The Butterfly Garden (The Collector #1)(18)

I tested that once, stayed home for a full week. I didn’t even get makeup work when I went back. I only returned because I was bored. Sad, really. I left everyone else alone so they left me alone too. I didn’t leave the house after dark, and every night I fell asleep to a lullaby of gunshots and sirens. And when Gran’s lawn guy came twice a month, I hid under my bed in case he came into the house.

He was probably in his late twenties, maybe a little older, and always wore jeans that were too tight and too low, trying to make the best of a package that even at that age I didn’t think was very impressive. He liked to call me pretty girlie, and if he was there when I came home from school, he’d try to touch me and ask me to bring him things. I kicked him once, right in the balls, and he cursed and chased me into the house, but he tripped over the stag in the entryway and Gran ripped him a new one for making too much noise during her soaps.

After that, I hung out at the gas station a few blocks over until I saw his truck drive past.




“And your parents never questioned your well-being?” He knows it’s a stupid question, but it’s already out of his mouth, and he nods even as her mouth twists.

“My parents never came to see me, never called, never sent cards or gifts or anything. Mom sent checks for the first three months, Dad for the first five, but then those stopped too. I never saw my parents or heard from them again after I went to Gran’s. I honestly don’t even know if they’re still alive.”

They’ve been at this all day, the birthday cake the first thing he’d had since last night’s dinner. He can feel his stomach complaining, knows she must be at least as hungry. It’s been almost twenty-four hours since the FBI arrived at the Garden. They’ve both been awake longer than that.

“Inara, I’m willing to let you tell things in your own way, but I need you to give me a straightforward answer to one question: should we have child services in here?”

“No,” she says immediately. “And that’s the truth.”

“How close is that truth to a lie?”

It’s actually a smile this time, crooked and wry, but even so small a smile as that softens her entire face. “I turned eighteen yesterday. Happy birthday to me.”

“You were fourteen when you got to New York?” Eddison demands.

“Yep.”

“What the hell?”

“Gran died.” She shrugs, reaching for the water bottle. “I came home from school and she was dead in the chair with burns on her fingers where the cigarette burned all the way down. I’m kind of amazed the whole damn place wasn’t on fire from the whiskey fumes. I think her heart gave out or something.”

“Did you report it?”

“No. The lawn guy or the grocery boy would find her when they went to get paid, and I didn’t want anyone arguing about what to do with me. Maybe they would have tracked down one of my parents and I’d be forced to go with them, or they’d just dump me into the system. Or maybe they would have tracked down one of those uncles or aunts on my dad’s side and shoved me off onto yet another relative who didn’t want me. I didn’t like those options.”

“So what did you do?”

“I packed a suitcase and a duffel, then raided Gran’s stash.”

Victor’s not sure if he’s going to regret the answer, but he has to ask. “Stash?”

“Of cash. Gran only sort of trusted banks, so any time she got a check, she cashed it and hid half of it up the German shepherd’s ass. The tail was on a hinge, so you could reach under and pull out the money.” She takes a sip, then purses her lips and presses them against the mouth of the bottle, letting the water soak against the chapped cracks. “There was almost ten grand in there,” she continues when she pulls the bottle away. “I hid it away in my suitcase and duffel, spent the night at the house, and in the morning I woke up and walked down to the bus station rather than school, and bought a ticket to New York.”

“You spent the night in the house with your dead grandmother.”

“She wasn’t stuffed yet, but otherwise what was the difference than any other night?”

He’s grateful for the static in his ear. “We ordered food for the three of you,” Yvonne reports from the observation room. “Couple more minutes on it. And Ramirez called. A few of the girls have started talking. Not much yet; they seem more concerned with the dead ones than themselves. Senator Kingsley is on her way from Massachusetts.”

Well, it started out as good news. It’s probably too much to hope that the senator will be forced to make an early landing somewhere due to bad weather.

Victor shakes his head and leans back in his chair. The senator isn’t here yet; they’ll deal with her once she is. “We’re going to take a break soon so we can all eat, but one more question before that.”

“Only one?”

“Tell us about how you came to the Garden.”

“That isn’t a question.”

Eddison slaps his thigh impatiently, but it’s still Victor who speaks. “How did you come to the Garden?”

“I was kidnapped.”

Three teenage daughters and he can practically hear the unspoken “duh” at the end of it. “Inara.”

“You’re really good at that.”