project for a while, but a case came through with Ben Carver’s name on it.” Ben Carver had been one of two serial killers who had strung their father along. “I took French and German to travel on. I still play the piano. I cut the grass if it needs it and it’s not too hot. I used to play tennis three or four hours a day, but for some reason no one will play with me anymore.” She asked Lydia, “What about you?”
“I work. I go home. I go to sleep. I get up and work again.”
Claire nodded as if she didn’t know otherwise. “You dating anybody?”
“Not really.” Lydia darted around a slow-moving Mercedes. “Does Mom know you’ve talked to me?” She acted like the question was spontaneous, but the rawness in her voice gave her away.
“I didn’t tell her,” Claire admitted. “But only because I was upset, and I knew if I called her she