Pretties in Pink

19. Hallie

19

HALLIE

Couldn’t find her anywhere? Well, they hadn’t looked very hard, had they?

Fenika was in the remains of her apartment, crying. Every room had been trashed, and someone had spray-painted PEDO SCUM across the living room wall in turquoise paint, along with a few racial slurs that made my blood boil.

“Aw, hell,” Dan muttered, hurrying over.

“They broke everything,” Fenika sobbed.

Stuffing spewed from the couch, the TV had a baseball bat rammed through the screen, and the drapes had been slashed to ribbons. The stink of spilled food rolled through from the kitchen, and when I stepped on the carpet near the bathroom, it squelched because the intruders had blocked the sink and left the taps running. More delightful messages dripped in shaving foam on the mirror.

I crouched on the other side of Fenika. “I’m so sorry. We’ll help you to clean up, but… Where are the trash bags?”

“I know a guy who can install a new door,” Dan said. “But we need to take you back to the residential centre now.”

“No. No, I’m not going.”

I made an attempt to convince her. “Sweetheart, you can’t stay here. There’s so much damage, and…” I waved a hand toward the graffiti. “That.”

“You think this is bad? You should hear what the other kids at the home have been saying. If you take me back there, I’ll just leave again.”

“You can’t stay here alone.”

“Fine, then I’ll stay somewhere else.”

Dan took a calming breath. “We’re doing our best to help Micah, but if we’re running around Richmond looking for you, that’ll only make our work take longer.”

Still Fenika shook her head. “I can’t go back there. I can’t.” She rose gracefully and pulled down her waistband, turning to the light so we could see the purple bruise on her hip. The one on her cheek had faded now, but this was fresh. “My roommate did this right before she ripped up my homework. She said my brother’s a kiddy killer, and I must’ve known what was happening.”

“We’ll get you a new roommate.”

“They’re all the damn same. The staff too. A couple are okay, but most of them look at me like I’m trash.” A tear ran down her face. “They won’t let me go to my ballet classes, and I need to dance. It’s…it’s part of me. And I can’t afford to miss the due dates on my assignments. If I don’t make it as a dancer, then I need good grades to fall back on.”

“We’ve got a spare room…” I started, but Dan shook her head.

“They don’t let just anyone take kids. Has to be either a relative or a long-standing family friend, or you need to be approved as a foster parent. The training goes on for weeks.” She cursed softly. “It’ll have to be me. I went through the process last year so I could take Caleb.” Another curse. “Help clean up this mess while I make some calls, okay?”

Sure, but where did we start? Actual cleaning was impossible because the vacuum cleaner had been broken into three pieces, and judging by the smell of bleach, the cleaning products had been poured all over the bathroom.

“Do you have trash bags?” I asked again.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

“If you did, where would they be?”

“In the kitchen.”

We found a roll of black plastic bags under the sink, miraculously untouched, and set about picking up the spilled food. Every jar had been broken, every bottle emptied.

“Should we report this to the police?” I asked Dan. “They could check for fingerprints?”

Fenika snorted. “They won’t do nothin’ except laugh. Truth. And who do you think made half of this mess? The cops didn’t tidy up after themselves when they turned the place over.”

“She’s right,” Dan said.

“But Prestia—”

“Is one good apple in a bowlful of rotten fruit. I hear the new chief is trying to replant the orchard, but not much is ripe yet. If we call this in, Blackwood reporting a crime involving Ganaway, they’re not gonna send their best. Keep your eyes on the goal, Hallie.”

The goal. Right. Clear Micah Ganaway, and then let the Richmond PD deal with the fallout. Dan’s phone rang, and she turned away. I didn’t envy her having to deal with this at the end of the working day.

“Why don’t we take a look at your bedroom?” I suggested to Fenika. Wherever she ended up, she’d want to salvage as much of her stuff as possible. “We can get your clothes laundered if they’re dirty.”

Except they weren’t just dirty; they were destroyed. Torn, cut, stained, even burned with holes from a lit cigarette. Fenika clutched the remains of a pale-pink tutu to her chest and sniffed. What gave somebody the right to destroy another person’s entire world? Especially a totally innocent girl’s? The stain on her bed looked suspiciously like urine, and broken dance trophies littered the floor. I stooped to pick up a ripped paperback. La Fille Qui Danse. Wait. Was that French? I only spoke English and a little Spanish, but I thought maybe it could be.

“Do you speak French?”

“When I was a kid, I saw An American in Paris, and after that, all I ever wanted to do was dance. I had this dream of going to L’École de Ballet de Paris next year, but even if I pass the entrance exam, there’s no hope now, is there?”

“There’s always hope.”

And there was also the possibility we could hook Fenika up with Apple and solve at least one of today’s problems.

By the time Dan came back, we’d divided the contents of the room into two piles—salvageable and dumpster-worthy. The dumpster pile was three times bigger. Fenika needed a whole new wardrobe, but luckily, I knew just the man for the job.

“Everything’s set,” Dan said. “Fenika can stay with me until Micah gets out or Calvin gets back, whichever happens sooner. Don’t even ask how many favours I had to call in to arrange that. But…” She turned to Fenika. “There are conditions. If you have a problem, you talk to me, and if I’m not available, you call my assistant or Ethan.”

“Who’s Ethan?”

“My boyfriend. I’m responsible for your safety, so I need to know where you are at all times, and if there’s an issue at school, I’ll deal with it. You don’t run off. Got it?”

Fenika nodded. “Can I go back to dance classes?”

“I’ll get a driver to take you.”

“Thank you. Someday, I’ll make this up to you. I don’t know how, but I will.”

Hmm…

“Actually, there’s a way you could help right now,” I said.

“Really?”

“How do you feel about some extra French practice?”

“French practice?”

“Earlier today, we met a girl named Apple…”

We left Fenika at Dan’s place with Ethan and Caleb, plus she had Apple’s phone number and she’d promised to call her. Bradley was booked for a shopping trip tomorrow morning, and he’d also volunteered to arrange a clean-up crew for the rest of the Ganaways’ apartment.

Dan still had a meeting to attend, two conference calls to join, several reports to review before they were released to clients, and a case file to read over. Grudgingly, I had to admit that she’d been right earlier. No matter how much we wanted to do it all, there just weren’t enough hours in the day. Which wouldn’t stop me from working my evenings to help Prestia, but we needed to pay the bills.

And speaking of Prestia, I had to call him. No, I wanted to call him. Usually, I loved walking into my beautiful apartment at the end of each day, spending time with Mercy and Pinchy and catching up with whatever show I happened to be watching. Sometimes, I’d go to the gym first, or head out for dinner with Mercy, Cora, and Izzy, or meet with Sky—Emmy’s protégé—for a chat, but I always looked forward to going home.

But now I found myself wanting to drive south, to share the sunset on a big-ass yacht in the middle of nowhere.

Grab him while you can, Dan had said.

I picked up the phone.