Kasey Michaels - Bowled Over

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, he 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?"