CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I reach the house fifteen minutes later and pull to a halt behind a police vehicle. I half-expect to see Detective Reyes there, but instead it’s two uniformed officers I don’t recognize. They give me a warning look as I approach, and one of them says, “Be careful. It’s a madhouse in there.”

I return a scathing glare to him, then walk inside.

Rude or not, he’s right. The living room and kitchen are trashed. Coming straight from a similar environment gives me an odd sense of déjà vu as I look at the overturned furniture and strewn upholstery.

A woman in a business suit stands in the foyer, her hands lifted placatingly. Evelyn stands in front of her, one hand lifted toward the woman I assume is the social worker and the other lifted toward Celeste.

Celeste stands behind the coffee table, sniffling and glaring fiercely at the social worker. She holds a marble coaster in her hand, lifting it high over her head.

I quickly move toward her. “Celeste,” I say firmly. “Put that down.”

She shakes her head. “No. I’m going to throw it at the bitch if she tries to take me away.”

“Celeste,” the social worker calls. “We need to talk about this. This is for your own good.”

“You don’t even know me! Get out of my house!”

I step in between Celeste and Evelyn. I’m sure she won’t throw the coaster at me. I turn to the social worker and command, “Outside.”

She frowns. “I will be taking Miss Celeste with me. The court has ordered—”

“I will be smashing your head in if you touch me!” Celeste interrupts.

“Celeste, enough! You, what’s your name?”

“Jasmine. And I have—”

“Jasmine, read the room. Look at the situation and ask yourself if you’re handling it in a productive manner or an unproductive manner.”

Jasmine looks around at the carnage. Her lips thin, but she takes my point. “I’ll go outside. But I will —”

“It’s not always necessary to get the last word in,” I interrupt.

Jasmine gives me an ugly look, but she stays silent as she leaves the house.

“Lock that fucking door!” Celeste shouts.”

“Celeste, there is no call for that language! Evelyn, please lock the door.”

Once the door is locked, Celeste calms. She sets the coaster on the coffee table and crosses her arms, sticking her lower lip out in a pout. “I’m not going.”

This sort of age-regressive behavior is quite common in older children and even adults who have suffered serious emotional trauma. That idiot social worker has worked Celeste into a state of extreme terror. I understand that the system exists to protect children, and I don’t have an issue with it or even with their preference for placing children with relatives, but I do wish the process involved building trust with the children and taking time to determine what is best in each case rather than reading a report and finding the solution that checks off the appropriate boxes.

“Please sit,” I tell Celeste, gently but firmly.

She shakes her head.

“I’m not asking you to go, I’m asking you to sit so we can talk.”

“We can talk while I’m standing.”

“Not while you’re this worked up. Sitting will tell your mind and body that you’re calm and allow you to—”

“Well, I’m not fucking calm, Mary.”

“—to think logically about what’s happening,” I finish. She starts to protest again, and I lift my hand. “I’m not saying I’m sending you anywhere. I’m only saying that we need to talk about this like adults. Threatening a person with violence whether you intend to follow through on that threat or not is not an appropriate way to handle this. The fact that the woman you threatened is the social worker assigned to your case makes it worse. The last thing you want is to convince her that you’re a danger to yourself and others.”

That gets through to her. She blinks and looks between me and Evelyn. I sit in one of the upholstered chairs and look expectantly at her. She slowly sits on the couch, but she moves her gaze away from us and bites her lip to keep from crying.

“Do you know your grandparents?” I ask.

“Barely. I remember they came to visit when Mom died, and they called Dad a bunch of names and said they were going to take me away from him.”

“They’re your mother’s parents.”

“Yes. And don’t give me the bullshit about ‘Oh, well they just lost a daughter, and it’s hard.’ That doesn’t give them the right to take me away from my Dad.”

“No, it doesn’t,” I agree. “But this is a different situation.” She stiffens, and I add, “I’m not saying I agree with the court decision to place you with your grandparents, but—”

“This was a court decision? Why wasn’t I involved?”

“I think you should be. And I will speak to the social worker and tell her that you must be advocated for. There should have been an interview with you prior to any decisions being made as to your care. We’ll ensure that the process is followed properly. But you cannot lose your temper like this. If they believe you’re dangerous, you’ll be placed in a juvenile mental health facility. Trust me, you do not want to end up there.”

Evelyn shudders and crosses herself. Celeste pales a little. I feel bad for frightening her, but I’m not telling an untruth. Facilities like that are not designed to help their charges, merely to contain them. Celeste’s mental health already rests on a knife edge. Sending her there will cause her to tumble down an abyss from which she may never leave.

