Chapter 17
MATT
Small southern towns moved slow. He understood that, but for Tyler to put him off again was too much.
“You said the flyers were done,” Matt said.
“No, I said I was doing them, but then a big order came in for Harry’s business and—”
“Tyler, you see what he’s doing.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Stonewalling us.”
Matt pulled out his credit card. “I’m paying for his order and adding extra to have ours done today. Come on, Ty, all you need is a photo of the rink and some text. ‘Save the Starlight. Sign the petitions at the courthouse and post office.’”
Matt had checked both petition locations on his way to Copycat. So far, they had four signatures. Really three. Dominic Moreno signed in both places. And he felt sure Jeremy Chambers, a Nickle High basketball star, was not old enough to vote. So two. They had two signatures.
Come on, Sea Blue Beach. Let’s save the Starlight.
Tyler promised to have the flyers done by five, and Matt headed back to the rink. When Harlow looked up from the ticket booth, he had that flip-flop feeling, the kind that made a man write poetry and croon a love song.
He’d not given much thought to why he kissed her, except he wanted to kiss her again . . . a few inches below her forehead.
“Did you get the flyers?” She tore at the cellophane around a new roll of tickets.
“Harry gave him a big job, so Tyler put ours on hold. I’m sure it’s part of his strategy to get in our way.” Matt checked to see how many skaters were on the floor. His goal for now was to save the rink. After that, he’d figure ways to improve business. A group of senior citizens slowly skated, clinging to one another. “Who’s out there? Where’s the floor guard?”
“A Nickle High reunion,” Harlow said. “Class of Twenty and Twenty-one. Your granny was excited to see them. Craig was supposed to be floor guard but didn’t show.”
“Then let’s just remove the Starlight from Craig’s things-to-forget. I’ll call his house, let him know his services are no longer needed. I’ll be the floor guard.” He started to walk off. “Unless you want to do it?”
“I don’t skate.”
“Hmmm, we’ll see.”
Matt called Craig’s house, gave his mother the news. Then called Simon Caster, the kid who mowed Harlow’s lawn and delivered pizza for Tony’s. He was always hustling. “Simon, Matt Knight. You want a job at the Starlight?”
As Matt exchanged his Adidas for his skates and looped the whistle lanyard around his neck, his old high school buddy, Milo Patitucci, walked in, flashing his Sea Blue Beach PD badge.
“Got a minute?”
“Sure. What’s up?” Matt peered toward the rink floor as Nora called for the Hokey Pokey. “Make it quick, Milo. Got no floor guard and a bunch of senior citizens about to put their right foot in and their left foot out. We might need to dial 9-1-1.”
“What happened at the Blue Plate?” Milo crossed his arms and leaned against the sound booth wall.
“Is this about Dale Cranston?”
“You know it is, Matt. You hit him?”
Matt started to speak, then remembered the advice of his LA lawyer, Norman Lundquist III, who worked his legal magic for Matt a couple of times. “Keep your mouth shut.”
“Is that what he’s saying?”
“He’s pressing charges, Matt. I’d like to punch his arrogant face too, but even in Sea Blue Beach, punching a man is a first-degree misdemeanor.” Milo held up a slip of paper. “Right or wrong, Judge Hart signed a warrant for your arrest. He and Dale used to bowl together.”
“At that old Tin Pins Alley? It shut down years ago, which is no surprise when you misspell the number ten.”
“Also not a crime.” Milo waved the warrant. “I got to haul you in, Matt. You’ll see the judge tonight.”
“Haul me in?” He laughed, but Milo did not. “Okay, fine, then I want to file charges against Dale Cranston for insulting the Starlight and Harlow.”
“Fine, but first—” Officer Patitucci reached for his cuffs. “I can do this outside if you want.”
“I don’t need cuffs.”
“Procedure. Also, Dale hired a lawyer. He’s claiming your training with Chuck Norris makes you a life-threatening weapon. Did you really hit him with a jab, cross, uppercut?”
