corn flakes over sugar-coated cereal with Brian when the doorbell rang on Tuesday.
“I’ll get it,” he said, bounding away from the table like a child given a reprieve from finishing his spinach, rather than one who’d had a bowl of cereal and bananas placed in front of him.
“Who are you?” he said a moment later.
“I’d like to speak to your mother,” a strange male voice responded.
Trying to imagine how the man had talked his way past the condo’s security guards, Molly approached the door warily. Her first glance at the bland face, dull gray suit, and shifty, evasive gaze warned her that the unexpected visitor was not here to turn over a sweepstakes check for a million dollars. Equally uneasy, Brian hovered protectively by her side.
“Yes?” she said.
“You’re Mrs. DeWitt? Mrs. Hal DeWitt?”
“I am Mrs. Molly DeWitt,” she said firmly. The sudden knot forming in the pit of her stomach was a reminder that lately she regretted that she had to admit to that much. “Can I help you?”
Just like in the movies, the man whipped an official-looking envelope out of his pocket and handed it to her. He turned on his heel and fled down the hall before she could even scan the return address.
“What is it, Mom?”
With her heart suddenly thudding, Molly gave Brian a distracted glance. “Go and finish getting ready for school.”
“I am ready.”
“Get your books.”
“I don’t see why—”
“Just do it, Brian. Now!”
His expression hurt, he slunk off, leaving her with no more excuses to avoid opening the letter from Hal’s attorney, a senior partner in the firm that sprawled over two entire floors of a downtown office building.
The usual salutation was followed by a terse announcement.
Given the unusual circumstances of your involvement in several murder investigations over the past several months, we feel we have no choice but to file a request with the court to review the custody arrangements for Brian Alan DeWitt. Mr. DeWitt will be asking for full custody of his son, though naturally he will be willing to permit supervised visitation.
The letter went on with legal jargon and what looked at first glance like an outline of the timetable for this action. Molly didn’t read it. The first sentence had made her blood run cold. The second made it boil. She was shaking as she punched in Hal’s office number, knowing he would be there even though it was barely 8:00 A.M .
“How dare you?” she demanded the instant he picked up his private line. “Have you lost your mind?”
“You got the letter.”
“You’re damn right I got the letter and if you want a war with me over our son, you’ve got it,” she said, her furious words tumbling out uncensored. It was not the way to win an argument with Hal, but she was too angry to care. “I will not allow you to use this sudden, misguided concern for his welfare to snatch him away from me.”
“Oh, really?” he said.
Molly ignored the sarcasm. “What exactly do you intend to do once you have him, Hal? Will you occasionally try to get home from the office before midnight to help him with his homework? Will you see to it that the maid takes him to Pizza Hut once a week? Will you hire someone to go to his soccer games in your place? Goddammit, what are you thinking of? Don’t you give a damn about his feelings? He’s an eight-year-old boy, not some pawn in a goddamn chess game. If you’re angry with me, take it out on me, not Brian.”
“I will not talk to you when you’re out of control like this,” he said.
Since he sounded almost satisfied by her loss of temper, she drew in a deep breath, forcing herself—somewhat belatedly—to sound every bit as cool and rational as he did. “If you think this is out of control, pal, you haven’t seen anything yet. My lawyer will be in touch. I suggest you start now if you plan to manufacture a few excuses for the way you’ve ignored Brian for the past two years. Believe you me, it is not
“I’ll get it,” he said, bounding away from the table like a child given a reprieve from finishing his spinach, rather than one who’d had a bowl of cereal and bananas placed in front of him.
“Who are you?” he said a moment later.
“I’d like to speak to your mother,” a strange male voice responded.
Trying to imagine how the man had talked his way past the condo’s security guards, Molly approached the door warily. Her first glance at the bland face, dull gray suit, and shifty, evasive gaze warned her that the unexpected visitor was not here to turn over a sweepstakes check for a million dollars. Equally uneasy, Brian hovered protectively by her side.
“Yes?” she said.
“You’re Mrs. DeWitt? Mrs. Hal DeWitt?”
“I am Mrs. Molly DeWitt,” she said firmly. The sudden knot forming in the pit of her stomach was a reminder that lately she regretted that she had to admit to that much. “Can I help you?”
Just like in the movies, the man whipped an official-looking envelope out of his pocket and handed it to her. He turned on his heel and fled down the hall before she could even scan the return address.
“What is it, Mom?”
With her heart suddenly thudding, Molly gave Brian a distracted glance. “Go and finish getting ready for school.”
“I am ready.”
“Get your books.”
“I don’t see why—”
“Just do it, Brian. Now!”
His expression hurt, he slunk off, leaving her with no more excuses to avoid opening the letter from Hal’s attorney, a senior partner in the firm that sprawled over two entire floors of a downtown office building.
The usual salutation was followed by a terse announcement.
Given the unusual circumstances of your involvement in several murder investigations over the past several months, we feel we have no choice but to file a request with the court to review the custody arrangements for Brian Alan DeWitt. Mr. DeWitt will be asking for full custody of his son, though naturally he will be willing to permit supervised visitation.
The letter went on with legal jargon and what looked at first glance like an outline of the timetable for this action. Molly didn’t read it. The first sentence had made her blood run cold. The second made it boil. She was shaking as she punched in Hal’s office number, knowing he would be there even though it was barely 8:00 A.M .
“How dare you?” she demanded the instant he picked up his private line. “Have you lost your mind?”
“You got the letter.”
“You’re damn right I got the letter and if you want a war with me over our son, you’ve got it,” she said, her furious words tumbling out uncensored. It was not the way to win an argument with Hal, but she was too angry to care. “I will not allow you to use this sudden, misguided concern for his welfare to snatch him away from me.”
“Oh, really?” he said.
Molly ignored the sarcasm. “What exactly do you intend to do once you have him, Hal? Will you occasionally try to get home from the office before midnight to help him with his homework? Will you see to it that the maid takes him to Pizza Hut once a week? Will you hire someone to go to his soccer games in your place? Goddammit, what are you thinking of? Don’t you give a damn about his feelings? He’s an eight-year-old boy, not some pawn in a goddamn chess game. If you’re angry with me, take it out on me, not Brian.”
“I will not talk to you when you’re out of control like this,” he said.
Since he sounded almost satisfied by her loss of temper, she drew in a deep breath, forcing herself—somewhat belatedly—to sound every bit as cool and rational as he did. “If you think this is out of control, pal, you haven’t seen anything yet. My lawyer will be in touch. I suggest you start now if you plan to manufacture a few excuses for the way you’ve ignored Brian for the past two years. Believe you me, it is not
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