by RJ Blain
The people I sent to the hospital arrived in body bags.
I began with Terrance, checking through his cards and cash for anything of interest. I found two copies of my birth certificate, both marked with the Flandersmythe family seal and a sunburst seal, except the rays were serpent heads. After meeting Mr. Shiny Shoes, I had no doubts they were meant to depict black mambas. According to the paper, my father’s name was Rufus Dimitri Calens, and I’d never let him live it down.
Rufus was about as bad as Tulip, and if I found out he had anything to do with my name, he’d suffer for eternity. Taking Mr. Shiny Shoes’s wallet, I sifted through the cards until I located his driver’s license. Sure enough, I held the identification of one Rufus D. Calens, resident of South Dakota.
How sweet, hopping over the Minnesota border to see me wearing a hospital gown, daring to smugly inform me my ways of escape were blocked. He deserved a good sedation. Like Terrance, dear old dad had a copy of my birth certificate folded in his wallet. The five pictures caught me by surprise, though. One from when I’d been a baby, three had been taken upon discovering my mother had conquered another island, capturing my speechless fury, and the final one was of me arguing with my mother. Judging from the copy of her precious little handbook in my hand, it had taken been over Christmas.
A closer inspection of his wallet determined my father had three black credit cards, the type without a spending limit reserved for disgustingly wealthy people. Great. My mother had sold me for a dollar to a guy who didn’t need a single one of her pennies. A phone rang, and I fished out my father’s phone from his coat.
According to the display, it was one of his security people, Justin Brandywine.
Hello, opportunity. So nice of it to give me a call. Sliding my finger across the display, I answered, “Hello, Mr. Brandywine.”
Startled silence, then a barked demand, “Who is this?”
“Don’t be too concerned, Mr. Brandywine. I’m not holding your charge hostage or for ransom. He just needed knocked down a few pegs. I thought I’d answer his phone for him while he was taking a little nap. I suppose if it makes you feel better, I could hold him for ransom?”
The long-suffering sigh on the other end of the line was music to my ears. “I’d like to verify Mr. Calens’s safety before we continue.”
I grabbed Terrance’s phone and tested his old passcode, which still worked. “I should be scolding you for leaving him unattended. Really. You do him absolutely no good if you aren’t nearby.”
“Who says I’m not?”
“I do.” The pops from my dart gun were noisy enough anyone nearby the property would’ve heard them, although they were far softer than the concussive blast of gunfire. Anyway, I’d checked around the complex while sneaking in, and if he’d been on the block, I would’ve spotted him. “He ran away, didn’t he?”
My father’s security officer heaved another long-suffering sigh.
“I’ll text you a picture in a moment. Could you please give me a number to send it to?”
He did, and I chuckled when Justin’s name showed up in Terrance’s contacts. So much humiliation in so little time. How could a girl resist? To make it perfect, I moved my father until his head rested on Terrance’s chest. I took my time arranging his serpents, braiding them together. Just to be a bitch, I dabbed lipstick to the tips of their little noses. Only then did I snap a photograph of my sedated prizes.
“Sending a picture now.”
“From Terry’s number, I see.” There was a startled silence, then my father’s guard laughed long and hard. “To answer your question, yes, he ran away. I assure you, you wouldn’t have gotten away with that had I been on duty.”
Poor Mr. Brandywine. Had he been present, he would’ve been the first I had taken out, as much of a threat as the gorgon—if my father decided to petrify me. I probably deserved it. “Do you really want him back? If he ran away, he seems like trouble.”
Since my mother had sold me to my father, I thought selling my father back to his security detail was appropriate.
“That would be preferable. Otherwise, I’d have to rescue him.”
“Help a lady out here. If you had to rescue him, how humiliating would it be for him?”
“Very.”
“If I give you an address and leave the door unlocked, can you humiliate Terrance, too?”
“Arrangements could be made.”
“With pictures.”
“That seems probable.”
