I incessantly stab Genevieve’s Ring button and smack her front door. I drove straight here when I got into town. It’s not like there’s anywhere else to go. Harper’s at Dad’s, and they’ve launched into Operation Get Harper to Sleep Somewhere other than Her Own Bed. I’m not allowed at Dad’s until they determine whether they’re opening an official investigation.
And it’s all Genevieve’s fault. I kick the bottom of the wooden door. “Genevieve! Genevieve!” I scream, pounding on it. “I know you’re in there.” Her car is parked in the driveway. I kick again. “And I know what you did.”
She finally opens the door in a slow, dramatic fashion, breaking into a surprised smile at the sight of me like she didn’t know I was the one out here. “Why, hello, Casey. I wasn’t expecting you,” she coos in a honey-coated drawl.
I point at her. “You’re a monster, you know that?” My entire body tenses, every muscle tight. I want to slap the grin off her fake face. “I don’t care how many community service awards you get or how many committees you serve on; I know exactly who you are.”
“I’m sorry, Casey. Something seems to have gotten you real upset.” She puts her arm on the door and makes a grand sweeping motion with the other. “Would you like to come inside and have some tea? You look like you could use some tea, sweetie. You’re a little peak-id. Why don’t you come inside and have a seat before you get yourself any more worked up?”
I grit my teeth, clenching my hands at my sides. “My daughter has nothing to do with this, do you understand me? You want to punish me, fine. Go right ahead. Punish me all you like, but don’t punish her.”
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. Nobody’s being punished.” She shakes her head in mock disbelief.
“Yes, you do!” I point at her. “You made that report about what happened in the parking lot. I know it was you.” I still can’t wrap my brain around her filing a retaliatory child abuse report. That kind of stuff only happens with nasty divorces. Regular people don’t do that, but she’s not a regular person. Savannah is right—she’s vicious.
Genevieve takes a step forward. “Did they come and take her out of her house even though she didn’t want to go? Give her an exam by some strange doctor she didn’t know?” She takes another step forward, standing in front of me on the porch. Her chest inches from mine. I instinctively move back. “Or how about this? Once she was finished being scared out of her mind, did she get to come home?” She cocks her hip. “They didn’t let Mason come home. Nope.” She shakes her head. Turns her plump lips up in disgust. “He can’t come home to me or stay with any of my family members who could love on him and help him feel secure during this time of need. No, my son is in a home filled with a bunch of messed-up kids that’s probably run by people who are only there to collect a check every month, so excuse me if I’m having a hard time feeling sorry for you.”
“This is different and you know it,” I snap.
“Really? Is it? Seems about the same to me. You saw bruises on my son’s arms, so you felt compelled to let someone know just in case I was hurting him.” She steps closer, and I stand my ground, refusing to move back this time. I won’t let her push me around. “I saw you practically twist your daughter’s arm off in a parking lot, so I felt compelled to let someone know”—she shrugs—“you know, just in case you were hurting her.”
“I would never hurt my daughter.”
“And I would never hurt my son.”
“That’s not what your daughter says,” I blurt without thinking. Surprise fills her face. It feels good to throw her off, and I can’t help smiling.
She lets out a startled laugh. “My daughter?”
“Yes, I’ve been talking to Savannah, and she has some very interesting things to say about you.” It’s a direct hit, and I give her the smuggest look I can find. My hands go to my hips.
“My daughter?” She raises her perfectly threaded eyebrows. “You’re going to listen to my daughter?” She bursts into laughter again. “Please. That girl has been in and out of the loony bin since she was twelve years old.” She reads the shock on my expression. “Oh, you didn’t know that? Did she forget to tell you that part of the story?” She pops out her lips. Nods a few times. “Yeah. More than once. So many times I lost count, in fact,” she says like it’s nothing. “That’s how it gets to be when you have a daughter who’s manic and goes into psychosis whenever she has one of her little episodes, but I bet she probably forgot to tell you that too, huh? She’s strange like that, my Savannah. Always has liked keeping secrets to herself. Did she mention that she had electroconvulsive shock therapy twice?”
Her words assault me like punches, and there’s nowhere to hide. I grip the banister behind me as my brain struggles to make sense of what she just said. Pieces of the report pass through my mind in quick snippets. I thought they referred to a male patient. How could it have been Savannah?
As if she’s reading my mind, she explains, “John and I did everything to protect her and keep her struggles private. We always held on to the hope that she’d grow out of it, and we didn’t want how screwed up she was as a kid to affect her as an adult. That’s not fair to anyone, you know?” Pleasure fills her features. She’s getting off on this. “Her middle name is Stevie, so we made sure to use that name and my maiden name whenever she was admitted somewhere so nothing could ever be traced back to her. You think your health information is private, but you never know. We took every precaution we could to keep her safe.” She looks and sounds every part the concerned parent. It’s hard not to be fooled.
“Were her reports in with the ones you gave us on Mason?” Dread creeps up the back of my throat.