Chapter 1
Gideon did not touch the photographs.
He called 911.
Petra was still on the floor beside the overturned chair, wiping mashed potatoes from her hair. Evelyn Mercer—Gideon and Petra’s mother—had pulled her purse tightly against her body, but Linnea had already seen what was inside.
So had Gideon.
“Put the purse on the table.”
Evelyn stared at him. “You do not give me orders in my house.”
Gideon shifted Linnea higher against his chest. The child was trembling so violently that he could feel it through his shirt.
“Then don’t touch anything until police get here.”
Petra stood.
“You’re insane.”
Gideon looked at her.
“You hit my daughter.”
“She was being disrespectful.”
“She’s five.”
“She threw food.”
Linnea immediately whispered, “I didn’t.”
Gideon lowered his voice. “You don’t have to argue with her.”
That mattered.
He had already spent too many years teaching Linnea that adults automatically got the last word.
When police arrived, Gideon gave a complete statement, including his own conduct.
“I threw the bowl.”
The officer looked at Petra’s bruised cheek.
“After your daughter was already in your arms?”
“Yes.”
“Was Petra approaching either of you?”
“No.”
“So it was retaliation.”
Gideon nodded.
“Yes.”
No heroic rewriting.
Petra would answer for striking a child.
Gideon would answer for throwing a heavy bowl at Petra.
Linnea was examined at a pediatric urgent-care center. Her cheek was swollen, and she had a bruise forming along her upper arm that Gideon had not noticed before.
The physician asked gently:
“Did that happen tonight too?”
Linnea looked at Gideon.
Then shook her head.
“Aunt Petra squeezed me yesterday.”
Gideon’s stomach dropped.
“Yesterday?”
He had been in Denver for a three-day company conference.
Linnea had stayed with Evelyn because Gideon’s regular sitter was unavailable.
The doctor asked:
“Any other times Aunt Petra hurt you?”
Linnea began crying again.
“Grandma says not to make Daddy mad.”
Gideon went completely still.
The photographs from Evelyn’s purse were later preserved by police.
There were eleven.
Different clothes.
Different rooms.
Different dates written on the backs.
A bruise on Linnea’s upper arm.
Another along her thigh.
A red mark on her cheek.
Finger-shaped marks near one wrist.
None graphic.
All disturbing.
The oldest photograph was seven weeks old.
Gideon stared at the date.
He had been in Phoenix that day.
Another photograph had been taken while he was in Chicago.
Another while he attended a funeral in Vermont.
Detective Claire Maddox looked at the travel calendar.
“These dates don’t put you with her.”
“No.”
“Then why would Petra threaten to tell everyone you caused them?”
Gideon looked through the glass toward Evelyn.
“That’s what I’d like my mother to explain.”
Evelyn refused an interview.
But when police inventoried her purse, they found more than photographs.
They found a sealed envelope addressed to an attorney.
Across the front, in Evelyn’s handwriting:
May you like
GIDEON — IF HE REFUSES THURSDAY.
Thursday was four days away.
