by Tracy Ellen
When I arrived home, I threw away the shoes I’d worn to the farm that night. It was a precautionary measure. Finding the boot print near the tripod, I realized my shoe prints could be all around the dead farmer in the churned up, partially frozen mud, as well.
The other dozen enlarged photographs Hood had included were a completely different kettle of fish. I was grossed out and would have nightmares for months, but I owed Hood big time for providing such priceless birthday gifts.
They were stills of Candy performing various sex acts with various males. The nude photographs were close ups and luridly pornographic. From the repetition of the same angles on the bed, I assumed the camera had once again been mounted on the tripod, perhaps even hidden.
Each shot was taken in Candy’s childhood bedroom in her parent’s house. Candy had been living there for a while, which wasn’t so terribly odd since her parents traveled extensively. I hadn’t been in her bedroom in years, and couldn’t believe she still had the Princess Pink Ruffles canopy bed. Could I pick quality furniture or what?
I gagged seeing a nude Candy with legs spread in the air. I suspected her perilous black hole swallowed whole the young males in the first three pictures, never to be seen again. The skinny boys might be trapped even now in an endless voyage to the bottom of her carnivorous C, or stored inside one of her ginormous breasts to be eaten later by Crazy, much like the nuts in a squirrel’s cheek. And when I say boys, I do mean they appeared to be underage young males who didn’t even have enough cheek fuzz to bother with shaving yet.
At first, I was too appallingly disgusted by the content to understand the true gift, and curse, Hood had placed in my hands. It wasn’t until I forced myself to study the two adult men’s faces in the final few photographs, and when I spied the wedding bands, that I understood.
One man was Wade Patterson, the Rice County Attorney. I guess he wasn’t the sweet, old gent I thought he was when he stood in my dining room not four weeks ago and scolded Luke for being at a crime scene. While I appreciated the reprimand forced Luke to reveal his law degree, I didn’t think it would compare to the scolding Wade would receive from his younger, second wife for contaminating his dick in Crazy’s carnivorous C.
The second man in another photo, in a contorted position with a straining, red face, looked vaguely familiar. I thought it might be from the local news, but after quickly browsing online, I found nothing.
I thought, ‘Holy freaking Hannah, no wonder Candy had the camera equipment readily available to pull off her stunt at the horse farm. Best case scenario, she’s taking souvenir pictures of sexual interludes with underage boys and grown men with important jobs. Worst case scenario, she’s blackmailing her way around the southern suburbs. Or did I have that backwards?’
I may despise her, but my ex-cousin is fiendishly clever in many respects. However, no matter how brilliant a person may be, blackmail was a dicey game to engage in and expect to win. There were too many seething, hot-blooded emotions involved with blackmail---love, passion, hatred, loyalty, betrayal. Those emotions are all good reasons people don’t hesitate to commit crimes, even murder, to protect their secrets. A sociopath such as Candy may logically suspect that, but not truly comprehend the repercussions she could face.
Was she using sex to blackmail people? If so, for what purpose? Knowing Crazy, it could be for her own personal shits and giggles.
After I’d studied the first three photographs again, I concluded teenage boys must be my ex-cousin’s personal fetish. She wouldn’t use underage boys for blackmail purposes. Not when she could face serious jail time should the pictures fall into the wrong hands, or in this instance, the right little hands.
Even as I smiled gleefully at the possibilities, I pitied myself for having to minutely inspect photos no human being with a soul should ever have to see. After the Vegas trip, I had to figure out the boys’ identities to establish if they were as young as they looked. I guess it was possible to find eighteen-year-olds that looked thirteen, if that was your bent.
‘Hmm, would Luke consider porn pics with underage boys a reason to fire his new employee?’ I wondered, smiling happily up at him as we sipped champagne on the way to the airport.
Jazy, who was seated on my other side in the limo, was not in such a great mood. Frankly, I’d been too busy to notice until now, but looking back over the last week or so, she seemed less chipper than normal.
I recalled a brief comment she made in passing on Christmas day that she hadn’t spoken to Max Byrd since my birthday party. Before then, Jazy had also been quiet on the subject of how their romance was progressing.
