These Violent Roots

by Nicole Williams

  The skin on my arms prickled. “Are you serious?”

  “I know it’s a few months early, but happy birthday, Grace.”

  My hand was trembling enough it made twisting on the nightstand lamp a challenge. It wasn’t the tremble of shock or sadness; it was caused by relief . . . drifting into the realm of vindication.

  “How did he do it?” I asked as I rushed into the bathroom to turn on the shower.

  “Does it matter if he carved out his cerebral cortex with a melon scooper? He’s dead. There’s such a thing as happy endings after all.”

  While the water warmed, I dashed into the closet to pick out my outfit for the day. “Connor—”

  “I don’t know yet. The news hasn’t released any of the details, just that he was found dead by self-inflicted means in his apartment late last night.” The sound of a television streaming in the background cut through. “Hopefully whatever way he went with involved a slow, painful death. Suicide by a million paper cuts. Something like that.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” I said, grabbing the ivory pantsuit I saved for special occasions. Today qualified as one of those days. “I’m getting ready and will be in the office by six. Six thirty at the latest. I want to be in before the reporters show up on our doorstep. I want to know the details of what happened before I go on record tooting an imaginary party horn.”

  “I’m sure the PR department is already typing up an approved list of appropriate responses.” Connor breathed. “Darryl Skovil is dead. There really is a god.”

  The smile reflecting back at me in the bathroom mirror was one I didn’t recognize. “Thanks, Connor.”

  “Hey, thank Skovil for offing himself. I’m simply the messenger.”

  The line went dead a moment later as steam filled the bathroom, clouding the mirror screaming reminders at me of grown-out roots and injectables nearing their expiration.

  Dead. Gone. Exterminated.

  Few things in life had made me as happy as the death of a demon masquerading as a man.

  By the time I’d gotten ready, left a note for Noah to drive Andee into school, and made the hour commute to work, the office was unusually busy for before seven on a Monday morning. Word had spread of Skovil’s suicide and, like me, everyone was keen to learn the circumstances surrounding his demise.

  Connor was waiting for me in my office, coffee in hand and eyes shining as though he’d welcomed his firstborn into the world moments ago. “This place is in an uproar.” His finger twirled at the windows framing my office door as he handed me a coffee.

  Sighing contentedly, I took a long drink of the coffee. I’d been in too big a hurry to get into the office to make coffee before leaving the house. “What do we know?”

  “Only what the press has released so far,” he stated loudly when a couple of colleagues passed by, their pace slowing. Once they were out of sight, Connor scooted the chair across from me closer. “Samuel managed to get out of the landlord who found Skovil’s body that he hanged himself.” He must have realized how widely he was smiling, because he took a drink of his coffee and cleared his throat.

  “Have I mentioned how much I appreciate the fact that you’re dating a man who works for the local media?” I clinked my coffee against his.

  “This does not leave this corner office, you understand?” Connor’s forehead wrinkled in mock seriousness. “Let the rest of these buzzards find out on their own in a few hours.”

  Leaning across my desk, I aligned my eyes with his. “I am the keeper of secrets, you should know that by now.”

  “The keeper of them and the holder of many.” Connor looked away, reclining back into the chair. “Apparently the landlord said the apartment stunk to high heaven, so that could mean Skovil offed himself the minute he got back from court or it could have something to do with his housekeeping. Or lack thereof. That apartment complex he was holed up in downtown is a few pounds of trash short of being deemed a landfill.”

  I scanned a few of the local news station pages on my phone to see if there were any updates. “Sometime Thursday afternoon to last night, right? That’s up to seventy-five, eighty hours of time he could have done it in. Hopefully the coroner assigned to Skovil will be another one of the good friends you seem to have in every profession in this city.”

  Connor held out his arms. “What can I say? I’m a friendly guy.”

  “That’s why I threatened to quit last year when Watson suggested reassigning you to a different prosecutor. You’re irreplaceable as a paralegal, but you’re invaluable given your connections in the community.” My fingers drummed across my desk. “I wonder why in the hell he did it. Darryl Skovil did not strike me as the type to end his life. Especially immediately following an innocent verdict that would have put him in prison for three to five had it gone the other direction.”

  “I don’t know what was going through his head when he slipped that noose around his neck, but whatever it was, let’s hope its contagious where other child molesters are concerned.”

  “From your lips to god’s ears,” I muttered while Connor made a sad attempt at crossing himself.

  “Maybe he was drunk? Stoned out of his mind?” Connor slipped his phone out of his back pocket. “Maybe he was suddenly invaded by a conscience or sense of morality? Don’t know and don’t really care.” His finger lifted into the air when he checked his phone. “Scratch that. I do know but don’t really care. Or I will know soon enough.”

  I tipped my coffee at his phone. “Your friend, the medical examiner?”

  “What was that you were just saying about me being invaluable?” He tapped his ear in my direction. “And how will that translate into my raise this upcoming year?”

  “Please. You already make as much as some of the first-year attorneys here. How much more do you want to make?”

  Connor’s smile stretched. “Whatever sum invaluable equates to.”

  “Fine, but when you’re making more than me in a few years, you’re picking up the tab on lunch.”

