CHAPTER 45

PERLA

Paige told me a few weeks into working there that she had a serious crush on the dad. She said he was like a nerdy Bradley Cooper. I remember once, he texted her at night when we were out, and she let out a shriek, she was so excited.

—Jeralynn Gutierrez, college student

It was just a moment. A moment when I came in with the groceries and Grant was standing in the kitchen, pen in hand, the newspaper on the counter, open to the daily crossword. Paige was beside him, her finger pointing to a clue, their heads right beside each other. Innocent, maybe. I walked in without hesitation and put my bags on the counter, and she stepped away and he looked up, and then the moment was over.

Even though it ended, it had still happened. And I noted it, added it to the column of Things Grant Had Done Wrong, and he inched forward in the race of whom I would set up for the crime. I held that chip in my hand and loved the feel of power it gave me.

That night, when her car wouldn't start and I gave her a ride home, I planted another seed, this one with Leewood Folcrum's name on it.

The Mercedes hummed along the road, hugging the curves, its automatic wipers taking care of the rain that peppered the windshield. Paige pulled a little on her belt and looked out her window. "I'm so sorry about my car. I don't know what it could be."

"Don't worry about it." I flicked my brights at an oncoming car, and he lowered his in response, a streetlight illuminating the car as it swept toward us. An orange Ferrari. Paige craned her neck, watching as it passed. I bet she'd never been in a Ferrari. Never would.

"Tell me about your mom." I slowed at an intersection, glancing both ways to make sure it was clear. "What's she do?"

"Um, she's in retail?" Her voice rose at the end as if it were a question. "She works at a shoe store in Dayton."

How miserably bleak but also expected. My mother had worked in retail as well. I toyed with what, if anything, to tell her.

"Take a right at the next light. Um, please." She played with the ends of her ponytail, separating the limp strands.

"And you said your father works at the prison. You said it was called Lynncaster?" I pronounced the name wrong and waited to see if she would correct me.

"Yep. He's been there like a decade."

"Is that a men's or women's prison?" I put on my blinker, then took a right turn at the intersection.

"Men's."

A conversationalist, she was not.

I faked a shudder. "I can't imagine being around criminals like that, all day, every day."

She let out a small laugh. "I guess? I don't know. He doesn't really talk about it. I think he just sees them like normal people. Normal people who made some mistakes."

Normal people who just made some mistakes. I'd have to save that and whip it out when it was time for her to be locked away as a murderer. "I forgive you, Paige ... you're just a normal person who made some mistakes."

I hunched forward, peering out through the increasing rain. "So what's the most dangerous criminal he's ever dealt with?"

She looked out her window. "I don't really know." It was so offhand, the way she said it. As if she didn't really know—but the slight pitch in her voice gave her away.

"You should ask your dad. Especially if you're wanting to go into criminology. I bet he could get you in to visit someone big. Ask them some questions, like a mini interview."

"Oh, I don't know." She looked down at her knees, then brushed her bangs away from her face. "This is my road here. Cedar Trail."

I turned down the gravel road, my car bumping over the uneven surface, and wondered how far I should push it. "You're probably right. Sitting down with a killer ..." I turned where she pointed and then parked in front of a double-wide trailer and a blue Kia Sorento SUV.

"It'd probably be too much for someone like you." I paused, then quickly added, "I just mean, because you're so young and quiet. But if you are wanting to do something in that field ... I don't know, Paige. It would be a fantastic résumé builder. Trust me on that." I placed my hand on her forearm, underlining the point.

She reached for her bag, then for the car's handle.

"Need help getting your things inside?"

"No, I have it. Thank you." She gave me a nervous smile.

"Tomorrow, I'll have Grant pick you up," I offered. "Then you can drive this car home. Use it for the next few days while we sort out what's wrong with yours." What was wrong with hers was the sugar in the gas tank, a problem I'd created and would blame on Sophie, but only to Paige.

She protested, both about Grant and about the use of the Mercedes, but I didn't let her out of the car until she agreed. She would love the ride and alone time with my husband, and driving the $100,000 Mercedes would give her a glimpse of the life that she didn't have. That, and it would be a highly visible sign to everyone that Paige Smith was aggressively moving into our life.

I'd pay for the repairs to Paige's car and tell her that I'd handle Sophie's discipline myself, that she didn't need to worry about that. Paige would most certainly mention it to someone, and this would be the first of a few manufactured aggressions that Sophie would display—all building on the wall between them that would act as a potential motive for Paige's desire to remove Sophie from the Grant + Paige equation.

Again, I didn't need it to be real. I only needed documented red flags that would raise doubts in a jury's mind. And it would be easier since Sophie wouldn't be around to contradict the history.

I backed slowly out of the spot and pulled a tight U-turn. As I headed out, a smile bloomed on my face.

It was almost too easy.