Once the students were out of earshot, she dropped the Pollyanna act and repeated, “I’m
not
going to the police with this. I just want to know what you think of her handwriting. How dangerous is she?”
Claudia chewed on her lower lip, considering. It wasn’t an easy question to answer.
“What you need to understand is, handwriting only shows potential. She may or may not act on it, depending on circumstances. This is the sort of person who doesn’t plan ahead, she acts on impulse. What disturbs me is she has this need to control everyone and everything, but she lacks self-control. I doubt she meant she would literally stab you in the back but, Paige, why take chances?”
“I told you, goddamn it—the bad publicity!”
“Listen,” Claudia said. “The guy I’m seeing is a detective. I could talk to him for you, get some advice.”
But Paige was adamant. “No! They’re going to find out I’m tougher than they think. They can’t control me with their threats. I’ll call their bluff.”
“Not so long ago you were so afraid of these people you talked about getting a gun. Now you’ve got an actual threat and you’re not going to do anything?”
A noise at the door made Claudia turn her head.
Neil Sorensen wheeled into the room, his wheelchair whisper soft on the carpeting.
What’s he doing here?
She hadn’t seen him since the day of Paige’s hearing; nor had Paige mentioned him since the time she’d come to Claudia’s house, claiming to be seeking a confidante. Claudia shot a glance at Paige to gauge her reaction.
Paige’s face cleared and her smile could have lit the Christmas tree in the lobby. “Hi there, sweetie,” she said. She rose from her desk and went over to him, the bitter animosity she had just expressed toward Neil’s siblings evaporating as if Claudia had imagined it.
She bent down and kissed his cheek. Neil’s hand reached up and grabbed hers. He turned it over and touched her injured palm to his lips. Maneuvering his chair around the furniture, he stopped a few feet from where Claudia sat on the sofa, watching them.
“Ms. Rose,” he said, leaning forward and offering his hand, which was speckled with a whitish substance—paint or plaster by the look of it. He wore a gray sweatshirt stained with a similar material, and khaki cargo pants. “I haven’t had the pleasure, at least not formally. I’m Neil Sorensen.”
His skin felt dry and cool as he took her hand. She had expected weakness; what she got was a firm grasp and the upper-body strength of someone who worked out.
“Nice to meet you,” Claudia said, wondering how she was supposed to react to Torg Sorensen’s youngest offspring. Didn’t he view her as the enemy the way his older siblings did? He wasn’t looking at her with the same antagonism. His gaze appeared open and direct, curious. Out of the shadow of his brother and sister he seemed far more alive than she remembered from that day in court.
Oblivious to Claudia’s discomfort, Paige sat next to her on the sofa so that her face was on a level with Neil’s. “What’s up?”
He swiveled his chair in her direction. “I seem to have picked a bad time. I wanted to talk to you about Annabelle.”
“Let me guess—she’s causing problems again.”
Neil’s gaze shifted toward Claudia and Paige said, “She’s been working with Annabelle—some handwriting therapy, supposed to improve her behavior.”
He tilted his head, the thin lips pursing. “Interesting—it does seem like she’s been a little calmer. But you still need to do something about her, Paige. She’s flat out refusing to do the assignments the way I want them.”
“What do you want me to do, Neil, lock her in her room?”
Claudia’s gaze bounced between them like a spectator at a tennis match. Paige noticed her puzzlement and smiled. “Oh, I forgot you didn’t know, Claudia. Neil’s the art instructor here at the school.”
Chapter 14
Claudia left the office wondering why Paige had never mentioned that Neil Sorensen worked at the Academy. It seemed an important piece of information to have left out, especially when she had spilled her guts about the rest of the family, and even talked about Neil coming on to her.
With this latest revelation, Paige’s claims to need a friend rang hollow. Maybe what she really needed was an audience.
Wondering what other information Paige might have withheld, Claudia was fuming by the time she left the lobby. She would work Annabelle through her graphotherapy program, she decided, and then walk away from the Sorensen Academy and the melodrama that seemed to cling to Paige like Velcro.
The end of the day. Study hall in session meant silence at the Sorensen Academy.
