“No, he despised Wendy. I’m sorry if that’s harsh, but he did. Jeff thought your sister was responsible for Greta’s death. If she hadn’t left Greta alone in the water that night, even if she did run back to find help like she said, then Greta wouldn’t have drowned.” Diana was frowning now. “Why are you asking?”

“Just a mystery I’m trying to solve.” I managed a smile. “That’s what I do.”

She wasn’t convinced. “There’s more to it, isn’t there?”

I had to use everything inside me not to fish the necklace out of my pocket and place it in her hand, fold her fingers over it and tell her to get in touch with Jeff. Instead, because nothing that I now believed could ever be proven, I stood. “You’ve been a real help, Diana. You’re happy now? Your life smoothed out after high school?”

“Husband, kids, job. I’m happy.”

“I’m so sorry my sister treated you the way she did. For what it’s worth? I believe every word you said.”

I walked out of the café without telling her how lucky she had been that Wendy had only bullied her.

Because now I knew my sister was capable of so much worse.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

On my drive back to the town house, I went over every sentence of my conversation with Diana. I knew exactly where her story led, but one detail that hadn’t resonated at the time haunted me now.

Diana had given the date of Greta’s death as the sixth of June, 1986. I wanted that to be wrong. I didn’t want to be led even farther into the darkness of my sister’s heart, but once I was home and on my computer, I found an archived article about the drowning. And Diana had been right.

June 6, 1986.

6-6-8-6, the combination that had opened the laundry room safe.

The day we’d worked so hard to find those numbers, Glenn had suggested birthdays and anniversaries. None had worked, only I hadn’t known about this one.

Had Wendy chosen the date of Greta’s death as a macabre memorial to her friend? Or was the truth so much worse? Was 6/6/86 the date that Wendy had struck out against perceived abandonment and rejection and drowned her childhood friend? Did she view the day triumphantly, as the day she had retaliated for all her grievances?

The way she undoubtedly viewed shooting Vítor Calvo?

Horror stole the breath from my lungs. I had chosen exile instead of prison for my sister. I hadn’t been completely fooled. Had I believed that Wendy had never intended to murder Calvo? Or had I believed she’d only set up Ex as the real murderer at the last minute? No, but because of the slight possibility those things were true, because of how calamitous an arrest would be for our family, I had turned a sociopath loose.

How many other people would die because I hadn’t been brave enough to do what was required?

I was in the car and halfway to my parents’ house before I realized where I was going. I wasn’t sure I had closed the garage door. I didn’t know if one or both my parents were home. I had simply gotten into my car and begun the drive to Gulf Sands.