CHAPTER 49

"I just don't know what to do." My words were rushing together, and I forced myself to pause and take a deep breath. I started to brush back my hair, but my hands were trembling, so I fisted them and put them in my lap. Dr. Maddox noticed it all, her gaze twitching from each tell like a pinball in motion, finally landing on my face and sticking.

She had warmed to me in the more recent sessions. Each visit, she sat a little straighter in her chair, her dismissive manner slowly replaced by an eager interest in whatever I had to say. The hook, as my father used to say, was set.

"Okay, just take a deep breath now." She gripped the top of her notepad with both hands as if it were a stroller handle. "Tell me what happened."

"I don't know where to start." I swallowed. "I mean, if you met Grant, you would never think—he is such a gentleman in person. And so handsome. I mean, everyone says how nice he is. Everyone."

"Did something happen?"

I turned my head, looking out the window. It was starting to rain. I had left my umbrella in the car. This cashmere turtleneck would be ruined.

"Perla, pay attention. I want to make sure we have enough time to discuss this before today's session ends."

"Yes, I have to pick up Sophie at two thirty from school," I said faintly and adjusted the band of my watch. "Grant will be furious if I'm late."

She nodded and leaned forward. "Okay, so what is it? You'll feel better once you say it aloud. I promise you will. Then we can examine it together, in a protected space."

I took another deep breath, letting the air fill up my lungs in a deep inhale before releasing it slowly, making sure I had all the pieces of me in place and perfect before I spoke. She was watching every move, and so far, she was following my breadcrumbs perfectly.

Glancing at my watch one more time for good measure, I cleared my throat.

She almost fell forward in anticipation.

Giving her an apologetic look, I wet my lips. "I was in Grant's office, just straightening things up, and I found this file he had. It was filled with photos of dead little girls."

There. Even Barney Fife wouldn't pass that one up.

She frowned. "What do you mean? What kind of photos?"

"Crime scene photos. Close-ups of the blood and their bodies ..." I inhaled and put one hand on my stomach as if I were going to be physically sick. "Really gory things. They were all from that old crime—you know, the one I mentioned in an earlier session. The one that was on the television the first night when we had sex."

"Oh yes." She nodded. "The Fokeman Gala or something like that."

"The Folcrum Party," I said tightly.

"Okay, but these aren't photos he took. These are police photos?"

I nodded.

"Why would Grant have photos of that?"

"He's become obsessed with the event," I said bluntly. "There was a podcast that recently covered it, and it has just lit this fire in him. I try to talk to him about it, but he gets really scary whenever I do. I can't let him know that I found this folder, he would ..." I shake my head roughly. "I don't know what he'd do. But twice I've come in and found him watching interviews with the killer. And you know, Sophie is the same age as the victims."

"Do you think Sophie's age has triggered a fatherly concern that something similar might happen to her?"

"No." I shook my head once more. "See, this is why I shouldn't have said anything to you. You're just like everyone else—you see Grant as this perfect father and husband, and I've been trying to tell you ... this is something else. Something dark and twisted. Something that terrifies me."

She looked bewildered. Maybe I was sharing too much. I should be giving her bite-size amounts, not trying to stuff a porterhouse down her throat.

"I'm sorry, Perla." She reached out and patted my knee. "I'm just trying to understand how all of this connects. You both found out about this event on the night you met, right? Do you think that Grant feels some tie to it because of your initial history with it?"

Oh my word. She was chasing fleas and ignoring the mangy dog. At this rate, it would be next year before she found my next breadcrumb. I let out a huff of irritation, and wondered if telling her about Grant's sister would help or hurt the situation. Probably hurt. She'd dismiss the evidence, find a way to turn it around into being caused by "environments of doubt." That was what she had already done with Paige—pushed my concerns to the side faster than vegetables off her dinner plate.

"No, that's not it." Standing up, I tucked my purse underneath my arm. "Look, I have to go. I'm having surgery next week, so I won't be able to make the Thursday session, but I'll let the receptionist know the dates."

"Surgery?" She stood quickly and almost knocked her iced coffee over. "I hope everything's okay."

"Oh, I'm fine. Just something minor." My swollen face and bruising would give away the nose job, but maybe I could do a few telehealth appointments to cover it up.

"Okay," she said faintly, and I savored the look of worry that crossed her face. Later, she would rehash the conversation and see her failure to acknowledge my fears. She would be concerned that I was upset and that she had damaged our relationship and trust. She would call me and apologize, and I would be gracious but cold, and in the next session, she would play the proper part. I didn't care how it happened, only that it did.

I exited on that note and with that expectation, but I didn't like the taste it left in my mouth.