He noticed movement in his peripheral vision, closed and lowered the file. They were on the move finally, the attorney guiding Violet Ramsey toward the house, her gait slow and wary. When their eyes met, the girl glared at him. Nico gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, though he doubted he had the power to reassure her. He was there as the enemy, the marauder. He understood that. He didn’t like that part of his job, but he also didn’t like what Norah Ramsey had done. For a moment his brother, Matteo, flickered through his mind, but he banished him from his thoughts. He couldn’t afford to think about anyone from his family—his wife, his kids, or his brother—at this moment. It would only distract and weaken him.
As the pair climbed the porch steps to meet him, Nico rested his foot on a huge pumpkin that was there, an attempt to strike a casual, nonconfrontational pose.
“Don’t do that,” the girl said, then clamped her mouth shut.
He quickly removed his foot from the pumpkin and tucked the file under his arm. “My apologies,” he said, feeling foolish. Violet Ramsey nodded once, then looked down.
“I’m Detective Rinaldi,” he said. The girl nodded again but didn’t look up.
Before going inside, Nico explained what was going to happen: He would walk with her through the house as she packed. He would make a list of each item taken, just for their evidential records. Jim Sheridan, the attorney, was welcome to be with them every step of the way. Violet Ramsey looked to Jim Sheridan, her eyes silently imploring him to do just that. He nodded obligingly. Nico wondered if the girl already knew Jim Sheridan and made a mental note to look into this. Just how much did this kid know? Nothing? Everything?
Nico kept his eyes on Jim Sheridan so he didn’t have to look directly at the girl. She probably thought he was heartless. She probably assumed he was enjoying this. While he would enjoy putting an end to Norah Ramsey’s business—and the people she was involved with—he did not relish evicting a child from her home. With any luck, he’d have the scene cleared quickly and she could return home. But with whom there to care for her? Because if he had anything to do with it, it would not be her mother. Surely there was family somewhere who could step in. He reminded himself this was not his problem. Norah Ramsey had put her daughter in this position because of choices she had made. He was just there to do his job. Because his job was all he had left.
Violet
After the detective from the porch followed her around her own house and watched her pack her things—even her underwear, so embarrassing—Mr. Sheridan drove her to Nicole’s house, which was exactly seven houses away from her own. So it wasn’t like she needed to be driven. But he insisted. He said he’d promised her mother. She thought of what her mother was accused of, thinking that—if it was somehow true, which it wasn’t—Mr. Sheridan should be careful being associated with her. People might get the wrong idea about him. His wife might get mad.
Nicole’s mother must’ve been waiting by the door when they pulled up, because it opened immediately to reveal her standing there, wearing yoga pants and a tank top that showed off her guns, as she liked to say. Nicole’s mom was “practically perfect in every way”—at least that’s what Violet’s mom said about her. She had the perfect house, the perfect husband, the perfect kids. They were the perfect family, and she had the pictures to prove it, which she was only too happy to share on social media. It used to embarrass Nicole. Bess Strickland cooked the perfect meals and wore the perfect ensemble for every occasion. She exercised for the perfect amount of time to achieve the perfect physique. She was a role model, “a beacon of hope for all women,” as Violet’s mom liked to say.
Once upon a time, Nicole’s mom and Violet’s mom were best friends. Then they weren’t. Kind of like Violet and Nicole, only the thing with her and Nicole was more recent. Violet’s mom and Nicole’s mom hadn’t spoken in ages. She couldn’t believe she had to go there of all places—not with things the way they were with Nicole lately—but Mr. Sheridan said that the arrangements had already been made. She couldn’t stay with her father, because he was out of town. Her father was always out of town. Since he had married her witchy stepmom, he was basically out of her life.
On the Stricklands’ porch, Mr. Sheridan told her he would be in touch as soon as he had any news. “You have my card?” he asked, and she nodded, patting her back pocket as proof. “OK, good,” he said. “So you can call me with any questions.” He produced another card seemingly out of thin air and handed it to Bess, who was standing there quietly, trying to act normal. “And here’s one for you in case you need me as well.” He and Bess looked at each other for a moment, both uncertain what to do next.
“Hey, Violet,” Bess said. “Why don’t you wait for me in the kitchen. I put out some fruit and some cheese and crackers in case you’re hungry,” she said. Violet nodded, happy to get out from under their dual gazes. She gave a little wave and headed off to the kitchen, thinking as she walked, Leave it to Bess Strickland to turn this into some wine-and-cheese party.
She wished Nicole was there so she could say that to her, so they could laugh about it. She wanted someone to talk to about all that was happening, but, though school was letting out in
