“I knew this day would come the moment Mother made the decision to move to Sea Haven. The money she inherited is simply too tempting a target for my father to ignore.”
True. With Adele’s millions, Joe “Six Pack” Ceepak could buy his own beer distributorship.
The last time his father was in town, Ceepak had an Emergency Restraining Order issued to keep his father away from his immediate family-him, his wife Rita, and his adopted son T.J. Mrs. Adele Ceepak was never listed on that order because she wasn’t even in New Jersey at the time. Plus, as Honest Abe Ceepak reminds me, there never was a judicial hearing to turn his ERO into an FRO, a Final Restraining Order.
“Sadly,” he says when we discuss it over a beer one night, “due to my lack of follow-through on the matter, my father has every right to seek gainful employment here in Sea Haven.”
“But he promised us,” I say. “When you saved his sorry life after that nutjob shot him. He said he’d never darken your door again. He gave us his solemn word he’d leave your mother alone.”
“So he did, Danny,” says Ceepak grimly. “So he did.”
I guess Ceepak knows that every vow his father has ever made to him was nothing but hot, boozy air.
Meanwhile, I’m served a subpoena to appear in Judge Ken Guarnery’s courtroom on Friday morning at 8:30 A.M. to give testimony in the matter of Shona Oppenheimer v. Christine Lemonopolous.
Thursday night, a little after 8 P.M., I swing by the Rosen house to see how Christine is holding up.
The first thing I notice in the driveway is a brand-new electric wheelchair with a reinforced metal frame and big balloon tires like on a dune buggy.
“Nice, hunh?” says Monae Dunn, as she comes out to the porch. “Michael sent it. You are looking at a ten-thousand-dollar motorized beach wheelchair.”
“Seriously? It looks like a moon rover.”
“Uhm-hmm. You need tires that size on account of all the sand. And you steer it with that joystick thing right there. Michael wants to go ‘walking on the beach’ with his father to tell him his and Andrew’s ‘big news.’ He’s flying in from Hollywood first thing tomorrow morning. Taking the redeye.”
“Michael bought that high-def TV for his dad, too, right?”
“Uhm-hmm. And the satellite dish. And the exercise bike. He even sent a box of those Omaha steaks last week. Michael is extremely generous. But, between you and me, I think it’s because he feels so guilty.”
“About what?”
“Not being here like his brother.”
“Maybe,” I say because I find it helps to be noncommittal when listening to gossip. “Is Christine around?”
“Uhm-hmm.” She nods toward the door.
I head inside. I walk even though I’m half-tempted to test out Dr. Rosen’s brand-new moon rover, see if those balloon tires could haul me up the steps like an ATV.
Dr. Rosen is in his regular wheelchair, spooning a bowl of thick soup out of a bowl resting on a table attached to its armrests. Christine is sitting beside him with a cloth napkin, ready to mop up any spills.
“Ah, Officer Boyle!” Dr. Rosen says when he sees me. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”