by Rob Watson
Lexa walked over and sat alone in a corner trying to ward off a building headache.
“The chauffeur said there’s four bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, and a master suite,” Cassie announced, sweeping her white cane from side to side. “So the question before us now is who’s going to sleep with who?”
Lexa snuck a glance at CK. Hmmm, might not be such a bad weekend after all. When CK caught her stare, Lexa bashfully averted her eyes. Yeah right, like a guy that cute could like a girl as socially inept as I.
“I’ll take the master suite,” Palmer said with affluent attitude.
“Like hell you will,” Paige snapped from the fully-stocked mahogany wet bar. “The master is mine. You might be nouveau riche, but my blood is blue, kiddo.”
“Guys, guys, instead of fighting over it, why don’t you two share the room for the weekend?” Cassie lightheartedly suggested. “I’m sure there’s enough room.”
Palmer put his hand to his chin and tapped on his lips with his index finger, his eyes giving Paige a long and lecherous once-over. “Well…if it’ll keep the peace, I guess I can make the sacrifice. Besides, it probably has a California King bed.”
Paige shook her head and let out a laugh dripping with unadulterated conceit. “Yeah right.” She sauntered over to Lexa and wrapped her arms around her coy friend. “Mmmm…” Paige turned back toward Palmer and licked her lips seductively. “Besides, if I decided to share my bed with a friend, it wouldn’t be you.” She turned back to Lexa. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” she quietly confessed before leaning in and giving her bemused friend a soft, sensual kiss.
“Fuck me,” Bastian breathed from his gaping mouth.
“You and me both,” added Palmer breathlessly.
While CK stood staring longingly at Paige helping herself to Lexa’s full, moist lips, Cassie tugged on his arm and asked in a low voice, “What’s going on?”
Yes, what the hell is going on?
After hearing her blind friend’s softly spoken question, Lexa pulled away from Paige and cast her eyes downward in stunned embarrassment.
Paige gave Palmer a self-assured wink. “Guess that’s settled then, yes?”
Palmer feigned applause and bowed to Paige in capitulation. The ensuing moment of uncomfortable silence was brought to an end by Bastian saying, “Looks like Christmas has come early.” He motioned to the beautifully wrapped presents stacked in front of the fireplace. “What do ya say we leave the room assignments for later and go check out what ol’ Saint Spence has left for us?” Bastian beckoned for the others to follow him.
Paige, CK, Cassie, and Palmer made their way toward the fireplace, but Lexa stayed put in her lonesome corner.
Noticing his friend’s reticence, Bastian called out, “Lexa?”
Lexa turned around and caught Bastian’s questioning stare. “Yes?”
“Gonna join the party?”
“I’ll be there after a while, okay?”
“Suit yourself.”
Suit myself? I wish I could.
In hopes of alleviating the physical pain from her mounting headache, and the emotional pain from her separation from Alex, Lexa decided to go off and have some alone time away from the others, who were gathered around the fireplace tearing into more spoils from the Senator.
***
Lexa strolled out onto a sunlit balcony with a view only those willing to pay through the nose would ever see. The salty ocean wind blowing through her made her think of all the times she wished to be free, to have her own life, away from Aunt Amanda, Uncle Claude, Dr. Cross and yes, even Alex.
Without Alex?
She took her locket out of her purse and opened it…
***
Carl and Lisa Rhodes screamed at each other from inside the family’s cabin. It was the kind of screaming that generated terror in the fear center of a child’s brain, the same type of innate terror as the thought of a closet monster or the thing underneath the bed. It was this kind of terror that stopped eight-year-old Lexa and Alex from playing their game of hide-and-seek and focused their attention on the commotion coming from inside the cabin. A deep feeling of sorrow intermixed with the young twins’ terror as they began to understand the nature of their parents’ argument.
***
A cool wind cascaded over the isolated balcony, and Lexa rubbed her thumb across her locket.
I’m so tired of looking back. Why can’t I just look forward?
She noticed some kids stoking a fire pit on the beach below.
***
“Mommy! Daddy!” screamed little Lexa as the cabin was engulfed in orange flames.
Alex, Mommy, and Daddy were burning inside. They were still inside! The raging fire heated the salty tears streaking her face as she stood and helplessly watched…
***
The intensity of that memory compelled Lexa to tightly shut her eyes. When she opened them, CK was standing right beside her.
“Jesus!” she exclaimed as she was jolted back to reality.
“Sorry,” CK said. “Didn’t mean to go stalker on you.” He was holding a drink in each hand. “You okay? You seem a little—”
“I’m fine,” Lexa said, although her tone indicated she really wasn’t. She gazed off toward the horizon and whispered, “Just missing my brother.”
CK offered Lexa a drink, but she pushed it away. He took a sip of his drink, sneaking a peek at the locket Lexa was holding.
Lexa noticed CK eyeing her locket and shut it.
***
The head chef lowered a turkey into a forty-quart stock pot in the food preparation area of the beach banquet setup which was halfway between their villa and the Cove’s common area. He covered the pot full of boiling peanut oil and adjusted the temperature gauge on the propane tank. He and his assistants were wearing protective aprons, safety goggles, gloves, and oversized chef’s hats. A second covered pot sat ten feet away frying another turkey. Two fire extinguishers and a first aid kit lay between the two pots, in case of any unlikely mishaps.
