“Charles Finch, Pearl, Grace—they’re con artists,” said Crowe. “Working their way into people’s lives and taking what they can get.”
Con artists. It seemed like such an old-fashioned idea, something almost amusing, harmless, a minor scam like a shell game or three-card monte. An email that you might get from a Nigerian prince. Not this. Not lives destroyed, women hurt and killed.
“So, Geneva works her way into my home, becomes our nanny, then seduces Graham with the intent to blackmail him. And Pearl? What’s her role in this? And why?”
“That I can’t answer,” he said. “Only she knows what kind of game she was running, what she wanted. Maybe she was just trying to hurt you.”
There was more to it than that, wasn’t there? Selena thought. More than a game with my life?
“My guess is that they didn’t know what your husband, Graham, was capable of. They misjudged him. Geneva tried to blackmail him like she did Erik Tucker. And he killed her.”
A jolt of sadness, a rush of tears to her eyes. She moved to wipe them away.
“You think she’s dead,” said Selena.
Crowe rubbed a hand over the crown of his head.
“We have some footage of Graham disposing of something in a dumpster a few miles from his brother’s apartment the night Geneva went missing. We have the body of another young woman connected to your husband. He has a history of violence against women. And tonight you barely escaped him.”
Her husband was a monster. She heard Pearl’s whisper: The worst of your problems is about to go away. Was there compassion and tenderness in Pearl’s voice when she said it? Had Pearl, on some level, thought she was helping Selena?
The ambulance Graham was in pulled from the drive, sirens whooping to clear people and other vehicles, then going silent as it proceeded out of view. A police car and an unmarked sedan followed. Crowe’s gaze traced the vehicles.
“Do you have anything else you need to tell me, Selena? About Graham, about Pearl Behr, about Geneva?”
“No,” she said. But there were things she wanted to say. Things he probably wouldn’t understand.
Geneva was a blackmailer and a home wrecker, but she was a good nanny; she took great care of Oliver and Stephen. She tended to them, played with them, and cared for them as well as Selena could have. The boys loved her; and they were going to miss her. Under other circumstances, Pearl might have been a good friend, a good sister; and she’d saved Selena’s life, even as she’d essentially destroyed it. Graham had been a good husband much of the time, a decent father. She’d loved him, forgiven him, believed in him. Then, he’d tried to kill her, take her from her children.
They were bad people who had done unconscionable things. But there was more to them than that. Detective Crowe could never understand all the layers, all the facets, all the glittering good folded in with the bad. How complicated we all are; even the worst among us might still be worthy of love.
“No,” she said again. “You know everything I know.”
FORTY-THREE
Geneva
The footsteps grew closer, and Geneva held her breath. She’d had a lot of time to think, about the Murphys, the Tuckers, all the things she’d done. She’d made some decisions.
Closer, louder. Then she heard the outer door unlatch. It swung open with a squeal and then someone was coming down the stairs to the cellar. She roused herself from the cot, sat up.
Pearl turned on lights and came into view, stood slim in the doorway.
“You can’t just lock me in here every time you don’t know how to handle me,” said Geneva.
The truth was, she didn’t hate it down here in the root cellar. At least it was quiet. There was time and space to think about all of your mistakes, how you wanted to change, what you would do if you ever got out. She’d made some decisions.
“You were getting squirrely,” said Pearl. “You had to be managed. Be happy you were in here. Things got ugly.”
“Are the boys okay?” she asked, feeling a stutter in her heart. “Selena?”
A shrug, a wrinkled brow. “They will be.”
Pearl approached, boots knocking on the floor, the sound echoing off the concrete walls. She carried a heavy black duffel bag on her shoulder.
“I’m done,” Geneva said. “I’m done with this. For real.”
Probably she should have just kept it to herself. She couldn’t best Pearl in a fight; that had been proven time and again. What was to keep her from locking Geneva in here forever?
“You know what?” said Pearl. “So am I.”
Geneva rubbed at her eyes. She was exhausted. How long had she been in the root cellar? Maybe not more than a day or two. It felt like a month.
“Yeah, right,” she said. “You’re worse than he was. He never locked me up.”
There was a catalog of things that Pop had done to each of them. But the truth was, he was the closest thing to a father either of them had ever had. A terrible, manipulative, murderous, con artist father, who had loved them each in his way.
“It’s not so bad down here,” said Pearl. She wore that smile she had, sphinxlike, always laughing at a joke no one else got.
“It’s a dungeon, bitch,” said Geneva. “You locked me in the dungeon to keep me quiet and run your little game. That’s fucked. You know that.”
“You always had a flair for drama.”
Pearl dropped the big duffel on the floor.
“What’s that?” asked Geneva, eyeing it suspiciously. God only knew what was in there.
“Half,” she said. “Half of everything I made with Pop and since. There’s a clean identity from Merle—driver’s license, passport, and Social.”
Geneva dropped to her knees from the cot and opened the bag. It was stuffed with cash. How much? A lot. Enough. She opened the envelope that lay on top.
Alice Grace Miller. Nice and simple, just like Pop would have wanted it, with a nod to her past self. A girl that was so long gone, Geneva didn’t even remember her anymore.
“You can go anywhere now,” said Pearl. “You can be anyone. You’re free.”
Geneva looked up at Pearl—who were they to each other? Sisters of circumstance, Pearl had said once. Geneva figured that was right. She searched herself for feeling, found something that was like a grudging affection, a kind of pact they’d sworn without words. They’d suffered together, knew each other. It bound them somewhat. They’d keep each other’s secrets, take them to the grave.
“What about you?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about me,” Pearl said. “I’ll find my way.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Come on,” said Pearl. “I’ll give you a ride. We’re a long way from anywhere.”
There was something about the root cellar. It was cold and dark, but it was safe, predictable. Light shone in from outside from the door Pearl had opened, bright licking at the dark shadows. The whole big world was out there. Every place. All the possibilities of what her life could be, and damn if there wasn’t part of her that just wanted to stay hidden.
Instead, she stood and found her shoes, her jacket. She shouldered the bag and followed Pearl outside, shielding her eyes against the blinding sun. Pearl closed and locked the door behind them. It was all but invisible in the brush.