Family Ties Mystery Series Box Set

by James Kipling

  The shrilling of his cell drowned out the rest. He jumped and banged his head on the ceiling. When he read the display, he took a deep breath.

  “Hi, babe,” he said.

  “What the hell are you doing out there, playing with yourself?”

  “I’ll be right up,” he said and hung up – he knew it was too quick. Maybe she won’t notice.

  He could smell the pepperoni as soon as he entered.

  “I’m home,” he said.

  Yvonne’s mouth was on his almost before he finished the announcement. She pulled away a little.

  “You okay?” she asked. “I’ve gotten more passion from my aunt.”

  “Sorry,” he said – the vision of the doll, the echo of the voice – the room was swimming a little. He swallowed – hard. “Just a little tired. Let’s try again.”

  She was already across the room. “Too late, Romeo,” she said. “Let’s eat! Open the wine.”

  Nicholas looked at his empty hands. “I’ll be back,” he said. “It’s in the car.”

  “You must be tired,” she said. “You never forget the booze.”

  Nicholas opened the car and grabbed the Cocoban. With the door halfway closed, he changed his mind, reached in, and shoved the doll into the glove box.

  As he mounted the steps, he felt it again.

  He looked around again.

  He saw nothing again.

  As Nicholas entered the building, the “nothing” smiled and whispered quietly from the darkness. “Glad you liked the present, Nicholas, old man. And I hope you enjoy the rest of the show.”

  2

  Yvonne took in her reflection. She looked cheap – heavy eye makeup and about twenty percent too much lipstick…and thanks to “The Perfume Club,” she smelled the same.

  Her nose twitched. “Stinks like a trailer park,” she said to the empty apartment.

  She straightened the poufy wig and test-drove her five-inch stilettos.

  She checked her watch. Time for two sessions before work. She should get to the hospital right on time.

  Something was missing. She checked the picture her client had sent.

  The brooch!

  She rummaged through her purse – Nicholas was old-school, he would never look into a lady’s bag – and dug out a pin bearing the word “Forever.”

  “Who still wears brooches – librarians? Are there still libraries?” The apartment did not answer.

  She went to the door before the echo of the bell disappeared. She was always ready on time.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Reggie,” she said as she stepped aside.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Sandra,” he replied. “You are looking ever so lovely today.”

  Everything was as he’d requested – curtains drawn, candles scattered about lending scant light, furniture covered with silk, and a coffee table in the middle of the room. He took her in his arms and ran his hand over her wig.

  “What will pleasure you today, Mr. Reggie?”

  “That is Sir Reggie to you!” he said sternly.

  “Yes, Sir Reggie,” she answered with a slight curtsy.

  “My dear Sandra, you are always a sight for sore eyes,” he said, patting her wig again. He was a great client – never in a hurry – always polite.

  “I could say the same about you,” she answered.

  “I wish I had the rest of the day to just stare into your beautiful face and do nothing else,” he said. “Unfortunately, I only have an hour.”

  He walked over to the middle of the room, sat on the coffee table, and tapped his lap. Yvonne walked over and sat lowered herself demurely onto his knee. She awaited his instructions.

  “I would like you to listen to me recite today,” he said as he rubbed her hair between his thumb and forefinger.

  “That sounds interesting, sir,” Yvonne answered and crossed her legs. “Who is the author?”

  “Why, Shakespeare, of course,” he answered and pecked her on the cheek.

  Yvonne could not remember the last time she read – anything – but she locked her attention on Reggie as if he were the most fascinating person she’d ever met.

  Reggie began – Lawrence Olivier in a cheap suit. “Let me not to the marriage of true minds/

  Admit impediments. Love is not love/ Which alters when it alteration finds…”

  While Reggie’s rendition was good – at least she thought it was – but this shit was boring.

  “…is never shaken/ It is the star to every wand'ring bark…”

  My God, I need a cigarette.

  “…But bears it out even to the edge of doom/ If this be error and upon me prov'd/ I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.”

  When Sir Reggie finished, he said, very solemnly, “Sonnet Number 116.” Then he bowed his head as if in prayer.

  “That was lovely,” Yvonne said.

  “Was it?”

  “Yes, sir,” Yvonne answered, clapping slightly in feigned excitement.

  “What was the sonnet about?” he asked. “Tell me – in your own words – what you think it means.”

  Annoying a client was never the intent, but Yvonne knew this was part of the game. She pasted a blank expression on her face – not particularly hard – she’d been too busy with chemistry and physiology to study The Bard. She bit her lip and stared at Sir Reggie with doe eyes.

  “Tongue tied?” he asked. Anger built in his eyes.

  Yvonne steeled herself. She knew what was next.

  Reggie stood so suddenly that Yvonne tumbled to the floor.

  “On your feet!” he said. She scrambled onto her high heels.

  “Turn around.”

  She turned her back to him and waited as his hands slid up her thighs and pulled down her red lace panties. She felt his hand between her shoulder blades.

  “Bend!”

  When he lifted her skirt she felt cold air, a sensation quickly replaced by the sting of a dozen angry hornets. His palm slapped her right buttock with a loud pop.

