The Prodigal's Return. Lynn Bulock

wheels rolled across the tile floor.

      “Jeremy is my son. He’s fourteen, about six feet tall, and is usually seen on or near a skateboard. And right now I suspect he’s answering to the name Allen Smithee instead of Jeremy Harrison.”

      So far Tripp wasn’t looking as if he understood any of this. “Why would he do that? He gave me the right phone number, obviously, or you wouldn’t be here.”

      “Calling himself Allen Smithee was probably his first thought when you asked him what his name was. A Southern California police officer would probably have told him, ‘Nice try kid, give me your real name,’ and the joke would have been over.”

      Tripp shook his head as if to clear out cobwebs. He looked as if he were seconds from running a hand through his dark hair in exasperation. “I still don’t get it. You want to explain this whole thing in terms that even a Missourian can understand?”

      Laurel took a deep breath. “It’s a private joke for anybody involved in movies. Since about the 1930s, anybody who produced a picture, or directed it, or wrote the script and later decided they didn’t want their name in the credits because the movie turned out too awful for words used the same fake name.”

      Realization dawned on Tripp’s handsome face. “And I’ll bet that name is Allen Smithee, right?”

      “Correct. Jeremy’s dad threatened more than once to use the Allen Smithee clause on something he wrote, but he never carried through with it.”

      “So Sam, Jr. was a screenwriter?”

      “For fifteen years. And Jeremy learned some of the ins and outs of the movie business from his dad.”

      “So I’ve been had.”

      “I’m afraid so. Please tell me you won’t press charges.”

      She didn’t expect the laugh that came from Tripp.

      “I should, just to teach him a lesson. But since I pulled him in on basically bogus charges myself just to get him off the street, it serves me right.”

      Laurel didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Bogus? You mean Friedens doesn’t have a law against skateboarding? And you brought him in, anyway?”

      “It’s not on the books yet. Not specifically. But only because we haven’t had anybody skateboarding around town. I suppose that we could stretch some of the trespassing or loitering statutes we use for the teens cruising in cars on Friday nights. It just hasn’t come up until now.”

      “Now I don’t know who to be madder at, you or Jeremy. For him to have his first full day in Friedens end this way wasn’t what I had in mind.”

      Now Tripp looked annoyed. “But of course you approve of him misleading an officer of the law?”

      “No, I certainly don’t.” Why did this man get under her skin at every turn? Or maybe she was just letting him in. “You have to know that, given my background. But like I explained before—”

      “I know, if I were more up on the movie business, I would have known. Guess I missed that day at the academy.”

      He was beginning to sound angry now, and Laurel felt herself backing down just a little from her protective motherly stance. She breathed deeply, trying to make herself calm down. “I’m sorry, honestly. I didn’t mean to come off defending my son’s behavior when he was in the wrong. And he is clearly in the wrong here, Tripp. No one should expect you to recognize the false name he gave you. What can I do to get him out of whatever cell he’s in?”