Bowled Over

Chapter Seven

"Margaret. You are here then? And you've heard about your father? Well, of course, I should have known. Like I've always said, your middle name should have been Trouble ..."

Maggie suppressed a flinch, and kept her back to the door of the police station. She'd been hoping there could be a way to make whatever was happening all go away before her mother found out about it. So much for luck—except bad luck. "Hi, Mom. Fancy meeting you here."

"Actually, I'm the one who figured you'd probably be here somewhere, Maggie."

Maggie's upper lip curled only slightly. She swiveled on the uncomfortable wooden bench that reminded her of a church pew, and looked toward her brother, who appeared to be his usual buttoned-down arrogant self. "Tate. Figured that out all by yourself, huh?"

"How did you break your foot?"

"I stepped on a doorstop," Maggie told him grudgingly.

"Get out. Nobody does that."

She felt her temperature rising. "Okay, okay, if you think it's important at a time like this. I was crossing Broadway and didn't look where I was going and my foot got run over by the lead car of the president's motorcade."

"No! My God, did they stop? Did you get his autograph?"

Maggie rolled her eyes. "And Mom says you're the smart one ..."

There was a sort of flutter in the doorway, followed by an anguished female cry. "Maggie! Oh, God—Daddy! This is terrible!"

Maggie smiled slightly at her sister, the baby of the family, who had taken refuge behind a fist-size wad of already soggy tissues. Maureen was really good at playing the baby of the family, too. All the Kelly children, Maggie had decided long ago, had been typecast by their mother at birth. Erin, the oldest, therefore infallible. Tate, the only boy, the heir, the one carrying on the family name. And Maggie, the middle child—she'd been preprogrammed to be the odd one out.

"Hi, Maureen."

Her sister looked her up and down. "Mom said you broke your foot. 'To annoy her,' she said. How did you do it?"

Sometimes it took Maggie a minute or two to learn. But then she learned fast. "Rappelling down the Matterhorn."

"Wow."

"Yeah. Wow. Guess the gang's all here, huh, except for Erin. She parking the car?"

Alicia Kelly collapsed onto the bench beside Maggie. "Don't be facetious. And Tate drove us in my car, as he'd already sent away the limousine he'd hired. Erin had to cancel yesterday morning, poor thing, although we can only be glad she isn't here, as she's too sensitive for something like this. Gavin has the flu, or something. She's devastated not to be here, but her husband's health comes first."

"Sure, it does. Yesterday morning, Mom, you said? Leaving you time to call me, tell me that we could stay at the house, right? I mean, you did call me yesterday afternoon. Of course, that was only to remind me to keep Dad away from the house tomorrow, so he couldn't ruin Christmas dinner."

If Maggie had expected her mother to blush, or look sheepish, then she really was asking for a miracle for Christmas. "Always finding fault, aren't you, Margaret?"

"Yeah, that's me. I'm sorry, it wasn't important. Well, it was, I guess," she waffled. "But not really, huh? Not right now, anyway. Who's that over there with Tate?"

Mrs. Kelly was sitting ramrod straight, repeatedly snapping and unsnapping the clasp on her huge black purse. "His friends, of course. And how embarrassing for Tate, to have to come down here to bail out your father."

Maggie felt strange. Almost as if her backbone was getting stronger. Now why was that?

"Yeah, poor Tate. Hard to impress his important pals, what with his daddy in the slammer and all that. My friends, on the other hand, don't count," Maggie said, rolling her eyes at Alex, who had just stepped back into the nondescript lobby that, Maggie had noticed earlier, smelled like a branch office of Dunkin Donuts. "Alex? Did you get hold of her?"

"I did," he told her, inclining his head to Alicia. "Mrs. Kelly, how pleasant to see you again, no matter the circumstances."

"I'm always happy to see you, Alex," Mrs. Kelly answered. Very nearly purred. It wasn't easy, putting a purr for Alex and a shot at Maggie in the same sentence, but the woman was a master.

"Right," Maggie said tightly, still amazed that even her mother was not immune to Alex's perfect-hero charm—although having bought the woman a diamond bracelet after his initial win at the baccarat table over the Thanksgiving holiday couldn't have hurt. "Is she coming here? Does she have a license to practice in Jersey? What did she say?"

"She—meaning, Mrs. Kelly, our good friend and exemplary criminal attorney, J.P. Boxer—informs me that the weather in Aruba is wonderfully balmy, although a tad windy at times, which made her full-body massage on the beach a fairly risqué affair at one point. There are times, I'll admit, when I wish I didn't inspire such confidences from the fairer sex."

Maggie's stomach did a small, sick flip. "Oh, God. She's in Aruba? She can't be in Aruba. What the hell is J.P. doing in Aruba?"

