I ignored her mocking tone. “Strange. Father Greg says my mom was possessed. Do you believe in that stuff?”

“Hell, yes,” she said, eyes serious and round. “What else is there to explain the disgusting compulsions people have? How they can be split. How they can be two different people at once. It’s the fucking devil, bitch,” she said, belched, and laughed.

“What about a simpler explanation? Poor parenting.”

She looked at me, her nostrils flared, and laughed. “You are adorable.” She sipped her beer. “Hey, what does your hubby think about your investigation?”

I hesitated, entertaining the question. What would he think? Her jaw dropped. She grabbed my shoulders with both hands. “You haven’t told him. Wow, that is seriously fucked up, Heather,” she said, a cozy smile in her voice. She liked me more for keeping secrets.

“It’s not that fucked up.” It wasn’t. I wanted to uncover my family’s past on my own. Once I offered him a loose string, Trevor would pull it until everything unraveled.

Besides, a relationship could be solid while secrets were kept. Trevor and I—our relationship wasn’t based on heart-to-heart conversations. It wasn’t austere. There were no drops of blood in lockets, no anniversary rules. There was no drama. Our relationship was based on shared jokes and a similar calm approach to life, politics, and religion. We shared the same taste in music and a commitment to our family. We both liked coffee and an occasional beer.

“You tell your boyfriend everything?” I said.

“You got me there, bitch. You got me by the balls.” She elbowed me, friendly, tipsy. “Alright, my lovely Heather. I pushed my pops for more info on Dawn’s murder. Thought I’d get more out of him than you. Dad said Dawn was too friendly, maybe someone thought she deserved punishment for being a tease, leading on a bunch of her customers at Marjory’s.”

That was along the lines of what Father Greg had said. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so friendly with people.

“He said your mom lived with her psychologist for a month or so. Signed the confession after she’d been there a few weeks. Her doctor was this rich, know-it-all asshole.” Cliff, the head doctor. “My dad didn’t like him. If you’re thinking about visiting him, I wouldn’t.”

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“What’s this?” Desiree said. She grabbed my wrist, pulled it toward her, and studied it. She brushed her thumb back and forth over the veins of my wrist, giving me a shiver. The faint outline of a bird drawn in blue pen remained, even though I’d scrubbed it.

Heat bloomed in my neck and cheeks. “Emily had us draw tattoos on each other. She’s fond of you,” I said. It wasn’t all lie.