  “Sandra, my darling, you know how much I hate doing this, but you must learn your lessons,” he said. His hand rubbed her nakedness. “Do you think I like hurting you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Do you know why I do this?” he asked.

  “For my own good, sir.”

  She braced herself for the second and third, but she never so much as whimpered.

  “That’s a good girl,” he said when he was finished. “I see you have learned how to remain mum when you receive punishment.”

  He sat again and pulled her to his lap. His right hand massaged her breasts. He lay his head on her heaving cleavage.

  “I like your scent,” he said.

  Eau d’Stink, she thought.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said.

  He recited Milton’s Nineteenth. She’d actually heard the last line, “They also serve who only stand and wait.”

  Then, the punishment scene repeated, and the clock ticked. Sir Reggie never had to be reminded. With two minutes left on the hour, he stood and adjusted his clothes. Yvonne saw the bulge in his trousers and reached for it.

  “Would you like me to take care of that for you, Sir Reggie?”

  He pushed her away – but without force.

  “You won’t ever let me relieve you, sir.”

  “I do not want to commit adultery,” he answered.

  “A little bit of a gray area if you ask me,” Yvonne said. She could not stop the chuckle.

  “I know it seems incongruous,” he said. “But, it is a line I will not cross.”

  He reached into his pocket and handed her an envelope.

  “Always a pleasure, my dear Sandra,” he said and pulled her closer to him. “When are you going to tell me your real name?”

  “But, Sandra is my real name,” Yvonne said. She giggled and put her hand to her mouth.

  “You do not look like a Sandra.”

  “Oh, really? H
ow should a Sandra look?” Yvonne asked.

  “Let’s save the chitchat for another day,” Sir Reggie said. He gave Yvonne a peck on her cheek.

  “Take good care of yourself now.” And he was gone.

  Yvonne waited ten minutes, then sat gingerly and opened the envelope.

  A thousand dollars – good tip!

  She rubbed her bottom. “Nice work back there,” she said.

  ***

  Ten minutes – new outfit – sky-blue lingerie with lace and a touch of white silk. The doorbell rang just as she was adjusting her red-haired wig.

  New client – always a little scary.

  “Hello,” she said as she swung the door open. He was tall with a dark complexion. A long, crooked nose protruded from beneath closely set, charcoal black eyes.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Hello.”

  “Sandra Davis?” he asked with a small grin spread across his face.

  “Guilty,” she answered. “Come on in.”

  He walked to the middle of the room. “So? How does this work?”

  “I am sure whoever recommended you must have told you the rate,” Yvonne answered.

  “Yes, he did, $500 an hour?”

  “Correct.”

  “Pricey,” he said. “You think highly of yourself.”

  “If you want cheap, I can recommend some people,” Yvonne said. She put her hands on her hips. His eyes followed.

  “So, what do we do now?” he asked

  “Anything you want,” she answered. “Your money – your hour.”

  She moved closer and reached for his groin. He bent to kiss her. She backed up.

  “The Intimacy Package is an extra $250,” she said. “I know someone told you.”

  “Deal,” he said.

  “I want to call you Mary,” he said. She felt him unhook her bra. He was smooth.

  “You can call me anything you like, sugar,” Yvonne answered. With one move, he slid her panties off, turned her around, and entered her - standing. She started her analysis of what he wanted. He was smooth, but she was a professional.

  She started to move sideways.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, confused.

  “Trust me, darlin’,” she said. “This ain’t my first rodeo.”

  Yvonne felt him relax and pause for a second. She bent slightly and guided his hands to her waist. She took a step forward – no small task in spike heels. She took another and gyrated her ass, a small, circular motion. It was her signature move.

  “Oh, my God!”

  They all said that the first time – and every other time.

  She listened to him let out a loud moan, just as every first-timer did.

  She finished him off after fifty-five minutes. He pulled on his clothes and dropped a stack of bills on the table. As he left, he blew her a kiss.

  “I will definitely be back,” he said.

  The door closed. “I know you will, sugar,” she said.

  Yvonne flipped through the bills – good tip. Another grand. She turned toward the shower. The phone rang.

  “Hi, babe, how’s the Big Apple?” she asked.

  “You been working out?” Nicholas asked. “You sound a little winded.”

  “Gotta stay in shape for you, sweetie,” she said. “So…”

  “It’s good – lonely – I miss you – but good.”

  Yvonne looked at her watch. “I need to shower and dress,” she said.

  “Sure,” he said. “Just checking on you.”

  “When will you be home?” she asked.

  “You always ask that,” he said. “Makes me think you’ve got something on the side.”

  He laughed – thank God.

  “When would I have time for anything or anyone else, Nick?” she asked.

  “Good point,” he said. “I’ll be back in a few days – three at the most. I’ll let you know so you can hide the pool boy.”

  Yvonne laughed – she always laughed at the pool boy line. “We don’t have a pool,” she said.

  “I’m just starting to figure that out,” he said. “Go get ready. I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” she said.

  Twenty minutes later, she was ready for work – Angel of Mercy – headed to tend to, and to save, lives. With her hand on the light switch, she took an appraising look at the apartment.