Alex smiled. "She told me you'd say that, almost word-for-word, actually. She also told me to tell you that she's in Aruba because that's—pardon me, Mrs. Kelly—that's damn well where she wants to be right now, considering the fact that snow and slush are unheard of in that particular climate."

"But she promised me free legal advice for life. Did you remind her of that, Alex?"

"Unnecessary, my dear. J.P. is well aware of her promise. She also instructed me to tell you that she lied."

Maggie sagged in her seat. "Of course, she did. Never put your trust in lawyers, unless they're already on a hefty retainer. Didn't Shakespeare say something like that?"

"Shakespeare said many things, Maggie," Alex told her. "I fear I have not committed them all to memory."

"No, just most of them." Maggie was very aware of her mother, sitting beside her. For some reason, one she'd have to figure out later, she had this insane impulse to shield the woman, take the burden all on her own shoulders. Okay, and on Alex's shoulders. "So now what? We're in this alone, right? Give me some ideas. How do we get Dad out of here?"

"A stout rope tied to the prison bars, a stouter bumper on your car, and I suppose we could manage it. Unless you're aware of a source for a few sticks of dynamite, hmm?"

"If that was meant to amuse me, you missed the mark, bucko. I'm serious. Daddy can't stay here all night. It's Christmas Eve."

"J.P. did give me a few names, other attorneys we might be able to contact. Although it is as you said, Christmas Eve, Maggie, so I don't know that we'll be able to spring your father from the hoosegow much before Boxing Day."

"Hoosegow?"

"Something Sterling said to me. It would appear he's quite taken with the term. I rather favor it myself, it's amusing. And rather rolls off the tongue, don't you think? Hoosegow."

"Not now, Alex, please. I don't need amusing right now." Maggie looked over to the desk where the booking officer or whoever he was sat, talking to Sterling. "What's he doing over there anyway?"

"Sterling? Why, being his usual amiable self, I imagine. Leave him be, Maggie. If anyone can arrange for a way for us to speak with your father yet this evening, it will be Sterling."

"Not really, Alex," Mrs. Kelly said, getting to her feet. "Tate's friend's wife is arranging bail now. Or releasing Evan on his own recognizance, as I believe she called it. After all, it's not as if he could have done anything too terrible. Not Evan. He isn't capable."

Maggie goggled up at her mother. "Cripes, Mom. Nobody told you why Daddy's here?"

Alex put his hand warningly on her shoulder, speaking quietly.

"Tread carefully, Maggie. We're muddling along with precious few histrionics, save your dear sister, that is. We're not flying up into the treetops. Yet. Let's attempt to remain this way as long as possible."

Maggie considered Alex's warning, and then nodded her head in agreement. They'd start slow, that's what they'd do. Daddy had been arrested. Her mother was coping with that fairly well. Why rush into telling her why he'd been arrested? What was that old joke? Something about the cat was on the roof ... ?

She looked toward Tate, now standing with the man who'd come in with him. But the woman was gone. "She's a lawyer, Mom? The guy's wife?"

"Much more than just a lawyer, Margaret. She's the senior partner in a very prestigious firm in Basking Ridge."

"And she does criminal law?"

Mrs. Kelly didn't answer, but just waved Tate and his companion over to them. "Sean? This is my daughter, Margaret. Margaret—Sean Whitaker." She shot a look at Maggie. "Sean's a Realtor."

Maggie waited a beat, for her mother to say, "And Maggie's a famous writer."

When the silence stretched out for a good five seconds, with no word coming from Alicia Kelly, Maggie put out her hand and had it thoroughly wrung by the handsome blond-headed man who looked like he'd just stepped out of a Calvin Klein ad.

"A pleasure, Sean. And your wife is an attorney?"

"She is, Margaret, yes. Cynthia Spade-Whitaker. You may have heard of her? She just successfully defended several charges against—well, names don't really matter, do they?"

"In Jersey? Not unless the name is Soprano, right? Bada-bing," Maggie said, knowing she was being snarky.

Then again, it had been a long day, and it wasn't over yet.

And she may have inadvertently hit the target, as handsome Sean seemed to turn a little green around the gills. "Everyone deserves a good defense. I'm really very proud of her. So," he added, much too brightly, "how did you break your leg?"

"My foot, actually. I broke it chasing down a purse snatcher who'd grabbed some old lady's bag as she came out of Barney's. Got him, too. The mayor's giving me a commendation next week. I do try, but it's hard to be humble."

Alex coughed into his fist.

"Really? That's ... that's very heroic of you. Ah, and here comes my wife now."

Everyone turned to watch as the blond-haired sylph with eyes as green as grass glided into the room, a self-satisfied smirk on her artfully made-up face. "All done, kiddies," she said—crowed. "I found us a judge who ... well, let's say he owes our firm a favor. Mr. Kelly will be released in a few hours. Just as soon as our judge comes here and arraigns him in a special private session and someone posts bond, of course. Tate, I'm sure you can manage that. The bail bondsman will want ten percent—fifty-thousand dollars."