“I think this may be the start of a beautiful relationship, Mr. Brandywine. I’ll sell your charge to you for small fee, copies of all photographs, and future blackmail material.”
“Before I agree to anything, I would like to know who I’m speaking to.”
“According to the latest rumor, my mother sold me for a dollar. I’m very offended, as I’m worth far more than that.”
“Ah, I see. Everything becomes clear. Good evening, Your Highness. It’s a pleasure to finally be able to speak with you. I believe I have a better understanding of the situation now. Her Royal Majesty had called, informing us you had become indisposed.”
“I am definitely not indisposed. I escaped from the hospital at my earliest opportunity and found these two men at my apartment.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
“How much is he worth, anyway?”
“Should the Calens family agree to pay a ransom, you could probably get several million for your father without having to negotiate. If you’re a good negotiator, I suspect you could get more for him. There are other factors, of course.”
I cast a doubtful look in my father’s direction. “Is he really worth that much?”
“I’m afraid so, Your Highness.”
“You can rescue him from my apartment.” I gave my address and grumbled a few curses. “I’ll leave the key in a magnetic holder underneath the handrail. I’m taking some painkillers and going to bed. I expect breakfast and better painkillers as part of my fee.”
“I’ll see to it. Thank you for containing him. You’ll want to use a lightweight cloth, cheesecloth if you have it, to make hoods for his serpents. A blindfold would not go amiss, as I’m certain His Royal Majesty will be rather surly when he wakes up.”
“Noted.” I hung up and went to work, leaning the two men together and tying them up. To ensure they couldn’t escape, I wrapped their hands with linen, wrapped duct tape around the cloth, then bound their wrists together with rope. A nicer person would have unbraided the black mambas before tying little blindfolds over their equally tiny eyes. I blindfolded them both so Terrance could suffer a bit, too.
Once satisfied neither would be going anywhere without help, I tossed back some painkillers and hit the hay.
Chapter Four
The smell of cooking bacon lured me from sleep with some help from my landline. I fumbled for the wretched thing so I could fling it across the room. I found its cradle, but my phone was missing. After a few more rings, it quieted, and I heard my mother’s grumpy head of security in the living room.
Damn. Someone had woken him, and he was answering my phone. Since turnabout was fair play, I’d let it slide. The presence of bacon in my apartment probably had something to do with my willingness to forgive the merman for answering my phone. With a headache already brewing behind my eyes, I rolled out of bed, grumbled curses, and stepped into the hall and came nose to breasts with my mother.
Nothing soured my morning quite like making close acquaintances with my mother’s cleavage.
I took two steps back, the first to escape the cavernous depths of her breasts, and the second so I could tilt my head back and have half a hope of looking her in the eyes. “If you’re going to kill me, make it quick, but I’d prefer if you let me have breakfast first.”
My mother flicked her bright orange hair over her shoulder, revealing a darker red layer beneath, a reflection of her aquatic half, the red lion fish. When she prepared for battle, she braided her hair so it striped. Planting
her hands on her hips, she looked me over head to toe. “You’re in your pajamas.”
“My house, my rules, and my rules state I wear my pajamas whenever the fuck I want.”
“Language.”
“That was English, ahou.”
“Tulip,” she warned.
“That little gem was Japanese.” I smiled my sweetest smile. Compared to my mother, who managed to look regal, sophisticated, and beautiful no matter the terrain, I was a newly hatched duck to her peacock. “When did you get here?”
“I came with Mr. Brandywine. Was there any reason you left Terrance tied up in your living room?”
“There is, actually. It’s the same reason I left my other guest tied up in my living room.” Sliding past my mother, I headed for the kitchen, pausing at the end of the hallway near the living room. Terrance and my father sat on the couch, and both looked rather queasy. The stranger in the kitchen caught my attention, and I whistled, looking him over.
