The tiny woman consulted her clipboard. “I’ll check back in fourteen business days to see that you have.” Then she looked up at us. “I’ll have to file a report when I get back to the office, but I don’t see anything here of grave concern.” She almost sounded disappointed.

Freya escorted her to the door, closing it behind her with a resounding slam. When she returned to the living room, her eyes were dark with anger.

“Who the fuck called CPS?”

“I don’t know.” It was the truth, but I felt caught out. “Maybe some online troll?”

“Child Protection wouldn’t send someone out because I went on a fucking vacation,” she growled. “It was Jamie. It has to be.”

It made sense. She was the only one with motive.

“Did you tell her I was a bad mother?” Freya asked.

“Of course not!” I cried, my voice trembling with fear. “I would never say anything bad about you, Freya. You’re a great mom. Maggie loves you. You’re just settling into it, getting used to it.”

But she was no longer listening to me. She collected her car keys off the side table and stalked out of the house.

Chapter 62

62

jamie

Hawking Mercantile had returned to summer opening hours. It was only spring, but I felt hopeful that business would pick up with the warmer weather. And I wanted to work six days a week, wanted to stay at the store until five thirty on weekdays, seven on Fridays and Saturdays. Staying busy distracted me from waiting for the DNA results, worrying about Maggie’s well-being, and the dull ache of guilt I felt for lying to my husband. Again.

Brian still insisted on going through the proper channels in our fight for access to Maggie. He still maintained that we would find the money to pay the lawyer, to travel to the city as often as necessary, to go to court when and if we needed to. We’d had a telephone consultation with a lawyer in the city named Julian Walsh. Speaking at the speed of an auctioneer (Mr. Walsh charged in fifteen-minute increments), Brian explained that Freya was keeping his child from him. The attorney had affirmed for us that the first step was proof of paternity. We were to provide an affidavit—basically a numbered statement of facts pertaining to the case that we would take to Nancy Willfollow for witnessing. We would then submit it to Julian Walsh, who would file it with the court.

“You might not even need to attend,” he told us, and my husband and I had shared a hopeful smile. If our evidence was sufficient, the court would compel Freya to provide Maggie’s DNA for testing.