“A gift from George. Her soul mate. She used to carry a Polaroid of him, until your dad made her throw it out. Said it was unseemly. Made it look like they were something other than husband and wife . . . even though that’s exactly what they were.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks.

“Your father didn’t care at all about your poor mother. Doing this podcast will be best for us, he said. It’s the right thing to do. He called her from work, told her that and, of course, she called me right away. To vent, she said. But I knew she wanted more than that.”

“No . . .”

“When your mom picked me up at the train station, he’d come home, and they’d been fighting. He wasn’t backing down. He didn’t care if he ruined her. Her own analyst and he was ready to throw her in jail.”

“Her analyst.”

“Yes. That’s what he was. And she was his research topic. Mr. Forensic Psychiatrist. All the papers he’d never have been able to write without her. And now that he was retired, he was ready to be rid of her. That, my dear, is what you call a marriage of convenience.”

“You shot them both.”

“To save Renee. It’s hard to make it look like a home invasion if only one of you gets shot.”

Robin exhaled. A deep, shuddering breath. She heard the front door opening above, her mother calling out for Nicola.

She thought of her father’s voice over the phone, the sadness in it. Have we been good parents to you? “He felt bad for Quentin because of the way he was raised.”

“Please. He just wanted someone new to study.”

Footsteps tumbled down the basement stairs. “Nikki?” Renee said. “What are you doing?”

“Just asking Robin if she has any more questions,” Nicola said.

“About what?” Renee said.

Robin shook her head.

“Oh, I almost forgot. There was no man in a parking lot. That was your dad. Let’s just say he got impatient with his patient.”

“That . . . that can’t be true . . .”

Nicola released the safety. “I’ve always loved you, Robbie,” she said. “It’s not personal. But I’m afraid it’s necessary.”

Robin stared at the barrel of the gun.

“My God, Jenny, stop!” Renee screamed. She fell on her, the two of them rolling on the dusty basement floor. The gun went off, and Renee fell back, blood spreading from her chest, pooling under her body.

“Oh my God,” Nicola cried out. “Not April. Please, God, please not April . . .”

Robin rushed to her mother. She grabbed one of the costumes off the hangers—the surgical scrubs—and pressed it to the wound. In seconds, it was drenched. She heard Nicola. Or Jenny. Her mother’s sister, weeping behind her. “I can’t. I can’t. I couldn’t have. No . . .”