Match Made in Court

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Linnea had to count to ten before she could reply, her voice shaking only the tiniest bit. “Seems? Finn, if the court awards custody to me, Hanna will stay here as promised.”

  There was a distinct pause. She could easily picture his eyes narrowing.

  “Are you challenging me, sis? Hanna’s my kid. Don’t get ideas here. You’ll get trampled.”

  She flushed hot, then shivered with the chill that followed. She was challenging her brother, but she didn’t want him to know that. So she kept her voice mild. “You know Matt will be watching. He won’t tolerate Hanna going with you if she’s supposed to be with me.”

  His mood abruptly altered. “I don’t have time for her right now anyway. She’s okay there, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m paying for representation for you. Someone from Attley McKesson Cotter will be in touch with—”

  “No,” she said.

  This silence was downright icy. So was her brother’s voice when he said, “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means, I don’t think it would look good if you were clearly behind my attempt to gain legal custody—”

  “Temporary legal custody.”

  “Temporary legal custody,” she corrected herself. “I’ve already got an attorney.”

  “Who?”

  “Margaret Robinson. She specializes in family-and-child issues.”

  “I’ll check her out.” He fell silent, then muttered an obscenity. “All right,” he conceded grudgingly. “That might be good thinking. A female attorney…Yeah. She could go over well.”

  Linnea gritted her teeth at his condescension. Why had Tess tolerated him?

  “Don’t screw up,” he concluded. “Pretend you’ve got some spine, will you? No commissioner will see you as guardian material if you act like you’re scared of your own goddamn shadow. You can pretend to be motherly, can’t you? Determined to protect and adore your niece?”

  Linnea was truly astonished at the firestorm of fury that ignited in her. She’d spent her life ducking and shriveling at Finn’s scathing dismissals of her character. This time, she was mad.

  “Don’t worry,” she told him. “I do adore Hanna, and I’ll protect her.” From you, she thought, proud of her calm voice.

  “Is there going to be a trial?” she asked.

  “Over this child custody thing? Of course not. You won’t even be seeing a judge, a commissioner handles—”

  “No, I meant you. Mom said you were arraigned.”

  “Hell, yes, there’ll be a trial. What do you think, I’m going to take this lying down?”

  “I’m just asking—”

  “What do you imagine I’m going to do, cop a plea?” he snapped. “To a felony, that will get me disbarred? When they’ve got zero reason to think this was anything but an accident? Hell, no. We’re going full-steam ahead.” His voice changed. “You know how volatile Tess was. She was so mad, she kicked the coffee table over, then on her next pass tripped and fell right into it. I grabbed for her, but—”

  She heard him swallow and wondered if that much, at least, was genuine. But as for the rest, Linnea knew perfectly well she was hearing his defense. He was probably practicing on her. She knew him. By the time he was on the witness stand, he’d be able to talk about Tess’s last minutes with moisture glistening in his eyes, his resonant, musical voice hitching. He would sound heartbroken rather than perfunctory.

  Suddenly repulsed, she said, “Hanna is asleep, in case you wanted to talk to her. I’m afraid I need to go. I think it would be better if you didn’t contact her for now. Mom will keep you up-to-date.”

  She heard the TV in the background. He’d presumably just turned it on.

  “Don’t screw up,” he repeated, and hung up on her.

  Carefully, Linnea hit End and set down the phone. “Jerk!”

  But her churning stomach told her he was worse than that. Far worse. He’d killed his wife, and he was now cold-bloodedly lying to protect himself.

  She’d always believed he did love Hanna. Now she knew she had been wrong. It made her chest ache, thinking that. Hanna would know eventually, if she didn’t already.

  I can’t fail her, Linnea thought, familiar self-doubt creeping from the shadows. She doesn’t have anyone else.

  Except, of course, for her uncle Matt, who was determined to take her away from everyone and everything she knew and loved.

  MATT WAS SURPRISED AT HOW quickly a hearing on his custody petition had been set up. He’d been afraid he would have to wait for weeks. The circumstances had presumably had an influence, as perhaps had Finn’s current notoriety.

