Page 34 of Devil and the Deep Blue Fish

“Who’s we?” he asked.

“Our coalition,” she said, almost eagerly. “Moms for Clean Living.”

“So your little group”—he waved his hand dismissively—“has suddenly decided that they get a say in what kids get to read?”

“We don’t want children exposed to foreign ideas,” she said, her mouth setting mutinously.

“Foreign to whom?” he asked. “Explain this?”

“Well, to regular, law-abiding—”

Ellery pulled up a list of books that Jade had printed out for him while they’d put Piper Lutz on hold. “So a book about Rosa Parks as a child is foreign?” he asked.

“It makes white children feel bad about a specific time in history,” she said stonily.

“They should,” Ellery retorted. “Weallshould, so it doesn’t happen again. This book about the kitten bringing sushi to school—that’s bad?”

“Americans,” Piper enunciated, “eat sandwiches.”

“Not in this law office,” Ellery said promptly. “And what’s your problem with purple crayons?”

“We feel that six is too young to learn about the LGBTQ world,” Piper said, her voice getting shriller. “That book encourages sexual deviancy.”

“That book encourages children to be purple,” Ellery said. “Whatever purple means to them. And it tells them to be kind to children whodon’tfit into the already established modes. I notice your group doesn’t promote any sort of antibullying campaigns, and it has, in fact, defended bullies from school administrations all across the country. Do I have that right? You would rather have the bigger kids pick on the smaller kids than have the smaller kids be safe?”

“We think of it as peer reinforcement of societal norms,” she said without a trace of shame.

“That’s amazing,” Ellery said. “You can justify shoving queer kids in lockers and driving them to suicide. I’m in awe.” He picked up the fliers she’d placed on his desk, yanking them from her hand before she could reclaim them. “Ma’am, do you have any idea who’s in this office complex where you’ve chosen to peddle your ideas?”

For a moment there was silence, and Ellery watched as the slow realization seeped in.

“Your law office, a union office next door, and a temp agency?” she said, and he realized she—or somebody else—must have briefed her without truly comprehending the thumbnails provided by the internet.

He nodded slowly. “Ms. Lutz, are you a Sacramento native?” The first level of her dossier had claimed that, but the lower levels—the Bertha Dunkel levels—had proven that claim false.

A look of puzzlement crossed her features. “Nossir. We came to California about five years ago.” Her accent slipped, and for a moment, the entire façade of elegant, wealthy woman seemed to slide, like her plasticized features, off her face.

“Was that when you changed your name from Bertha to Piper?” he asked.

“No,” she said, more and more baffled. “That was back in college.”

“Florida State,” he clarified.

“Yes,” she said, “How did you—”

“Areanyof the people in your organization actually from Sacramento?”

“Well, most of us followed Twitty from school—”

“Wait,” Ellery said. “You followedwho?”

Piper Lutz—once Bertha Dunkel—had fully abandoned her wealthy socialite on a mission guise and was now a corneredwolverine. “I don’t know who in the hell you are,” she hissed, “or how you know so goddamned much, but I will just take my fliers and go on my way—”

“Who’s Twitty?” Ellery asked, his voice hard. “You tell me who Twitty is and I’ll tell you a little secret that will make your entire day much easier.”

“It’s our little nickname for Mel… I mean Val… I mean—”

“Valerie Trainor,” Ellery said, his heart thudding in his ears. “Okay, why do you call her that?”

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