Cal looked up at her approach. He immediately noticed her makeup then glanced at the man across from him and shook his head. “Big surprise,” he muttered.
She kept moving. “Hello. I’m Chief Barton,” she said, rounding her desk. “I understand—”
He turned to her.
Ellie forgot what she’d been about to say. All she saw were chiseled cheekbones, full lips, and a mass of unruly black hair. He took off his sunglasses and revealed a pair of electric blue eyes.
Holy Mother of God.
Ellie sat down without shaking his hand.
“I’ve come a long way to see you,” he said in a worn, gravelly voice.
An accent. Just a hint of one, but enough. She couldn’t place it. Australian, maybe. Or Cajun. She loved a man with an accent.
“I’m George Azelle.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which he set on her desk.
The name registered.
“I see you remember me.” He leaned forward, pushing the paper closer to her. “Don’t worry about the way you’re looking at me. I’ve grown used to it. I’m here about her.”
“Her?”
He unfolded the paper he’d pushed forward. It was a picture of Alice. “I’m her father.”
“ALICE, HOW MANY TIMES ARE WE GOING TO HAVE THIS SAME discussion?” Julia couldn’t help laughing at her own comment. She and Alice did many things together these days. None of them could accurately be characterized as a discussion. “Put your shoes on.”
“No.”
Julia went to the window and pointed outside. “It’s raining.”
Alice collapsed to a sit on the floor. “No.”
“We’re going to the diner. Remember the diner? We were there last week. Yummy pie. Put your shoes on.”
“No. Smelly shoes.”
Julia threw up her hands in dramatic despair. “All right, then. You stay here with Jake and Elwood. I’ll bring you home some pie.” She went into the kitchen. With slow, exaggerated movements she gathered her keys and purse, then put on her coat. She was halfway to the door when she heard Alice stand up.
“Girl go?”
Julia didn’t let herself smile as she turned around. Alice stood there, her little face scrunched in a scowl that was equal parts worry and anger. Her overalls were splattered with paint from their last art project. Julia meant to be firm, to say I’m sorry, you can’t go without shoes—not to a restaurant and pretend to go on her way while Alice hurriedly put on her shoes. That was what she would have done with an ordinary stubborn child.
Instead, Julia went to her and knelt down so that they were eye-to-eye. “Remember our talk about rules?”
“Good girl. Bad girl.”
Julia winced at the characterization, but rules of behavior were a complex idea. They took years to process and understand; it was one of the hallmarks of socialization. Societies only existed in the presence of rules that governed people’s behavior. “Some places make little girls wear shoes.”
“Girl no like.”
“I know, honey. How ’bout this: no shoes in the car. You put them on in town and take them off when we leave. Okay?”
Alice frowned in thought. “No socks.”
“Okay.”
Alice dutifully crossed the room and got her shoes out of the box by the front door. Without bothering with a coat, she went outside.