  The skin between his brows creased as he read the message. “Benjy says we probably won’t know if there was any alcohol or drugs in his system until later today, but based on rigor mortis, he’s estimating Skovil’s been dead for twenty-four to thirty-six hours.”

  My eyes narrowed. “So he didn’t do it right after the verdict, but surely he had to have been considering it. How many people commit suicide without having at least contemplated it in advance?” My teeth worked at my lower lip. “The psych eval we had done didn’t mention anything about suicidal tendencies, but I want to run through those notes again to see if there were any red flags I might have missed.”

  “I already emailed you the report so it’s fresh at the top of your inbox.” Connor swished his thumb against the pads of his other fingers, mouthing, “Show me the money.”

  “Do you know if the victim’s families have been notified?”

  “Not that I know of,” he replied.

  I made a quick note on my daily calendar. “I’ll do it. I’m the one who had to tell them the man who hurt their children wouldn’t be punished for his crimes. I should be the one to tell them punishment found him via an alternate route.”

  Connor punched something into his phone. “As soon as I know anything else, I’ll be back in here with my invaluable self.”

  He was halfway to the door when I called his name. “Why do you think he did it?”

  “Because he was a sick, sick man.” His shoulders moved beneath the argyle cardigan. “At least this time he turned that sickness inward instead of spreading it.” Connor pulled open the door, stopping short. “Why? What do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I am curious.”

  “Would it really matter if he was so high he didn’t know what he was doing or if he tripped into a rope and accidently hanged himself?” Connor gave me a moment to answer, but I stayed quiet. “The stars aligned and a bad man is dead. Who cares about the why or the how? The end result is al
l that matters.”

  “Careful or one of my dad’s old office cronies is going to overhear you and sew a scarlet V into your cashmere sweater.”

  His eyes narrowed. “A scarlet V?”

  “Vigilante,” I whispered. “The dirtiest word in my father’s law-loving book.”

  Six

  There was a reason people dreaded Mondays. All the junk from the weekend floated to the surface.

  I hadn’t expected to awaken to the news of Darryl Skovil’s suicide at four thirty in the morning. Nor had I been expecting a call from Prescott Prep on Andee’s first day back after her day-and-a-half suspension, requesting my presence at my earliest convenience.

  After sticking my head in Connor’s cubicle to see if he’d drudged up any new information, I raced to Sammamish, where Prescott was situated on a grassy knoll surrounded by the ever-encroaching vegetation of the Pacific Northwest, shining in the midday sun as though it had been plucked straight from the pages of a fairy tale.

  The impression was short-lived.

  The secretary greeted me with that same smile, apologetic yet accusatory, and said Principal Severson was waiting for me. A hundred scenarios ran through my head as to what it could have been this time, anger seeping in that Andee would pick today of all days to get into trouble again, as though she had a clue about the news I’d received pre-dawn.

  I knocked once to announce myself, and Principal Severson instructed I could come inside. A brief scan of the room revealed Andee was missing from this increasingly familiar scene.

  Severson didn’t miss my confusion. “I thought it might be beneficial if we spoke one-on-one. Keep female teenage emotions out of the conversation this once.”

  My fingers tightened around the straps of my purse. “Female teenage emotions?”

  “Mrs. Wolff, I have four daughters who are, thank the great almighty, long past their teens years, but let me tell you, there was a decade and a half when I couldn’t breathe without convincing one of them it was a silent bid at making their life as miserable as possible.” He motioned at the chair across from him.

  I sighed as I took a seat. “So it’s not just me?”

  “You and every other parent of the fairer sex during these impressionable years, trust me.”

  My phone rang before I’d finished settling into the chair. “Let me silence my phone.”

  “Busy day?”

  “Even busier,” I replied.

  “Then I’ll get straight to the reason we called you in.” He folded his hands on top of his desk. “Andee was involved in another altercation today during lunch.”

  “‘Involved’?”

  The corners of his mouth sagged. “More along the lines of the instigator.”

  I shifted in the seat. “Did it involve the same boys as last time?”

  “One the same. One different.”

  A string of curses strained across my tongue. “What happened?”

  “Same sort of thing as the last time. And the times before that.” Severson sighed in the way I wanted to. “Anyone so much as says hello to Andee in the halls these days and she takes it as though they’re waving a gun at her.” He lifted his hands. “Sorry to bring up a gun in a school setting—delicate subject matter these days. Poor choice of metaphors, but you understand my meaning, right?”

  My forehead wrinkled. “You’re saying people are doing nothing more than saying hey in passing and she’s throwing herself at them, fists leading?”

  “And feet. And elbows. And knees.”

  The boy with the ice pack clutched to his groin flickered to mind.

  “Come on. My daughter might have a temper that could rival a hockey player’s, but what you’re describing is more characteristic of a rabid animal than a young adult who was, up until this year, an honor student.” Twisting in the chair, I pointed at something stationed high on the wall outside the door. “You have cameras all over this school. I want to see the video footage of these encounters with my daughter.”

  Whatever softness had settled in Severson’s round face evaporated. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Mrs. Wolff. Confidentiality matters and underage youth. You’re a lawyer, I’m sure you know all about that.”

