CHAPTER 90

SOPHIE WULTZ

The true-crime community exploded that morning. It went beyond the podcasts and the vloggers and the Reddit threads. We were getting calls from Good Morning America and the New York Times . Before, we had been pretty much shunned by so-called ‘real press'—but since we'd been the contact for the TFK emailer—that stands for ‘the Folcrum Killer,' by the way—we were suddenly on everyone's wish list. Gabrielle and I were flying first-class to New York to interview with The View , but then her phone rang, and it was little Sophie Wultz. And that, honestly, is what took us to another hemisphere of fame.

—Rachel, Murder Unplugged

They'd arrested my dad that morning. Paul said it wouldn't happen, that he'd take care of it, but now he was behind bars and I was at Mandolin's house, and everyone was having whispered conversations they didn't think I could hear about where I'd end up living now that I was basically an orphan.

I was in Mandolin's backyard, kicking a soccer ball against their racquetball-court wall, when Paige showed up. She didn't even go through their house; she slipped around the edge, and I liked that immediately. It was like she knew where I'd be.

Paige didn't say anything at the beginning. She just walked up next to me and put in a cross kick, sending the ball toward the wall. I jogged forward, using the edge of my foot to punt it back, and we worked in silent tandem for several minutes.

She had been under investigation, but unlike my dad, she had been cleared. I tried not to hold it against her but my irritation simmered, and I kicked out harder than necessary.

"Did you pour sugar in my gas tank?"

The question caught me so off guard that I missed the ball altogether. "What?" I turned to her, my chest heaving a little from the exertion.

"Did you pour sugar in my car's gas tank?"

"Why would I do that?" I was so confused, especially because of the way she was staring at me. It wasn't an angry look; it was like I was a puzzle she was trying to solve.

"What about the tacks in the kitchen?"

I swiped some of my hair away from my face. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She looked toward Mandolin's house, which was like twice the size of ours. If they did adopt me, there'd be plenty of room, but I didn't want to live here. I wanted to be back home with my dad.

"I think your mom was fucking with us."

Despite myself, I grinned at the curse word, which she didn't apologize for or wince at. "That sounds about right. Mom liked to fuck with people." I didn't feel guilty saying it. It was the truth, and I had never minded it, given that her actions typically benefited us.

"The evidence against your dad ... it's mostly electronic. Text messages ... emails. That sort of thing. Mostly at night. Just like a few texts I once got from you. Weird texts." She was still staring at me, like I knew something she didn't. I kept my mouth shut, waiting to see where she was going with this.

Then she asked something I really didn't expect, something that made me stand stick straight with interest. "How do you feel about talking to your grandfather?"