I don’t want to be married to you anymore, Caroline had said. Why is that so hard to understand, Theo? Get out of my house.

I’d gone to my room, but I’d forgotten the reason I’d come home. Instead, I pulled the framed wedding photo of Caroline and me off the wall and stormed back down the hallway, smashing it against the doorframe. Shattered glass and wood were everywhere.

I don’t give a damn what you do, I told her. You can keep the house, but I will never let you have Teddy.

Caroline had stared at me with wide, horrified eyes. I went down the stairs and out of the house. That was the last time I saw my wife. The memory of it made me sick.

I dropped the razors in the trash. One day, I would have to teach my son how to deal with pain. I couldn’t do it if I hadn’t learned to manage it myself.

After sitting for a while, allowing regrets to wash over me, I picked up my phone and looked up a number I rarely called. Of course Juliet didn’t answer. I spoke to her voice mail.

“This is Theo,” I said. “I’m in Berlin. I came here because . . . I’m trying to understand pieces of my memory that don’t make sense. I have a question for you. I know you remember the night Mirelle died. On the plane, you said I’d ruined your trip to Paris. The thing is, you shouldn’t have been in Paris. You had school.” I took a breath. “Here’s my question: Did you decide to come over to Europe yourself, or did Father surprise you with the trip? Because I’ve discovered he set me up that night. I think he set you up as well.”

PART THREE

He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into you.

—Friedrich Nietzsche

CHAPTER 38

DEIRDRE

On Saturday night, I slept in my own bed in the dungeon room, even though there was police tape on my busted door like it was a crime scene. I taped a couple of black garbage bags together to cover it up and collapsed on my futon. I was too confused about the thoughts churning in my brain to share them. Two days earlier, I’d been ready to nail Theo’s ass to the wall for murder. Now, I was looking at him in a different light, just as I was seeing my sister in a new way. I had a tendency to jump to conclusions, and I was realizing I’d leaped to some of the wrong ones.

It didn’t help that I woke up Sunday morning to find an email from my brother-in-law: Deirdre, I’m at the Berlin airport now, about to fly. I get in Sunday at noon and I need to talk with you. Could we meet? Thanks, Theo.

I lay on my futon, staring at the message for a while before crawling out of bed at eight. Sounds good, I wrote back. I’d like to talk. I’m free all afternoon. It was four hours until he landed, so I had time for more digging before meeting him face-to-face.

There was no one I wanted to talk to more than Juliet.

I’d never been to her apartment, but I knew exactly where it was. The Thraxtons had their showpiece hotel on Park Avenue, but there was also a smaller boutique property on Crosby Street below Prince. Juliet occupied the penthouse suite, which had its own elevator. On my way to the subway I called her.

“Were you serious last night about swapping sibling stories?” I asked.

“You better believe it,” she answered. “When and where?”

“I can be at your place in a little over an hour.” Weekend service out of Queens was brutal, but I didn’t explain that.

“Excellent,” Juliet said. “I’ll order mimosas.”

She hung up before I could tell her I didn’t drink.

I got lucky and caught a train a minute after I walked into the Grand Avenue–Newtown station. The M train practically took me to Juliet’s door in forty-five minutes. This Thraxton property was prettier than the glass-and-steel behemoth uptown. It had curving sides wrapped in silver and white metal. Inside was an art gallery, with paintings on display and a cathedral-like ceiling that inspired awe even in a cynic like me.

I asked for Juliet at the marble reception desk and was directed to another counter at the opposite end of the floor. There was a separate elevator bank there, and I noticed a gold plaque designating this one as private. How very Juliet, I thought.

“Hi, I’m meeting with Juliet Thraxton. I’m a relative of hers, Deirdre Crawley,” I said, thinking how much Juliet would hate to be identified as part of my family.

The concierge hid her disbelief well. “Welcome to the Penelope Hotel,” she said, smiling. “Ms. Thraxton’s in a meeting now, but as soon as she’s free, I’ll let you know.”