“I plead the Fifth, Milo. The Fifth.”
“Okay, off with the skates, Matt. Let’s go. By the way, who’s the brownish-blonde at the ticket booth?”
“The woman Dale insulted.” Matt jerked the skates’ laces. “Harlow Hayes.”
“The Harlow Hayes?”
“Yes, the Harlow Hayes.” Matt tugged off the skates, returned them to the office, and reached for his sneakers. Unbelievable.
“She, uh, gained some weight.”
“Which is what Dale so rudely commented on ... among other things.”
“What’s she doing in Sea Blue Beach?”
“Apparently working at the Starlight.”
Milo jiggled the cuffs and pointed to the door. “The squad car’s right outside. I figured you’d want this on the DL, though I did see a reporter at the courthouse when I headed over here.”
Perfect. And he’d truly believed Dale would never want that punch to go beyond the walls of the diner.
Matt asked for a minute to tell Spike where he was going.
The big man laughed. “Did you really punch him? Don’t answer. I’ll just say he’s had it coming for decades. Want me to call Dup?”
“He’s got one of those phones in his truck. The number’s on the wall in the office.”
Just outside the rink’s side door, Milo cuffed Matt and helped him into the back seat.
“I loved Flight Deck, bro. Seen it three times.”
“Don’t try to flatter me when I’m handcuffed, Milo.” Matt stared out the window. Harlow was right. He shouldn’t have hit Dale. Watch. The state will offer a deal to drop the charges if Matt left town for six months. Which would mean he couldn’t fight for the Starlight. Well, he’d not take it. He was going to see it through. Maybe, in some small way, redeem himself. Get rid of that thing eating him up inside.
“Can we stop at the Blue Plate for a burger? I’m starved. My treat.”
“I’ll call in an order once I book you.” Milo glanced at him through the rearview mirror. “I tried to talk Dale out of it, Matt. I swear. That’s why he went to the judge.”
The jail was in the back of the courthouse, and if the world was in black-and-white, Matt would think he was in Mayberry. A reporter waited at the entrance.
“Matt Knight? Tebow Gains from the Gazette. Is it true you punched Dale Cranston for no reason?” He stuck a small tape recorder under Matt’s chin.
“Tebow.” Milo shoved him out of the way. “Do you really think he’s going to confess? You have enough for your story.”
Tebow refused to stand down. “Why’d you punch him?”
“Who said I punched him?”
That went on for a few minutes until Milo tossed young Tebow out the door. Thus the story began of how Matt Knight, Hollywood star and Sea Blue Beach hometown boy, was photographed, fingerprinted, and locked up for defending the honor of the Starlight, his granny, and the charming, exquisitely beautiful Harlow Hayes.
“What do you want on your burger? The works?” Milo angled back to see Matt in the cell, phone to his ear. “You want fries and a Coke?”
“And a slice of apple pie. When do I make my phone call?”
“As soon as I order. Audra, hey, Officer Patitucci here. ... You heard already? On the radio? News travels fast. Yeah, a couple of burgers with the works and...” When he hung up, he released Matt to make his call.
Dad answered his truck phone on the first ring. “Spike called. Told me everything. I called a lawyer.”
“Who’d you call? I have a lawyer in LA. His number is in my leather—”
“You don’t want an LA lawyer for this, Matt. Besides, when could he even get here? Two, three days? A week?”
“He can call the judge.”
“Bodie Nickle is on his way. He knows our legal system, every judge and lawyer.”
“Bodie.” Booker’s older brother. Matt would’ve laughed except for the shock of it all. “Bodie Nickle is not going to defend me. He may actually volunteer to prosecute me.”
“Like I said, he’s on his way.”
“I don’t know, Dad. I saw Trinity at Biggs, and the look she gave me ... even Harlow noticed.”
“Well, I trust Bodie. Give him a chance.”
