Greer looks at me with—what is that?—pity? Her mouth opens, and I’m struck with a sudden, all-consuming panic at whatever she’s about to say. “You know how I told you my suspicion of your dad came down to a feeling?”
I nod.
“The first time I stayed for dinner, I let the camera crew take the cars back with them. Remember?”
I nod.
“Eleven o’clock rolled around, and I needed one of our PAs to pick me up. I wandered out onto the porch and was about to dial the number, when your dad stepped up behind me.” Her gaze shifts to the side, like she can’t bring herself to meet my eyes. “He told me not to call, that he’d drive me back to the motel instead. He already had his keys out. His pickup truck was parked in the driveway, and I don’t know what it was, but I took one look at that truck, and I knew.”
I stop breathing.
“I knew that if I got in that truck, I would never get out again.”
The world lurches into fast-forward. “That’s not what happened,” I say. “He offered everyone who came over a ride. Seriously, ask around town. He was the go-to guy when you needed someone to drive you to the airport or your car was in the shop for repairs. He saw a young woman who needed to get somewhere and volunteered to help.”
My dad never would have killed Greer Woods. The entire camera crew knew she was at our house; if she’d disappeared, it would’ve been too suspicious. He wouldn’t have taken that kind of risk—would he?
“You’re assuming the worst because you know, now, about the crimes he’s committed,” I insist. “You’re rewriting the past to make everything fit together. Like the photo of Niagara Falls.”
Greer doesn’t seem convinced. “When we were researching cold cases, deciding which one to investigate during our first season, I found it strange that the police hadn’t considered your father a suspect. When you’re looking at victims, you want to assess if any of them are different from the others. Claire was the only college student murdered, the only one from out of town. The amount of violenceinvolved—forty-one stab wounds—also made it seem like the killer had some kind of personal connection—”
“You’re making it sound like you knew he was guilty before you even arrived in town,” I joke, but the expression that crosses her face makes it clear that it’s no joke.
“I suspected. I didn’t know for sure until that night, though.”
It’s like all my darkest fears have been confirmed. “So, you really were using me all along? You pretended to be my friend to get closer to my father?”
“No!” she exclaims. “No, that’s not it at all. When I saw you for the first time…” Her words fade, and a flush rises in her cheeks.
“What?”
“I never wanted you involved in the show. I was fairly certain that your dad was guilty, so I figured it would be better to keep you as far away from the investigation as possible. But then I saw you at the hardware store…”
She lifts her hands helplessly, as if to say,what else could I do?
“All I could think about was you. The more time we spent together, the more I realized just how special you are. You dedicated yourself to understanding the case—inside and out, to making sure no one else was harmed by the Ellicott Creek Ripper. And the thing is, you succeeded. Your father stopped killing for twenty years. Do you have any idea how rare that is?Twenty years—because he saw firsthand how much it affected you. He was able to fight his compulsion. That’s how much he loved you.”
Except if she’s right about him volunteering to drive her back to the motel, he was on the brink of relapsing. My father knew how much Greer meant to me, yet he considered murdering her anyway. Claire’s death almost destroyed me; he must’ve known it would only be worse the second time around.
He hadn’t cared.
Ever since the arrest, all I’ve allowed myself to feel about my father is a dull defensiveness. But now, emotions are thrashing around in my chest: shock and rage and, beneath all that, an ache that reminds me of when my mom died.
“It’s my fault.”
“No—”
“It is. If I hadn’t brought Claire home with me, she’d still be alive.”
“Fuck that.” Her response is so unexpected, I can’t help letting out a laugh. “No, seriously, fuck that. You didn’t do anything except fall in love with a girl. You fell in love, and there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re a good person, and you deserve to fall in love. You deserve to have someone love you back.”
She reaches up and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. When she starts to lean forward, I know what’s coming. She’s going to kiss me. And I can’t help the way my hand reaches out reflexively to keep her at a distance.
“I…”
I can’t say the words. The truth is, I haven’t been with anyone since Claire. I’ve tried a few times—with one-night stands, men who bought me cheap mixed drinks as part of an unspoken negotiation. But every time we crawled into bed together, my groin would clench up like a fist. At first, the men would laugh it off: “You’re so tight. Is this your first time?” But as the minutes passed and they weren’t able to push themselves inside me, it became clear that this wasn’t something sweet and shy.
There was something wrong with me.