The event manager approached the food prep area and walked over to the head chef with all the manner and presence of a boot camp drill sergeant. “Is everything going according to schedule?”
“Yes sir,” the head chef answered in a wannabe Maurice Chevalier French accent. He slapped on a subservient guise, and then scowled after his boss walked away.
***
About half a mile down the beach from the Mag Seven’s private villa, which was the property’s premiere rental, was Harrington Cove’s extravagant common area, complete with an Olympic size pool and a beachside bar. It was full of residents and vacationers who represented the Cove’s bourgeoisie, mere commoners in comparison to the haughty few privileged enough to reside where the Mag Seven were staying.
Bastian and Paige showed up at the bar dressed to the nines.
“Wow! Look who’s all dressed up for once,” Paige joked.
“Ah gee, Paige,” Bastian exclaimed with brazen derision. “That sure means a lot coming from you, considering how much I respect your opinion.”
A few moments later, CK and Cassie arrived.
“Wow, CK, you look good enough to eat,” Paige said with a flirtatious wink.
“Literally or figuratively?” CK frigidly responded. She wasn’t his type.
Cassie giggled as CK led her to a barstool and helped her sit down.
“At least four of Storm’s Magnificent Seven are here,” Cassie said. “Think that’ll satisfy the good senator?”
“I doubt it,” Paige said. “Spence is an all or nothing kind of guy.”
“Oh really? And how would you know that?” asked Cassie with a hint of sarcasm. “Are the rumors ’round the water cooler true after all?”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Paige replied with a less-than-convincing inflection.
“Spoken in true political fashion,” CK said, pulling out a stool and sitting down. “When cornered, always plead the fifth.
”
Paige scanned the area. “What’s keeping the others?”
“Lexa’s still getting dressed,” Cassie told her. “I don’t know where Palmer is.”
CK shook his head and snickered. “I saw him a few minutes ago by the pool talking to one of those wannabe French waitresses.”
Just then he noticed a hooded chef carrying a large bag. The faceless chef caught CK’s stare, then turned and faced the young man staring at him from the bar. God only knew what was staring from underneath that hood, which completely concealed the chef’s head, giving him the appearance of someone you wouldn’t want to run into in a dark alley. The hairs on the back of CK’s neck began to stand on end. After what seemed like a long, long while, the chef headed for the cooking area and stood next to one of the stock pots.
“Still with us, CK?” Paige prompted.
CK snapped out of his stupor. “Did you guys see…” He paused, not knowing how to finish his question without sounding like he was paranoid.
“Um, I know you’re not asking me,” Cassie joked.
“See what?” asked Bastian.
“Nothing,” CK said.
Half out of breath and full of anxious energy, Lexa ran up and joined the others. “Am I late?”
“Not quite, but nice try,” Paige quipped.
Bastian cleared his throat. “Not meaning to piss on our parade, but there’s two of our seven who are still MIA, and the clock is ticking.”
Lexa glanced at her watch. Where were the others? They should have arrived by now. And where was Kimmy? “I’m going to look for Palmer,” she said, hurrying away.
Paige laughed. “Guess we’re back down to a foursome.” Paige sexed up her voice. “Two guys, two girls—Mmmm—one of my favorite combinations.”
***
At the pool area, Palmer sat talking with one of the waitresses. He casually brought his left hand up to his face, causing light to reflect off his Rolex with deal-sealing intensity. If she didn’t know he had money, she sure as hell knew now. The light drew the waitress’s attention to Palmer’s expensive timepiece.
“The old adage is still true, you know. It’s not what you know, but who you know,” Palmer said with such flagrant pretension one would think he must have been formally schooled in it.
While he worked to secure his latest conquest, Lexa made her way to the pool area. Neurons inside her head were firing with the same speed and intensity as the sky bursts of a Fourth of July fireworks finale.
How can I cut the cord? It’s so…so thick?
Behind Lexa’s pretty face waged a fierce battle, one that would have no winners. Would accepting the senator’s job offer cost her her brother?
After strolling aimlessly amongst a sea of scantily clad strangers, Lexa spotted Palmer. When she started toward him, her smartphone chimed, alerting her to a text message. She took the phone out of her purse and checked the screen.
KIMBERLY: Sorry I’m running late. See you at dinner.
The same chef CK saw stood facing Lexa from across the pool. After casually taking in her surroundings, the woman was taken aback when she spotted the hooded chef facelessly staring at her. She started to look away, but for some unknown reason was drawn—no, compelled—to stare back at the foreboding figure standing across from her. The hooded chef was clutching an empty bag. He meticulously folded the bag, pocketed it, and disappeared into the crowd.
After regaining her composure, Lexa headed to where Palmer sat chatting with a waitress. She walked up behind him and tapped his head. “Let’s go,” she said, taking his arm. “We’re running late.”
