The Littlest Prosecutor novel · Chapter 13 of 24

Chapter 13: Seven Counts

Daddy did not sit down.

He stood at the end of the long table with my page in his hands, and he read it again from the top.

"Count one," he said. "September third. What did I say?"

"You were buttering toast," I said.

My voice came out smaller than I wanted, but it came.

"I showed you the mark on my arm. You said, 'Be nice to Faye, Bird.' You didn't look up."

Daddy shut his eyes.

"Count two."

"The twelfth. You were putting on your coat. You said, 'She's trying so hard.'"

"I remember," he said.

"Do you want all of them?" I asked. "I have all of them."

"Yes," said Daddy. "Every one. Don't skip any."

So I said them.

Five more, one after another, with the dates and the rooms and the clothes he was wearing.

He did not interrupt me once.

He stood there and took each one, and when I got to last Friday, his knees gave a little, and Uncle Desmond pushed a chair behind him.

Daddy sat.

"That's seven," I said. "That's the file."

Nobody at the table said anything clever.

The fifth uncle blew his nose.

Daddy put both hands flat over his face, and then he took them away, and he looked at me.

"What do you want me to do?" he said.

"Objection," I said.

"To what?"

"You're asking the witness. That's not allowed."

Somebody laughed, a wet, surprised laugh, and I think it was Aunt Jo.

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