Page 114 of Cashmere Cruelty

Yuri walks around the table, perching behind me to look over my shoulder. “That’s a lot of paper,” he comments.

“Ever seen a file so thick when we vet our recruits?”

“Negative.”

“Yeah. Me neither.” I turn to the summary page. A mother, Eleanor Hill, born Fisher. A father, Dominic Flowers. So far, nothing out of the ordinary. They were married seven years before splitting in a drawn-out court battle for alimony.

Money for the ex-wife—that’s what mattered to thesemudaks. Not the kid.

Then, between April’s seventh and eighth birthdays, both parents settled down with new people: Eleanor Fisher became Mrs. Hill, marrying one Thomas Hill, and Dominic Flowers took a second wife by the name of Nora Le Blanc.

Grisha whistles. “Not one, buttwoevil step-parents.”

“When did you get over here?” Yuri balks, suddenly walled in between me and his nosy colleague. “And why ‘evil’?”

“Have you ever been in the company of Ms. Flowers?” Grisha asks rhetorically. “She had me over for tea once. Broke a teacup. For a whole minute, she looked like she was scared I was gonna gun her down for it.”

Yuri’s face darkens. “Yeah. I smeared the wall while putting the toys away and she spent fifteen minutes scrubbing it clean again.”

“Quiet,” I bark.

I rub my temples. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about some cup and some smeared wall. All I can think of is April’s anxious grimace at dinner, those early nights when she didn’t know who she was dealing with.

Tense. Ready to bolt.

I want to snatch up whoever did this to her and make them regret ever being born.

But this file doesn’t have that. This file has names, information, and sterile words on a sheet. So that’s what I’m gonna work with.

For now.

“This says her mother’s been to rehab,” I note with a frown.

Yuri leans in to look, while Grisha nods. “That’s right. Several quick staycations at the expenses of one charitable organization or another.”

“Quick” is an understatement. From these records, it looks like Mrs. Hill didn’t even get to step three of the program. I can’t imagine she ever made it to step nine: making amends.

If that phone call with April is anything to go by, she’s not even aware she should.

“What’s her poison?”

“Alcohol.”

I grimace. April’s pregnant, so of course I’ve never seen her touch even a drop of the stuff, but I can’t help remembering that night out on the balcony. The skittish way she handed me my bourbon.

“What about Thomas Hill?”

Grisha helpfully points to the blue tag. “That’s his section. Chronically unemployed. Saturday night poker every week, a few debts here and there.”

“Average scumbag,” I summarize.

“Pretty much,” Grisha says. “But there’s one thing worth noting, I think.”

He turns the page, squishing Yuri against the wall in the process. Yuri makes an offended sound, but I don’t pay it any mind. I’m far too busy grinding my teeth into dust.

“This is a police report.”

“For domestic violence,” Grisha fills in.

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