Bowled Over mkm-6

by Kasey Michaels

"I'm saying, Maggie, that we cannot discount the notion that your father could have been the real target, and Bodkin tossed in as the victim as a sort of two-for-the-price-of-one, thus getting rid of the local lothario at the same time. Even if I can think of only one other person of my acquaintances I would consider less likely to ever cultivate an enemy than your father."

  "Sterling," Maggie said, smiling slightly. "You know, I think I must have unconsciously patterned Sterling a little on my dad. Minus the being browbeaten, I mean."

  "I would say that we should curtail their excursions about town, except that as long as your father remains the primary suspect, he's probably safe. If the charges against him were to be dropped, however, and he truly does have an enemy who is also already a murderer, we'll have to rethink the situation. In the meantime, I believe we've kept Mrs. Butts waiting long enough."

  "Oh, right," Maggie said, reaching over to pull down the sun visor in front of Saint Just and checking her makeup, pushing at her hair. "How do I look?"

  "No longer seventeen and vulnerable," Saint Just told her, taking her chin in his hand. "But let's do something about that mouth, shall we?"

  Maggie tried to look in the mirror again, even as he held her chin steady. "My mouth? What's wrong with my mouth?"

  "I don't think it has been kissed in at least two hours," Saint Just said as he leaned closer, took her mouth with his own. He sucked lightly on her bottom lip, then slanted his mouth as he ran his tongue around the sensitive skin behind her upper lip, smiling against her as she moaned low in her throat and pulled him even closer.

  When he moved away from her, it was to see her with her eyes still closed, her mouth soft, moist, and faintly bee-stung. "There. Perfect."

  Maggie opened her eyes. "Well, that was interesting," she said, and then sighed.

  "Hmm, yes, although you might wish to explain why you taste, delightfully, of sugar," Saint Just told her, taking his handkerchief from his pocket and brushing at the bits of white powder and small particles of sugar littering the front of her coat. "And then tell me why you seem to be decorated with it as well."

  "Henry. He gave me donuts when I saw him. I didn't want them, but he forced them on me."

  "Held you down and shoved them into your mouth, did he? The unmitigated cad! Do you think I should call him out? Go-carts at ten paces?"

  "Aren't you a riot? I'm hunting a killer with a guy auditioning to be a stand-up comic." Maggie pushed his hand away and opened the car door. "We're keeping Lisa waiting, remember?"

  Saint Just smiled as he walked around the car to extract the walker from the backseat, and then bowed slightly as he unfolded it and presented it to Maggie, who seemed to feel it was time she checked to be sure that the bicycle horn Bernie had given her still worked.

  Oooga-oooga.

  "Move it, Romeo. I want to get this over with and get home to Dad, ask him a few more questions."

  "Such as?" Saint Just asked her as he followed her up the short brick walkway to the Buttses' domicile.

  "I don't know yet. But I'll think of something. In fact, maybe we should take Dad over to Mom's, and sit them both down, ask them both some questions."

  "Put them together in the same room? My, aren't you the brave one today. Or is what I'm seeing an example of what I've heard termed a sugar high?"

  "You're like a dog with a bone, aren't you, Alex? Yes, I ate two donuts. No, I'm not sorry. Yes, I know I told you I'm still trying to lose those last three pounds I gained when I quit smoking. Okay, four pounds." She stood back as he reached past her to bang the knocker three times, smiling down at her as he did so. "All right, all right, five pounds. I still have to lose five pounds. Happy now?"

  "I don't recall ever putting forth the notion that I am unhappy, sweetings. You're soft to the touch, and I like that." He leaned closer, his mouth a mere inch from hers. "I like that very much."

  The door opened just as Maggie's lips parted slightly.

  "Alex, you're—oh. Maggie? Maggie Kelly? Wow, you've really changed, haven't you?"

  Maggie had pulled herself erect on the walker and was now smiling at Lisa Butts. "Well, I got my hair cut, put in a few highlights, you know, and—um ... you haven't changed a bit, Lisa," she said, her smile so bright Saint Just knew that the poor girl was positively cringing inside at what had to be a blatant lie.