I touched my glass of champagne to hers. In a voice low enough to be undetected in the sea of conversations around us, I asked, “Having fun so far, Jazy-poo?”
Jazy turned her head from gazing out the tinted window and raised her glass. “Always.”
“Are you and Tre J planning any exciting trouble in Vegas I should know about, or be a part of?”
“Only that we’re staying an extra couple days.” Her lip curled wryly. “Tre’s getting pretty hot and heavy with Crookie, so our excitement level isn’t what it used to be.”
I followed her glance to the tall couple chatting together across from us. Their shoulders barely touched, although their pinky fingers were in contact on the seat between them.
Smiling, I agreed, “They are hot and heavy.”
Her dark blue eyes softened as she watched them and sipped her bubbly, but then she stated gruffly, “Better them than me.”
Vividly aware of Luke’s warm body next to mine, I heard him speaking with Reggie, Pam, and John, so felt it safe to pursue the subject with my sister. Jazy’s attitude was always flippantly sarcastic, but I could tell something was off and she meant what she said.
“Why do you say that?”
Waiting for my sister to answer, it hit me suddenly that until recently, I would have laughed at what Jazy said and ignored her body language, happy not to get involved. Conversely, if I had accidentally tread too close to the personal, she would blow my questions off, used to keeping her own secrets as well.
I’ve always loved my sister, but it was rather fun to realize that she didn’t irritate me too much. I rather liked her. Heck, I even trusted her. Smiling at the revelation, I admitted I would want the little badass as a friend even if she wasn’t my relative.
I thought back and determined we’d gradually been confiding more in each other ever since our first ninja mission when she and Tre drove me to Luke’s farm. I hastily blocked the memory of Jazy’s eye witness account when she spied John Smith banging Crazy through the living room picture window with his head bobbing neck deep in the monster mammaries.
‘I knew that blasted image would scar me for life, but it was nothing compared to the real deal in the porn pics,’ I thought in bitter irony.
I must have groaned a little out loud because Luke’s hand tightened on my knee. He didn’t look my way. It must have been an instinctual squeeze of comfort in response to the faint distress in his mate’s voice, even as his subconscious recognized there was no danger. The intricacies of how this couple stuff worked got more interesting every day.
Jazy reclaimed my attention. “With Max being out of town I’ve had time to get my head out of my ass.” Her mouth tightened and she shrugged. “I prefer being single.”
I winced in sympathy. “Max hasn’t contacted you, huh?”
She laughed shortly and then lifted her chin. “Not even once.”
“Maybe he’s unable?” I offered tentatively, thinking it extremely odd Max hadn’t contacted her.
Jazy’s eyes flashed, but her voice was calm. “He’s surfing with friends in Hawaii, Bel, not climbing Mount frickin’ Everest.”
Ouch. “More man tactics then? Stupid of him, but notice I did preface with ‘man’.”
“For almost two weeks?” She shook her head decisively in the negative. “No, it’s lack of interest.”
“Perhaps,” I te
mporized, but then asked bluntly, “but his lack of interest or what he perceived as yours?”
Regarding her closed expression, I pondered how far she’d taken her hard to get plan before Max left on vacation. That sort of endeavor required a delicate touch not to put off the hunter. I would have sworn Max Byrd had a thing for Jazy. A majorly big thing.
“Does it matter? The result is the same--out of sight, out of mind.” She huffed out another short laugh. “I don’t wait around for any man.”
She sipped her champagne while her ringing last words sank in for a silent moment between us amidst the noisy chattering in the limo. I had to trust Jaz knew what she was doing. I was an expert on dating games, but I wasn’t exactly the poster girl for advice on conducting a loving relationship. Besides, I agreed with my sister. Two weeks was a long time to play hard to get and I wouldn’t wait around for a man that hard core, either.
Jazy roused herself and grinned. “To fun in Las Vegas!”
If her grin was a little on the forced side, I wasn’t saying anything. Echoing her sentiment, I touched our glasses again and downed my champagne.
