She saw Calvin look from one girl to the next. She saw his gaze linger on Violet, and she wondered if, when he saw her, he thought of the framed photo Polly had kept on her dresser. It was of her, her mother, grandmother, and beloved aunt. “Peas in a pod” was written along the bottom of the photo in her grandmother’s chicken-scratch handwriting. That was why she’d kept it. Because of that caption. Because it reminded Polly of where she had come from, of who she was. Which wasn’t this. It wasn’t any of this. She was deeply ashamed of herself for where she had ended up, deeply ashamed of how far she had not come. She had a broken picker. That was clear. So why did she keep on picking?
She hoped that Calvin didn’t see Polly’s younger face on Violet, hoped he wasn’t that bright. Thankfully he didn’t. He just waved the gun at the two of them. “Then who’s this?” he asked Casey.
Casey started to answer, but Violet broke in. “I’m Casey. I’m a neighbor. I was here to help Violet study.”
“Well, isn’t that just peachy?” Calvin singsonged. He stood there for a moment, keeping his eyes on Casey, who he thought was Violet. “You’re a pretty thing,” he said to Casey, who bristled as he said it. He looked over at Polly. “You always said you were a late bloomer, but this one’s not a bit late. I’d say she’s right on schedule.” He laughed, his laughter ringing through the silent house.
In the kitchen, Barney roused, aware that perhaps things weren’t OK. He trotted over to Polly and sat down beside her, nervously watching Calvin.
“You in the same business as your mama?” He turned back to Casey.
Casey stood completely still, but Polly could see she was working hard to keep from trembling. Don’t worry, Polly thought, I will throw myself on that gun before I let him touch you.
“Not gonna tell me, huh?” he asked. He looked again at Polly. “This a family business?”
Polly also said nothing. Barney made a low warning growl. She patted his head, uselessly trying to comfort him. Barney wasn’t a spring chicken. He would be no match for Calvin’s gun if he tried to fight his former master.
“Huh?” He pointed the gun at Polly. “Answer me when I ask you a question, you bitch!”
“No,” she said.
“Well, I think you’re lying. I remember when I asked you how you came into all your money. I remember you saying you made a good investment a long time ago and it paid off. And I figured it was something one of your former husbands did for you, something I shouldn’t go nosing around in. Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak.” He laughed, even though it wasn’t funny. Calvin always did think he was funny when he wasn’t. “But now it makes sense. The money came from her, didn’t it? You’re the one they’re looking for. You’re the silent partner. The one who was washing the money for the hos. Wasn’t ya?”
Violet—the real Violet—blurted out, “Wait, you’re Lois?”
Polly shushed her so that Calvin wouldn’t figure out who the real Violet was. If he figured out that Casey had lied, that would make things worse. She looked at her granddaughter and wondered how much she knew about Norah’s operation—whether Violet had figured things out for herself or whether Norah had told her. She wondered again what they had talked about when they were alone in the jail.
“Casey,” she said to Violet. “I told you you’ve been reading too much about the case. I told you not to worry about it. Be a kid. Don’t worry about grown-up stuff.” She turned to Calvin. “In fact, I think you should let the kids go. This has nothing to do with them. Especially Casey, here. She’s a neighbor. She should go on home.” She raised her eyebrows at Violet, daring her to say any more. If he lets you go, she thought, run like hell to that kid across the street and get some help.
But Calvin shook his head. He tucked the gun into his waistband. “I don’t think her going home right now is the best thing. I think we need to get things settled here first. And I ain’t gonna hurt ’em,” he said. “Unless they do something stupid. And they don’t look like stupid girls to me.” He looked from Violet to Casey, watching as they confirmed that they weren’t stupid.
Satisfied, he strolled into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, searching, Polly knew, for a beer. Norah didn’t keep beer in her fridge, though. So he was shit out of luck. She heard him close the fridge and wondered for a frantic second if she could herd the girls out the front door. She could see the door from where she was standing, but would they make it before he could round the corner and start shooting? Would he start shooting? Or was the gun just a prop intended for intimidation? Polly didn’t want to risk finding out. So she kept still.
He came back with one of the glasses of wine topped off from the bottle sitting on the island, where it was tucked into one of those fancy things that kept white wine cold. Bess had explained the gadget to Polly. At the thought of Bess, she glanced around, wondering where she was and what she was doing. Perhaps she was just hiding, hoping they would be rescued. But by whom? No one could possibly know that Polly’s ex-husband had invaded their house. She’d told no one here that she was even married. She hoped that kid across the street happened over, sensed something was wrong when no one came to the door but the car was there. She hoped for something. From someone. Hell, she’d welcome that detective at the moment.
Calvin sipped the wine as he made his way across the room to stand in front of Casey, who he thought was Violet. He held the glass up to Polly, the wine sloshing slightly as he did so. “Fancy,” he said. And in that one word was recrimination, accusation, and a reminder that she didn’t belong here, in this world of finer things. That no matter what kind of life Norah had made for herself, Polly wasn’t good enough for it.
She didn’t need Calvin to tell her that; she had always known where she belonged, and she’d tried to stay within the boundaries. Even when she had the money to leave—after Norah had tracked her down and proposed a business deal, an arrangement that, as Norah had said then, would ensure Polly never needed a man again. On some level she understood that Norah had been trying to help her, to free her from dependence on a string of terrible men. And yet she’d stayed with Calvin. Right inside those self-imposed boundaries.
She watched in helpless revulsion as Calvin leaned closer to Casey, reached out, and fingered a lock of her hair as he took another sip. He was downing the wine fast, like he usually drank beer. Desperate, she hoped that the alcohol would make him clumsy, foolish, vulnerable. Calvin was always a sloppy drunk. Just keep drinking, dumb-ass, she thought. Go get a refill. And get away from that child.
But Calvin stayed where he was, leering at Casey, occasionally glancing at Polly just to watch her squirm. He was toying with them, enjoying it. Who knew how long this would go on and where it would lead. And then Polly saw movement in the hall, just off the den, behind Calvin. Bess moved with the sinewy stealth of a panther, silently creeping closer to the action. Polly had no idea how long Bess had been inching her way down the hall. Probably since the first time Calvin had gone near her daughter. She looked over and saw in both girls’ frozen faces that they’d spotted Bess, too, that they knew what was about to happen.