  Matt and his attorney had crafted the petition as carefully as they could. “Chances are, we won’t have more than five minutes to argue your case,” Shelton had explained. “So what’s presented in writing to the commissioner has to be good.”

  Explaining why parental visitation should be limited or nonexistent was no challenge, under the circumstances. His attorney doubted Finn would be foolish enough to intrude himself in these proceedings. If he was found guilty of murder in the second degree, he would be going to prison, with a likely sentence of three to five years. If he was found innocent, he’d have a good chance of regaining custody. In the meantime, his hands looked damn dirty and he was better off relying on his sister to represent the Sorensen family.

  Matt’s belief that it was in Hanna’s best interest to live with him rather than Linnea came down to her association with her brother and her closeness to the parents who were Finn’s staunchest supporters and apologists. Matt thought he had a good case. He knew his attorney wasn’t so sure.

  But letting himself have doubts wasn’t an option. Without Hanna, he’d have nobody. And Tess’s child would be at the mercy of that son of a bitch Finn Sorensen and his family.

  Not acceptable.

  The hearing itself was scheduled for the week after he had filed the petition for nonparental custody. He and his attorney were already sitting in the waiting room when Matt saw Linnea walk in. His entire body went rigid. All he could think was how beautiful she was. How perfect, with her moonlight-pale hair drawn smoothly back in a chignon. Wearing a navy sheath dress and pearls in her ears, she was Princess Grace, he thought, lovely and untouchable.

  He’d stared for a stunned thirty seconds before he realized her parents and another woman had arrived with her.

  Shelton murmured, “Nod acknowledgment. Not a word.”

  God damn it. Gripping the arms of the chair, Matt met Linnea’s gaze and nodded.

  Cheeks flushed, she did the same. The entire group settled in chairs as far away from him as they could get. From his peripheral vision, he saw the attorney speaking in a low voice to Linnea, the parents leaning forward to hear.

  “You knew the grandparents would come,” his own attorney said softly. “They’re trying to present a united front.”

  “No trying about it,” he ground out.

  “But they’re all tainted by association. That’s our best argument.”

  Didn’t “I love her” count? But Matt knew it didn’t, if only because Linnea loved her niece, too.

  She looked as uncomfortable as he felt. He studied the three of them surreptitiously, Linnea first. She sat stiffly, her back straight and not touching the chair, her hands gripping her purse on her lap. His eyes narrowed. Did it mean something that she’d had to walk past both of her parents so that she could sit beside her father and not her mother?

  Finn had gotten his looks from his father. Paavo Sorensen was an older, stooped version of his son, his blond hair going to white, the effect of the tall body storklike rather than athletic. The resemblance would have bothered Matt had it been more than skin deep. Paavo lacked Finn’s energy and intensity, perhaps in part because of the disease that he’d currently battled to a draw. He looked like the college professor he’d been—quiet, reserved, thoughtful. Maybe kind. Matt had never gotten to know him well enough to judge.

  The mother, she was the source
of Finn’s sense of entitlement. Likely a beauty in her twenties, still slender and elegant with a close-cropped cap of blond hair, she had acquired wrinkles of dissatisfaction. Matt had never liked her, and, damn it, he’d tried—she was Hanna’s grandmother! Her only grandmother. But her voice had a sharp edge too often, although never, that he’d heard, directed at Finn. Matt wondered if Linnea had noticed.

  Stupid thought—she had to have learned her disappearing trick early. Because she hadn’t measured up to her big brother? Or was there another reason?

  Before the wait could become excruciating instead of just agonizing, they were all summoned into the conference room. He’d known the commissioner hearing his case was a man, which had given him some hope. At least he wouldn’t be combating an automatic assumption that women were the preferred caregivers for a young girl. A recorder was present as well as a bailiff.

  The commissioner was younger than he’d expected, no more than forty. Thin-faced, he wore horn-rimmed glasses. As they arranged themselves in seats, he studied them openly, one at a time.

