Devil's Waltz by Jonathan Kellerman Page A

Working away. The hippo finally hippolike, but still something wrong… the grin venal — the greasy smirk of a carny barker… Maybe a dog would have been easier…
    “Pri
scil
la the prairie dog! Do you believe
that
!”
    “Pilla!”
    “Yes, Priscilla!”
    “Pilla!”
    “Very
good
, Cass! That’s excellent! Pri
scil
la. Can you say that again?”
    Silence.
    “Pri
scil
la —
Pri-scil-la
. You just said it. Here, watch my mouth, Cass.”
    Silence.
    “Okay, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. Let’s get back to Princess Cassandra Silversparkle, riding Snowflake up into the Shiny Country…”
    The hippo was finally done. Scarred by smudges and eraser abrasions, but at least it didn’t look as if it had a rap sheet. I placed it on top of the bedcovers.
    “Oh, look, Cass. We know what this is, don’t we? A
hippopotamus
— and he’s holding a…”
    “A yo-yo,” I said.
    “A
yo
-yo! A hippo with a
yo
-yo — that is
really
silly. You know what I think, Cass? I think Dr. Delaware can be pretty silly when he wants to, even though he’s a doctor. What do
you
think?”
    I faced the little girl. Our eyes locked once more. Hers flickered. The rosebud mouth began to pout, lower lip curling. Hard to imagine anyone being capable of hurting her.
    I said, “Would you like me to draw some more?”
    She looked at her mother and grabbed Cindy’s sleeve.
    “Sure,” said Cindy. “Let’s see what other silly things Dr. Delaware can draw, okay?”
    Minuscule nod from Cassie. She buried her head in Cindy’s blouse.
    Back to the drawing board.
     
     
    A mangy hound, a cross-eyed duck, and a spavined horse later, she was tolerating my presence.
    I edged the chair closer to the bed, gradually. Chatted with Cindy about games and toys and favorite foods. When Cassie seemed to be taking me for granted, I pushed right up against the mattress and taught Cindy a drawing game — the two of us alternating turning squiggles into objects. Child analyst’s technique for building rapport and getting to the unconscious in a nonthreatening way.
    Using Cindy as a go-between even as I studied her.
    Investigated
her.
    I drew an angular squiggle and handed the paper to her. She and Cassie were snuggled together; they could have been a poster for National Bonding Week. Cindy turned the squiggle into a house and handed the paper back, saying, “Not very good, but…”
    Cassie’s lips turned up a bit. Then down. Her eyes closed and she pressed her face against Cindy’s blouse. Grabbed a breast and squeezed. Cindy lowered the hand gently and placed it in her own lap. I saw the puncture marks on Cassie’s flesh. Black dots, like snakebites.
    Cindy made easy, cooing sounds. Cassie nuzzled, shifted position, and gathered a handful of blouse.
    Sleepy again. Cindy kissed the top of her head.
    I’d been trained to heal, trained to believe in the open, honest therapeutic relationship. Being in this room made me feel like a con man.
    Then I thought about raging fevers and bloody diarrhea and convulsions so intense they rattled the crib, remembered a little baby boy who’d died in his crib, and my self-doubts turned stale and crumbled.
     
     
    By 10:45, I’d been there for more than half an hour, mostly watching Cassie lie in Cindy’s arms. But she seemed more comfortable with me, even smiling once or twice. Time to pack up and declare success.
    I stood. Cassie started to fuss.
    Cindy sniffed the air, wrinkled her nose, and said, “Uh-oh.”
    Gently, she rolled Cassie onto her back and changed the little girl’s diaper.
    Powdered, patted, and reclothed, Cassie remained restless. Pointing at the floor, she said, “Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!”
    “Out?”
    Emphatic nod. “
Ahd!
”
    She got on her knees and tried to stand on the bed, wobbling on the soft mattress. Cindy held her under the arms, lifted her off, and placed her on the floor. “You want to walk around? Let’s get some slippers on you.” The two of them walked to the closet.