I stand. “I’m going to talk to Miss Jasmine. Stay inside with Evelyn. Please do not panic. Evelyn and I both care for you very much, and we will not let anything happen to you.”

She nods. “Okay, Mary.”

Evelyn smiles gratefully at me. As I head for the door, she says, “I’m going to make myself some coffee. If you promise not to go crazy and throw it at me, I’ll make some for you too.”

Celeste chuckles softly. “Okay.”

I step outside and see Jasmine speaking to the officers in low voices. When she sees me, she crosses her arms and says haughtily, “Well?”

I smile sweetly at her. “May I have your supervisor’s number, please?”

She rolls her eyes. “You can have any number you want, but I’m taking Celeste with me today.”

“I don’t think so. You’ve failed to conduct a wellness check and a psychological evaluation of Miss Holloway. I feel safe assuming you’ve failed to conduct a background check of her intended guardians as well. You’ve failed to allow Miss Holloway the legal advocacy to which she’s entitled. You’ve trespassed on her property, and you’ve—”

“I get your point,” Jasmine interrupts. Ooh, I don’t like her at all. “We have screened her grandparents, and prior to placement, we will conduct a psychological evaluation. As far as a wellness check, based on what I’ve seen, she is very un well. I’m considering recommending hospitalization.”

“And I will be making a formal complaint about how the state has handled her case. May I have your supervisor’s number?”

“Like I said, you can take the number, but it won’t change what happens here.”

I direct my attention to the officers standing next to her. “Officer, do you have the legal right to forcibly remove Miss Holloway from the home knowing what I’ve just told you?”

The officer shifts his feet nervously. “The court order does say she needs to be removed.”

“May I see that order?” I ask Jasmine.

She hands me a file, somewhat reluctantly. I look through it and see that all of the items I’ve pointed out have been checked. I meet her eyes. I no longer wear a facade of sweetness. “This information is falsified. That’s fraud.”

Her lower lip twitches once. “I’m just here to pick her up. They handed me the paperwork and said go pick her up.”

“You aren’t her caseworker?”

“I am, but—”

“Then aren’t you responsible for all of these items being completed?”

“I am. But it’s not uncommon for the preliminary work to be completed prior to the first meeting. It expedites things.”

“Then I’d like to speak with your supervisor and make him aware that they haven’t been completed.”

Jasmine hesitates. She appears to wrestle with whether or not to acquiesce or press the issue. Unfortunately, she chooses to press the issue. “Miss…”

I don’t reply. I’m in no mood to be polite to her. She frowns and continues, “ Miss. I have a court order to take Miss Holloway from the premises and deliver her to her grandparents. That will happen. If you’d like to file a complaint, you may do so, but I will carry out my instructions.”

“And I will call every news agency in Northern California and tell them that you forcibly removed a grieving young woman from her home without following a single step in the legal process required to do so. I will name you personally and detail your arrogance, petulance and lack of any concern or regard for the girl under your care, including your admitted negligence in ensuring that the pre-transfer care Miss Holloway is supposed to receive at your hands was completed. Further, I will contact a friend of mine who is an excellent private investigator. He will scour every case you’ve ever managed and discover every single shortcut you’ve taken, every rule you’ve broken, everything you’ve done that is even the slightest bit unethical and he will publish those findings nationwide.”

She pales. “That’s illegal.”

“He’s very adept at finding legal ways to hold people accountable for their actions. Since you are a public servant, I imagine it will be very easy for him to find such a way in your case.” I turn to the officers. “The same, of course, applies to you. I don’t hold you two any ill will, but that girl was placed into my care by her father, and I will be as vicious as any mother if she is harmed due to this woman’s negligence and your choice to enforce it.”

The officers look very uncomfortable now. I turn to the discomfited Jasmine and say, “Now. For the final time, I would like your supervisor’s—”

“No!”

The shout is loud enough to carry through the door and interrupt my conversation. It’s followed by a crash and a scream. My heart falls to my feet. I turn and sprint into the house.

Evelyn is on the floor of the living room. I see red, and for a terrifying moment, I think she’s bleeding, but when I look again, it’s only a red coffee mug that’s been shattered.

“What happened?” I cry out. “Where’s Celeste?”

“She’s run,” Evelyn says, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I tried to stop her, but she panicked again, and she wouldn’t listen.”

“Where did she go?”

“She went downstairs. She said she’s going to the vanishing point.”