  Matt’s attorney spoke first, followed by Matt, who emphasized his deep attachment to Hanna and his concern that Finn’s sister would permit contact with Finn and that the entire family would cast the blame for any violence on Tess rather than her husband and killer. He talked about raising his sister after their parents’ death and his deep desire to do the same for his niece. Sitting down, he felt drained.

  Linnea’s attorney rose in turn and gave a predictable spiel. Hanna was already staying with Linnea. Linnea had been present at her birth and at every important event of her life; Hanna loved her, felt safe in her home. The child’s relationship with Mr. Laughlin was at best occasional, as he had been out of the country for the majority of her life. If the concern was Finn, in fact Ms. Sorensen was not allowing any contact with the child’s father at present.

  Linnea stood, cast a fleeting glance at him in which he read guilt and unhappiness, then lifted her chin and spoke in a voice that was only slightly tremulous.

  “I love Hanna. She’s spent an average of a night a week at my house for her entire life. She has her own bedroom in my house, keeps toys there, loves to go to the library with me and help me with my petsitting business. I do work, but her grandparents are happy to have her often, and otherwise a close neighbor who has a boy Hanna’s age has been offering day care. At this point, I’m driving her to her existing school to give her stability, but would like to change her to a neighborhood elementary school after Christmas break. I believe with all my heart that Hanna belongs with me.”

  The commissioner contemplated them. “Have you two made any real attempt to work out a parenting plan for this child?”

  They both spoke; stopped and exchanged glances. Matt said, “Initially Ms. Sorensen seemed willing to give me a chance to spend time with Hanna. However, when she learned that I meant to ask for custody, she refused me any contact with my niece.”

  His attorney nodded. “The core disagreement about Hanna’s residential placement has put a roadblock in place we haven’t been able to get around.”

  The commissioner’s eyebrows rose. “Ms. Sorensen?”

  Cheeks flushed, she said, “Mr. Laughlin expressed such anger at our family—Hanna’s family, who she knows and loves—that I felt contact with him was to her detriment.”

  His head bent and the commissioner flipped through papers. “Were you asking for no contact with Mr. Laughlin?”

  Matt froze.

  Her gaze touched his, shied away. “Uh, no. I do believe Mr. Laughlin loves Hanna and…that she loves him.”

  “Should I give you physical custody, would you be able to cooperate with his visitation schedule?”

  After a brief hesitation, she dipped her head. Beside Linnea, her mother glared at Matt.

  “Very well.” The commissioner looked at him. “Mr. Laughlin, I understand and sympathize with your anger at the child’s father. I must remind you, however, that he has not been convicted in the death of Hanna’s mother. He may, in fact, not end up being convicted. It is essential to her best interest that she not be prejudiced against her father. I’m concerned that you, as the deceased’s only family, may have a difficult time suppressing that anger.”

  Matt opened his mouth and started to push to his feet.

  The commissioner waved him back to his seat. “No, allow me to finish. I am making the ruling that Hanna Sorensen shall remain with her aunt, Linnea Sorensen, for other reasons, as well. She knows her aunt the best, is comfortable in her home, and therefore faces the least disruption. She can continue to have contact with her grandparents, as well—and supervised visitation with her father. Who, I again emphasize, has not been convicted. I’m going to order liberal visitation for you, Mr. Laughlin, to allow you to build a solid relationship with your niece. That is—” he tilted his head to look over his glasses “—assuming you intend to remain in this country and state?”

  He unclenched his jaw. “I’ll be here.”

  “Very well. Remember that this order is temporary. We can revisit it at any time, and certainly will following resolution of the charges filed against Hanna’s father.” He looked from Matt to Linnea and back again. “I’m going to give the two of you another opportunity to come up with a parenting plan, to include a visitation schedule, decision making and dispute resolution. Should you fail, I’ll do it for you. Mr. Shelton, Ms. Robinson, I will ask that a plan be submitted to me within one week. Is that agreeable?”