  “Sandra Davis has left the building,” she said.

  3

  The rain came sideways against the windshield. Old Daisy did not like the rain. She sputtered and slipped. The sputtering was the engine’s fault – the blame for the slippage belonged to Nicholas. Tires with 75,000 miles are not “wetness dependable.”

  “Come on, Old Girl,” Nicholas said. “You’ve gotten through worse than this.”

  He wanted to pull over – Old Daisy didn’t have hands-free capability and the last thing Nicholas needed was a ticket for talking on the cell while operating a moving vehicle. But, the weather was so bad…who the hell will notice.

  Steve answered on the third ring. “Wassup, dude?”

  “You find anything on that doll?”

  Steve’s voice went rigid. “And hello to you, too, buddy. I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

  “Sorry, man,” Nicholas said. “The thing freaked me out a little.”

  Silence.

  Nicholas tried to sound apologetic. “Hey, Steve…I mean it. I’m sorry”.” He paused…one Mississippi…two Mississippi… “But, did you find anything?”

  “First of all, my friend who I have known since elementary school, I do not feel the need to put the rush job on for non-paying customers.”

  “I said I’d pay you,” Nicholas said.

  “You also swore to me you would not ask Jessica Pawley out after we broke up.”

  “That was in the frickin’ eleventh grade, man,” Nicholas said. “Let it go.”

  They both laughed. It wasn’t the first time they’d gone down that road.

  “Yeah,” Steve said. “Found a few things.”

  “Go.”

  “Not now,” Steve said. “Can’t take a chance the boss will hear. Hard enough for me to bury the extra costs for DNA tests and stuff in with the legit lab charges, but I don’t need to be explaining who I was talking to. Meet me at Murphy’s in thirty.”

  Nicholas hung up. The car slipped sideways about a foot. “Come on, Old Daisy. You can make it.”

  Steve had a nice side business at the City Morgue. He ran “off the books” tests for PI’s and friends. He’d had the doll about a week.

  The Mazda chugged into the parking lot and clanked to a halt.

  As Nicholas was exiting, a passerby said, “Nice ride, man.” After he passed, Nicholas patted Old Daisy on the hood and flipped the guy off.

  ***

  The crowd was light for a Friday night. Nicholas sat in the middle of the bar.

  “Apple-tini,” he said. His phone blinked. Text from Yvonne. “When will you be here – dinner in 30.” He did not respond. He downed the drink a little faster than usual.

  He ordered a second.

  He heard Steve’s baritone over his shoulder. “Seriously? Do you drink that with or without your bra on?”

  “Screw you, Steve.”

  “Nice to see you, too,” Steve said.

  The bartender strolled by and smiled. “Evening, Steve. You want a draft?”

  Steve nodded, then looked at Nicholas. “You’re buying, right.”

  When Nicholas nodded, Steve turned and said, “Change that – Balvenie 12 – neat. Make it a double.”

  “You are an asshole,” Nicholas said.

  “You are a cheap asshole,” Steve said.

  “Good point.” The drinks arrived. They sipped. Then, “What’d you find?”

  “Four things – three not so great.”

  “Okay.”

  “There were traces of blood behind the doll’s eyes.” />
  “Whose?”

  “No way to tell. No comparison sample – but we can check it against someone any time we want.”

  Nicholas nodded. “Okay…what’s number two?”

  “Same sort of thing – a few hairs in one of seams.”

  “Can’t tell who, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Third, there was a partial print on some of the tape that held the doll’s wig in place.”

  Nicholas sat up. “That’s got to be good.”

  “Yes and no. We ran them through the system – a cop friend of mine owes me a favor. No hit.”

  Nicholas sagged. “What’s the fourth thing?”

  Steve’s eyes hardened. “I noticed something sticking out of one of the seams in the torso – looked like a piece of paper. I retrieve it."

  He reached into his breast pocket and extracted a small business card swaddled in a plastic bag. There was a name on the card:

  Sandra Davis

  A phone number stood below the name.

  “Did you try the number?” Nicholas asked.

  “Not yet,” Steve said. “Wrong time.”

  “What do you mean?” Nicholas asked.

  “Look on the back.”

  Nicholas flipped the card over. On the back, in very small print, were a series of times. Underneath the times, it read: Phone only answered during the above hours.

  Nicholas looked at his watch. “It’s eleven. That’s one of the times listed.”

  “Have at it, buddy.”

  Nicholas punched in the number, dial and then the speaker button. Two rings later – voicemail.

  “Hi,” a dark sultry voice. “This is Sandra. Leave a number where I can reach you – and only you. Let me know the best times to call. Later, baby.”

  Steve bobbed his head. “That’s an escort service if I’ve ever heard one.” Then, he fumbled a little. “Not that I’ve ever heard one.”

  Nicholas smirked. “No wonder you got dumped in the eleventh grade.”

  Steve’s face grew hard. “You need to go to the police.”

  “Why.”

  “Oh, come on,” Nicholas said. “Someone leaves that creepy doll in your car. The doll has blood on it – and a hooker’s number. You’re asking why you should call the cops.”

  Nicholas stared at the mirror behind the bar.