Wreck the Halls

Chapter Eighteen




Apparently, no warnings are given before the police snap one’s mug shot.

There was barely time to register that she was standing in front of the height chart, when a camera flash blinded Melody. With the starburst still blooming in her eyes, a female officer shuffled Melody along a few feet to the right where they flipped open an inkpad and asked for her full name. This was really happening. She’d been arrested for kicking someone in the junk. “Is this something I will have to report to potential future employers?”

“That’s a question for the judge.” The officer waited for Melody’s escort to uncuff her. “Thumb, please.”

Melody barely had time to hold out the requested digit when Trina was ushered into the processing room behind her daughter, with the air of a middle schooler who had been sent to the principal’s office. Again. “Well, I’m back, Officers! How many of you are secretly going to ask for an autograph this time?” Trina singsonged to the room, in general, her bare feet slapping on the floor with every step. “Guess I can’t really fault you for taking Santa’s side this close to Christmas. If you piss him off, he might not bring you a life—and you all desperately need one. Something to occupy your time besides arresting the local legend.”

“You were a legend when you moved here. Now you’re just annoying,” drawled the officer holding her cuffed wrists behind her back. “Look straight at the camera.”

She batted her eyelashes as the flash went off. “Pretend all you want. I see your Steel Birds tattoo peeking out.”

The officer cleared his throat hard and yanked on the sleeve of his uniform, covering up a few ink spikes. “Team Octavia,” he muttered.

“Yeah, that tracks.” Trina rolled her eyes. “A couple of serial killers of joy. She’d probably love you.”

“Really?”

Trina’s head fell back on a groan. “For the love of God, put me in a cell. I’d rather be locked up than have this conversation.”

“Mom,” Melody ventured. “Let’s just get through this without them adding any charges, okay? I’m sure Beat is already working on having us released.”

“Oh. Yeah. Speaking of Octavia fangirls.” Uncuffed now, Trina averted her gaze and slapped her thumb down into the inkpad, but not before Melody saw a trace of hurt. “My own kid. Unbelievable.”

“I’m not a fangirl.” Melody would have failed a lie detector test on that one, but Trina didn’t need to know that. “I’ve only met her once.”

“Is she still a petty bitch?”

“Mom.”

The officer stepped into Melody’s line of vision. “I watched the whole meeting live, if you don’t mind me saying so. My wife and I agreed that you really impressed her. And I can’t imagine that’s an easy thing to do. I mean, she really seemed just taken with you, Mel.”

“Mel?” Trina kicked—kicked—the officer in the back of the leg. “You are not on a shortened-name basis with my daughter.”

Instead of outraged, the man merely seemed smug. “That’s what everyone’s calling her, Trina. Magnificent Mel.”

What?

Trina sputtered. “Who the hell is everyone?”

“It’s a long story,” Melody interjected quickly. Although . . . Magnificent Mel? Was it a nickname born of sarcasm or were viewers truly calling her that? “I’ll probably have time to explain everything while we’re waiting to get out.”

“Oh, there’s no probably about it,” the officer said cheerfully. “Our bail bondsman is closed today. His daughter is getting married.”

“Fuck.” This, from Trina.

Melody refused to panic. Beyond the typical dread that came with being arrested and having to explain to her mother they were in the middle of a reality show, that was. “Beat will figure it out. I know he will.”

Trina studied her long and hard. “If you tell me you’re dating Octavia’s son, I’m going to wish I’d actually been attacked with a stick by that rabid Santa Claus.”

“We’re not . . . dating.”

The officer made a choked sound. Walked in a circle with hands on his head, like he was struggling to hang on to a whopper of a secret. “Beg pardon, Magnificent Mel, but I’ve got eyes in my head. That man is wild about you.”

The pulse in her neck started to speed. “No, he’s just—”

“I already know what you’re going to say. That’s just his nature. He makes every person feel like they’re special. Yada yada yada. Well, I think—and my wife agrees—that you only say that to manage your expectations, because you have inadequacy issues.”

Melody smiled. “We’d like to be put in that cell now.”

The female officer who’d brought Melody into the processing area sidled over. “You’re going to scare her with all your babbling, Melvin. Jesus. Talking like you know someone.”

“Don’t pretend like you aren’t dissecting every second of the live stream, Deena. I saw your post in the fan forum, too. TripleDCop45 is you, isn’t it?” Melvin looked pleased with himself. “Your theory about the Steel Birds reunion only being a red herring is decent, I guess. The show might actually be about Beat and Melody at its core. But—”

“Reunion?” Trina screeched.

Melvin’s mouth snapped shut. “Oh, she doesn’t know yet?”

“Cell,” Melody whispered.

With a glare at Melvin, TripleDCop45 tugged Melody down the long corridor leading to what looked like four holding cells. All were empty, except for one in which a man was passed out on a bench, snoring with his mouth hanging open. Melody could feel Trina’s eyes drilling into the back of her neck. There would be no heartwarming mother-daughter chitchat today. They were heading straight into the fire, weren’t they?

Yup.

As soon as they were led into the cell and the door was locked behind them, Trina slumped heavily against the far wall of the cell, scrubbing at her face with her hands. “What in the sweet burning hell is going on here, Melody Anne?”

An excited whisper carried down the corridor. “She called her Melody Anne!”

“I’m putting this on the message boards. People are going to shit.”

“Guys, can we have a little privacy, please?” Melody called through the bars.

A squabbling discussion ensued. “Sure,” TripleDCop45 called back, finally. “We need to watch Beat on the live stream, anyway.”

Melvin hooted. “The poor man is fit to be tied. He wants you out of here. Now.”

“His words, not ours.” Some chairs scraped back. “Let’s go watch in the break room.”

A few moments later, a door opened and closed, leaving Melody and Trina in silence, save the buzzing of the overhead fluorescent light. Trina dropped her hands away from her face, letting out a gusty sigh. “Live stream. Message boards. Octavia’s son. Reunion. These are the words giving me an ulcer—and I’m way too young to have ulcers.”

Ulcers were more than possible at fifty-three, but now was not the time to mention it. “I agreed to be part of a reality show.” Melody took a deep breath and straightened her spine. “Beat and I are attempting to reunite Steel Birds.”