  Both nodded.

  One last sharp look. “Good luck.”

  Feeling sick, Matt found himself on his feet, walking out, Shelton gripping his arm as if afraid he’d—what?—swing a punch? In the waiting room, Linnea and her parents stopped to face him.

  Matt saw only the triumph on her mother’s face.

  “The nerve of you, trying to keep our grandchild from us.”

  “Mom!”

  “Now, Mrs. Sorensen…” the attorney murmured.

  The dam he’d put on his tongue crumbled. He looked her in the eye and said, “Your son killed my sister. He shattered her skull. You are apparently unwilling to acknowledge his fault or to protect Hanna from his next temper tantrum.” Matt let his scathing gaze move from her to the father’s face, and finally to Linnea, who appeared stricken. “Yeah, I think Hanna would be better off being raised the way my sister was rather than the way you raised your son.” Feeling Shelton’s fingers tightening on his arm, he said brusquely, “Linnea, I’ll be in touch,” then walked out.

  THE NEXT MEETING TOOK PLACE in the office of Linnea’s attorney, Margaret Robinson. Linnea made sure she arrived first, although she felt silly worrying about something so meaningless. This wasn’t a battlefield, where holding the higher ground counted. Although remembering the way Matt had looked at her and her parents, she suspected that to him this was a battle in a war he was determined to win.

  Margaret’s law offices were on the ground floor of an old house a block off Broadway on Capitol Hill. She shared it with a partner, another woman whose specialty was landlord-and-tenant law. The floors were refinished hardwood, the ceilings ten feet high or more, the moldings a dark mahogany. Linnea would have loved to own a house like this, with a deep front porch and a bay window. The conference room, she decided, must have been a library, or perhaps the parlor.

  She knew she was only trying to distract herself, but waiting was hard.

  Voices, first the receptionist’s then a man’s, gave her warning. She set down her cup, lifted her head and did her absolute best to look serene.

  She wished she thought she’d succeeded.

  Matt came in first, his unreadable and rather grim gaze going right to her face. Linnea’s pulse took wing in her throat.

  His attorney, whose name she didn’t remember, followed him. Margaret rose and welcomed them, offered coffee, which the attorney accepted and Matt refused. The receptionist, smiling, went away and quickly returned with another cup.

  “Well, let’
s get down to business,” Margaret said briskly, as soon as the other woman pulled the French doors closed behind her. “I’m assuming you’ve given some thought to a visitation schedule.”

  “Of course.” The other attorney opened his briefcase and took out a file, then closed the briefcase and set it on the floor. “The commissioner did suggest generous visitation. His word, not mine.”

  “And very much open to interpretation,” Margaret agreed, her tone bland.

  He—Sheldon…no, Shelton, with a t, yes, that was it—inclined his head and spread papers out on the table in front of him. “We’re currently asking for the equivalent of every other weekend as well as one evening per week. Mr. Laughlin would like to have Hanna for half of the approaching school breaks, with the holidays themselves to be negotiated.”

  Every other weekend? But Hanna didn’t know him. She was so traumatized already. For him to insist on taking her for two days at a time—two nights at a time—to a strange house, where she’d have to sleep in a strange bedroom, was cruel. He was as bad as Finn, Linnea thought indignantly, staking his claim whether that was best for Hanna or not.

  She knew emotions showed on her face too readily. She knew, too, that he was watching her.

  “Don’t look like that,” he said abruptly. His attorney had started to say something else, but he stopped and everyone stared at Matt. “I’m not going to rip her out of your arms and drag her away screaming. Is that what you think?”

  “Do you believe she’ll go with you willingly?” Linnea couldn’t tear her gaze from his eyes, so dark they were more charcoal than steel. “Like she did for the trip to the zoo?”

  He almost hid his flinch, but not entirely. “I love Hanna.”

  “Do you?”

  “She and I have been good friends. She loved staying home from day care and spending days with me.”

  “When she was three? Four?”