He-e-e's ba-a-a-ck ...
They let him go?
How could they let him go!
What did I do wrong? I didn't do anything wrong. I did it right.
Didn't I?
Now what?
Now nothing, that's what. I do nothing. I just sit tight.
I've got what I want now. Everything I want.
Unless they try to screw me.
Then they'll be sorry. Boy, will they be sorry.
I took out one for sure. I can take out another one ...
Well, isn't he a real fun guy? But who is he? What's his major problem, other than the fact that he's an eggroll short of a combination plate.
All the clues are there, though. Promised, and delivered.
So who killed Walter Bodkin?
Better yet, if you think you're so smart, and you already know the "who" of it—why did this person kill him?
Bet you don't know that (and, if you do, go write your own book; why are you reading this one?).
Maggie and Saint Just sure don't know why Bodkin is dead. As a matter-of-fact, they aren't even close.
Which, unhappily for our bad guy, never stopped them before when they uncovered a murderer for all the wrong reasons ...
Chapter Twenty-Six
"What's he doing here? I didn't invite him here. Who invited him here? Margaret, is this your doing? Why would I want him here?" Alicia Kelly asked rapid-fire, pointing at her husband as the gang, one by one, emerged at the top of the staircase leading to the main floor of the condo.
"Think I'll go get a bowl of puffed rice," Evan muttered, his chin on his chest as he scuttled past his wife on his way to the kitchen. "Sterling? You want a bowl of puffed rice?"
Saint Just motioned with his head that Sterling should accompany Evan to the kitchen—and out of the line of fire.
"I suppose so," Sterling said, hurrying after Evan. "How many calories do you think are in a bowl of puffed rice, Evan? Do you have any skim milk?"
"Since when does Sterling worry about skim milk?" Maggie asked, but then just shook her head. "Never mind, it's not important. Mom, look, it's like this. We think maybe Dad's in danger."
Alicia sat down all at once. Thankfully she had been standing directly in front of the couch. "Evan? Somebody is after Evan? Is that what you're saying? Why? Because of Walter?"
"Alex?" Maggie said, looking at him for help.
Which he gladly supplied. After all, he might not know exactly what was going on, but he knew his impeccable English accent often concealed that fact from his American listeners.
"Yes, allow me, please. First, Alicia, I'd like to introduce to you J.P. Boxer, Maggie's and my very good friend and your husband's new attorney."
Alicia smiled rather weakly as J.P. bounded across the room and stuck out her hand to the woman.
"English over there will take an hour getting to the point, Mrs. Kelly," J.P. said, "so I'll just lay it out for you. The D.A. has dropped the charges against your husband for lack of evidence. My doing, because I'm very good at what I do. Which, for some reason, English and sunshine over there seem to think makes everything worse, not better. Alex, back to you."
"Yes, thank you, J.P." Saint Just looked about the room, Tate's absence noticeable. "Your son, Mrs. Kelly?"
"Upstairs, packing. Cynthia and Sean have already left."
"Ah, shucks," Maggie said happily. "Did she take the Crock-Pot of meatballs with her? Nah, I guess not."
"I have no idea, Margaret. They called themselves a cab and went sneaking off without so much as a 'thank you for having us.' And Tate and I ... well, we aren't speaking, so I have no idea what he's doing or where he's going. This entire family is falling apart."
"Not that it had far to fall," Maggie said quietly before joining her mother on the couch. "Do you want me to talk to him?"
"Would you, Margaret? I don't want him leaving in a huff. And I think," she added, attempting a whisper that failed badly, "I think he may have, you know, money problems? And I thought he was doing so well with his new business venture."
"A three-state tanning bed franchise might not have been the way to go right now, Mom, what with all the skin cancer scares. He should just stick to mechanical engineering—that he supposedly knows how to do. What did you two argue about anyway?"
"This place," Alicia said, spreading her arms to encompass the entirety of the condo. "He wants to sell it, and I said, no, I can't do that. Not without speaking to your father. And since I'm not speaking to him, I suppose the condo won't be going on the market anytime soon."
"Logical," Maggie said, grinning up at Saint Just. "Kelly-logical, anyway."
"Can't you ever be serious, Margaret? And now you say your father has been exonerated?"
"The charges were dropped, Mrs. Kelly," J.P. said. "That doesn't mean they can't be brought again, if the police find new evidence. But, yes, for now, your husband is no longer a suspect."
"But he's in danger? Didn't someone say he's in danger? You said it, didn't you, Margaret? In danger of what, for pity's sake?"
"Danger? Who's in danger?" Tate Kelly asked, entering the living room, his suitcase in his hand. "Hello," he said to J.P., holding out his hand. "I'm Tate Kelly, and you would be ... ?"
"Wondering what the hell I'm doing here," J.P. said, shaking his hand, her firm grip, Saint Just noticed with some amusement, causing Tate to flinch. "I hear you might need a good bankruptcy lawyer? I don't do bankruptcies as a rule, but I could make an exception for a friend of Sunshine's here."
"Mom!" Tate exploded. "What did you do—rent a billboard, for crying out loud."
"Don't you yell at Mom!"
"Don't you tell me what to do!"
"Stop that this minute, you're both an embarrassment! Margaret, sit down, and tell your brother to do the same! Don't you yell at each other. You weren't raised by wolves, you know!"
"Alicia? Children? What's going on in here? Sterling and I could hear you all the way out in the kitchen."
"What do you care, Evan? I raised these children, not you. Four children, and I raised them on my own. Not you, working all the time, bowling all the rest of the time, watching television all the rest of the time."
"That's a lot of rest of the times, Mom," Maggie broke in, looking at Saint Just, her expression now more embarrassed than angry.
"I'm sorry you feel that earning a living, keeping a roof over my family's head wasn't enough for you, Alicia," Evan said, showing a remarkable amount of backbone, Saint Just thought. It was probably a shame he hadn't shown it earlier, as in for the last forty or more years.
"Hi, everybody, I saw Daddy's car outside and figured you were here, Maggie, and might have some news?" Maureen said from the head of the staircase, smiling as she walked into the room, her winter coat hanging open over a nondescript blue dress and her ever-present apron. "Daddy? You're here? What's going on?" Then she must have sensed the tension in the room. Her smile began to slip and she backed up a few paces even as she began digging in the pocket of her apron. "Ex ... er ... excuse me. I need to go get a drink of water."
"And there she goes, off to swallow one of her little pink pills," Alicia said, collapsing onto the couch once more. "What have I done, Evan? What did I do wrong? Erin's as good as gone, Tate's trying to sell our house from under us, Maureen's a ... a pill-popper, and Margaret—" She stopped, blinked, and looked at Maggie. "I don't know anymore, Margaret. Sometimes you seem so normal."