Chương 7
"Thomas."
He looked up.
"I need an attorney who doesn't work for my father."
Richard's head snapped toward me.
"Gwen."
"No."
"I can have the best family lawyer in California here in an hour."
"Exactly."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means I don't want someone who takes your calls before mine."
Richard's face hardened.
"I am trying to protect you."
"You always are."
The old bitterness came out before I could stop it.
Hazel looked between us.
I lowered my voice.
"That's the problem."
Richard pushed back from the booth.
For one second I thought he might leave.
Instead he walked to the counter, asked for a check nobody had requested, and stood there with his back to us.
Thomas watched him.
"You haven't changed much."
"Neither has he."
"That doesn't mean either of you stayed the same."
I hated that sentence because it required work.
My phone buzzed.
Thomas looked at his screen first.
His face lost color.
"What?"
He turned the screen toward me.
A court docket entry filled the display.
Spencer had filed for emergency temporary custody that afternoon.
The filing time was forty-three minutes after I left the house.
My mouth went dry.
"On what grounds?"
Thomas scrolled.
"Alleged instability, abandonment of the marital home, interference with parental access, and concern that you may remove Hazel from the state."
I stared at him.
"He watched Cassandra hit her."
"I know."
"Then he filed against me."
"I know."
Hazel was humming to herself, unaware.
Richard returned from the counter.
He saw our faces.
"What happened?"
Thomas handed him the phone.
Richard read in silence.
Then he looked at me.
The fury in his face was not theatrical.
It was worse.
It was familiar.
I had inherited some of it.
"What do you want to do?" he asked.
For once, he did not tell me.
I looked down at Hazel.
Chocolate pudding marked the corner of her bruised mouth.
Then I looked at the docket again.
"First," I said, "we document what happened today."
Thomas nodded.
"Then?"
"We answer every lie with evidence."
Richard waited.
"And Spencer?"
I picked up my regular phone and opened the photographs Evan had sent.
"Spencer can explain himself in every room he was counting on controlling tonight."
Thomas looked at me for a long moment.
"That sounds like a threat."
"It's a plan."
"It's a sentence that becomes a threat if you say it loudly enough in front of the wrong lawyer."
Richard almost smiled.
"She's definitely mine."
I ignored him.
Hazel had abandoned the pudding and was trying to stack sugar packets into a crooked tower.
I watched her for a few seconds before saying, "I need somewhere quiet for her tonight."
Richard answered immediately.
"My house."
"No."
His expression closed.
Thomas rubbed his forehead.
"We are not doing this in a diner."
"We're doing exactly this in a diner because apparently my family likes difficult conversations over bad coffee."
Richard leaned forward.
"Your daughter has been assaulted, your husband has filed for emergency custody, and there is a financial problem developing around his company."
"I noticed."
"You need security."
"I need independence."
"You need both."
That stopped me.
Richard sat back.
For once, he did not press the advantage.
"Use the guesthouse," he said.
I knew the property.
A separate building behind his Brentwood home with its own gate, kitchen, and entrance.
He had bought the estate after my mother died and then spent fifteen years complaining about maintaining rooms nobody used.
"You won't come in without asking."
"No."
"You won't send staff in without asking."
"No."
"You won't have Hazel photographed."
His face changed.
"Good God, Gwen."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
I nodded once.
"Then we'll use it tonight."
Hazel looked up.
"Does it have a bathtub?"
Richard blinked.
"Yes."
"With bubbles?"
"I can obtain bubbles."
Thomas muttered, "National emergency avoided."
My phone vibrated again.
This time it was a number I didn't recognize.
Thomas glanced at the screen.
"Don't answer unknown calls right now."
I let it go to voicemail.
Two seconds later, a text arrived.
Mrs. Albright, this is Detective Lena Ortiz with LAPD West Los Angeles.
Please contact me regarding an incident involving your daughter.
My throat tightened.
Thomas read it over my shoulder.
"Good."
"Good?"
"It means the dentist made the report."
Hazel was watching me again.
I put the phone down.
"Police may want to talk to me."
Her eyes widened.
"Am I in trouble?"
"No."
"Cassandra?"
I hesitated.
"Maybe."
Hazel considered this and picked up another fry.
"I don't want her to go to jail."
Richard's head turned sharply.
I said, "Why not?"
Hazel shrugged.
"I just don't want her near me."
The simplicity of it hurt.
She did not want revenge.
She wanted distance.
Adults made everything larger because we had egos to feed.
Children often understood the shape of safety better.
I called Detective Ortiz from outside the diner.
Thomas followed but stayed several feet away.
The detective spoke without drama.
Dr. Leung had reported suspected child abuse.
She needed a statement from me and, depending on what a child-interview specialist recommended, might later arrange an interview with Hazel.
"Can we do it tonight?"
"Yes."
"At the station?"
"Preferably somewhere your daughter feels safe."
I looked through the diner window.
Hazel was explaining something to Richard with both hands.
My father listened as though she were briefing him on a merger.
"There's a guesthouse where we'll be staying."
Ortiz took the address.
"Do you need the teeth?"
A small pause.
"The teeth?"
"They were knocked out."
"If you still have them, don't clean them."
I looked down at the bloodstained napkin still folded inside a plastic sandwich bag the dentist had given me.
"I have them."
"Keep them."
The phrase made my stomach twist.
I thanked her and ended the call.
Thomas came closer.
"She's competent."
"You've never met her."
"She asked you not to clean evidence."
"Your standards for competence are depressing."
May you like
"They've become realistic."
We drove to Brentwood just before sunset.
