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PERLA

I was so happy when I got that job. I was so broke, and the pay was good—like, ridiculously good. I remember on that first day just thinking that I couldn’t do anything to screw it up. Like, whatever they wanted, I would just smile and do it, because I had to have that job.

—Paige Smith, former Wultz nanny

Paige’s first day was a Tuesday, and I watched my daughter closely, curious how she would respond to the new addition in her life.

After a somber handshake and close attention to my introduction, my daughter looked at me. “May I go up to my room now?”

“Yes, of course.”

She took off toward the stairs, and I glanced at Paige. “So, that’s Sophie. She won’t give you any trouble.”

“Yeah, she seems really well behaved.” The girl stood with her feet spread, her weight on one hip, the stance sloppy. I wondered how much training it had taken for George and Janice to turn me from what I had been into what I was now. I had found them so critical in the beginning, but now I could see how much there had been to fix, and I had to remind myself that I didn’t need Paige to be perfect. Her imperfection was what would sell this to the jury. I only needed her to be motivated.

“Let’s give you a tour of the house,” I said. “I want to make sure that you know where everything is.”

I invited Paige to join us for dinner. We ate in the smaller of the two formal dining rooms, and I poured her a glass of wine, then hesitated. “I’m sorry, Paige. I don’t even know how old you are.”

“I’m nineteen.” She blushed. “I mean, I do drink, but of course I won’t when I’m working.”

“Oh, it’s fine.” Grant gestured for me to give her the glass. “A little won’t hurt. And besides, this is too good to go to waste. Knowing my wife, she’ll only have a sip.”

I shrugged in assent. “More than a glass and I fall asleep.” I took my seat and picked up my silverware. Sophie, who had been waiting for the cue, immediately followed suit. Paige was already halfway through her salad and had three bites missing from her fish.

A lull fell, and I waited, certain Grant would fill it. He was a man who hated silence in social situations, not so much for its weight but for what it was—a wasted opportunity in which data collection could have occurred.

“So, Paige ...” He hunched forward over his plate, a knife in one hand, fork in the other. “Are you from Pasadena originally?”

“No. I’m from Ohio. I came here for school. I’m at the community college but will transfer into the university as soon as I finish my AA.”

“What do you plan on studying?”

“Criminology.”

I almost choked on my swordfish. “I thought you were a history major.” I coughed, trying to clear the thick wedge of food.

“Well, history is the focus of my AA. I’ll move into the criminology portion once I’m at the university.”

Criminology? This wasn’t good. I had selected Paige because I needed a dumb pawn, not someone who might grow suspicious before the big reveal.

Grant was looking at me, his expression guarded, and I wondered what he was thinking. He had his own complicated history with law enforcement, and would certainly approach this from a different direction than I would. I stayed silent, and his gaze flipped back to Paige, who was biting off the end of an asparagus spear, clueless.

“Why criminology?” Grant asked, reaching for his wineglass and finishing off the contents in one deep sip.

“Well, my dad works in corrections,” she said, talking with her mouth full.

“Corrections back in Ohio?” I asked.

She shook her head and swallowed. “No, actually close by here. My parents are divorced; my mom’s the one who lives in Ohio.”

Corrections. Close by here. I straightened my fork beside my plate. “Your father works at a jail?”

“Prison.” She leaned back in her seat and patted her stomach. “Oh my God, this is so good. You are such a good cook, Mrs. Wultz.”

“Thank you,” I said softly. Prison. Close by here. Maybe he worked in a women’s prison. Maybe. Maybe. Please.

Grant cleared his throat. “That’s interesting about your father,” he said. “Don’t suppose he’s at Lancaster?”

“Yeah.” She looked up, surprised. “You’ve heard of it?”

The room closed in on me, and I gripped the edge of the table, willing myself not to faint.

Lancaster. My new nanny’s father worked at the prison where Leewood Folcrum was. He probably knew the man. Had talked with him. Maybe they were friends. Maybe they were enemies. Whatever they were, I had invited his daughter into our house. Employed her. Tasked her with taking care of our child and carrying the weight of my future crime. A crime based on and copycatting the Folcrum murders.

It was okay. I pursed my lips and exhaled, then inhaled deeply, filling up my lungs. It was okay. A minor speed bump. Know about something early enough, you can overcome it or twist it to your benefit.

That’s what I needed to do. Twist away. And looking at it from that direction, this might even be a good thing. The knot in my chest released, and I took another set of deep breaths.

This could be okay. Maybe even great. After all, here was Paige’s connection to the murders—one I didn’t even have to fabricate. She already had a documented tie to Folcrum, and maybe even a logical explanation for why she’d hunted down this job to begin with. Look, I’d say. She’s clearly obsessed with us, has been from the start.

Yes, maybe this could work.

Or maybe, quite possibly, I had just royally fucked up.