When Claudia opened the door to the near-empty classroom where the graphotherapy sessions were held, her ears were greeted by the sound of a rhythmic
thud-squeak
,
thud-squeak
.
Alone in the room, Annabelle was hunched over her desk in a corner, a small shadow in her black sweater and black Levi’s. The sound was coming from her sneakers as she lifted her feet a few inches then dropped them, scuffing the polished wood floor.
Thud-squeak. Thud-squeak. Thud-squeak.
“Hey, kiddo,” Claudia said.
No response. The shoulders stayed hunched. The sneakers continued to rise and fall.
Thud-squeak. Thud-squeak. Thud-squeak.
“Annabelle?” Claudia reached out and put a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder, only to have the shoulder wrenched away. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to do this anymore.” The mumble was barely audible. “It’s not making any difference.”
“Funny you should say that. I just heard from your art teacher that he’s pleased with your improvement.”
“He’s lying. My life still sucks.”
Claudia sat down at the desk next to her. “Did something happen?”
Without looking up, Annabelle gave her head a fierce shake. “Just go away. Leave me alone.”
“I came across town to see you. Why don’t we talk about it?”
Another sharp shake of the head. “No!” Her voice broke on a half sob and she muttered a few words that included
slut
.
“Who are you talking about?” Claudia asked.
“Leave me
alone
.”
“Sorry, kiddo, that’s not an option.”
Silence.
“Annabelle, please look at me.”
The girl turned toward her and shot her an angry glare.
“What?”
With her face turned into the light, Claudia understood why she wanted to avoid scrutiny: the makings of a black eye and a swollen lower lip, a scratch across her cheek. The dark eyes sparked with rage and pain.
“Annabelle! What happened to you?”
Annabelle turned toward the wall, her back rigid with tension. “Don’t worry about it.”
The girl was pricklier than a porcupine.
“I’m your friend, remember? Please let me help.”
Annabelle twisted back around to face her with narrowed eyes and pinched lips. “You
said
those exercises would work, but they didn’t. They didn’t do
anything.
It’s the same as it always was.”
“It’s not magic, Annabelle. Things don’t change overnight. But
some
things are better, aren’t they? We had a good time at the—”
“Leave me the
fuck
alone!”
Enough is enough.
Claudia got to her feet. “Call me if you change your mind.”
Later, Claudia was in the kitchen of her friend Zebediah Gold, drinking tea and relating what she knew about Annabelle Giordano.
“Sounds like a very troubled child,” Zebediah said. He squeezed a large dollop of honey into his cup, then wiped the lip of the honey bear bottle with a damp paper towel and set it back on the table. “Somebody had better do something fast, or life is going to rise up and give Miss Annabelle a smack in the chops.”
“Jeez, Zeb, why don’t you have a little tea with your honey . . . I seriously doubt she’s had therapy, except what she got in the hospital after her suicide attempt. The graphotherapy she’s doing with me isn’t enough on its own.”
“She needs
long-term
help after what she’s been through,” Zebediah said. He started ticking off items on his fingers. “Less-than-ideal home, she witnesses her mother’s death. Beloved nanny suddenly disappears. A child would perceive that as a rejection, even though she might understand from a logical point of view what happened. The father is neglectful. That’s a form of abuse with a capital A. So what have I forgotten?”
“She’s been in trouble with the law for shoplifting and joyriding with some punks who stole a car.” Claudia shook her head, frustrated and disappointed. “We had one incident, on that weekend she stayed over, but overall, things seemed to go well. I thought—” She broke off and nibbled at an oatmeal cookie Zebediah pushed in front of her.
“You thought what? That your magic touch would affect an overnight cure of a condition that’s taken eight years to develop?”
“Okay, I know it was dumb.”
Zebediah’s face creased into a smile that made him look a lot like Clint Eastwood. “Darling, you’re anything but dumb and you really do have a magic touch, but don’t set the bar so high. And don’t kid yourself. You
have
made a positive contribution. You put enough faith in the child to take her into your home and expose your niece to her. Unless she’s completely unredeemable—and you wouldn’t have done that if you thought she was—she’s made a connection with you. It takes time. You’ve let her know you’re there for her, even when she’s behaving badly. Don’t forget how she came to your defense when that Sorensen daughter attacked you.”
