* * * *
Noah looked up from the stack of paperwork he was determined to sort through before quitting time when Shephard leaned into his face. He scowled at him for breaking his concentration.
“What?” he asked.
“Don’t look now, but isn’t that the old doll who gave you the shiner last year?”
A shiver went through Noah at the ego-bruising reminder. He peeked over Shephard’s shoulder, past the pool of desks to the main entrance beyond the duty counter. He recognized her immediately, ducked for cover behind his partner’s back, experienced a moment of embarrassment because he did, overcame the emotion and straightened.
She seemed smaller than Noah recalled, but she still had a mouth on her, that he remembered vividly.
He looked around the squad room and caught glimpses of the expressions on the faces of officers who had the misfortune of coming between Calliope Fenwick and freedom.
Snickers and muffled laughter came from those like him hiding behind a newspaper or the backs of colleagues. Some wrote furiously on note pads while others plucked away on antiquated typewriters and a few made a major deal of taking a sip of coffee with their eyes glued to their desk blotters.
Noah watched as Calliope gripped a rookie by the handcuffs attached to his belt, bringing the young lad to an almost top-heavy stop as he attempted to walk by her. “Not so fast, sonny.”
The uniform turned and looked at her. “What is it, ma’am?”
He had to give the kid credit for standing his ground.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Calliope said, clucking her tongue and wagging her finger in his face. “Does your mama know you go out in public dressed like that?” She grabbed his tie and rammed the knot against the buttoned collar. She slapped his chest and sent him on his way.
Calliope looked around the room.
Other than suspects cuffed to desks, everyone who wasn’t seated scattered in different directions.
“Yoohoo, boy-o,” she said, raising to her toes and pointing an orange lacquered fingernail at the captain who hastily made his way to his office.
Captain MacGregor turned and mouthed, ‘Me?’.
“Yes, you, laddie. I’d like a cup of tea. Earl Grey and lemon. Thank you.”
Noah hid his smile behind his hand and followed Calliope’s hazel eyes as her gaze traveled around the room, roving and stopping when something or someone caught her interest, smiling and making comments like she conducted an interview.
He watched her prance off to look at a photo on Detective Miller’s desk.
“Looks like she got herself into trouble again,” Shephard said, pointing to the handcuffs around her wrist. “I wonder what the charge is this time.” He looked over his shoulder at Noah.
“Yeah, and I wonder who had the poor sense to arrest her. The cop is going to look like a schmuck when Abbott gets finished with him.” When Noah was in that cop’s shoes, his first instinct was to let the old broad off. He should have listened to his inner voice, the voice of reason, the sensible voice. It would have saved him tons of trouble and embarrassment.
But from the experience came something good ― his friendship with Calliope Fenwick’s son.
A person never knew when a lawyer would come in handy.
His daddy had always said there were three friends a man must always have ― a lawyer, a doctor and Johnnie Walker. Unfortunately, he took the latter too seriously and, had a car accident not taken his life, his good pal would have eventually killed him.
Shephard turned and faced Noah. “Who would think a little old lady could pack such a wallop, huh?” he asked, smiling and clearly enjoying Noah’s discomfort.
Too late for Noah to react, Calliope’s eyes locked onto him like a heat-seeking missile.
“Mr. Madill,” she sang. “Yoohoo, Mr. Madill.”
With the abandon of the conquered, Noah groaned.