Brent, outdone, looked at Jenay. He knew, when his father was this high strung, only Jenay could talk him down. Tears began to drop from Jenay’s eyes as she removed her arms from Carly, and stood in front of her husband.
That was the worse pain of it all for Charles. The fact that he might never see Jenay again. Or Bonita. Or the rest of his children. The fact that Jenay, by virtue of loving him so much, would be imprisoned too.
Jenay placed her hands on either side of his handsome face, and they touched forehead to forehead. She was in pain too, but she was not going to let it overtake her. They had to be practical. They had to see this for what it was. She stared into her husband’s eyes. “I know you, Charlie. And you’re a good man. You’re the best father our children could have ever hoped for. But you cannot take the blame for this. None of us can bear this. Especially not Carly. And not you either.”
Brent was relieved that Jenay was there. She was first and last a level head in their family.
“Then what is the answer, Jenay?” Charles asked her. She was his best counselor. “What are we going to do? If anybody in this room takes the blame, it has to be me. I protect my family.” Emotion welled up inside of Charles as his voice broke. “Carly’s my baby. From the moment that social worker said we could take her and Ashley with us, she’s been my baby. She killed him in self-defense, but they won’t believe her. Not with this many stab wounds.” He looked at Ethan’s body. Then he looked at Jenay. “What are we going to do?”
Jenay pulled the big man into her small arms. She didn’t know what to do either.
But Brent, the lawman, did. “We’ve got to move the body,” he said.
Charles and Jenay stopped embracing and looked at him. The idea of straight-lace Brent suggesting something illegal on its face astounded them. But what he was suggesting astounded Charles more. “Move the body?” he asked with a frown on his face. “What are you talking about move the body?”
“We’ve got to get this body to Jericho,” Brent explained. “I’m chief of police there, and my wife is the District Attorney. Jenay is right. We can have some control there. We don’t have shit here.”
“If Cruikshank wins that election,” Charles said, “you won’t have shit there either.”
“They’re trying to get rid of us,” Brent admitted. “And if Cruikshank wins, they will get rid of us. But not before we refuse to prosecute you. Not before we declare it a case of self-defense and refuse to press charges.”
Charles stared at his son. It was the first sign of hope they had. And right now, they were all grappling at straws. But the logistics of the thing! “How the hell are we going to move a body?” Charles asked, giving voice to his skepticism. “We don’t know anything about moving a body.”
Then Jenay’s look suddenly changed. “But Mick does,” she said.
Charles and Brent, both taken aback, looked at her.
She looked at Charles. “Mick does,” she said again, with even more conviction, as if she was just beginning to believe it herself.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mick Sinatra was in bed, on his back, fucking his wife. He was finally back home after an unproductive business trip that lasted a week longer than he had planned, and he missed his family terribly. Especially Rosalind. And he was bound and determined to show her just how much. They made love earlier, when he first hit town. But that was three hours ago. He wanted some again.
“Rosalind,” he kept saying as he held her naked body tightly in his arms and pumped his ass off. She was on top, their bodies were pouring with sweat from the aggressiveness of their lovemaking, and Mick began rubbing his hands down her back and ass as the feelings intensified.
Rosalind could feel it too. She could feel his cock pound into her with such force and thickness that she felt as if her entire insides were inflamed. She was having orgasm after orgasm with every glide he made. She was lying on top of him, holding him as tightly as he was holding her, and all she could do was bite her lower lip, close her eyes, and enjoy the pound her man was putting on her.
When Mick’s cell phone began ringing, they both were inclined to ignore it. Mick was on the verge of cumming, and Rosalind was already there. They would have ignored it had it not been for the distinctiveness of the ring. Mick designed that ring for only two people in this world: Rosalind, his beautiful African-American wife, and his big brother Charles.
He could not ignore Charles.
But that didn’t mean he liked it. “Shit!” he said angrily when he knew he had to answer the call. But he still couldn’t pull away from Roz. Her pussy had that magical flavor to him, and he was too hungry for it. He answered the phone, still pounding her. “What?” he asked, unable to shield his displeasure.
“Sorry to disturb you, Mick,” Charles said over the phone, “but there’s trouble.”
Mick’s strokes slowed. Rosalind was still too consumed in her own orgasms to notice right away. But Mick knew his brother. He did not toss words around for dramatic effect. If he said there was trouble, it was major. “What kind of trouble?” Mick asked.
“A man is dead,” Charles said. “That kind of trouble.”
Mick stopped stroking Rosalind so abruptly that she couldn’t help but notice this time. She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him.
“Who’s involved?” Mick asked. “You?”
“I wish it was me. God knows I do.”
“Who?” Mick asked again.
“My baby,” Charles said. “Carly.”
Mick quickly lifted up and sat on the side of the bed. He continued to hold Rosalind’s body in his arms as he lifted her with him. He remained inside of her. “Carly?” he asked, a look of concern blanketing his attractive face. He knew what that young lady meant to his brother. He knew all about the pedestal Charles put her on. “Carly killed a man?”
When Rosalind heard those words, she was floored too. “What?” she asked.