Give him a chance? Matt hung up with a sense of doom. But he had it coming. He’d skirted the law a few times. Every once in a while, it got to win.
“I see justice has been served.” Dale Cranston strolled in, puffed up and puffed out with a yellowish-blue bruise under his right eye.
Where’d he get that shiner? Matt had popped him on the chin, where admittedly there was a fading mark.
“Dale.” Milo stepped between the two men. “You can’t harass the prisoner. Go on home.”
“I’m not harassing.” He pointed at Matt. “You can’t come into this town and act like one of them kids in the Hollywood brat pack. Nobody around here is going to kiss your fanny because you were in a few movies.”
“You’re just mad ’cause your theater is second run and can’t get Flight Deck until everyone’s seen it in Niceville,” Milo said, steering Matt back to the cell. “Dale, scoot.”
Stretched out on the cot, Matt listened to the sounds of the jail—Milo offering Dale his own cell if he didn’t skedaddle. The door opening, then closing. The creak of Milo’s chair. The click and slide of a desk drawer. The snap of a stapler and the sharp timbre of a ringing phone.
“Sea Blue Beach PD, Officer Patitucci here.” He listened with an eye on Matt. “Who is this? Yeah, sure.” He shoved his desk chair to the cell, dragging the receiver and the long cord with him. “It’s your agent.”
Matt reached between the bars for the phone and pressed it to his ear. “Cosmo?”
“Are you in jail?”
“Why? Is it in Variety already?”
“I called your dad, looking for you. Got him on his truck phone. I’ve got to get me one of those.”
“You’d never have a moment of peace. The car is the one place clients can’t get to you.”
“Food for thought, food for thought. Listen, Cindy Canon doesn’t like her new co-star.”
“Who is it?”
“Conner Reid.”
“Not surprised. I can see it. He can be a bit much, even though he has that British accent.”
“So, this is your lucky day. Okay, maybe not since you’re in jail, but you’re back on the project. I told you getting out of town would improve your reputation.”
“It’s only been three weeks.”
“In Hollywood, that’s like three years. You in?”
“What do you think?” he said. “As soon as I get out of here, I’ll head to LA. Oh, wait, Cos, I’m helping my granny save the Starlight.”
“You got time. Roger Woods is working out the details with Conner’s contract. My guess is he’ll start rehearsals sometime in May.”
“Then I’m in.” He’d have to work out something with Dad and Harlow for the Starlight. “But, Cos, I’ll need to fly home the end of May. Get it in my contract.”
As much as he loved the idea of getting back to work, especially with Cindy, he felt sad about leaving Granny. And, to be honest, Harlow.
“I’ll overnight an updated script. Why were you arrested anyway?”
“Punching someone.”
“I don’t get you, Matt. You’re not that guy. But you keep trying to be that guy. One day I’d like to know why.”
“Me and you both.” But Matt had an inkling. Deep down.
As he handed the phone to Milo, the burgers arrived. He doled out the food, then pulled his chair over to the cell.
“Remember the homecoming touchdown your sophomore year?” Milo laughed through a big bite of his burger. “You smoked the Chipley secondary in a post route for an eighty-seven-yard pass. Secured the regional championship for us.”
“I twisted my ankle on that play. Then the team piled on, and I limped off the field with an ankle sprain, three bruised ribs, and a dislocated shoulder. Had to sit out the state championship.”
“Still a great game, man. When the guys get together, we still talk about it.” Milo reached for his soda. “Dude, you should join us one night. We gather on the deck of the Fish Hook. They’d love to see you.”
“Maybe.” The placeholder answer for “probably not.” In Matt’s mind, it was just that kind of night, one of chest-thumping and bragging, that destroyed Booker’s life. The aftermath tainted Matt’s Sea Blue Beach and Nickle High memories. It was why he hated coming home. Why he let strangers crash his place and destroy it. Maybe even a factor in why he hit Dale Cranston.
“You ever talk to Booker?” Milo said, looking at Matt over the rim of his soda cup.
