The boy looks around the room. Can’t find Donna. I’m guessing she’s in the kitchen, loading up another tray with twenty plates of food.
“She’s not here …”
“Because you made her up.”
“No, she …”
“Don’t lie to me, Christopher!”
Ceepak has heard enough. He slides out of the booth. Stands. He towers over Mr. Droid by at least a foot.
This should be fun.
“Your son is telling you the truth, sir.”
“What? Who are you?”
“John Ceepak. Chief of Detectives. Sea Haven Police Department.”
“Excuse me,” says the dad, “but this is a private, family matter.”
I’m standing now, too. “Donna gave him the crayons.”
The dad shakes his head like he’s clearing out his ears. “What?”
“The waitress,” says Ceepak. “Her name is Donna. She told your son that it would be perfectly fine for him to draw on the paper tablecloth. All the children do it.”
“Some adults, too,” I toss in because I know one who does. Me.
The boy is looking at Ceepak like Superman just dropped in to the Pancake Palace to protect him from the evil fiend known as Dad, The Crayon Snatcher.
“Well, who exactly gave some minimum wage waitress permission to tell my son what he can and cannot do in my absence?”
“You raise an interesting if somewhat moot point,” says Ceepak. “Be that as it may, it does not mitigate the fact that you accused your son of a very serious offense: Lying.”
“Is this what you cops do down here? Butt into private, family affairs?”
“We try not to,” I say. “But sometimes, well, we just can’t seem to avoid it.”
See, I know something Poppa Bear doesn’t: John Ceepak lives his life in strict compliance with the West Point honor code. He will not lie, cheat, or steal nor tolerate those who do. So, to accuse someone of lying, especially your own son, well, geeze-o, man, that is an accusation that should never be made lightly.
“Come on Christopher.” The dad grabs the kid’s wrist.