“Yes,” Charles said into the phone, and Mick could hear the anguish in his voice. “I hate to say it with everything within me. But yes. Carly killed a man.”
Mick thought for a moment. Rosalind was sitting straddle-style on top of him, with her face to his face. He had one hand cupping her bare ass. Another hand holding his cellphone. He repositioned her weight, as he contemplated the implications for his young niece. “Has she been arrested?” he finally asked his brother.
“No,” Charles responded. “And she won’t be. I’ll see to that. But we’ve got to get the body to Jericho, Mick.”
Mick knew that was a cockamamie idea, but it wasn’t the time nor the place. “Where are you?” he asked. “Where’s the body?”
“It’s here,” Charles said. “At Carly’s house in Boston.”
“Who’s there with you and Car?”
“Jenay and Brent.”
“Don’t involve anybody else,” Mick said. “I’m on my way.”
When the call ended, Mick attempted to pull out of Rosalind, but he couldn’t. He began sliding her along his lap, moving her along his still-swollen shaft, until he came. He sputtered it out, and clenched, as he came. Then he leaned against her. “I’ve got to leave town,” he said.
“I know. But you just got back.”
He was exhausted. No doubt about that. But duty called. He slid out of her and stood up. He placed her back on their bed, kissed her on the lips, and then headed toward their bathroom.
Rosalind laid back down on the pillow his head had just left, smelling his cologne scent as she did, and watched his naked form retreat from her. “Where is they now?” she asked. “Jericho?”
“Boston,” Mick responded, as he lifted the toilet seat and began peeing. “At Carly’s house.”
“Why did she do it?” she asked. “Did Big Daddy say?”
Mick leaned his head back and closed his eyes, as he shook off the last of his urine stream. “No,” he said, his voice sounding anguished too. “But I will be finding out.”
The drive from Philadelphia,
where Mick lived, to Boston, where the incident occurred, generally took five-and-a-half hours. But Mick didn’t drive, he flew on his private jet, and arrived in town in about an hour.
The vehicle waiting for him at the airstrip, a black SUV loaded with his Boston crew, drove casually to Carly’s house. They had no clue why they were called in the middle of the night, and they loved their own lives too much to ask why. But they knew whatever the mission involved, it was big. Mick the Tick, their boss, didn’t come himself on assignment unless it was too serious for them to handle alone, or too personal for them to execute.
And when the SUV drove onto the driveway of a lakefront home and stopped behind a Jaguar, Mick, seated in the front seat beside the driver, opened the door. “Wait here,” he ordered his men, got out, and headed toward the house entrance. The door was opened from inside, and Mick, in black jeans, black boots and gloves, and a black bomber jacket, walked in.
His men looked at each other, wondering what the hell was going on, but they dared not speak about it. Their loyalty wasn’t to each other, but to Mick, and to stay on his generous payroll they knew they had to keep it that way. They kept it that way.
Mick walked in as Charles opened the door. When the door was closed, Mick could see the strain on Charles’s face. He actually had an urge to pull his big brother into his arms and comfort him. But neither he nor Charles ever learned how to show affection toward each other. Their background was too harsh and their dysfunctional parents were too cruel. They loved each other dearly, and was totally devoted to each other. But it always went without saying.
Charles began walking away. “He’s in the kitchen,” he said.
Mick followed his brother slowly, looking around at the clean, perfectly neat home. White walls. White furniture. White carpet. Too clean and neat, if you asked Mick. As if it wasn’t somebody’s home, but somebody’s showcase. As if the person who lived here wasn’t actually living here, but was putting on a show for people. That was the backstory. In situations like these, he always kept one in mind. But when they made their way into the kitchen, he saw the full story.
Beautiful Carly Sinatra was dressed now and sitting in a chair at her kitchen table, a glass of wine in front of her. Jenay had moved a chair next to her, and was seated beside her. Brent was seated at the table too, across from his stepmother and adopted sister, but rose to his feet when his uncle walked into the room. He was amazed that he could get to Boston so quickly. But he also knew that everybody didn’t own a private jet like his uncle owned. Everybody wasn’t able.
“Hello, sir,” he said to Mick when he walked in. He wanted to give him a hug. He really loved his uncle, and had a kind of boyish enchantment with his larger-than-life persona. But he knew Mick was not that kind of man. Their relationship wasn’t given to closeness or emotion, but to an almost super-formal respect.
Mick nodded in Brent’s direction, but turned his attention, not to Carly, but to Jenay. He could see in her eyes the toll this was taking on her because he knew the signs. He saw it in his own wife often enough. “Hello, babe,” he said to Jenay, leaned down, and actually hugged her.
Brent looked at his father, amazed by such a display of affection coming from a man like Mick. But Charles wasn’t surprised. There was something about Jenay that endeared her to people. Mick was no exception.
Mick then took a look at the dead body. He walked over to the area, knelt down, and studied the wounds as if he was a medical examiner at a crime scene. Charles stood behind Jenay’s chair and placed one hand on her shoulder and one hand on Carly’s, as Mick did his inspection. It took longer than he thought it would. It was a clear-cut case as far as Charles was concerned. Besides, the manner of death wasn’t the issue. Moving that body was. And the sooner, Charles felt, the better.