I needed to tip his tailor, because those slacks did amazing things for his ass. Mr. Dreamy had been nice, but I wanted to jump the pretty, pretty dark-haired man in front of my stove. “Hey, Mother?”
“I don’t want to know.” Strolling into the living room, my mother sank onto my armchair with her usual grace, and from all appearances, she showed no sign of noticing I’d picked it up from a flea market for fifty bucks. It had taken me a month to get all the stains out, but I liked how comfortable it was.
“North America is technically an island, right?”
“A rather large one, I suppose.”
“If you feel any urges to conquer landmasses, consider America. They sure do grow pretty men here.”
“I just conquered an island, so I don’t feel any urges to take over America at the moment.”
“Mother, you didn’t.” Despite my protest, I knew she had. Damn it. I turned to her, leaned against the wall, and crossed my arms over my chest. “Which island this time?”
“Madagascar.”
“You conquered Madagascar.”
“I was bored.”
So many of my queen mother’s life choices began with that little three-word statement. Sighing, I shook my head, returned to my kitchen, and rummaged through my fridge for a soda. If I made the assumption the pretty man cooking bacon was my father’s bodyguard, he would also provide an escape from my pounding head. “You promised me painkillers.”
Without looking away from his work, he dipped his hand into his pocket and held out an orange prescription pill bottle. “Take one.”
I snatched it, waged a brief but fierce battle with the cap, and fished out a tiny white pill. I washed it down with soda and returned to the living room. “What are you doing here, Mom?”
“It’s traditional.”
“What’s traditional? Is visiting a foreign nation to get nookie from a gorgon traditional? I’m pretty sure you’re just here for the nookie with a gorgon.” I cocked an eyebrow and took another sip of my drink. “As far as gorgons go, I guess he’s not bad. Nice black mambas. Do you milk them for their venom? If not, you should.”
My father’s snakes rose from his shoulders and hissed at me.
“Tulip.”
“Yes, Mother?”
“I didn’t come to America to get nookie.”
“Why the hell not? Have you looked at the offerings? America’s got lollipops and hot men. Come for the nookie, visit the daughter post coitus. If you’re not going to bang His Royal Majesty, at least pick someone and procure a proper heir. It’s for the sake of the kingdom. Take a look at me. The only thing I’m fit to rule is my wardrobe, and I’m pretty sure my clothes want to wage a civil war and get the hell out of the union. If you really think I’m going scuba diving to monitor the mer, you’re off your rocker, woman. And anyway, you sold me for a dollar, so I’m off the hook.”
“You could build a lovely castle on that island I just conquered for you. Give yourself a throne and make the petitioners come to shore for your wisdom. Also, you’re not off the hook. You better hope I live a damned long time, little girl. The start of your punishment for working as a mail courier again is remaining my heir. Madagascar, starting in the near future, is your responsibility.”
Terrance leaned forward, his face cradled in his hands. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
I helpfully pointed at the trashcan beside him. “There’s a can right beside you, Terrance. Try not to upchuck on my carpet. It’s a bitch to clean. Drink some water and treat it like a hangover. You’ll be fine in a few hours.” I turned my attention to my father. “Same applies to you. I still like the shoes. Nice oxfords, good polish. Anyway, you’re dehydrated, not dying. You should be ashamed of yourselves, letting a dainty little girl like me get the jump on you. You deserved it. First, you let me escape from the hospital, then you let me shoot you in the back. Mother, please consider this my application for independence. Go spawn a proper heir and inflict that awful handbook on them.”
“Where did I go wrong with you?” my mother complained.
“You gave me an easy-to-follow guide with directions. Shouldn’t you be overseeing Madagascar right now?”
“I conquered it for you. I’d much prefer to conquer England, but the queen asked me not to. She was pretty polite about it. She sent me a lovely pearl necklace as a gift. Pink pearls. You know how much I like good pink pearls.”
A knock at my door drew a sigh out of me, and I headed over, jerking it open. “What?”
