“No, it doesn’t have to be. I don’t need that. Money was never important to me- not for its own sake, or for the things it could buy. That was her thing. When she found out who she was, she freaked out, started screaming at Uncle Billy, accused him of ripping her off and threatened to take him to court. Such greed- she already had more than she needed. She even tried to get me to go along with her, but I refused. That really made her vicious.”

“How far did she go with the threat?”

“Not far. Uncle Billy managed to calm her down.”

“How?”

“I have no idea. But let’s not talk about her anymore. Or money, or anything negative. I’m here, with you. In this wonderful place, where no one can find us or soil us. You and me and Shirlee. We’ll make a family, be together forever.”

She came toward me, lips parted for a kiss.

I held her at arm’s length.

“It’s not that simple, Sharon.”

Her eyes went big. “I… I don’t understand.”

“There are problems. Things that don’t make sense.”

“Alex.” Tears. “Please don’t play games with me, not after what I’ve been through.”

She tried pushing against me. I held her fast.

“Oh, Alex, please don’t do this to me. I want to touch you, want you to hold me!”

“Sherry killing Kruse,” I said. “It wasn’t about the party- that may have been the final straw, but she’d been planning it, paying off D.J. Rasmussen for at least two weeks before then. Thousands of dollars. Priming him for the big job.”

She gasped, reversed her movements, trying to free herself from my grasp. Still I held fast.

“No,” she said. “No, I don’t believe that! As bad as she was, that’s not true!”

“It’s true, all right. And you know it better than anyone.”

“What do you mean?” And all at once her face- that flawless face- was ugly.

Ugly with rage. Empathic failure…

“What I mean is that you set it up. Planted the seeds. Sent her a six-year-old dissertation and confirmed her worst anxieties.”

Her eyes went wild. “Go to hell.”

She twisted, tried to free herself.

“You know it’s true, Sharon.”

“Of course it isn’t true. She didn’t read. She was a stupid, stupid girl, didn’t like books! And you’re stupid for even saying something like that!”

“This is one book she would have struggled through. Because you’d been priming her for it- using the same techniques Kruse used on you. Verbal manipulations, hypnotic suggestions. Things you suggested to her while she was under, then ordered her to forget- about Kruse and you, his liking you better. She was borderline from the beginning, but you pushed her over the border. The sad thing is, you’d gotten over there yourself, first.”

She snarled, turned her fingers into claws and tried to sink her nails into my hands. We wrestled, panting. I managed to get both of her wrists in one hand, used the other to hold her fast.

“Let go of me, you bastard! Ow, you’re hurting me! Fuck you, let go!”

“How long did it take, Sharon? To break her, turn her on Paul?”

“I didn’t! You’re crazy! Why would I?”

“To clean things up. Get free. Get rid of someone you finally realized had been manipulating you instead of helping you. What made you break? Finding the two of them? Up in her room, doing what they’d probably been doing for years? Or maybe she’d told you about it when you hypnotized her. Incest. The worst kind. Daddy fucking her. He was your daddy too. And, by doing it, fucking you over.”

“No! No, no, no, no! You slime-bastard, you lying fucking bastard! No! Shut up! Get out, you fuck, you piece of shit!”

The filth poured out of her, the way I’d heard it pour out of her sister. The look on her face, that of the girl in the flame dress, loathing me. Murderous.

I said, “Two birds with one stone, Sharon. Turn Sherry on Kruse, then wait for her to come for you. You’d been planning it for months- at least half a year. That’s when you told Elmo to get another job. You knew Resthaven was closing down, because Resthaven was something Uncle Billy had set up for Shirlee and you were taking Shirlee out of there. To your new home. You and me and Shirlee makes three. A new partnership.”

“No, no! That’s fucking crazy- you’re out of your mind! She had D.J.- dangerous, violent, you said so yourself. Two against one! I’d have been crazy to put myself in that kind of danger!”

She fought one hand loose, finally got a nail in and ripped downward. I felt pain, wetness, shoved her away from me, hard. She flew backward, the backs of her legs hit the bed, and she sprawled. Panting. Sobbing. Mouthing silent obscenities.

I said, “D.J. was no threat to you. Because all along, he thought it was you he’d been making-it with, you who’d paid him to kill Kruse. Sherry couldn’t risk blowing that, telling him he’d been deceived and having him turn on her. She had to take care of you by herself. Thought she’d be able to surprise you. But you had the advantage. She stepped right into your trap and you were ready. With your gold-plated twenty-two.”

She kicked her feet in the air, waved her arms. Tantrum. Early trauma. Bad genes…

“Fucking… bastard… fuckdick slimebastard…”

“First you shot her,” I said. “Then you poured dope and booze down her throat. A good forensic analysis would be able to show she’d swallowed all of it after she died, but there’ll never be a forensic analysis, because Uncle Billy took care of it. Along with everything else.”

“Lies, all lies, you fuck!”

“I don’t think so, Sharon. And now you’ve got everything. Enjoy it.”

I backed away from her.

“You can’t prove a fucking thing,” she said.

“I know,” I said. And made it to the door.

A gurgling, roaring sound- the only thing I could think of was a cesspool overflowing- came from deep inside her. She picked up the water glass she’d gotten for me, drew her arm back, and threw it at me.

If it had hit, it would have done damage. I ducked. It bounced off the plastic wall, landed on the carpet with an ineffectual thud.

“Your right hand,” I said. “At least I’m finally sure which side of the mirror I’ve been looking at.”

She whipped her eyes down to her hand, stared at it as if it had betrayed her.

I left. Had to walk for a long time in the darkness before I stopped hearing her screams.

36

I heard the buggy before I saw it, a night-moth hum, coming from somewhere to my left. Then headlights swept the desert like some prison searchlight, washing over me, halting its arc, preserving me like a specimen in amber.

Within moments it was at my side.

“Step in, Doctor.” Vidal’s rasp. Only he, in the driver’s seat.

As I took my seat he ran his penlight over the blood on my hand. The desert air had dried it to maroon grit.

“Superficial,” I said.

“We’ll take care of that when we get back.”

Unconcerned.

“You heard everything,” I said.

“Constant monitoring is necessary,” he said. “She needs care, watching. You saw that for yourself.”

“You’re a big fan of show-and-tell,” I said. “Taking Sharon to see Joan, hoping that would dissuade her. Putting Sharon on display for me, in hopes of shutting my mouth.”

He began driving.

“What makes you think,” I said, “that you’ll be any more successful?”

“One can only try,” he said.

We crossed the desert. More stars had come out, flooding the earth with icy light. Glazing it.

I said, “When did Belding die?”

“Years ago.”

“How many years ago?”

“Before the girls were reunited. Is the exact date important?”

“It was to Seaman Cross.”

“This isn’t about Cross, is it?”

“What was the diagnosis?” I asked.

“Alzheimer’s disease. Before the doctors gave us that, we just called it senility. A gradual, nasty fade.”