We joined in the general conversation, and ninety minutes later, the twelve of us were settled into the first class section of our Sun Country flight.
I didn’t seriously plan to be initiated into the mile high club on our way to Vegas. However, after Luke kissed my neck and confided that he was a commercial flight virgin, too, I thought about the possibilities.
‘Didn’t I hear the words ‘commercial flight’?’ The mean mommy voice dryly interrupted my fantasies.
Oh, I noticed my boyfriend’s specific designation of planes, alright. A small part of me would take whatever it could get when it came to joint firsties with Luke “The Rake” Drake. A much bigger part of me went into porno imagination overdrive envisioning Luke having sex with a soldier in a Chinook helicopter. Hopefully the soldier was female, but I couldn’t tell for certain with all the explosives going off in my head as Luke’s unit was transported into some hellhole war zone while he was getting some action in the cargo hold. Luckily, one of the perks of flying commercial first class was the service is fast and efficient. I had a drink in hand in no time to help quiet down my irrationally jealous visions.
By the appraising arousal I saw reflected in his sharp eyes while I shook my ice cubes and tossed back my Bloody Mary, Luke might have had some mile high visions of his own, but it wasn’t meant to be. Not when you’re traveling with a group of ten other people in first class, and three of them are your siblings and the rest are your friends. Not when people pop over the seat to ask you a question, or switch seats every ten minutes, or can’t carry their liquor worth a damn.
I’ve known my brother’s two best friends, Henry and Prakash, for years. Henry is attractive in a serious-minded, dependable way. He’s that one friend that always stays sober enough to drive, will borrow you a twenty until tomorrow, or meet you for a beer when you need to blow off steam.
Prakash, or Ash for short, is super cute, super smart, and as outgoing as Henry is serious. Of medium height with the fit, muscled physique of a soccer player, and the biggest brown eyes I’ve ever seen on a man, Ash is always up for a good time. He was born in Minnesota, the only child of parents that emigrated from Tamil Nadu, a southern state in India. From comments Reg had let slip, Ash’s parents were dismayed he had become a partner with Reg in his construction company. They had high hopes their son would settle down in a “real” profession that used his advanced engineering degree, or better yet, apply for med school.
I’d forgotten how booze affected Ash so quickly and so strangely. After his first two beers, it all came rushing back as he instantly morphed into a sloppy drunk with a penchant for weeping while singing. His singing preferences were strictly songs from old Disney movies. The tears and the musical choices were odd enough for a straight man in his twenties, but when Ash belted out the tunes in a vivacious vibrato soprano, it got downright bizarre.
Far from joining the Mile High Club, Luke and I were dragged into the Mickey Mouse Club once Ash finished serenading first class.
Talk about mixed messages.
I mean, what would you think if you were the gay, single man sitting in 2C and some super cute guy pulled a Snow White and serenaded you on his knees with “Someday My Prince Will Come”?
I agree, I’d think the weepy, super cute dude batting his eyelashes wanted me, too.
Not Ash, he got loudly offended to be asked out on a date.
It was fun to watch John Smith and Luke work as a team. While Luke convinced our nice flight attendant it wasn’t necessary to call for back up, John unobtrusively put Ash in a sleeper hold to settle him down for a nice nap. Luke then expertly smoothed down the ruffles of the rattled, embarrassed man in 2C.
Jazy and Tre J had commandeered the seats around me when Luke stood up. They were impressed with the sleeper hold move. Seated near the man in 2C, Kenna had woken up from her nap to nod her approval of Luke’s people skills. Anna and Pam took over the seats in the row ahead of us. They were already fan girls of the men, so they watched with big grins.
Crookie never woke up from his nap, although I saw his foot tapping when the serenading first started. Henry had quietly stood by in the aisle to assist, if needed. When my brother came out of the bathroom, he only laughed when he saw the unconscious Ash strapped in his seat. He slapped Luke and John Smith on the back for their help, but said he was disappointed he’d missed the floor show.
Reg then noticed the men’s seats had been boosted. He was used to a lifetime of his sisters taking his spot. Without a word, he found a vacant seat in another row near the other guys.
