Theodore Boone: The Scandal (2 page)

W
hen the last bell rang, Theo grabbed his backpack and fled the school. He jumped on his bike and raced away. Ten minutes later he slid to a stop in front of Boone & Boone, a two-story office in what was once a family residence on Park Street. He pushed his bike up the front sidewalk and parked it on the porch. He took a deep breath and walked inside, where he was immediately assaulted by Elsa, the law firm’s ancient secretary and receptionist. She also considered herself to be Theo’s second mother. When she saw him she gushed, “Well, hello, Theo!” and jumped from her chair to grab him. She hugged him tightly, then pushed back, looked at his attire, and said, “Didn’t you wear that shirt last Friday?”

“I did not.” He found it so irritating to be examined daily by Elsa. He was thirteen; he didn’t care what he wore. Why should she?

“How was your day?” she said, pinching a cheek.

“Awful. Just awful. And it only gets worse tomorrow.”

“Now, Theo, just think of all the unlucky kids around the world who don’t have nice schools and good teachers and healthy lunches. You should always count your blessings and—”

“I know, I know,” Theo said, stepping back. He got so tired of these little lectures. “What’s in the kitchen?” He was always starving by three o’clock in the afternoon, and there was always something to snack on in the firm’s kitchen. Judge finally got up from his bed under Elsa’s desk, one of his many resting places throughout the offices, and walked over to say hello. Theo rubbed his head. What a life.

“I think Dorothy brought some brownies,” Elsa said.

“Not those little peanut butter things. They taste like cardboard.” Not even Judge would touch Dorothy’s brownies.

“Now, Theo,” Elsa said, already losing interest and eager to get back to work. Elsa was skinny and had no appetite, and she liked to show off her thinness by wearing all manner of tight pants and sweaters. Mrs. Boone said that Elsa wore things that only she could get by with because she was at least seventy years old.

“Is my mother in?” he asked.

“Yes, but she’s with a client.”

“I need to book an appointment with her.”

“Theo, you don’t have to make an appointment to see your mother.”

“It’s not for me, Elsa, but for a friend. I’m not getting a divorce yet.”

Elsa glanced at a large calendar in the center of her desk. It was her daily planner, a terribly important sheet of paper because it kept track of everything from meetings with clients and court appointments to vacations and Theo’s visits to the orthodontist. “She’s free at four thirty.”

“Thanks,” Theo said. “If a guy named Pete Holland calls, let me talk to him.”

Theo bounded up the stairs to the second floor, the domain of his father. As usual, Mr. Boone was sitting behind his large cluttered desk, pipe in his mouth, tie pulled loose, with the look of a man who’d been plowing through paperwork for days. He smiled and said, “Hello, Theo, a good day at school?”

Theo fell into a chair and Judge sat beside him. “Just awful, Dad, terrible. I’m sick of school.”

“Well, dropping out is not an option. I suggest you stop the whining and get tough. These tests are important, and you need to do well.”

Thanks for nothing, Dad. They talked for a few minutes until the phone rang. Mr. Boone reached for it and said, “Now shove off and go do your homework.”

Perhaps the only good thing about the week was that there would be no homework. Theo went downstairs, rummaged through the refrigerator, found nothing but some stale doughnuts, and eventually wandered back to his small office where he killed some time. Bored, he was soon sleepy, so he put his feet on his desk, kicked back in his chair, and was about to doze off when his mother tapped on his door and stepped in.

“Hello, Theo. Elsa said you needed to see me.”

“Sure, Mom. There’s a kid at school who needs your help.”

“What’s the problem?”

“It’s a long story, but the kid and his mother might be in danger.”

“Let’s go to my office and talk.”

It was almost five p.m. when Pete Holland arrived with his mother and two younger sisters. The little girls were wide-eyed and seemed too frightened to speak. Pete, at thirteen, was trying to be the man of the family, but he, too, was overwhelmed. His mother, Carrie, had a swollen eye and a cut on her upper lip. She looked like she had been crying for hours and began again as soon as Mrs. Boone introduced herself and said she could help. She led Carrie into her office and closed the door. Theo pointed to the conference room and said, “Let’s wait in there.” Pete and his sisters followed Theo while Elsa hurried to the kitchen. She returned with the same stale doughnuts and some soft drinks. Even Judge seemed concerned and allowed the girls to rub his head.

Pete said, “My dad got out of jail this afternoon and he’s looking for us. My mom’s really scared and doesn’t know what to do.”

