Jonathan Kellerman - The Murderer's Daughter

Sam appeared first, swaggering into the kitchen as if he’d always lived there. Sharp eyes took in the room, settled on the fry pan. “Thanks so much, ma’am, but I don’t eat eggs. None of us do. It’s animal matter.”

Ty and Lily hid themselves behind him, yawning and rubbing their eyes. Ty was even softer-looking up close, all boy, no man. Sam, on the other hand, had muscles in his arms and the beginnings of facial hair: oily-looking smudges on his chin and above his upper lip.

All three of them had on the same strange black clothing they’d arrived in. Up close, Grace could see the uniforms were hand-sewn, with clumsy, crooked stitching and loose threads, fashioned of a rough fabric that looked more like a bag for potatoes than for clothes.

Another weird thing she noticed now was that Sam wore an earring, a small gold loop that pierced his left lobe.

Grace ignored them and ate but a cold feeling was spreading on the back of her neck. Glancing up from her plate, she saw Sam looking at her. His lips would’ve been pretty on a girl but on him they looked like... a costume.

Grace returned to her plate. He snorted.

Ramona said, “You’re vegetarians, huh?”

Sam said, “Most vegetarians eat eggs and milk. We’re vegan.”

“Be nice if someone told me. So what’s your usual breakfast?”

“Greens,” said Sam.

“Vegetables?”

“Green vegetables, ma’am. Manna from the earth.”

“Wasn’t manna birds or something?”

“No, ma’am, that was the miraculous quail visited upon the sinful Hebrews. Manna was a heavenly vegetable.”

Ramona grunted. “Greens...” She rummaged in the fridge. “I’ve got lettuce and cucumbers that were supposed to be for dinner but I suppose I can cook something else for dinner. Sit down and I’ll wash you a mess of greens. ”

Talking differently than she did to other fosters. Like she didn’t want these kids here.

“Where?” said Sam.

“Where what?”

“Where should we sit, ma’am?”

“Where?” said Ramona. “At the table.”

“I understand that, ma’am, but where at the table? Please assign us positions.”

Ramona put her hands on her hips. Bobby’s head rolled. Sam laughed. At Bobby.

Ty and Lily hadn’t uttered a word, remained pressed together, same as last night.

Ramona said, “Positions, huh? Okay, you — big brother — sit over there.” Pointing to the seat farthest from Bobby. “Then we’ll have your little brother sit next to this gentleman, who is Bobby, and you, cutie — Lily — you’re between Ty and this young lady, who is Grace. She’s very smart and she likes her privacy.”

Aiming the statement at Sam. Maybe she’d seen the hunger, too.

Sam grinned. Usually, Grace didn’t like being protected, but this morning, she didn’t mind it at all.

Sam moved toward her, shifted direction, and followed Ramona’s seating instructions. Telling his siblings, “Go.”

They obeyed.

Once seated, he flicked his earring. “Privacy is an illusion.”

Ramona glared. “Well, then, you go on respecting Ms. Blades’s illusion.”

“Blades,” said Sam, as if he found the name amusing. “Of course, ma’am. We’re here to be respectful. And grateful.” He snickered. “We’re here to be absolutely perfect.”

That day, at ten a.m., Grace experienced a new emotion.

Malcolm Bluestone drove up in his brown station wagon, hauled out what she recognized as testing materials, but when she walked up to him, he said, “Hi, there. I think we’ll have some time in the afternoon.”

Grace looked at the tests.

“Oh, these,” said Malcolm. “I’m going to be spending some time with the new fosters.”

Going to be. Not have to. That made it his decision, he preferred to be with the weirdos in the weird clothes.

Grace turned away.

“Maybe one p.m.?” Malcolm called out. “Love to hear how you liked the anthropology materials.”

Grace didn’t answer. Her eyes were burning and her chest felt tight.

She’d read about this and now she felt it. Jealousy.

She’d make sure to be somewhere else at one p.m.

Malcolm found her at two thirty. She’d been reading, sitting behind a group of old oak trees on the far side of the green slimy pool, her back feeling the roughness of the bark. For part of the time, Bobby had been nearby. Sitting limply on the pool deck and dangling his feet in the water and laughing, as Ramona clutched his elbow to keep him steady.

Grace’s current favorite book was a thick volume on spiders written by a biologist from Oxford University in England. She was concentrating on the wolf spider, with its fangs and its hiding holes from which it killed its food. Wolf spiders also carried their eggs — their babies — on their stomachs. A lot of the killing they did was to stay healthy so they could be good mothers...

When Ramona and Bobby left, Grace was reading about the wolf spider’s breeding habits and didn’t notice.

At two thirty, Grace was thirsty. Figuring Malcolm was gone, she headed back toward the house for some juice. He was just coming out the front door and smiled. “There you are! Got time for anthropology?”

“I’m tired,” she said, and went inside.

The following day, he arrived earlier than ever, when everyone was still in the kitchen. Grace was poking rubbery eggs, Bobby was struggling with his nutritional drink, and the new fosters, still in their strange clothing, were eating huge plates of salad.

Sam had given up smiling hungrily at Grace after she kept ignoring him. Now when their eyes met, he yawned and snickered. Ty and Lily continued to have frightened eyes and stick close to each other. Like they were brother and sister but Sam was outside the circle.

If Sam was Grace’s brother she’d have kept him outside, too.

When Malcolm entered the kitchen, the room got small.

Sam said, “Again?” with a whine in his voice.

“Only if you’re willing,” said Malcolm. “But not now, anyway. I need to confer with Grace.”

“Confer,” said Sam.

“It means—”

Sam laughed. “I know what it means. I just don’t get what you’d confer with her about.”

Malcolm drew himself up even taller. His lips moved, as if he was trying to figure out an answer. Instead, he turned to Grace. “If you’ve got time, Ms. Blades.”

“ Ms. Blades,” said Sam.

Lily let out a small whimpering sound. Sam whipped his head toward her. That silenced the little girl. Ty watched, eyes soft and moist, and Grace felt like telling him everything would be okay. Then she told herself, That’s probably a lie, and went back to her eggs.

Malcolm said, “Grace?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you’ve got time...”

“Sure,” she snapped and marched out of the kitchen.

Sam said, “Someone’s got an attitude.” He was the only person laughing.

When they were settled in the living room, Malcolm said, “They’ll be gone, soon.”

Grace said, “Who?”

Malcolm’s smile was faint and not at all happy. “Precisely. Okay, the so-called primitive tribes of Borneo and Sumatra. What did you think of their...”

For the next hour, Grace listened and commented, told him what she figured he wanted to hear. The jealousy she’d experienced had faded but now she found herself bored with his little speeches, just wanting to be alone.

Still, she cooperated. He’d done lots of nice things for her and she figured she’d find him interesting again.

The next morning, she was up extra early at six, spent some time in bed reading before descending to the kitchen. As she passed the door to the room where the new fosters slept, she heard a young voice whining or crying — a girl, obviously Lily — then a deeper voice shushing her to silence.