Mr. Dreamy stared at me, his eyebrows rising. “Miss Flandersmythe.” He showed me his badge. “I need a few minutes of your time.”
His old man partner was with him, and I waved at him. “Hey, Grandpa. How’s it hanging?”
“I’m doing fine, Miss Flandersmythe. How are you feeling?”
“You tell me. My apartment has been taken over by several invasive species. Come on in. Don’t mind the clutter.” I backed away from the door and let the two cops figure the rest out from there. Returning to the kitchen, I caught my father’s delicious bodyguard placing bacon on a paper towel. I snatched a sizzling piece, ignored the burn, and chomped on it.
Heaven truly was a piece of bacon. “I’m taking you home with me,” I informed my newly elected chef, grabbing a second piece. “I don’t even care what species you are. Your job, from this day forward, is to make me bacon every morning.”
“No,” my mother, my father, and Terrance snapped.
“Why the hell not?” I shoved the second piece of bacon into my mouth, grabbed two more pieces, and wandered back into the living room. “We’re talking about bacon here.”
My father’s snakes hissed at me, and breaking off a piece of bacon, I headed over, leaned over the coffee table, and jammed a piece into the largest one’s mouth while my father blinked and stared at me with a rather stunned expression. “Bacon,” I informed it.
Twelve more pieces of bacon later, and I suspected I ruled over my father’s serpents more than he did. Unfortunately, it took all of my bacon to feed the damned things, and I licked my fingers, muttering curses I hadn’t gotten enough extra for me, too.
“Miss Flandersmythe, about yesterday,” Mr. Dreamy began.
I flashed the American my best smile. “What about it? I was on my usual route handling deliveries, although I’d started on the backend first to switch things up a bit—a lot of heavy packages yesterday.”
“Did you see anything or anyone suspicious?”
I shook my head and regretted it. Why did headaches have to throb so bloody much? “It was a run of the mill day for me, sir. I didn’t notice his body until I was near his door.”
“And the bomb?”
“I tossed his package when I found him. I think it landed behind me. That was when it exploded. I didn’t see anyone around the house, didn’t see anyone who wasn’t supposed to be there. Nothing unusual at all.”
“What time did you reach the victim’s house?”
I thought about it. In order to get the timing just right, I�
�d planned for thirty minutes with him—a lot less time than I liked for a job like his. The gruesome murder of a serial killing rapist deserved hours. If I could’ve, I would’ve spent days torturing Matthew Henders before finishing him off. “I guess around noon? I was doing my route backwards, and I don’t normally pay a lot of attention to the time. Call it five after, and that’d be pretty close.”
By ‘pretty close’ I actually meant ‘exactly.’
A good murder needed to be precisely timed. I’d even planned a rather embarrassing claim of needing to use the bathroom to get into his house. Of course, I’d expected—no, planned on—him to try to take me as a victim, as I fit his profile. He’d targeted a lot of people, but he liked the ones with haughty expressions—the eternal snob, no matter their actual personality. From my research, he’d been bullied as a child and wanted revenge on everyone who resembled those who’d tormented him in his youth.
“Have you ever spoken to him before?”
“Mr. Henders? Sure. He usually gets a package or two every week requiring signature. Seemed like a nice enough fellow.”
“Were you aware he has a criminal record?”
I feigned my best wide-eyed interest. “I’m just the delivery girl. Why would I care if he had a criminal record? He never left me waiting long when I knocked, signed without a fuss, and shoveled his sidewalk in the winter. That made him one of the nicer customers.”
The cops exchanged looks, and Mr. Dreamy frowned before his gaze returned to me. “Why did you leave the hospital?”
“You’re joking, right? Have you ever had hospital food? Awful. They’ll mail the papers, and since I made my break, they aren’t even responsible for me. Trust me when I say that’s a good thing.” I took another sip of my soda. “I’ll tell you one thing, I definitely wasn’t expecting to find a body on my route yesterday.”