  “I am a lawyer. I do know all about that.” I sat up taller in my seat. “Along with how to go about getting a subpoena.”

  His gray eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “By all means, if you feel it is in your daughter’s best interest to procure a warrant to view the videotape footage, please do. But let me tell you—without breaking any confidentiality rules—almost every altercation has taken place beyond the scope of the handful of cameras we do have, and the one instance we have documented only shows the lower half of your daughter’s boots and the other boy’s sneakers. Not a lot to go on if you’re thinking of spinning these infractions a different way.”

  Inside my purse, my phone vibrated from another call.

  “Principal Severson, I’m not thinking of ‘spinning’ anything. All I’m trying to do is get to the truth. And yes, I know Andee is hot-tempered, but attacking some kid for merely saying hi even exceeds her level of ire.”

  Severson inhaled slowly, much the way my dad used to when I was a kid and did something he disapproved of. “I have no interest in covering up a scandal, if that’s what you’re quietly accusing me of.” He raised his hand when I started to protest. “I have a job to protect these students, not shelter them. It’s better to learn about consequences for actions in high school than it is to learn about them as adults in the world. If these boys were harassing Andee, I would be the first one to admit it and deal out a punishment fitting. So you can see why I must do the same when it’s the opposite.”

  The slant of his brows suggested he was waiting for me to offer my agreement, but I stayed quiet. I couldn’t decide whether Severson was exactly the kind of principal these modern times needed or a dying breed of yesterday whose priority was protecting wealthy families and entitled young men.

  “Has Andee been through any big life changes at home recently that might be causing her to act out at school?” he asked, subtly gauging my reaction to his question. “A death? Divorce?”

  I bristled, my reflex to all inquiries into the Wolff family’s home life . . . or lack thereof.

  “Her nanny that had been with us since she was five decided to retire last year so she could spend time travelling. Andee and her were close, but with her being fifteen there was no need to bring on a new nanny.”

  Severson nodded to himself, as though he were making a mental note. “When she’s not at school, what does Andee spend her time doing?”

  I shifted my weight from one chair arm to the other. “Typical teenager things.”

  “Having friends over?” he guessed.

  “Andee doesn’t see her friends from her old school anymore. They sort of lost touch when she moved to Prescott Prep.” I found myself checking the time on the wall clock less than thirty seconds after I’d last consulted it. “And she hasn’t made very many friends here yet that I know of.”

  The permanent wrinkles folded into his expression appeared to draw deeper with my response. “Has she gotten her driver’s license yet?”

  “Um, no. She hasn’t expressed any interest,” I replied. “Noah or I occasionally drop her off and pick her up from school, but she normally catches the bus to and from.”

  Severson made another mental note. “Has she expressed any interests or plans for after high school? College? Careers? Taking a gap year?”

  For a moment, I felt like I was seated across from my on-again-off-again shrink, sweating bullets and squirming from her vague, yet meticulously pointed, questions.

  “Not really,” I began, wetting my lips. “But it’s early. She still has plenty of time to figure out what she wants to do after high school.”

  Those wrinkles set deeper still. “And what about hobbies? I know Andee isn’t involved with any extra-curriculars at Prescott, but what about outside of school?”

>   My brows drew together as I considered his question. As a child, Miss Evelyn had taken Andee to the library, zoo, and children’s museum almost weekly. Back then, Andee’s hobbies included pretty much anything and everything. At her previous school, she’d been in choir and the art club.

  But now?

  “She likes to listen to music. The more deafening the better.” My chuckle was nervous sounding. “And she likes to draw . . . sketch . . . stuff.”

  “I saw her a few weeks ago at the animal shelter volunteering walking dogs and cleaning out their kennels. She must enjoy animals as well.”

  My face pinched together. “Andee doesn’t volunteer at a shelter.”

  “It was definitely her. I made sure to say hi and ask her about what dogs would make the best family pets. My oldest daughter’s looking to add a new furball member to their family.” Severson spun one of the picture frames on his desk around so I could see the snapshot of his daughter and young family. I found myself inserting Andee into the photo, trying, yet failing to picture her posed in matching ivory sweaters with her own family one day. “I’ve never heard Andee pair so many words together at one time, let alone in such an impassioned manner. You must have a menagerie of pets at home I’d imagine.”

  “No, actually we’ve never owned a pet.” I glanced away from the family photo. “I’m allergic.”

  “She’s certainly got a way with animals.”

  “Too bad that doesn’t translate to humans,” I grumbled under my breath. “But thank you for informing me about her volunteering at the shelter. I’ll talk with her about it . . . and why she failed to mention it to her parents.”

  Severson folded his hands across his desk, his eyes contemplative. “Mrs. Wolff, as one parent to another, Andee’s going through something beyond the scope of typical teenage experience. If I were you, I’d try to find some way to get her to open up about what it is, and what she might need from you.”

  This time when I bristled, it wasn’t so discreet. “Andee’s fine,” I said, staring him straight in the eye until he looked away. “If we can get back to the reason I was called in—how long is she suspended this time?”