The Perfect Daughter Read online

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  For Jennifer Enderlin, with my deepest thanks and gratitude

  CHAPTER 1

  AT THIRTY MINUTES PAST eight o’clock, red and blue strobe lights lit up the sky outside Grace Francone’s modest Cape house with the frenzy of a fireworks display. A quick check out the window revealed two cars parked in her driveway, one a sedan, a single twirling red light mounted to its dashboard, and the other a black-and-white from the Lynn Police Department, lights also flashing.

  A wave of fear clutched Grace hard.

  Not more than two hours ago, she had returned home from a run to find her sixteen-year-old daughter, Penny, gone. Since she was a teenager, it was no great surprise her daughter had left the house without a text or a note to say where she was going. Out of habit, Grace had checked the garage to find the burgundy Chevy Caprice, still registered to Penny’s deceased father, was also missing. Grace assumed Penny, who had the car keys and her license, had taken it. The house rule was to always ask permission before taking the car, and to give a destination and return time. The lack of any such communication put Penny’s driving privileges in jeopardy.

  Naturally, Grace had texted Penny to check on her whereabouts. When she didn’t get a reply, she figured Penny was trying to avoid a conflict. Now, Grace had a different thought.

  The unexpected arrival of the police filled her with a dark vision of a twisted knot of steel, parts of it resembling what was once that Chevy Caprice. She imagined the vehicle had veered off a road somewhere, and now lay crumpled like a balled-up piece of paper. Penny was either still pinned in the wreckage, rushed to a hospital … or worse, much worse.

  Grace opened the front door before the police had time to exit their vehicles. Outside, a crackle of indecipherable radio chatter momentarily drowned out the night-calling insects. Even though she lived a mile from the ocean, the air carried a tinge of salt, that special seawater smell that normally she found so rejuvenating. Not tonight.

  Of the two men who strode up her walkway, only one was dressed in a police uniform. The other gentleman, a heavyset fellow, sported a thick mustache and wore a dark suit to match his hair. This one greeted Grace with an inscrutable expression, which set her somewhat at ease. At least his eyes didn’t carry the weighty look of someone about to crush her soul.

  “Ms. Francone?”

  He had a deep, gravelly voice, good for coaching or getting hardened people to follow his orders. The best Grace could manage was a quick nod.

  “I’m Detective Jay Allio from the Lynn Police Department, and this is Sergeant Brent Adams. Is your daughter Penny Francone?”

  “Yes,” Grace said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, feeling her anxiousness fire back up.

  “We came here to tell you that we’ve arrested her. She’s at the Lynn Police Station right now.”

  Grace’s field of vision blurred momentarily. “Arrested? For what?”

  “We believe she killed a woman,” Allio said, showing no emotion in his voice or face.

  Grace used one hand to grip the doorframe while the other went to her chest, where she could feel her heart beating way too fast.

  “Killed as in … what? Was it a … a car accident? Is Penny hurt?”

  “No, it’s not that,” said Allio. “No accident. And Penny is uninjured. We believe it was a homicide.”

  The matter-of-fact way he shared this information made it hard for Grace to process his words.

  “I’m sorry, what? Say that again.”

  “We believe Penny committed a homicide this evening.”

  “A murder?” Grace stammered. “You think my daughter murdered someone?”

  Her words came out with a sharp edge as her grip on the doorframe tightened. She felt like she’d slipped out of her own body and was observing these events from some higher vantage point. Part of her wanted to slam the door in the detective’s face, imagining that doing so might make it all untrue, but she resisted the irrational urge.

  “When was the last time you saw your daughter?” Allio asked. His delivery seemed dispassionate, but Grace reminded herself that his job was to remain even-keeled when delivering seismic news. The other officer continued to hang back, giving Grace the distinct impression he was there simply to assist should she become unhinged or hysterical, either of which were real possibilities.

  “A couple hours ago. When I’d gone for a run, and when I came back, she was gone,” Grace said, fighting for every bit of composure she could muster. “When was she arrested?”

  “She’s been at the station a half hour or so.”

  A sharp twinge hit the back of Grace’s neck, which she tried rubbing away with her hand.

  “So have you talked to her? Asked her what happened?”

  “We checked her license. She’s a minor. It’s our policy that we talk to you first.”

  Grace thought: And I need to talk to a lawyer.

  “When we arrested her, she was covered in blood—it was all over her body, in her hair—so when you come to the station, you should bring a change of clothes.”

  “She’s still in bloody clothes? You left her like that?”

  “It’s evidence,” Allio said as explanation. “It takes time for us to collect the samples we need before we can let her get cleaned up.”

  “I need to get there—I need to leave right now.” Grace felt the ground tilt beneath her feet.

  “I understand,” Allio said, continuing to radiate calm. “You need to take this a step at a time, okay? I have some more questions I’d like to ask.”

  “Blood,” Grace whispered. “Oh my God. And you said she wasn’t hurt?”

