The Perfectionists

She pulled out her phone and dialed Caitlin.

 

“Get the others,” she whispered. “We need to get into Granger’s house and find that cyanide. We’re ending this. Tonight.”

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER THIRTY

 

 

AN HOUR LATER, PARKER SAT in the back of Caitlin’s car as they neared Granger’s neighborhood. Caitlin parked five blocks from his house, and everyone quietly got out and walked as nonchalantly as they could to his little bungalow. A full moon shone down through the purple scraps of clouds, sending distorted shadows across the suburban lawns.

 

Parker glanced around at the others, taking in their scared but determined expressions. Her head twinged with pain, but she gritted her teeth and ignored it. Julie had tried to talk her out of coming, but she’d insisted.

 

As they walked, Julie touched her arm. “Are you okay?”

 

“Not really,” Parker mumbled.

 

She’d met up with Julie shortly before Caitlin picked them both up, and she’d filled her in on what had happened with Dr. Fielder yesterday. Julie had been horrified, and she’d demanded to know why Parker hadn’t come to her sooner. “I needed some space today,” Parker had said . . . and it was true.

 

Now Julie shook her head. “Why do you think he had pictures of you?”

 

Parker shrugged. “Because he’s a stalker.” What sort of person follows a patient around, spying on her? She felt so betrayed. So invaded. It reminded her of her dad. There had been times when he’d spied on her. Found out about the mischievous things that she did. And when she came home and denied the allegations, he showed her the pictures he’d taken—and smacked her right across her face.

 

Julie’s eyes hardened. “We have to turn that bastard in. We have to get him.”

 

“I guess that will be next on our agenda after this, huh?” Parker gestured to Granger’s house, which they were now in front of. All the lights were off. Wind chimes clanged together on the front porch. WELCOME, FRIENDS, read a plaque on the door. Parker snorted. Only grandmas and losers had plaques like that.

 

Mac placed her hands on her hips and assessed the property. “How are we going to get in?” she asked in a hushed voice. “I don’t know if I can pick these locks. And he might have a security system.”

 

“We won’t need them,” Ava answered. “The one time I was here, his bathroom window was open. Maybe it still is.”

 

“Let’s check it out,” Parker said.

 

The gate gave a soft squeal as Julie pushed it open. Granger’s backyard was overgrown, and blades of grass scratched at Parker’s ankles. Sure enough, a double-hung window stood open about three inches. Parker could just make out a shower curtain inside.

 

Caitlin stepped back and measured the height of the window with her eyes. “I’m pretty sure I can get in there if someone gives me a boost.”

 

Julie stood next to the house and bent over. Caitlin took off her shoes and socks to get better purchase. Then she stepped lightly onto Julie’s back. Julie gave a soft grunt but held steady as Caitlin slid the window open a few inches higher. Then, without warning, she jumped up and hooked her torso through the open window. For just a moment, her legs wiggled behind her. Then she was in.

 

“Did she learn that in soccer, or Cirque du Soleil?” Parker muttered. A moment later the back patio door slid open.

 

“Hurry up,” Caitlin whispered into the darkness.

 

They filed into the house and stood for a moment in Granger’s kitchen. The work light over the stove was on, giving off just enough glow to see by. Dirty dishes soaked in the sink, and crumbs dotted the stove top. On the fridge were a half-dozen take-out menus. Definitely a bachelor pad.

 

“When I was here last, he’d been sent some photography equipment in a box. Maybe there was cyanide in there. I think he put it in his car, though, so I have no idea if it’s still here.”

 

“I’ll check the bedroom,” Caitlin said.

 

“Mackenzie and I will get the living room,” Ava volunteered. “That leaves the office.”

 

Parker looked at Julie. “Let’s do this.”

 

Julie had a tiny LED flashlight attached to her key chain, and she swept the walls as they made their way down the cramped hallway and into the office. An IKEA desk held his computer, and a small three-drawer file cabinet sat beside it. A bulletin board on the wall behind the desk contained dozens of ticket stubs for concerts and Mariners games, a “save the date” for a couple named Tony and Mandy, and a copy of his class syllabus.

 

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