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D.D. studied the young maid. So the girl could understand things, she just couldn’t communicate. Which made D.D. think she wasn’t nearly as impaired as the Counsels claimed.
“Are you okay here?” D.D. asked softly.
The girl locked her gaze at a spot past D.D.’s shoulder. Didn’t make a sound.
“Can you speak?”
The girl’s lips pursed. For a moment, it appeared as if she were trying to whistle, make a noise. But nothing came out. She resumed staring at the wall.
“Can you type?” On impulse, D.D. dug out her cell, then pulled up a text message screen. She indicated to the tiny letters. “Pick one. Type what you want to say.”
The girl looked at the phone, then took it gingerly from D.D.’s hands, turning it over. She seemed genuinely curious. Eyeing the letters, the blinking cursor. Her fingers fluttered across the screen, almost in longing. Then she shook her head, appearing genuinely frustrated, and handed the phone back.
A full minute had passed. Much longer and Martha would appear to see what was keeping them.
“I think you know things,” D.D. tried again. “Much more than you let on.”
The girl inhaled slightly, which D.D. took to be a yes.
“When I go back, we have to ask the Counsels some questions. I’d like your answers, too.”
Brown eyes widened in alarm.
“No, no, there’s nothing to be afraid of. This is what we’re going to do. Stand where you usually do, arms by your sides. When I ask questions, show one finger for yes.” D.D. held up one finger. “Two for no. What is yes?”
Shakily, the girl raised a single finger.
“No?”
Two fingers. D.D. knew it. The girl was plenty smart. Her “family” was taking terrible advantage her.
“Do they hurt you?” D.D. asked gently.
The girl didn’t move.
“Are you scared?”
Nothing.
“It doesn’t have to be like this. Even if they’re your family and they’ve told you that you have no place else to go, that’s not true. I can help you find options.”
To be honest, though, D.D. wasn’t sure just what those options were. She didn’t have jurisdiction here, let alone understand the available resources for displaced kids. But the sight of such a young girl already forced into a life of servitude because of—what, a childhood injury? The cop in D.D. was offended—not to mention the mother in her.
Almost as if reading her mind, the girl slowly held up two fingers. Followed quickly by a faint shake of her head. There was something in the girl’s eyes. Not fear, D.D. thought. More like stubbornness.
The sound of heels clacking across the marble foyer. D.D. quickly pocketed her phone. She and the girl turned as a single unit and headed back down the hall where Martha was already waiting for them.
The woman eyed D.D. suspiciously. Then regarded the girl even more harshly. When neither said a word, she pivoted on one heel and led them back to the sunroom.
—
THE SHERIFF WAS STILLTALKING to the mayor, keeping his comments brief. D.D. pulled her chair way out, the rude Yankee who didn’t know how to sit ladylike at a table. From this position, she had a clear vantage point of the mayor, his wife, and their niece, who was once more standing at attention against the wall.
Time for the real questions.
“In cases like this,” the sheriff said, “it’s best to keep an open mind. We don’t want to get ahead of ourselves.”
The mayor and his wife nodded encouragingly, as if they understood they were about to be taken into some grand confidence.