Sharon, the ten-year-old, finally spoke and said, “Mom says we can’t go home.” Sally, the seven-year-old, chewed on a doughnut and looked at Theo as if he had two heads.

“What are we going to do?” Sharon asked, as if Theo had all the answers.

Elsa, who had been through similar dramas, said, “Mrs. Boone will know what to do. Right now, let’s just have a chat and talk about school. Did you bring your backpacks? Maybe we could do some homework.” They shook their heads. No backpacks.

Since it was Monday, Theo called his uncle Ike and said he couldn’t make their usual Monday meeting. He promised to stop by later in the week.

Mr. Boone stopped by to say good-bye and quickly realized that perhaps he should hang around for a while. He took off his coat, sat at the table, and began convincing Sally that she should chat with him. In spite of the law firm’s efforts to comfort the children, the mood was still awkward, even tense. Their mother was talking to a lawyer, and their lives were unsettled.

After an hour, the door to Mrs. Boone’s office opened. She and Mrs. Holland walked out and entered the conference room. Mr. Boone introduced himself properly; Mrs. Holland was too upset to say much. Her eyes were wet, and she dabbed them with a tissue. Mrs. Boone looked at Elsa and Mr. Boone and said, “Mr. Holland posted bond this afternoon and was released from jail around two. He’s charged with assault and has a court date next week. He’s been calling Mrs. Holland nonstop and leaving some messages that are threatening. It appears as though he’s driving around town, searching for his family.”

Mrs. Holland interrupted with, “And he’s drinking, I can tell.”

Mrs. Boone nodded and continued, “I’ve talked to the police, and they are looking for him. I have advised Mrs. Holland not to go home tonight and she agrees. There is a friend or two the family could possibly stay with, but her husband would probably find them. I’ve called the shelter and there’s no available space, at least not for tonight.”

“So we have to hide?” Pete asked.

“We’re hiding now,” his mother said.

“I just want to go home,” Sharon said, and began crying.

“We can’t go home,” Pete said sharply.

“What’s the plan?” Mr. Boone asked.

“I think we should go to our house and have a pizza party,” Mrs. Boone replied. “We’ll watch television and see what happens.”

“Great idea,” Mr. Boone said.

“I’ll get the pizza,” Elsa said, jumping to her feet.

Sally looked at Mr. Boone and managed to smile.

Two hours later, the Boones’ den was covered with quilts, pillows, and kids. The pizza was long gone. Sally huddled with her mother on the sofa while Pete, Sharon, Theo, Elsa, and Judge were sprawled about the floor, all watching reruns of
Everybody
Loves Raymond.
Mr. Boone was in his study reading a book, and Mrs. Boone eased from room to room, occasionally talking quietly on the phone in the kitchen. Theo met her there and whispered, “What’s going on, Mom?”

She whispered back, “The police have not been able to find Mr. Holland. They can’t go home tonight; it’s just too dangerous. He’s probably drinking, probably drunk by now, and who knows what will happen. They’ll have to stay here tonight.”

Theo understood and didn’t mind protecting the family. “But what about tomorrow?”

“Mrs. Holland’s parents live about four hours from here. That might be an option, maybe for a few days. The police will eventually find Mr. Holland and arrest him again for making threats. I’ll probably go to court and ask the judge for a protective order. As of now, she says she wants to file for a divorce and get him out of the house, but that might not be so easy. I don’t know, Theo, we’ll just have to wait and see. Things could change by the hour. The important thing is to keep them safe.”

“She’s crazy if she doesn’t get a divorce.”

“It’s never that easy, Theo, believe me. A lot of women put up with abuse because they think they have to. They can’t afford to live without their husband and his job. I see this all the time.”

“I’m not going to be a divorce lawyer.”

“Let’s talk about that later, okay?”

“Sure, Mom, and thanks for doing this. I feel like I’m responsible.”

“You did the right thing, Theo. Lawyers have to get involved in unpleasant cases to help people. Who else could help at this point?”

“The police.”

“And they’re trying. You guys can sleep in the den and watch TV until late. Let’s try and make it fun.”

“Does this mean I can skip school tomorrow?”

“It does not.”

W
hen Judge began growling at 2:14 a.m., he was standing near Theo’s head and staring at the front door less than twenty feet away. Theo woke up and knew something was wrong. He crawled to a window and saw a pickup truck parked at the curb by the mailbox. Then he saw a shadow move near the front steps.

“What is it, Theo?” Mrs. Holland whispered. She was on the sofa, wrapped up in a quilt with Sally. It was no surprise she had not been sleeping.