  “No, there are no visible wounds on Penny. But the victim was found deceased at the scene, and we believe it’s the victim’s blood on your daughter’s body.”

  Grace got the impression the detective was holding something back.

  “She’s calling herself Eve, but that’s not the name on her license.”

  Again, a chill ran through Grace. Eve.

  “She said she doesn’t remember anything that happened before we showed up. We think maybe she’s in shock, but we’re not sure,” Allio went on. “Is Eve a nickname?”

  Grace paused, deciding how to answer. “It’s more complicated than that,” she offered sparingly, thinking that oversharing wouldn’t do Penny any good. Thankfully, Allio decided to let it go.

  “And you had no idea where Penny was headed when she left the house?”

  “No, none,” Grace said.

  “Had she done that before?” Allio asked. “Taken the car and not told you where she was going?”

  “No, it’s against the rules,” Grace said again, thinking less is more. “She likes to take walks. I thought maybe she took the car to go to the beach or something and forgot to tell me.”

  “Any reason she might have gone to Lynn? Does she have a friend there?”

  Grace shook her head, reminding herself
that Allio wasn’t on her side. He had her daughter in custody and his agenda was different than hers.

  “Have you noticed any changes in her behavior lately? Have you seen any anger, withdrawal, anything different?”

  Grace mulled it over before answering. She was barely holding on. A slight breeze could totter her off some invisible edge into full-blown hysteria. For a moment she worried she was going to be sick.

  “No,” Grace finally managed. “Everything has been fine. I think I need a lawyer.”

  Allio’s eyes danced across her face in an unsettling way, as if he knew much more than he was letting on.

  “Let me ask you one last question, if I may. I’m sure you want to get down to the station. Do you know a woman named Rachel Boyd?”

  For Grace, it felt as though time itself had come to a stop. Her body went numb, mind a blank.

  “Rachel Boyd?” Grace repeated in a quiet voice.

  “Yes. Do you know her?”

  “Not personally, no. Is she … is she the victim?”

  “Yes, Rachel has been murdered. Is there a connection between Penny and Ms. Boyd?” Allio asked.

  Grace nodded insensibly. Her legs were shaking, barely able to hold her upright. “Yes,” she said, her thoughts fading as her vision grew dark. “Rachel Boyd is my daughter’s birth mother.”

  CHAPTER 2

  GRACE WENT TO THE kitchen to retrieve her phone. She had a lawyer in mind, one who had become a regular at her restaurant, Big Frank’s, an oceanfront pizzeria Grace had inherited from Arthur after his death.

  Grace wasn’t certain if Greg Navarro, attorney-at-law, would answer her call, what fee he’d charge, or if he’d even want to take the case. She also wasn’t at all sure if he was as good as he presented himself to be; however she liked him a great deal. Which, given how they’d met, a fender bender over a month ago, could easily have gone the other way.

  * * *

  Grace had been driving in Vinnin Square, a highly congested area near the Swampscott Mall, when she felt a sharp jolt from behind. She heard a loud crunch before her seatbelt locked as she lurched forward. She was shocked at first, wondering what had happened, but a check in her rearview mirror revealed a blue car that was basically conjoined to her bumper. She pulled into a nearby Dunkin Donuts parking lot to escape traffic, and the blue car followed.

  A survey of her Mini Cooper—which had a hundred and fifteen thousand miles on it and was nearly on its last axle—revealed a large dent in the bumper. Minimal damage aside, Grace was grateful not to be at fault, or else she’d have to pay the hefty deductible. Her small car fit the size of her life as well as her budget. Everything had shrunk in the wake of Arthur’s sudden passing.

  The man who’d struck her with his Ford Focus had the stocky build of a former jock, with sandy brown hair kept neatly trimmed above his ears. He was dressed nicely in a blue suit and white oxford shirt, unbuttoned at the top, no tie. His brown eyes brimmed with embarrassment. Below a broad forehead his eyebrows stayed noticeably arched, as though he were still surprised he’d struck her vehicle. Soon Grace realized it was a feature of his appearance and nothing more, as if he were perpetually questioning everything.

  After making sure Grace was physically unharmed, he surveyed the damage.

  “I was on my way to meet a client at a restaurant,” the man said by way of explanation. “Took a wrong turn, went to check Waze, and … bam!” He smacked his hands together to reenact the impact. “Serves me right for taking my eyes off the road.” He shook his head in utter dismay, clearly still upset with himself. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  They exchanged insurance information, which is how Grace learned his name.

  “I’m really sorry about this,” Greg Navarro said, apologizing for the third time. “Such a novice move. I never get into accidents. Look, if you’re ever in need of a lawyer—defense, personal injury, family, wills, estate—just give me a call. I have a practice here on the North Shore. I’ll cut you a deal on my usual rate to make it up to you.” He gave her his card, on which he had his mobile number listed.