  After all, Saint Just considered himself to be a connoisseur of the feminine sex, and if Maggie and Lisa Butts were of nearly the same age, had graduated high school in the same year, then something had gone wonderfully right in Maggie's life in the intervening years, while something had gone depressingly wrong in the life of the former chief cheerleader.

  Lisa Butts had lines around her eyes, lines that only seemed to accentuate the dark circles beneath those eyes. Her lips, although wide and full, pulled down at the corners, as if they had forgotten how to smile. Her brown hair hung rather limply to just above her shoulders, her body was clothed in a too-large gray sweatshirt and black knit pants that bagged badly at the knees. Her bare feet were pushed into frayed satin slippers that may once, long ago, have been white.

  It did not, as Maggie would have said, take a rocket scientist to determine that the years had not been kind to Lisa Meadwick Butts.

  The photograph he had seen on the fireplace mantel during his first visit to the house, that of a much younger, immeasurably happier Lisa Butts executing a truly impressive leap into the air while thrusting her arms and some large pom-pom type things high in the air, could also be considered a clue to Lisa's unhappy state.

  But Saint Just preferred to think he would have known all of this without also seeing the photograph.

  "You want to come in?" Lisa asked, turning away from the door she left open behind her. "I've got fresh coffee on. Just go in there, to the living room, and I'll bring it right in, okay? How'd you break your ankle, Maggie?"

  "Foot," Maggie called after her as she maneuvered the walker toward the living room. "I fell out of a tree in Yosemite National Park while photographing a white-breasted nuthatch and ..." she turned on Saint Just as Lisa disappeared down the hallway, whispering, "Holy cripes, Alex. What happened to her?"

  "Life happens to people, sweetings. And life, I would deduce, has not been kind to Lisa Butts."

  Maggie turned the walker and backed up until her calves were against an overstuffed chair covered in an unfortunate choice of imitation orange leather, and then sat down with a thump, sinking even lower as the sound of air being hissed out of the cushion was the only sound in the small room. "But she was head cheerleader. She married the captain of the football team. She had a charmed life ..."

  "Here we go," Lisa said, reentering the room, this time carrying a tarnished silver tray holding the glass pot from a coffeemaker and three thick earthenware mugs. "I hope you take it black, Maggie. I'm out of milk and I can't go to the store until Barry—well, I can't go until later."

  Saint Just neatly divested her of the tray and placed it on the table in front of the couch as Lisa smiled up at him, blushing, and sat down.

  "Thank you, Alex," she said, resting her elbows on her knees as she leaned forward, spoke to Maggie. "I can't tell you how sorry I was to hear about your father. But I'm sure he's innocent. I heard you hired some hotshot woman lawyer. She'll get him off, won't she? Because I'm sure he didn't—well, I suppose you're sure, too, huh?"

  "Thanks, Lisa," Maggie said, pouring herself a cup of coffee, and then lifting the pot and looking at Saint Just, who shook his head, declining her offer to pour a cup for him as well. "I think you're the first person we've talked to who believes Daddy didn't do it."

  "I am?" She sat back quickly, almost as if she'd been slapped. Or said too much? If so, she wasn't done speaking. "Maybe that's because I remember your father from the Laundromat where I work on weekends. It's right next to Barry's shop, so it works out fine for us. He's so sweet, your dad, coming in with his laundry the last two months or so. He had absolutely no idea how to work the washers. In fact, h
e tried to put his clothes in one of the extractors we use for the really big loads, if you can believe that. Thought it was a washing machine. Anyway, I'm sure the police will realize they made a mistake and let Evan go."

  Lisa had just called him Evan? Maggie blinked. A woman her own age had just referred to her father as Evan, not Mr. Kelly? Said it just as though they were friends? Wow.

  "He's not in jail, Lisa," Maggie corrected. "He's free on bail."

  "Oh. Well, good. That's good, isn't it? He's out on bail, and soon they'll drop the charges. They have to."

  "Again, thank you, that's really sweet of you. Lisa—what the hell happened?"

  Saint Just shot a look at Maggie, gave her a slight, warning shake of the head, not that he expected Maggie to be anything more than Maggie—inquisitive, caring, and sadly lacking in finesse.

  Lisa laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "You always said what was on your mind, didn't you, Maggie? What the hell happened? I don't know. But it sure did happen, didn't it? To both of us. I'm the dreary housewife, and you're the famous author. I always envied you, you know, back in high school."