“Where’d that question come from?”
“The look on your face.”
“No, I don’t talk to him.”
Thankfully, Milo changed the subject. Updated Matt on his latest girlfriend and how she might be the one. He’d bought a place in town and was fixing it up little by little. Then the side door opened, and the lovely Harlow walked in.
“Isn’t this The Life of Riley?” she said with a big smile.
“Harlow, hey.” Matt closed up his lunch container. The fries were already cold.
“I brought you something.” She shoved a bag from Sweet Conversations through the bars as Milo exited the room, answering a call on his radio. “Be careful when you bite,” she whispered. “There’s a teeny-tiny file inside. You’ll be out of here in six months, maybe a year.”
He wanted to reach through the bars and kiss her. “Is it chocolate? ’Cause if it’s not chocolate, I don’t think I can—”
“Who do you take me for? Of course it’s chocolate.” She rested her head against the bars. “Matt, why didn’t you tell me you were getting arrested? All because of me. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m in here because of me.” He raised her chin so he could see her eyes. “This may not be the right time to tell you, but . . .” Matt tested his confession, hungry to say something real and true. “Well, I think I’m falling for—”
“Matt.” Milo, you dumb lug. “Your deliverer is here.” He came around the courthouse entrance with Bodie Nickle, who was dressed in golf clothes.
“I should go.” Harlow skirted around Milo and Bodie. “See you later, Matt.”
Milo watched her go, then unlocked the cell. “Did we interrupt something?”
“Yep.” Matt offered his hand to Bodie. “Thanks for coming.”
He tugged off his golf glove. “It’s been a long time.”
“Are you sure you want to defend me?”
Bodie smirked. “I’m sure. Listen, we’re going straight into the judge. We have Harris, not Hart, which is in our favor.” Milo cuffed Matt again. “Let me do the talking. You only answer when spoken to, otherwise keep your mouth shut.” Bodie gave him a long, hard look. “Think you can do that?”
“Yeah, I can.”
In the courtroom, Bodie chatted up the state attorney. They laughed and mimed golf swings. When the clerk called his case number, Bodie motioned Matt forward.
The charges were read, and the judge asked, “How do you plea?”
Bodie answered. “Not guilty, Your Honor.”
“So you’re Matt Knight, the actor?” Judge Harris glared at him.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Loved you in Flight Deck. Don’t love you in my courtroom. What are you doing in Sea Blue Beach?”
“Visiting my grandmother. Trying to save the Starlight.”
“I grew up skating there every weekend.” He shuffled through papers, then addressed the state attorney, who recommended Matt be released on his own recognizance.
The judge agreed with the slap of his gavel and gave the state a month to bring charges or drop the case. At Dale’s behest, his attorney requested a protective order. The judge all but rolled his eyes and told Matt to stay at least five feet away from the plaintiff.
Outside in the breezy cool of the April afternoon, freedom felt good.
“I’ll see what I can do to make this go away, Matt,” Bodie said. “This case will rely on eyewitness testimony, which can easily be refuted. Our memories are so deceptive. Also, I don’t think training with Chuck Norris five years ago makes you lethal.” He paused by a late-model Mercedes. “By the way, we’re all sorry about what the town is doing to the Starlight. Granny Harriet can’t believe it. Let me know if I can help in some way.”
“Bodie . . .” Matt hesitated. “Thanks, I mean it. If Trinity was my lawyer, I’d still be in jail.”
“Yeah, well Trinity needs to worry about herself. She’s working through her second divorce.” Bodie unlocked the driver’s side door. “I signed the petition for the Starlight on my way here. I’ll remind the rest of the family at Sunday dinner.”
“Appreciate it. I’m staying at Dad’s. Send my bill there.”
Bodie slipped behind the wheel of the Mercedes and powered down the window. “You ever talk to Booker?”
“I think you know I don’t.”
“Darn shame,” he said. “Darn shame.”