Who's The Boss?. Barbara Boswell

Cade asked, grimacing.

      “He—Brent—said he was going to turn the tape into a movie.” Bobbie’s voice grew lower. “You know, like one of those art films.”

      “An art film,” Cade echoed flatly. “Just a minute, Bobbie.” He switched off the phone. “Well, this is a new one. Brent, with art film aspirations.”

      “More than likely, he planned to sell the tapes to one of those places that pays for privately made porn videos,” Kylie murmured. “In Philadelphia, a copy could go for as high as five hundred dollars.”

      “Does Bobbie have her facts straight? Granted, what Brent did is sleazy and illegal but is it really burglary?”

      “It sure is.” Kylie nodded her assent. “We’ve tried similar cases. Second-degree burglary covers unauthorized filming of individuals.”

      “That sleazy little jerk has outdone himself this time.” Cade’s expression was equal parts disgust and impatience. He switched Bobbie back on. “Have you called an attorney for Brent, Bobbie?”

      “Of course not!” she howled. “I called you! We have to get Brent out of jail right away, Cade. You know what can happen to a good-looking boy like him in a place like that!”

      “You’ve seen too many prison movies, Bobbie. Nothing is going to happen to Brent in the Port McClain lockup.” Cade’s tone was both firm and reassuring. “Besides, he’s spent time there before. Remember the last time he was arrested? We decided that sitting in that cell would be a good lesson for him. He spent a week there and it didn’t hurt him a bit. In fact, he’s stayed out of trouble until now, nearly two years later, and that’s a record for him.”

      “I hoped he was finally growing up. I was going to ask you to give him another chance at BrenCo.” Bobbie began weeping again.

      “Bobbie, you know what Gene said. No more chances for Brent at BrenCo. It was even written in his will. I won’t hire Brent for a job here, no matter what,” Cade added with absolute finality.

      “Maybe you would if Brent got himself together,” countered Bobbie, ignoring Cade’s absolute finality. “Damn Artie! He had to go and rent out the basement! You can be sure we didn’t see a dime of that couple’s rent money, Artie kept it all for himself. Cade, I can’t afford to bail out Brent and I don’t know if Artie will do it or not.”

      “Then Brent can stay in jail till his hearing, Bobbie. He’s not a child, and he shouldn’t expect his parents to bail him out—literally—every time he gets into trouble.” Cade caught Kylie’s eye. She nodded her agreement

      “Whose side are you on?” Bobbie swung from sorrow to rage. “Artie’s? He doesn’t care if Brent rots in jail, either!” In the next breath, her tone turned whiney. “Did you remember that Brenda and I have to take Starr Lynn to the regional novice competition in Detroit next week? We’ll have expenses—food and gas and the motel. And Starr Lyna needs an extra special skating costume. We found one that is absolutely perfect for her. It costs six hundred fifty dollars, plus tax.”

      “Six hundred fifty dollars for an ice-skating costume for a twelve-year-old is ridiculous, Bobbie,” Cade said calmly.

      “It’s not unreasonable, some of the girls have costumes that cost nine hundred fifty. Are you going to help us or not, Cade?” demanded Bobbie. “I can always send Brenda over to your place tonight to—”

      “No, not Brenda!” Cade said so fervently that Kylie was instantly on alert. She studied him even more closely. “Look, Bobbie, let me make a few phone calls about Brent. Meanwhile, promise me you’ll at least look for another costume for Starr Lynn. You have a week till the competition.”

      “We’ll look, but I doubt that we’ll find anything else so perfect for Starr Lynn. And she deserves the best, Cade. Even you know that. Call me tonight about Brent.” Bobbie hung up abruptly and with such force that the sound of the receiver slamming echoed throughout the office.

      “Good Lord!” breathed Kylie.

      “Don’t drag Him into it,” Cade said dryly. “Well, Ms. Public Defender, feel like taking your cousin’s case?”

      “I’m not a member of the Ohio Bar. I can’t practice law in this state unless I’m granted reciprocity.”

      “Which you haven’t even applied for?” guessed Cade. “Smart move on your part. Defending your cousin Brent would be as thankless a job as your last one.”

      Kylie ignored the dig. “Why did Aunt Bobbie dump Brent’s arrest on you?” she asked curiously. “What are you supposed to do about it? And what’s all this about a six-hundred-dollar skating costume?”

      “Six-fifty, plus tax.” Cade rubbed the back of his neck, then heaved a resigned sigh. “Even though you aren’t licensed to practice here, you fire questions like a professional inquisitor.”

      “Maybe you wouldn’t mind answering them?” she prompted.

      “Let me tell you a little about the Brennans of Port McClain, Kylie. At any given time, one of them is either feuding with another or feels miffed or snubbed or cheated in some way. They’ve made a life-style of backstabbing and bickering.”

      “And being thrown in jail?”

      “So far, jail has been the sole province of your cousin Brent, a fact for which we can all be grateful. The reason I’m so knowledgeable about the Brennans and why my number is programmed into Bobbie’s phone is because your uncle Gene annointed me Alpha Male of the clan. Gene’s brothers and their wives and kids were always trying to drag him into their civil wars, and it bothered him so much that he delegated his patriarch position to me. Gene was very good at delegating,” he added wryly.

      “So you not only run BrenCo, you also mediate family feuds?”

      “I’ve had far more success managing the company than I’ve had trying to keep peace among the Brennans. Reaching a consensus among that group is harder than getting a unanimous vote in the UN General Assembly.”

      “I know that Uncle Artie and Aunt Bobbie’s divorce was very bitter,” Kylie murmured. “That’s really all I know about it.”

      The Brennan extended family had played only a minor role in the lives of her very mobile, very nuclear family—which made it both strange and awkward that she was now involved via Uncle Gene’s will.

      “Wish I could say the same,” growled Cade. “Well, let me bring you up to date. Artie and Bobbie have been divorced fifteen—or is it sixteen?—years but are still deeply entrenched in each other’s lives. They are one of those tiresome couples who are eternally obsessed with each other.”

      “Obsessed with making each other miserable?”

      Cade nodded. “They’re masters of the art. I suppose you could say that Brent’s problems are the result of his dysfunctional family but he’s no longer a troubled teen, he’s twenty-seven years old. I consider him to be fully responsible for his own actions.”

      “I agree,” said Kylie.

      He looked surprised. “I thought a bleeding heart type like you would drag out the crying towel and use Brent’s unhappy childhood and his battling parents to excuse him.”

      “Maybe I would, if I were defending him in court. But since I’m not...” Kylie’s voice trailed off, leaving the obvious unsaid. “I haven’t seen Brent in years. But I do have an indelible memory of him from when we were kids. He lured me into the attic of Uncle Gene’s house by telling me that our grandmother had a trunk filled with dolls there. When I looked into the trunk, he shoved me in and locked it. I don’t think he had any intention of ever letting me out.”

      “Ah, Brennan family fun.” Cade smiled sardonically. “See what you missed by not growing up here in Port McClain with the rest of the tribe? How did you get out of the trunk, by the way?”

      “Lucky