Jane really was crazy. How could she have hacked Perri’s computer? If it wasn’t her or her nutcase mother just finding her hidden key and trespassing in her house, then she’d hacked Perri’s computer. Well, she must know someone. She was friends with that Adam Kessler and he was certainly an oddball, and he had been a computer geek. She went to Adam’s Faceplace page. Yes, the About section listed him as being in the honors Computer Sciences program at St. Mike’s. As far as hacking went, a phone and a laptop and a social-media page weren’t exactly like breaking into a bank or a government agency.
Who else? No one had gone into the room in months but her, and Cal had moved out and he’d only been in the room with her. Kamala had come over a few times, to say hello, but she hadn’t gone up into David’s room…and there had been no one else.
Her phone rang. “Yes?”
“Perri? It’s Ronnie Gervase.” One of the leading lights of Lakehaven, the woman who’d run a lot of the volunteer programs for the athletic department, a queen of the football moms. She’d been one of the people she’d seen yesterday at the Baconery, who’d offered kind condolences and a hug.
“Hi, Ronnie, how are you?”
“More like how are you?”
“Me? Um, I’m all right…”
“I was just on Faceplace updating our football-moms page and I saw this on your page. This video. You screaming at and assaulting Jane Norton.”
That had not been up there earlier this evening. “Oh. I…I was upset.”
“You hit her, Perri. I mean, I understand that you blame her, but, well, look, I’m not trying to judge you.”
Of course you are. We all are. With every breath, and we lie and we say we aren’t.
“But maybe take down that video,” Ronnie said. “It is not a good look for you.”
“Who posted it? Jane?”
“Someone named Liv Danger. I don’t know her. Is that a real name?”
“Thank you for telling me, Ronnie. I have to go.”
“Perri…”
“Yes?”
“Maybe get some help? You know, we all love you.”
“Yes, Ronnie, I’ll think about that. Thank you again.” She felt like she was thanking her for a blow to the guts.
Her hand trembled as she drank more wine.
She went to the Faceplace page. There it was, under: Jane never paid, did she? Neither did the others. I know how you hate them all, Perri. Isn’t blame an ugly thing?
And then the video, originally shared from the driver’s account where Jane had been tagged and then Perri had been tagged, thirty seconds of awfulness where she acted like a maniac and not the refined, controlled person she had always seen herself to be. And the rideshare driver, narrating for the audience: This lady attacked my fare, dragged her out of the car, hit her, pushed her, and I guess that is her son’s grave and she’s upset, but damn, lady, this is not the answer.
Then the comments, over thirty of them: Perri, call me. Perri, are you all right, I’m worried about you. Did she hit her hard enough for assault charges? Perri, I know a good lawyer.
And then in the midst of the concern and judgment, a comment from Liv Danger: Don’t delete this video from this page, Perri, or I’ll post worse. I know what you did that night.
What did that mean? It couldn’t mean anything. There was nothing worse. She swallowed, her throat feeling like stone. She hadn’t done anything wrong that night…except not hunt for her son. Not go out looking for him when her instincts told her he was lying to her about his whereabouts. But the message made her inaction sound far worse. She had said as much in Vasquez’s articles: that she wished she’d gone out looking for David. Perhaps he would still be alive if she had. The thought wrenched her.
If she unfriended the stalker…she couldn’t post anything more to the page, right? She hesitated.
I’ll post worse.
She should call the police. And they would do what? Nothing.
She left the video up and wrote in a comment: Whoever you are, you’re not a well person to post this. I’m sorry I lost my temper, but my son’s headstone had been defaced and I was deeply upset. It bothered me that the girl who is responsible for my son’s death came to his grave. I apologize for losing my composure. If you have any decency, you’ll take this down and leave me alone.
She got up and paced. The front porch light at the Nortons’ was on. She stood, watched to see if Laurel came out. Perhaps she was expecting someone.
She couldn’t sleep, her mind racing. She tried Cal; he wasn’t answering his phone. Maybe he was off with the girlfriend who smelled of lavender.
So she sat in the front dining room she didn’t use that often—David used to spread out his projects on the dining room table—and drank a book-club glass of wine and watched the empty street. And waited.
I know what you did that night.
A car entered the cul-de-sac. She tensed, but then realized as it headed under a streetlight that it was Cal’s Range Rover. Relief swept over her. It didn’t even matter he was coming here so late at night. She’d talk to him about Laurel, her online conversation with Liv Danger, her awful discovery, the cruel video. The car aimed for her driveway, then pulled slightly to the side. Toward the Norton house. And then the door opened, and in the light she could see Cal at the wheel and Jane Norton getting out of the passenger side.
Perri made a noise in her throat.
This couldn’t be right. No. She watched Jane speak to Cal, illuminated by the car’s inside light, and then Jane closed the door, quietly. Jane walked up to the front door in the wash of headlights—Cal ever so thoughtfully left them on for her—and then she unlocked her door and went inside.
Cal backed out and drove out of the cul-de-sac.
Perri Hall stood at the window for a long while, the oversized wineglass cool against her forehead, but feeling like she had a fever. It couldn’t be what she thought it was. That was madness.
Fine. She would do this alone. Cal had gotten her pregnant. But she alone had pushed David out into the world, and she alone would find justice for him from this crazy girl and her mother. And from whoever was trying to ruin her life.
She went upstairs. She was going to need a good night’s sleep. She went into David’s room. She touched the space bar, waking his iMac from sleep. She refreshed the Faceplace page. There was a new posting from Liv Danger:
It feels awful to be blamed for something, doesn’t it? I know what you did while your son lay dying. All will pay.
It was a lie. She had done nothing. Nothing. She nearly screamed, shoving her fist against her mouth.
25