  "Me?" Maggie said, sipping her coffee. "I didn't think you even knew who I was. Well, not until the day that I—that was stupid of me, Lisa. Juvenile. I'm sorry I did it."

  "I wasn't. I stayed out of a lot of backseats in those days, so that no guy would find out what I was doing. The stuffing, you know? False advertising? Oh, sure, some kids laughed at me when they found out, but that didn't last long. I was the head cheerleader, lead choir soloist, vice president of the senior class, and all sorts of other stuff, after all. And, hey," she said, shrugging, "I finally made it to the backseat and let a guy get to second base, found out what I'd been missing—sorry, Alex. Are we embarrassing you?"

  "The word mortified comes to mind, yes," he told her with a smile. "But carry on, please. I am nothing if not adaptable, and I understand the modern American woman is often frank in discussions of such things."

  "And he watches television, Lisa," Maggie said, holding her cup to her lips. "Even cable movies. Don't you, Alex?"

  "Yes, thank you for sharing that, Maggie," Saint Just said, taking up his place at the mantel, lifting down the photograph of a large and smiling and happily filthy young man dressed in a football uniform, the number five on the muddied jersey, his helmet tucked under his forearm. "I noticed this photograph beside yours, earlier. And this would be Mr. Butts? Mr. Barry Butts?"

  "Yeah, that's Barry, right after we won the state title our senior year. That was his big moment. The high point of his life."

  Saint Just replaced the photograph. "Surely not," he said, looking at Lisa. "After all, his wedding day must have ranked much higher."

  "See any pictures of the happy couple sitting around in here, Alex?" Lisa said, her voice bitter. "I know I don't."

  Maggie and Saint Just exchanged looks, and he could see the pain in her eyes. This time he didn't bother to try to warn her off as, still looking at him, she asked Lisa, "When did you and Barry get married, anyway? I guess I'd already left for the city, huh?"

  "Yes, you left town. You left, and you didn't come back, did you? That's why I envy you, Maggie. You did it. You got out. You had a dream, to be a writer, and you went after it. That's the one thing I could never do—write. Sing, dance, yell loud, but not write. Not the way you did, for the high school newspaper and yearbook. You were really good."

  "I ... um, well, I—you had a dream, Lisa?"

  Lisa pushed her hair out of her eyes, smiled. "Sure, didn't all of us have dreams? I was going to be on Broadway. Singing, dancing. But Barry came first, you know? Just like Brenda's Frankie came first, and Jeanette's Bruce came first, and—marriage seemed so much ... so much safer, you know? Easier?"

  Saint Just stepped away from the mantel. "And is it, Lisa?" he asked her. "Easier, that is."

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Maggie strapped herself into the seat belt as Alex closed the door on the passenger side. "And you say I'm too blunt? I ask too many questions? I push too hard? Is it, Lisa? Is it easier? Cripes, talk about pushing the button and turning on the waterworks. What the hell happened to her, Alex?"

  "I would say that her husband happened to her. The man should be horsewhipped."

  "Well, I agree on that one. All that crap she told us? How she can't leave the house unless he's with her? Not even to go pick up a carton of milk at the grocery store? Not even to work at that Laundromat unless he's right next store at his bike shop? That's abuse, Alex. Barry Butts is one sick ticket."

  "Overly possessive, I agree. One has to wonder how such a cowed and frightened woman was able to sneak away, have an affair with our late, unlamented Mr. Bodkin."

  Maggie put the car in gear and headed for the corner, turned left onto Wesley. "Good point, Alex. If Barry watches her every move, controls the purse strings, all her comings and goings, what she wears, what she eats—can you believe he tells her what she can eat?—then how could she possibly have an affair behind his back?"

  "Yet she belongs to W.B.B."

  "Lisa belongs to that select club, yes," she said, chewing on her bottom lip, her brain on percolate. "But Lisa belonged to everything. You name the club, the activity, and Lisa belonged to it. Maybe she thought she had to belong to W.B.B, too. Without, you know, really belonging? Her friends do, Brenda and Joyce, at least. I mean, it might be one way to get out of the house without Barry throwing a fit, since she was only meeting with other women?"

  "An interesting if unappealing thought."

