Corrupted by Lisa Scottoline Page B

through the walls. The living room was to the left and the kitchen to the right, the same layout as the Lefkavicks’, but the two interiors couldn’t have been more different; while the Lefkavick home was neat and orderly, albeit empty-feeling, the Grusinis’ was vaguely chaotic, cluttered with children’s toys, clothes, and games. The living room was stuffed with worn plaid furniture, but DVDs and video games lay open all over the brown rug next to joystick controllers, and ice-hockey sticks sat against the wall, with a pile of ice skates, black gloves, and helmets.
    â€œMommeeeee!” a child yelled, from upstairs. “He’s hitting me! He’s hitting me!”
    â€œDon’t make me come up there!” Doreen yelled toward the stairwell, and Bennie followed her into a toasty kitchen with sunny yellow walls. It was shaped like a cozy U, which ended in a rectangular wooden table on which a small TV played Third Watch. Shiny cookie sheets sat next to a large mixing bowl on the table, and the aroma of baking sugar cookies made her mouth water.
    â€œSmells great,” Bennie said, to show she came in peace.
    â€œI suppose you want a cup of coffee?”
    â€œNo, I’m fine, thanks. I just had some.”
    Doreen cocked her head. “You’re from Philly.”
    â€œDoes it show?”
    â€œLike you’re wearing a sign. South Philly?”
    â€œNo, west.”
    â€œDoes that make a difference?”
    â€œBelieve it or not, all the difference in the world.”
    Doreen smiled, seeming to warm up. “Okay, well, sit down. Oh, wait!” Her smile disappeared as she picked a blue backpack off the chair, then dropped it on the tile floor. “I tell them not to leave their crap on the chairs, but do they listen? Here, sit.”
    Bennie sat down.
    â€œYou’re going to have to talk while I bake the cookies, because if I stop, I’ll never get the twins bathed and in bed.”
    â€œThat’s fine. Can I help?”
    â€œNo, thanks.” Doreen was already stabbing the cookie dough with a teaspoon and dropping it onto the cookie sheet. “I’m no Martha Stewart. They’re holiday cookies because I say they’re holiday cookies. They’re not red, they’re not green. They’re not shaped like reindeer, Santa, or any of that happy horseshit, but they taste good.”
    â€œThat’s all that matters.”
    â€œRight. Kids don’t know the difference. If it’s sugar, they eat it.”
    Bennie hadn’t expected to like Doreen, but she was beginning to. “You got your hands full.”
    â€œThat’s one way to put it. I hate the holidays. You know why? Whatever you have going on, there’s just more of it at the holidays. You have to buy more food. You have to do more errands. You have to buy more presents. If you bake, you have to bake more . If the kids are busy in school, they’re more busy. Every single thing is more .” Doreen paused as more yelling came from upstairs, then she resumed making the cookies. “I worry when they’re quiet. If they’re loud, they’re alive.”
    â€œSo I guess Richie has siblings?”
    â€œTwo brothers, six-year-old twins.” Doreen dropped another ball of batter onto the sheet, making a neat row, and Bennie was getting the sense that Richie wasn’t uppermost on Doreen’s mind.
    â€œSo about Richie. Were you there, at the courthouse?”
    â€œYes, it was ridiculous .”
    â€œI heard they put them in shackles.”
    â€œRight, ridiculous ,” Doreen said again.
    â€œI just came from River Street. It’s horrible to think of them being there. They’re too young for an out-of-home placement, in any event. Were you considering getting a lawyer? I’m going to file a petition on Jason’s behalf, and if you do the same thing, that makes our position much stronger.”
    â€œHow? Jason’s a nerd.