  * * *

  Grace had hoped and prayed she wouldn’t need a criminal defense attorney for Penny ever again. Once was enough. In the kitchen catch-all drawer, where she kept a business card holder, was the card of the attorney Arthur had hired when Penny and her friend Maria Descenza got arrested in ninth grade. Penny had been doing wonderfully well in the years since that awful incident, no trouble with the law, and Grace felt confident she had outgrown that disturbing behavior. Everyone, nobody more so than Grace, was shocked that girls so young could face such serious criminal charges for using words, not weapons, but the law was quite clear: if you threaten somebody’s life, you will be arrested.

  While Penny was complicit, a willing participant in the crime, Grace had no doubt Maria—or Firebug Maria as she was known around town thanks to a childhood habit of setting small fires, a nickname that carried over into her teen years—manipulated her daughter into writing those death threats.

  The DA eventually agreed to drop the charges and seal Penny’s record, but that privacy extended to schools and employers only. These detectives certainly had access to the case file, so they knew everything about her daughter’s criminal history.

  The descriptions of murder and mayhem, the horrible, dark violent fantasies that the girls secretly shared with each other included a “hit list” of targets—a list that Grace had no doubt was about to come back to haunt her daughter with a vengeance.

  Penny’s psychiatrist back then had played a critical role in the plea deal her daughter was given—far more so than the lawyer they’d hired, who Grace didn’t like one bit. She found him unresponsive, sometimes taking days to get back to her with a simple answer. There was a reason she had deleted his contact information from her iPhone—and even Arthur concurred he was overly dismissive of their concerns.

  Thankfully, though, she had a new lawyer to call, one who had proven himself to be kind and coolheaded in a crisis, and whom she’d come to know well enough to make him a grilled chicken Caesar salad for lunch without his having to place the order.

  “I thought I’d make up for hitting your car by buying a few lunches, and I’ve honestly become addicted to the food,” Navarro once said with a laugh.

  She called Greg Navarro using a number in her phone’s contacts, and to her great relief he answered after a couple rings. She didn’t need to make an introduction, but still found herself saying, “It’s Grace from Big Frank’s,” then, albeit breathlessly, broke the news about her daughter, recounting as quickly as she could the detective’s visit and what he’d told her of Penny’s arrest.

  Navarro’s first words back to her were delivered with quick and decisive precision.

  “Tell the detective she can’t be interviewed, and get yourself down to the police station soon as you can. Don’t forget to bring her a change of clothes and a towel. They may not have one. I’m not sure they even have a shower. I’ll call the station myself, soon as we’re off the phone so they know she’s not to talk to anybody, not until I get there. Give me thirty minutes, max. And Grace…”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t talk to the police either.”

  “Got it,” she said.

  He’d barely done anything to help her and already Grace liked him better than Penny’s last lawyer. At Navarro’s instruction, Grace handed the phone to Allio, who was waiting patiently outside. A moment later, Allio gave the phone back to Grace.

  “He made it clear we’re not interviewing her. But, if she wants to make a statement, it could definitely help her in court.”

  Score one for Navarro, who had anticipated she’d be pressured.

  Grace followed Allio’s sedan to the police station in her Mini Cooper, which had a new bumper thanks to her daughter’s new lawyer. Allio had offered her a ride, but Grace declined. She needed to be alone with her thoughts, her fears. The only person’s company she wanted had half his ashes du
mped in the ocean, the other half stored in an urn on a shelf in the home they had shared for twenty years.

  The police station was a fortress-like three-story brick structure. Allio directed Grace to a visitor’s parking spot in the back of the building, where he waited for her before using a key card to open a metal door. He escorted her down a series of austere hallways until they came to a cramped, windowless room, which contained a small rectangular table pushed up against a soundproofed wall, some round-backed plastic chairs, and nothing more.

  Pacing felt like the only way she could pass the minutes before Navarro got there. The younger officers who came to check on her called her “ma’am,” offered to get her water, coffee, or tea, something to eat from the vending machine if she preferred, all of which she declined. Her stomach felt too unsettled to take in anything other than air, and even that wasn’t going down smoothly given how tight and dry her throat had become.

  Greg Navarro entered the room while Grace was responding to a text from her sister-in-law, Annie. She was making it clear to Annie not to tell Grace’s two boys, Ryan and Jack, both of whom were attending college in Boston, anything other than what she had shared: that their sister Penny had been arrested, and details would be forthcoming.

  Navarro came dressed in a blue suit and tie, similar to what he wore whenever he dined at Big Frank’s. Seeing him made it easier to breathe.

  “How are you?” he asked, taking a seat at the small table and encouraging Grace to do the same.

  As she settled herself into the uncomfortable chair across from him, Grace managed to muster the lie: “I’m fine, thank you.”

  Navarro returned a look of encouragement. “Hang in there, all right?” he said. “We’re going to take this a step at a time.”

  He handed Grace a plastic bottle of water, which he’d brought just for her, and she took a generous drink.

  “Before we go on, we’ve talked some about your cases, and I know you’re a very good lawyer, but I need to know that you’ve handled murder cases before.” Grace couldn’t believe she’d uttered those words in connection with her daughter.