Free Fall by Chris Grabenstein

hanging on the walls.
    Do you get the complete home starter kit when you finally decide to grow up and settle down? Or do you just collect stuff along the way?
    â€œThe lawyer’s not for me, John,” says Mrs. Ceepak as she passes the breadbasket, which is actually a basket lined with a checkered cloth to keep the bread warm. “It’s for a friend of mine’s caregiver. A gentleman named Arnold Rosen.”
    â€œThe one who lives on Beach Lane?”
    â€œThat’s right. Do you know him? He’s ninety-four. Comes with his nurse to our afternoon bingo games at the senior center.”
    â€œIs the nurse named Christine?” I ask.
    â€œYes! Do you boys know her, too?”
    â€œYes, ma’am. She’s a friend of a friend.”
    â€œDanny knows just about everybody in Sea Haven,” says Ceepak.
    â€œWell, this Christine is very pretty, Daniel. Has those dark Mediterranean features. Big brown eyes. Nice figure, too. From what I’ve picked up at the bingo games, she’s a single gal. You should ask her out on a date. Nothing too flashy. Maybe just coffee or a light lunch. Definitely not a movie. You don’t really get to chat at the movies …”
    Across the table, Ceepak is grinning at me.
    I guess now that her son is all settled down, it’s Adele Ceepak’s mission to fix me up so I can start collecting matching salad bowls of my own.
    â€œSomething to think about,” I mumble and pop a plum tomato into my mouth so I don’t have to say anything else.
    â€œWhy, exactly, does Christine need a lawyer?” asks Ceepak.
    â€œOh, some nonsense about attacking a former employer.”
    Okay. I put down my salad fork. “Mrs. Shona Oppenheimer?”
    â€œThat’s right. Do you know her, too, Daniel?”
    â€œNot really. I was on duty last Friday night and caught a call to investigate an altercation at the Oppenheimer home between Mrs. Oppenheimer and Ms. Lemonopolous.”
    â€œDanny and his partner were the first on the scene,” adds Ceepak.
    â€œThen you know this is all a bunch of hooey. No way did a sweet girl like Christine Lemonopolous ‘attack’ this Mrs. Oppenheimer. But Mrs. Oppenheimer, whose late husband I hear was a big Wall Street muckety-muck, has a boatload of money and bamboozled some judge into issuing what they call a TRO against Christine.”
    â€œA TRO is a Temporary Restraining Order,” explains Ceepak.
    â€œOh. So it’s not permanent?”
    â€œNot until there is a formal hearing, which must take place within ten days of the filing of the TRO.”
    Ceepak knows a thing or two about how restraining orders work in the state of New Jersey. He should. He had one issued against his drunken father the first time Joe “Sixpack” Ceepak stumbled into town.
    â€œWell, I want Christine to have the best lawyer in the state of New Jersey,” says Mrs. Ceepak. “Do you boys know any crackerjack criminal defense attorneys? Because that’s what Dr. Rosen says Christine is going to need to beat this thing. He says Mrs. Oppenheimer is probably assuming that Christine won’t have the financial means to defend herself so she can just steamroll right over the poor girl.”
    Ceepak leans back from his mountain of spaghetti and erects a two-handed tapping finger tent under his nose. This is what he does sometimes when he thinks.
    I use the free time to spear a crouton.
    â€œIf I were in a similar predicament,” Ceepak finally says, “I would want Harvey Nussbaum to defend me.”
    Ceepak’s right. Nussbaum is a pit bull. I’ve seen his ads on a couple benches up and down Ocean Avenue. “ I Turn Wrongs Into Rights! ” is his slogan. His mascot is a snarling bulldog wearing one of those curly lawyer wigs the barristers wear over in England.
    â€œGood,” says his mother. “Let’s hire this Harvey Nussbaum.”
    â€œWait a