Grave Secrets

Dr. Brennan might be able to help with that.”

“You want to lock me away somewhere so I won’t embarrass you.” She kicked at a table leg, and the blazing eyes went back to her boots.

“Chant—”

Lywyckij placed a hand on Mrs. Specter’s shoulder, raised his other to quiet her.

“What is it you want, Chantale?”

“I want to get out of here.”

“I will arrange that.”

“You will?” For the first time her voice seemed to match her age.

“You have no prior convictions in Canada, and shoplifting is a minor offense. Given the circumstances, I’m sure I can persuade the judge to release you into your mother’s care if you promise to abide by his, and her, conditions.”

Chantale said nothing.

“Do you understand what that means?”

No response.

“If you disobey your mother, you’ll be in violation.”

Another chop to the table leg.

“Do you understand, Chantale?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Can you comply with the conditions that will be imposed?”

“I’m not a fucking moron.”

Mrs. Specter flinched but held her tongue.

“What about Lucy?”

Lywyckij lowered his palm and brushed nonexistent dust from the tabletop.

“Miss Gerardi’s situation is more problematical. Your friend is here illegally. She has no papers permitting her to be in Canada. That issue will need to be addressed.”

“I’m not going anywhere without Lucy.”

“We will work something out.”

Lywyckij laced his fingers. They looked like intertwined pink sausages.

For a few moments no one spoke. Chantale continued to whack the table leg.

“Now.” Lywyckij leaned onto his forearms. “Perhaps we should talk about the drug problem.”

Silence.

“Chantale, darling, you mus—”

Again Lywyckij hushed his client with a raised hand.

More silence. More table whacking.

I shifted my gaze between mother and daughter. It was like moving from Glamour to Metal Edge. Finally, another elbow in my direction.

“She some kind of social worker?”

“The lady is a friend of your moth—” Lywyckij began.

“I asked my mother.”

“Dr. Brennan accompanied me from Guatemala City.” Mrs. Specter’s voice sounded small.

“She help you blow your nose on liftoff?”

I had promised myself I wouldn’t let Chantale get under my skin, but by now I was fighting the urge to reach across the table and grab the little demon by the throat. The hell with kid gloves.

“I work with the police here.”

Chantale didn’t let that pass.

“What police?”

“All of them. And your street act won’t impress anyone.”

Chantale shrugged.

“Your lawyer is giving you good advice.” I didn’t attempt to pronounce the man’s name.

“My mother’s lawyer has the IQ of a turnip.”

Lywyckij’s face darkened until it looked like a large, ripe plum.

“You’re riding for a fall, Chantale,” I said.