“Then tonight we put it into place?”

“Right. You can’t go to work—”

“But Amy-Jo counts on me, at least for today.” She paused. “But this will keep her and others from danger.”

I gave her my best encouraging smile. “Where do you go for good memories, happy times?”

“Other than last night with Dad and Aria, I’d say growing up with Marissa. Memories of our childhood kept me sane in prison.”

I took her hand in mine and gestured for her to begin.

“All right, but then your turn. She’s five years older, and we were close. Even when I was the bratty, irritating little sister, she had patience with me. We’d play school, and she taught me so much. Sometimes she’d dress me in her clothes, shoes, and do my makeup. I could be annoying when her friends were around, but she showed more kindness than I deserved. Marissa had the good-girl, love-Jesus gene, and I embraced trouble with a wild streak. Imagine my surprise when she asked me to be her maid of honor.” She paused. “I really missed Marissa living at home.” She stopped. “Except I liked Travis. I’m sure that sounds odd.”

“No, it doesn’t. Go on.”

“Although I fought rules and laws, my sister encouraged me to take my love of creativity to the next level, go to college, and settle down. I listened until one day, and then I destroyed her world and mine. She must resent Aria. My fault too.”

Had Shelby contrived the story about a loving relationship with her sister? What was I missing in this picture? “When you were small and played school, what did Marissa teach you?”

“Math. She loved word problems. Other times we’d make up stories, little mysteries that forced me to figure out how bad guys conducted crimes and got away with them. Our creative stories became prophetic. Our pretend games fueled my later rebellion.” She inhaled. “Even pleasant moments from my childhood have a way of haunting me.”

An unexpected chill accompanied a deeper suspicion. “You and Marissa planned crimes?”

Shelby nodded. “She urged me to be more intricate and to look at her scenarios like the hardest jigsaw puzzle in the world.”

“When you later acted out those stories, did she have a reaction?”

“Marissa believed our games had become a reality to me, and she blamed herself. Incredibly sad. She forgot I owned my own choices. I hot-wired cars. Snuck out to date bad boys my parents despised. Incredibly stupid behavior.”

“Did you read back then?”

“You mean together?”

“Sure.”

“When I was five, she read Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew stories to me.” She paused. “For my eighth birthday, she read to me Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood. After that, she and I read true crime together.”

Sickening dread chilled me for what Shelby had been exposed to as a child. I had work to do, and I couldn’t get to it fast enough. “I nearly forgot to feed Big Red, and I owe Mike a call.”