“Okay, I’m coming.” Palmer glanced down at his Rolex. He took the waitress’s hand and projected his best alpha male aura. “Why don’t we meet later for cocktails? What time do you—” Before Palmer could finish his proposition, Lexa yanked him up by his arm and briskly led him away. “That was uncalled for,” he said petulantly.
“But necessary. Now move it,” Lexa responded. “You better not make us late.”
***
Lexa and Palmer joined Paige, Cassie, CK, and Bastian at the bar.
Bastian got up off his stool and offered it to Lexa. “Well maybe ‘Triple S’ won’t notice we’ve decreased to the Magnificent Six, you think?” Bastian flippantly asked.
“Save it, Sebastian,” Lexa said. “Kimber sent a text saying she’ll be here any minute.”
The event manager rushed up and motioned for Lexa and her friends to follow him back to their villa.
***
Cylindrical stand-up electric heaters warmed the cool November air of the private banquet on the beach. A full moon crested the horizon as Lexa, Paige, Palmer, and Bastian took their assigned seats at the lavish Thanksgiving table. CK helped Cassie find her chair, then sat down in his.
In the food preparation area, the head chef and two of his assistants approached one of the stock pots. He uncovered the pot and carefully lifted the turkey out of the boiling oil.
Terrence Simms, the senator’s frail and formally attired, red-headed right-hand man, entered the dining area. He straightened his tie and then hurried over to Lexa and the others. “Four, five, six,” he counted. “Well it’s good to see that almost all of you made it here tonight.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Simms, Kimber’s running a little late,” Lexa apologized.
Simms bent down close to Lexa and whispered, “Well she better show or it’s her ass.” Simms straightened up, adjusted his tie, then hurried to the head of the table.
Senator Spencer Storm, a handsome, charismatic man with enough JFK appeal to seize the lion’s share of the state’s women’s votes, arrived on scene. As the senator and his cliché duo of security agents made their way through the crowded banquet area, Simms snatched up a wireless microphone and rushed toward him. When he reached Storm he looked up at him gleefully, like a child in awe. The senator gave his assistant a simple nod. Simms eagerly returned the senator’s greeting and motioned to the event manager, who turned off the music and turned up the lights.
“Lexa,” Paige whispered, trying in vain to get her friend’s attention. “Lexa!” she whispered louder, loud enough to receive a scathing look from Simms.
The six members of the Mag Seven and the rest of those in attendance hushed and settled in their seats and Simms began his impromptu speech. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here tonight to celebrate a victory. One which all of you helped to bring about.” Applause rang out, then died down. “When Spencer Storm won the senatorial election two weeks ago, it wasn’t just his own personal victory, it was a victory for everyone in this state.” More applause. “So now, without further ado, I present your host, Senator Spencer Storm!”
“Lexa,” Paige said loudly enough to be heard by all those around her.
Lexa shushed her and turned back toward their arriving host.
Senator Storm and his entourage entered the dining area amidst applause from his guests and serving staff. Walking to the head of the table, he shook Simms’s hand, then winked at Lexa and the rest of the group. “Thank you, thank you for your applause. Now let me applaud you, my friends, for if it weren’t for the talented efforts of all of you here tonight I’d have no victory to celebrate.”
While everyone applauded, Paige regained Lexa’s attention and asked, “Where’s Kimber?”
Lexa shrugged.
In the food prep area, the head chef and his assistants carried the sizzling turkey over to the serving table and placed it on a platter.
Storm turned toward the Mag Seven and winked. “And now to give credit where it’s due”
The head chef and his assistants headed toward the other steaming stock pot.
“Our victory two weeks ago was brought about by a grassroots campaign that reached out to the hearts and minds of everyone in this state,” Storm went on. “Its message of positive change transcended gender, ethnic, and religious barriers…”
The head chef reached the pot and carefully removed its lid.
The assistants aided the head chef as he prepared to lift the turkey out of the boiling pot.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Magnificent Seven!” Lexa, Paige, CK, Cassie, Bastian, and Palmer stood and accepted a round of applause.
The head chef shrieked in horror, after which the pot tipped over and splattered him with boiling peanut oil.
The pain-ridden screaming interrupted the Mag Seven’s accolade and drew the attention of all to the food prep area.
The assistant chefs looked on in horror as their boss danced wildly around in spastic gyrations before dropping and writhing on the ground.
The two security agents whisked Storm away from the Thanksgiving banquet while the event manager pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911.
The six present members of the Mag Seven rushed to the preparation area and found the head chef curled up and twitching on the ground. When Lexa turned away from the awful sight, she saw the assistants motioning toward a spot on the beach. She looked down, then screamed and dropped to her knees. As Paige and CK rushed over to Lexa, Bastian’s eyes fell upon a sight that sent him into a momentary state of shock.
“Look!” he shouted, grabbing Palmer’s arm and pointing to Kimber’s severed, fried head sizzling on the sand.
CHAPTER SIX
A QUESTION OF STYLES
The Avalon sheriff's station’s main interrogation room had all the features one would expect to find: bare white walls, a large two-way mirror, and a metal table with two metal folding chairs.
Lexa sat restlessly at the table while two FBI agents observed her from different positions in the room.