I took a seat in an empty little waiting area in front of the elevators. The plush chair was covered in some kind of fancy sheepskin. It felt almost like a hug, but in a good way. I glanced at the concierge, but she was acting busy. I sat there feeling weirdly comfortable for a couple of minutes, hoping no one would notice.

But the sensation wasn’t meant to last. The light switched on over the private elevator. “Miss, would you like me to call up now?” the concierge asked.

“Sure,” I said. Then the elevator door opened. Ben Northcutt stepped out.

He looked as shocked to see me as I was to see him. He froze in place, staring as if I had sprouted fangs.

“Ben? What the hell . . . ?”

He bolted before I could finish the question, storming past the concierge and out a small doorway. He wasn’t running, exactly, but he was moving fast. I started after him, baffled and alarmed.

“Ben!” I called out a couple of times. He didn’t turn back or break his stride. I ran to catch up and then grabbed his arm. He swung around, shoving my arm away. He was breathing hard, and his face was contorted in fury.

“What are you doing, following me?” he demanded.

“I’m meeting Juliet. What are you doing here?”

“Fuck off. I’m not answering your questions.”

“I will beat the answers out of you.”

“What are you going to do? Stab me like you did your father?”

Heads swiveled on the street. Even my father—the one person who had the right to object to what I’d done—had remained silent on the subject. I felt disoriented, unsure which way to turn.

I was too astonished to be angry. “I was just . . .”

“You know what? There was a reason Caroline didn’t tell you anything,” he snapped. “Your sister didn’t trust you. She knew you’d overreact and do something stupid—like you always do, Deirdre.” He clomped off, and I watched him go, feeling like my knees would buckle under me.

CHAPTER 39

DEIRDRE

I didn’t understand what had just happened, except that I’d caught Ben doing something he knew was wrong, and he’d lashed out. I walked back to the hotel slowly, chewing on that.

“Ms. Thraxton says you can go up when you like,” the concierge told me. She had the same bright smile, as if nothing were amiss. Truly, she belonged in the movies.

“Thanks,” I murmured, heading to the private elevator. The trip up took a few seconds. The doors opened, and I stepped into a mirror-covered black-and-white parlor that was like an Art Deco fever dream. At least four Juliets were waiting for me, all wearing black wraparound dresses and satin mules.

“Come into my parlor, Deirdre,” she drawled.

“That makes you the spider and me the fly.”

“Seems right, doesn’t it?”

I moved forward slowly, toward what I hoped was the real Juliet.

“Just so you know, I have a pet python,” she said. “He slithers around, but he’s on the old and slow side, so don’t step on him.”

“Cromwell,” I said, remembering the name. Caro had mentioned reptilian roommates as one of her sister-in-law’s many eccentricities. “Why do you have a python?”

Juliet turned and gave me that funny half-smile of hers. “My father is terrified of snakes. My brother is afraid of large animals, period. Cromwell keeps them out of my space. Now, what brings you to my den of iniquity today?”

“What was Ben Northcutt doing here?”

Juliet raised an eyebrow. “You know him?”

“He’s a journalist. I met him a couple days ago.”

“Digging up dirt on my family, no doubt,” she said. “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing. I didn’t like him.”

“Most people don’t like us either. We’re not very endearing,” Juliet said. “Do you want a drink?”

She didn’t wait for me to answer as she headed into a large room. I followed, stepping gingerly. My boots were made to kick ass, but pythons didn’t exactly have butts.

“I was going to order some champagne,” Juliet said. “But you seem more like the beer type. No offense.”

“I don’t drink alcohol.” I was staring at the large stone statue of an Egyptian deity at the center of the room. It was a man with the head of a jackal. Anubis, I remembered. I’d always loved Egyptian mythology. Anubis had been the god of the dead before Osiris was killed.

“Really?” Juliet looked me over. “You don’t need to be on a diet.”

“I’m not. I just don’t drink.”

She blinked at me, for once without insults. “Okay. Take a seat.”