“You just reminded me . . .” Claudia said. She proceeded to tell him about the letter Paige had received from her stepdaughter with its implicit threat. “Don’t you think Paige ought to tell the police, just in case Diana’s really the lunatic she appears to be?”
He rubbed his beard the way he sometimes did when he wanted to buy time. After thinking about it he said, “The police tend not to take things like that seriously unless there’s a long history of violence.”
“She pushed Paige down and injured her. And if Annabelle hadn’t jumped in, I might have gone right over that railing. That’s pretty violent.”
“But it sounds like Paige has her mind made up,” Zebediah said. “There’s not a lot you can do about that, and she’s right about the bad publicity involving the police would bring. But you
can
continue to be supportive of the child.”
Claudia thought of Annabelle sitting at the desk in the empty classroom. There had been such dejection in the way she’d hugged her sweater around her slight frame, her head turned to the wall, it had torn at Claudia’s heart.
“I went back to talk to Paige, but she wasn’t in her office. Maybe I shouldn’t have left the kid alone.”
“After the way she spoke to you, it was the only thing you could do. Walking out let her know that her behavior wasn’t okay. The way to teach someone not to treat you badly is by not putting up with it.”
“I’m not so sure, Zeb.” Claudia got up and poured more hot water over her tea bag. She veered onto another unanswered question. “I’m thinking Paige and Neil Sorensen must have been getting it on. Don’t you think it was strange that she never told me he works at the school?”
“Sweetie, from what you’ve said, the entire Sorensen clan is pretty strange. How many times have you heard me advise against getting personally involved with clients?”
She made a goofy face but didn’t answer. Truth was, she’d lost count.
The telephone was ringing as she unlocked the door. Dropping the grocery bags she was carrying onto the kitchen counter, Claudia snatched up the receiver. The caller ID display read
Sorensen Academy.
“Hi, Claudia.” Paige. “Brenda said you left early. What’s going on?”
“Annabelle wasn’t in the mood to work. I looked for you, but you weren’t around.”
Paige gave a little laugh that almost qualified as a giggle. “Neil was showing me some, er, artwork; then Cruz came along and—those two guys can’t stand each other. Neil’s jealous for obvious reasons, and Cruz, well, that’s another story. They’re so funny to watch.”
Claudia couldn’t see the humor, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
“So what happened that you left early?” Paige asked when she didn’t respond.
“What happened to Annabelle? How did she get beaten up? I couldn’t get her to talk.”
There was a long silence and Claudia could almost feel Paige waffling on how to respond. “Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?” she pressed. “You talked me into bringing her into my home, introducing her to my niece. If there’s a problem—”
“Okay, okay.” Paige interrupted. “It’s not that kind of problem.” She lowered her voice. “Hang on. Let me close the door.” The phone clattered to the desk and moments later Claudia heard the click of the office door; then Paige was back.
“This is another one of those potential PR nightmares, so don’t repeat what I’m going to tell you, okay?”
“Fine. What is it?”
“Annabelle tried to beat down her roommate, Britney Levine. She went for the girl’s throat!”
Claudia groaned inwardly. She wasn’t shocked, or even surprised, by Paige’s revelation. Her work made her all too familiar with the many sides of human nature and she was more than a little jaded. But she liked Annabelle, prickles and all, and she cared what happened to her. What Paige had just told her didn’t bode well for the girl’s future.
“Why would she do that?” she asked.
Paige said, “Bert and I went out to dinner last night. Here we are, in the middle of the best prime rib in town, when I get a call from the night monitor. It seems Britney and a couple of the other residential girls had been making fun of Annabelle for the way she’s always mooning after Cruz.
“According to one of the girls, quote: Britney tapped Annabelle on the back andAnnabelle lost it, unquote. She grabbed Britney by the throat and wouldn’t let go. Britney’s got the bruises to prove it. Then the other girls jumped in and started pounding Annabelle. That’s when the night monitor heard the commotion and broke it up.”