She’s been here but a few days, and Lexi listens to her while she disobeys me, Monica thought. She couldn’t help feeling a sharp sense of failure. What kind of mother was she? Her daughter fought her at every turn but a relative stranger could guide her to compliance? What was she doing wrong?

Hunched over in the chair, massaging her ankle, Monica felt a small, loose object in her mouth. She brought her hand to her lips, spat it out.

The object came out, mingled with a thick gob of saliva and dark blood.

It looked like a decaying tooth.

37

Dinner for Troy was another cold sandwich from a local sub shop. He didn’t care. He refused to take another bite of anything Grace created, no matter how tempting the aromas. Throughout a good portion of his brutally demanding radiology residency, he had subsisted on a diet largely comprised of tuna fish sandwiches, coffee, and apples. He could manage for a few more days until Grace either voluntarily left their home, or he forced her out.

Upon entering his basement office with his sack of food, he found a white, business-size envelope lying on his desk. His name was inscribed on the front with black ink, in elegant script.

His stomach compressed into a tight ball. That was Grace’s handwriting.

The envelope was sealed. He tore it open.

It contained two items: his homemade lock-pick set, and a folded slip of paper.

He unfolded the note. A single question was inscribed on it:

Did you find what you were seeking?

Coldness washed over him.

“Shit,” he said. “She knows.”

Weak-kneed, he dropped onto the desk chair. He placed the food on the desk, pushed it aside. He had lost his appetite.

The truth was, he had screwed up. Leaving behind evidence of his investigation was the worst possible outcome. He might as well have kicked the door off the hinges.

He called Nick Sullivan on his cell phone. He didn’t know who else he could talk to about this turn of events.

“Hey, Doc,” Sullivan said pleasantly. “I’m still working through what you turned over to me today. Everything all right?”

“She knows I was searching through her things. I was rushing, got careless, and left behind a lock pick in the guest room. She found it.”

“That sucks. She threaten you?”

“Not exactly. I don’t know what she’s going to do, but she’ll do something.”

“Did you tell her what you found? That you’re working with me?”

“Hell, no. Of course not.”

“Then I’d say we’re okay, for now. She’s in the dark. I should have some answers by tomorrow, on the DNA if nothing else. And if our little hidden camera does its job—and it will—then you’ll have some answers about what the heck she’s doing in the bedroom every night with your wife.”