He headed for the porch, meeting them halfway. “We expecting company?”
“Nope, not as far as I know.” Ichabod shrugged, offering him a happy grin. “It’s okay,” he said. “It was about time for mud pies to stop.”
Two women piled out of the car with briefcases and wool coats and slacks. Weird. Ichabod seemed about as confused as he felt.
“Mr. Miller?”
Ichabod blinked once. “Mr. Miller-Johns, yes. Can I help you?”
“We’re with Child Protective Services. There’s been a complaint, and we would like to see if we could do a house visit.”
Ichabod’s eyebrows raised all the way up to his hairline. He handed Chrissy over to Ellis without a word and motioned him toward the door. “What do you mean, you’ve had a complaint? Who has had a complaint and why?”
“I’m afraid it’s confidential. We’d like to do a house visit and see if everything’s okay inside.” The younger of the two ladies—a pretty woman with braids and a matching hat and mitts—smiled at them as if she was humoring the lunatics.
He headed for the door with their youngest.
“Do you have a warrant?”
“Do we need one?” That was the older one, and she wasn’t bothering to be sweet as she glared over her glasses.
He could tell by the tension in Ichabod’s shoulders, shit was fixing to hit the fan.
“Legally, yes you do, and you’re both aware of that. Also, I would like some identification before I let anyone inside my house. I don’t let strangers inside my home willy-nilly. So, do you have business cards? Do you have some sort of proof of who you are who you say you are? Because I’m not letting anyone inside or to touch my baby girl or any of my other children without knowing who you are.”
“There’s no reason to get aggressive.”
Oh, fuck a duck sideways. He stopped, caught between the urge to protect Chrissy and defend Ichabod.
Ichabod blinked again, nice and slow, and then took a deep breath. “If you intend to come into the house without a warrant, which isnotyour right, I would like to have an introduction. My name is Ichabod Miller-Johns, which you’re aware of. Your name is?”
The older lady lifted her chin, her eyes flashing behind her glasses. “My name is Lindsey Halloway, and I’m a social worker,” she said, handing over a business card. It did indicate she was with CPS.
The other lady seemed a little more sympathetic. “I’m Ms.Kacey, Ichabod. And we have to investigate all complaints. I’m sure you understand.”
“I do understand. I’m not an idiot.” Ichabod scowled, black eyebrows lowering. “But you come upon me without identifying yourself, without showing me your ID, anything. It wasn’t very polite, and this is very unnerving that someone would call in and suggest that the children weren’t fine in any way.”
Ms. Halloway looked him up and down, arching an eyebrow. “One of the things that we check on is cleanliness.”
Oh shit, Ichabod was going to lose it, Ellis could tell.
So he smiled. “It’s very cold. I need to get the little one inside.”
“And who are you?” Mrs. Halloway asked.
Ichabod jumped right in. “This is my partner, Ellis.”
“Oh well, do we have your permission to come in?”
Ichabod nodded, “Sure, I’ve got nothing to hide. These kids are fine. By the way, I’m a potter. We were in the studio—me and Chrissy—playing with clay. That’s what I do for a living.” Ichabod’s voice was cold as ice, and Ellis knew that he was going to have to work hard to fix this and quick.
He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he did know that the house was clean, the kids were safe, nobody was hitting anybody.
Hell, Zane didn’t even beat on his little brother which Ellis personally thought was sort of unnatural.
“Come on in, ladies,” Ellis said, stepping aside, Chrissy still held in his arms. “I’m gonna go wash her off. You’ll do your house visit, and then we’ll talk in the front room, right?” He stared at Ichabod, raising his eyebrow, and Ichabod thinned his lips into a tight line before he nodded.
“We surely will have a discussion once you see that there’s nothing wrong here.”