Sometimes being the outsider had its benefits. Maggie could stand back, unnoticed and forgotten, and observe her fellow humans, as writers tend to do. Like now, when Maggie could watch Tate's nostrils flare, watch his Adam's apple climb his neck as he swallowed rather convulsively.

She couldn't resist: "Oh, that's great, Tate. To the rescue, as usual. Mom, isn't Tate great? What a guy."

Alex pulled her back down onto the bench and then sat down beside her. "Neither you nor your brother should ever consider playing at cards for money, my dear. I can read both your faces quite easily. Tate doesn't have fifty-thousand dollars he can readily convert to cash—and you know it. But remember, Maggie, this is not about sibling rivalry. It's about Evan."

"I do know that. I'm trying not to think about Daddy back there somewhere behind that door, half swallowed up by some horrible orange jumpsuit and sharing a cell with a bunch of Christmas Eve drunks. I'll let Tate off the hook in a moment, post the bail. But would you look at Mom? She's beginning to get a sort of deer-in-the-headlights look. Not that it isn't about time she went a little crazy. She can't believe Daddy's been tossed in jail for parking tickets or littering. Not with a five-hundred-thousand-dollar bail."

Her mother was looking around the room, as if applying for some sort of assistance but not knowing whom to ask. And then, much to Maggie's surprise, Mrs. Kelly walked back across the room to sit down beside Maggie.

She covered her mother's hand with her own. "Mom? You okay?"

Mrs. Kelly shook her head slowly. "Fifty-thousand dollars? What did the man do? The officer who called me didn't say. But I assumed ... that is ... I thought it was something minor ... something typically stupid ..."

Maggie looked up at Alex, who nodded to her, and then squeezed her mother's hand. "It isn't something minor, Mom. They say ... um ... they say Daddy killed somebody."

Mrs. Kelly pushed Maggie's hand away and shot to her feet. "That's ridiculous! Evan may be an idiot, but he wouldn't step on a bug. Tate! Someone's made a mistake. Get your father out here this minute."

But Tate was standing with his friends, gesturing nervously, probably explaining that his funds weren't "liquid," or some such drivel.

"Mom, they aren't kidding. They say he killed someone." Maggie got to her feet, put her arm around her mother, then stood with her arm still outstretched as Mrs. Kelly shrugged off the offer of comfort. "Alex? What's the man's name?"

Alex took a pristine white linen handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Maureen, who was now comforting her mother.

Maggie noticed that Maureen was allowed to do that. How silly she'd been, to try to step out from her typecasting. But, with a new clarity that had come from somewhere, Maggie wondered if that was her problem—or her mother's. And, if it was her mother's, then the woman had to be going nuts knowing that her husband, safely in his assigned "role" all these years, had suddenly stepped out of character.

"The victim's name?" Alex said, frowning. "I don't know that I have that, actually. Give me a moment to confer with Sterling."

He was back in a less than a minute, smiling slightly. "Sterling is now a junior detective, Maggie. He showed me his badge."

Even with her mother beginning to fall apart—a phenomenon Maggie could not remember ever witnessing—she had to smile as she glanced toward Sterling, who was proudly holding up a plastic badge. "Isn't that cute? I'm guessing they give them to all the kids," she said, waving and nodding at the lovable Sterling Balder. "So? The name?"

"Yes, of course. The deceased is one Walter Bodkin."

"Bodkin? There's a name for you," Maggie said, and turned back to her mother. "Mom? Do you recognize the—hey now, how about we sit you back down, okay? You're looking a little pale. Alex?"

Alex immediately guided Mrs. Kelly back down onto the bench, even as Maureen subsided beside her, also looking faintly sick.

"Mom?" Maggie asked again. "You knew this Bodkin person?"

Maureen giggled inanely, then burst into sobs.

Mrs. Kelly blinked, then blinked again. "My God, he did it. He killed him. And it's all my fault." She reached up blindly, grabbing for Alex's hand, clutching it tightly. "You're always involved in something scandalous, aren't you? You and Maggie? You and Maggie have to do something. You have to fix this. You have to help Evan. He killed him, and it's all my fault."

"Jeez Louise, Mom, why don't you say that a little louder—I'm not sure the cop at the desk heard you."

"But he did it, Margaret. Evan killed Walter. He did it for me."

It was like bad soap-opera dialogue. Maggie half expected the scene to freeze in front of her and then fade to black as the network went to commercial.

"Maureen," Maggie commanded, grabbing her wrist and giving it a shake. "Fall apart later, okay? Help me get Mom out of here before some cop hears her and wants to take a statement. Alex? Talk to the blonde and find out how I bail Dad out of this place. Mom? Come on, Mom, up an' at 'em. That's the girl. Let's walk you outside and let Maureen get you home ..."