The Chemistry of Death

Chapter 43

Vivian took a deep breath, smelling wood smoke from the fire. It was a homey smell, but nothing about the pristine library was homey. “Katrinka has done some pretty risky things to get sent away — trying to shoplift, making it look like she’s doing drugs. Maybe sending her to live with her aunt would settle her down.”

Mr. Kazakov scowled at her. “You think you can tell me what’s best for my daughter? Only few weeks have you known her.”

Vivian knew that she should stop talking if she wanted to save her job. “What’s here for her? An empty table at dinner?”

“She’s a big girl. Big enough to eat alone.” He towered over her, but Vivian wouldn’t be intimidated.

“If you can’t find time for her in your life, why keep her here? She’s an animal in a trap, and she won’t stop trying to escape just because you want her to stay.” Vivian’s phone buzzed in her pants pocket, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off Mr. Kazakov.

“An animal, you say?” Mr. Kazakov was shouting now, and he moved closer, his thick jaw thrust out like a boxer’s.

She bent her knees and watched his shoulders. If he decided to come after her, she’d see it first there. He was big, and his crooked nose and scarred knuckles meant he’d been a brawler once. But he was probably slower than her. She didn’t need to beat him. She just needed to stay out of range.

“Daddy?”

Vivian waited until he turned to face his daughter, then took a few steps backward, putting a chair between her and Mr. Kazakov. But she could immediately see that it wasn’t going to be necessary.

His shoulders sagged as he stared at his daughter.

Katrinka stood in the doorway. She perched on the balls of her feet like she wanted to run, but she stood her ground. “Please. Please.”

Vivian expected her to say more, but she didn’t. She just stood there, twisting a lock of hair with one finger.

He spoke. “Your mother—”

“Doesn’t care if I’m alive or dead.” Katrinka twitched when she said the word dead, and Vivian swallowed hard.

Mr. Kazakov hung his head. Vivian wanted him to go to his daughter, to hug her, to deny what she had said, but he stood still as a statue in the middle of the pristine white room.

“Let me go to Aunt Billie, Daddy.”

Vivian’s phone buzzed again, but she didn’t want to draw attention to herself to answer it. She wanted to fade into the wallpaper and let these two work it out. She wanted to leave, but wouldn’t go until Katrinka didn’t need her anymore.