Kenna went back to her nap while the rest of us girls huddled in our seats, gabbing and drinking.
Jazy brought up Luke and John Smith’s Army background. She thought we could get some serious pointers from them, whether it was for future ninja missions or for our own private enterprises.
Jazy, Tre, and Pam peppered me with detailed questions about my self-defense training with Luke. They decided I should ask Luke to start a class to train them, too. Anna hung back and listened intently, but didn’t chime in to be included in the classes.
After a few minutes, I stood up above the seats and surveyed the first class cabin. Kenna was still cozily sleeping, wrapped in a blanket with her curly head barely visible. Nearby, Crookie’s seat was fully reclined and he was snoring contentedly next to the peacefully passed out Ash. The man in 2C glanced my way, and I smiled ruefully. He smiled, shrugged like it was no big deal, and went back to his magazine.
Luke caught my eye. His mouth curved up in response to my big smile and beauty pageant wave before his lap top screen grabbed his attention again.
My roving gaze kept moving and landed on John Smith. I stared him down with squinty eyes.
Raising my Bloody Mary to the snake man, the little twirling wave I gave his smirking face consisted of one finger.
I ignored his laughter and sat down again when Pam said my name. She was on her knees and hanging over the seat in front of me.
“Joe wants to move to Minnesota and work with Luke.”
“Are you okay with that?” I asked Pam, watching her anxiously twirl a strand of hair around her finger.
“I’m sure okay with that,” Jazy answered before Pam, as she elbowed Tre and smiled. “Awesome, then John can teach us that sleeper hold move.” She turned back to Pam. “By the way, if it’s not some secret love name, can you call him John because it’s confusing as hell whenever you talk about Joe.”
Lips pursed in concentration at my question, Pam flipped a hand at my sister, even as she distractedly explained, “When he seduced me, Joe Johnson was the false name John gave out. Believe me, I’m not too thrilled with it, either, but now it’s hard for me to think of him as John Smith.”
At her side, and also hanging over the seat, Anna laughed. Pam shared a quick, sardonic smile, but then looked back at me, intent on her problems. �
��John said we could get a place together.” She paused and lowered her voice, as if imparting world secrets. “I’ve also been thinking about your advice.”
“Oh, yeah?” I asked, amused. “Which advice was that?”
“Do I want to jump right into living together before I’m even divorced? I would have to sell the condo to afford my half of a place back here.” As if I’d objected, she added hurriedly, “You know I was joking when we were mad at Luke and I threatened to sell the condo. Heck, the ink isn’t even dry on the title transfer.
Yet.”
I shrugged with a light laugh. “Pam, as far as I’m concerned, a deal’s a deal. Luke legally signed the condo over to you, so feel free to do whatever you want.”
“Should I split the money with Luke if I sell it? I’d feel guilty keeping it all.”
I raised my brows. “Ethically speaking?”
She nodded.
“Pam, there is nothing ethically wrong with selling the condo and using the cash. How could you possibly predict all that crazy crap happening with the DDL partners or that John would want to move up here?”
“I guess I couldn’t.” Pam gulped some champagne, but still frowned worriedly.
“I think you’re having a hard time believing your good fortune has no strings, but you really need to accept it.” I held up a hand to stop the next objection ready to spill from her mouth. “The condo’s yours to do with as you will. Sell it, give it away, or live there forever, it’s your choice.” I smiled, but my voice was firm. “Subject closed.”
Pam smacked her forehead and growled in frustration.
“She means it, Pam.” Jazy looked up from checking her phone. “Sell the damn condo and move back here.”
Tre smiled. “It would be awesome to have you back in town.”
Anna nudged Pam and grinned encouragingly. “Do it, Pammie. Move home.”
Pam dropped her hand and smiled at us all. “Thanks, girlfriends.”
“Hey Junior, you still haven’t told me the real story of what happened with DDL and Svettie.” Anna peeked up over the seats and then ducked back down. “The coast is clear. Quick, tell us now before we get interrupted or the damn plane crashes.”