“Someone’s out there,” Theo said. He scampered to the foyer and turned on the outside lights. A split second later, a loud boom rattled the front door, again and again. A very angry man was yelling and banging with his fists. Judge began barking loudly as everybody in the house panicked and bolted upright. Mr. Boone yelled, “Call the police!” and Mrs. Boone went for the phone.

“Open up!” the man yelled as he banged away. “I know you’re in there, Carrie!”

“It’s Randy,” Mrs. Holland said. “Good old Randy. Drunk as a skunk.”

“Take the kids to the kitchen,” Mr. Boone said. He walked to the door and said, “We’re calling the police, Mr. Holland.”

“Open the door! I have the right to see my wife and kids.”

“They don’t want to see you right now. Please stop banging or you’ll wake up the neighbors.”

“Don’t really care. I want my family!”

“Why don’t you leave, and we’ll sit down tomorrow and discuss everything? There’s nothing to be gained by causing a big scene in the middle of the night.”

Judge was barking like an idiot but not advancing on the door. Mr. Boone growled, “Shut up, Judge. Theo, get the dog!”

“The police are right around the corner,” Mrs. Boone said softly as she stepped in from the kitchen. “Keep talking to him.”

Mr. Boone cracked the door but left the chain hooked. He looked at Randy through the glass of a metal storm door. When Randy saw the crack, he began banging away again. “Open the door! I want my wife and kids!”

“Please settle down, Mr. Holland,” Mr. Boone said. From across the street, the lights of the Ferguson home came on. Suddenly, Randy picked up a large rock from the flower bed and crashed it through the glass of the storm door. Mr. Boone managed to slam the wooden door just as everything shattered. Judge bravely retreated to a safe spot behind the sofa, whimpering. In the kitchen, Sally and Sharon were crying as Pete tried to console them.

“He’s crazy,” Mr. Boone said in shock.

“I told you so,” Carrie said from the kitchen doorway. “Crazy and drunk.”

“What a cheap door!” Randy yelled, and he began laughing. Theo was hiding behind a chair and peeking through the blinds. The man was indeed frightening. He was thick and burly, with a beard, and long hair sticking out from under a cap. He was weaving and staggering, obviously intoxicated. He took a step back and bellowed, “You think you’re so smart, don’t you, Carrie? Well, you’re pretty stupid. I found you by tracking your cell phone. Pretty stupid.” He almost fell off the stoop but caught himself on an iron railing.

Mr. Boone cracked the door about an inch and calmly said, “Mr. Holland, I’ve called the police and they are on the way. Now would you please settle down?”

“I don’t care who you call,” he yelled. “Call the cops, call the sheriff, call the FBI, hell, call the Marines for all I care. I just want to see my family.”

Calmly, Mr. Boone said, “Well, they don’t want to see you, and you’re headed back to jail if you don’t leave.”

“I ain’t leaving, okay, mister? Not without my wife and kids. You have no right to keep them in there.”

More lights from across the street. Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson were standing on the front porch in their pajamas. Randy tried to pick up another rock from the flower bed but lost his balance and fell into some shrubs. As he scrambled to get up, mumbling and cursing and wiping off dirt, he noticed the Fergusons watching him. This upset him, so he yelled, “Why don’t you folks just mind your own business?”

The Fergusons said nothing.

Randy pointed at them and yelled, “Bunch of nosy people in this neighborhood, that’s what I think. I might just come over there and throw a rock through your door. How would you like that?” But as he walked across the Boones’ front lawn, he lost his balance again, then tripped over his own feet. Down he went, tumbling and clawing to get up.

Thankfully, blue lights appeared at the end of the street.

Randy Holland surrendered without a fight, and when the policemen slapped on the handcuffs and led him to the patrol car, his family was watching from the front window, and all four were in tears.

With her husband back in jail, Mrs. Holland decided to return home and put the kids to bed. She thanked the Boones repeatedly, as did Pete and Sharon, and they left around 3:30. As Theo was helping his parents straighten up the den, he said, “Gosh, there’s no way I can go to school tomorrow. I’m already exhausted.”

To which his mother said sternly, “Then I suggest you get upstairs right now and go to sleep.”

“And take your dog with you,” Mr. Boone said. “What a great guard dog.”

“But what about school?”

“You can sleep until seven thirty,” Mrs. Boone said.

“Wow. Thanks. You guys are really sympathetic.”

“Knock it off,” Mr. Boone said. “I’m tired of the whining.”