  "Agreed. I remember Barry. Tall, pretty muscular, too. I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of that guy. Do you think he hits her? Oh, cripes, Alex, that would be awful. Why doesn't she just leave him? Get up, get out, you know?"

  They pulled in to the curb in front of her father's bachelor apartment and Maggie turned off the ignition.

  "I mean, I know he could come after her, stalk her, maybe try to hurt her. But there are shelters for abused women now, even if he doesn't hit her. It's still abuse. Lisa is an abused woman."

  "I agree, Maggie. But I think it might be more than that. She's a frightened woman."

  "Well, sure. She let a man in the house. From the way she says he watches her, distrusts her, she had to be scared spitless he'd find out she had a man—you —in the house."

  "Again, I think it's more than that," Alex said as he helped her from the car. "Think about this, Maggie, if you will. What did you say to Lisa when she put forth her belief that your father is innocent?"

  "What did I say? I don't know. That she's the only one who thinks so? Of course, Carol thinks so, too, but Carol's a friend, where Lisa is just an acquaintance, you know, with that Laundromat business she told us about."

  "Yet she was adamant. Almost, one might say, as though she knew your father to be innocent."

  "She calls him Evan. Old enough to be her father, yet she calls him Evan. And Bodkin was old enough to be her father." Maggie felt her eyes going wide. "You think Barry Butts killed Walter Bodkin? And you think Lisa knows he killed Walter Bodkin?"

  "It would be very simple, very neat, wouldn't it? A fanatically jealous man believes his wife has become a member of the We Bopped Bodkin club, or whatever it's called. Who is to say what such a man, when he felt betrayed, would do?"

  "Yeah, but that's no more motive than any other guy whose wife belongs to W.B.B. Okay, sure, Barry's a bastard, but that doesn't make him a killer—and you'd think he'd kill Lisa, too, if he thought she'd been sleeping with Bodkin. We need a lot more than a hunch, Alex. And there's still that business Carol brought up—about how maybe Dad has an enemy, remember?"

  "And your friend Lisa calls your father Evan. Just as if he's her bosom beau. If Butts wanted to eliminate the rivals in his life, he could possibly believe he'd kill two birds with one bowling ball."

  "Using that reasoning, if Dad were to get off, Butts would just go after him again. A man like that? He'd think it was his right to eliminate anyone who even loo
ked crooked at Lisa. If you're right. We might just not like Butts, that's all, and want him to be guilty. That's what Steve would tell us."

  She pushed her hands through her hair, and then leaned back against the headrest, exhausted, her eyes closed. "Oh, I can't think straight anymore, Alex. The only thing worse than no suspects is so many suspects. We're probably just jumping on the first one who looks good. Because we don't like Barry Butts for the way he treats Lisa, and because we're so tired. And if I'm the only one who's tired, let me remind you that you aren't dragging a hulking heavy cast with you everywhere you go day and night, and bearing down on a walker with each step. I should be getting a medal here, I'm being so good."

  "How true. And all without uttering a single complaint. What a brave little soldier."

  "Right. Another few days of this, and you can nominate me for sainthood. And don't think I don't know you're being facetious."

  Then she opened her eyes, sat front, her heart pounding, as someone banged hard on the driver's side window.

  "Well, well, look who's here," Alex said, opening the car door. "Shall we escort J.P. upstairs, or would you rather we speak to her privately before she sees your father?"

  "I don't know. You choose." Maggie was still busy trying to slow her heart rate as she looked out at J.P. Boxer, who was leaning down to put her face all but against the window, and grinning as if she knew full well how much she'd startled her friend. "Back off, J.P.," she said, motioning for the lawyer to step away, and then she opened the door, swung her legs out of the car.

  "Well, girl, would you look at you," J.P. said, her hands on her hips as she eyed Maggie up and down. "What did you do to yourself?"

  "I broke my foot," Maggie told her as Alex unfolded the walker yet again and assisted her to her feet. "Tripping over a doorstop."

  "Oh, sunshine, you have to do better than that. Make up a lie, make up a whopper. Tripped over a doorstop? That's so ordinary."

  "Good thought, J.P., I'll consider it," Maggie said as they all moved to the sidewalk. "When did you get back from your vacation?"