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PERLA

Everything was going perfectly, and I hummed a little under my breath as I pulled the front door tight and skipped down the front steps. The girls and Grant were zonked out, my props were all un-documentable or linked to Grant or Paige, and now I just needed to set the final wheels into motion. I spun on one heel, looking back toward the dark house, my gaze drifting over the security cameras installed in the eaves—all turned off a few minutes ago with Grant’s phone app. A shiver of excitement ran through me at how brilliantly I had orchestrated all this. It was like the final twists and turns of a Rubik’s Cube. Click. Click. Click. Everything finally matching up, confirming my superior level of intelligence.

I pulled out Grant’s phone as I started down our driveway and made a call to Paige, hanging up as soon as she answered. Then I composed and sent a series of rapid-fire texts.

Everything is going wrong. I need you to come to the house.

Did you get this?

Come A.S.A.P.

The front door may be unlocked, if not, use your code.

Please be quiet and meet me in Sophie’s room. Perla is asleep. Hurry.

In ten minutes, I’d send a follow-up text. Something along the lines of ... Nevermind. I handled it. Go back home, we’re in the clear.

I had originally thought that an entry of Paige’s gate code close to the time of death would be enough to implicate her, but without knowing where she was or what she was doing tonight, it was too risky. With my luck, she was currently live streaming on social media, with a thousand online idiots able to verify her alibi. So getting her headed this way would help negate or excuse that possibility.

I also sent an email to [email protected]. Just one line, but enough to hang my husband.

Everything is in place.

Maybe it was overkill, but maybe it wasn’t. I’d never seen someone get off because there was too much evidence against them.