CHAPTER 75

GRANT

I lay in bed next to Perla for hours, my mind whirring through possible scenarios for escape. If she needed to, all our cars likely had the ability to be tracked, except for the vintage Porsche, though she had put one of those Apple AirTags in it somewhere. That was okay—I could probably find and disable that from my phone. And I could turn off my phone's location, which I did every time I went to the prison, so that was already second nature to me. I'd toss Sophie's phone or leave it behind. In fact, I should get rid of mine, too, and just start fresh with new phones.

A light buzzing sounded, and I froze in place as Perla sat up on her side of the bed and stretched, then eased out.

I closed my eyes as she came around the foot of the bed. There were the soft sounds of an approach, and then the blanket shifted and her hair tickled my arm as she leaned over and loudly whispered my name. "Grant."

I didn't move, attempting to keep my breathing regular and wondering what she was doing.

"Grant," she said, louder, and then she poked me in the shoulder. Despite every instinct to open my eyes, I didn't.

She left, and I waited until I heard noises in her closet, then peeked. She reappeared in the doorway of the walk-in, dressed in all black, a large shopping bag in hand.

Maybe I didn't have to leave her. Maybe she was leaving me.

I heard the bedroom door open; then she left our suite. I counted to ten before I sat up and reached for my cell. It wasn't on the bedside table, so I groped for the charging cord, then followed it, looking for the phone.

My search came up empty. Perla had taken it. Not good.

I snuck out of bed, then crept to the door and eased it open, looking into the hall.

Perla was coming toward me from the direction of Sophie's room. I jerked backward and was about to hurry back to bed when she turned at the staircase and headed downstairs.

Sticking my head out, I listened to her jog down the stairs. Easing out into the hall, I tried to track her movement on the lower floor. Perla had come from Sophie's direction, and I softly moved forward, wanting to look in on the girls. She had only been down there for a moment. Too quickly for anything to happen, yet I had to know my daughter was okay.

Approaching Sophie's room was like the opening act of a horror movie. The happy streamers and balloons around the double doors, the H APPY B IRTHDAY sign ... I halted halfway down the hall and realized the decor was eerily reminiscent of the front door to Jenny Folcrum's house on the night of her party. Similar banner, streamers, and balloons. Of course, Sophie's were elaborate and well done, while Jenny's had been hand-drawn letters on construction paper, affixed to the trailer's walls with Scotch tape. Her balloons had been half-deflated, the single strand of streamers limp and sad by the next morning, when the crime scene investigators photographed the house.

Perla's bag was in the middle of the hall, and I crouched beside it and looked in.

It was a collection from hell, most of the contents present at my sister's crime scene. A Ouija board, cupcakes, cards, and there ... I saw a long knife blade and backed away from the bag. There was no reason for any of this to be here, and my stomach knotted with a nausea-inducing blend of fear and rage.

From downstairs, I heard a noise and froze, listening as the front door swung open. What the ... I quickly walked back to the landing and peered over the railing just in time to see Perla exit through the front door and pull it shut behind her.