Mick finally stood up, stared down at the body a little longer still, and then walked over to the table. His eyes were riveted on Carly. “What happened?” he asked her.
“He tried,” Brent started, but Charles held up a hand. He knew Mick. Mick wanted to hear it from the horse’s mouth.
Carly sipped from her glass, as if to summon the courage to speak, and then spoke. “He came over to thank me,” she said.
“Thank you for what?” Mick asked, his eyes intense as he stared at her.
“For putting together a PR offensive that allowed him to get away with raping a thirteen-year-old girl.”
Charles, Jenay, and Brent all looked at her. Say what now? That didn’t sound like something their Carly would be a party to.
But Mick didn’t seem surprised at all. “How did a thank you turn to this?”
“I told him to leave,” Carly said. “I didn’t want to have anything to do with him. But he wouldn’t. When I went to phone the police, he knocked the phone out of my hand, and then tried to rape me.”
“Unsuccessfully?” Mick asked.
Carly looked up at her uncle. “Yes. Of course.” But that look she saw in his eyes was too all-knowing for her comfort level. As if he could see right through her. She quickly looked away from him.
Mick, however, continued to stare at her. “Did anybody know he was coming to visit you?”
“No,” Carly said. “At least he implied no one did. He claimed he was driving around and decided to drop by.”
“He was probably on the prowl for his next victim,” Jenay said, “and tried to make you his next one.”
“Yes,” Mick said, still staring at Carly. “More likely. Where is his car?”
“Across the street,” Brent said.
“My men will get rid of it,” Mick said, and then silence ensued.
Brent knew they had major work to do, and waited for his uncle to get the ball rolling. When he didn’t do any such thing, he decided to do so himself. “We need to move the body,” he said. “Once we get it to Jericho, we can have better control over the circumstances.”
Mick looked at him. “How is that?”
“We talked about it,” Brent said. “We’ve decided to put the body in one of the rooms at Dad’s hotel. Dad and Carly will be there when Dad phone the police. Carly can claim the guy followed her to Jericho, like some stalker or somebody, she resisted his advances, and Dad walked in on him trying to rape her. We know there will be questions about the fact that his death was hours earlier, but Dad can claim he blacked out or something. He was that enraged. It won’t hold water here in Boston. But we can make sure it will in Jericho. We can have control over the narrative in Jericho.”
Mick looked at him. “Control?” he asked. “With a convoluted story like the one you just told me? With my brother’s life on the line?” Mick shook his head. “No.”
Charles was already studying his brother. “What do you suggest we do?” he asked.
“You and your family get on my plane and get your asses back to Jericho. Carly will remain in town, go to work as she normally does, and behave as shocked as everybody else when she hears the news that Campbell is missing. After the furor dies down, she will put in her two weeks’ notice, citing family issues, and return to Jericho.”
“But she doesn’t want to stay here,” Brent said. “It’ll remind her of this night every time she stepped into this house.”
“She won’t see a single hair that will remind her of this night,” Mick said. “My men will scrub it clean.”
Brent frowned. “I’m not talking about any physical reminder. I’m talking about the emotional toll it will take on her.”
Mick looked at Carly. “She will have to handle it,” he said. “That’s what happens when you stab somebody twenty-plus times. You have to handle the emotions.”
Carly swallowed hard at the thought of reliving this night over and over and over again. She already had too many memories. Jenay pulled her closer. Brent looked at his father. “Couldn’t Carly come back to Jericho with us now, Dad?” he asked.
“She could,” Charles said. “But suspicion would immediately fall to her if she were to abandon her job and leave town jus
t as Ethan Campbell is reported missing. Mick is right. She has to stay, at least until the noise of his disappearance dies down.”
“I’ll stay here with her,” Jenay said.
“No, you will not,” Charles said firmly. “I’ll not have you reliving this horror.”
“But we can’t leave her here alone.”
“She won’t be alone,” Charles said. “I’ll stay with her.”
Both Brent and Jenay were shocked. Mick was too, but for a very different reason. He couldn’t begin to understand a man who would leave his business for what could amount to an entire month to babysit his daughter.
Even Jenay understood the impracticality of it. “All I’m responsible for is the Inn, Charlie. You’re responsible for all of it. All of your businesses and properties.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Brent said. “It can’t be done, Dad. How in the world are you going to stay away from Jericho for an entire month?”
“I’ll deal with Jericho when I get back to Jericho. Right now my child needs me. I’m not letting Jenay deal with this, or you either, Brent. I’m staying with her. I’m taking care of her. I’ll help her deal with it better than either one of you can. Because she can’t just leave town. She has to stay here. I’m staying with her.”
Brent exhaled. “How do you feel about that, Car? You’re okay with staying here for what could end up being another month?”
Everybody looked at Carly. She thought about it. “There’s no other way,” she said. “Dad’s right. They might believe me if I tell them what really happened. But they might not. If they don’t, I’ll go to prison for the rest of my life.” She looked at her big brother, a man she also loved and respected. “What else can I do?”
Charles squeezed her shoulder. And looked at Mick. “You told us what we need to do. But what are we going to do about this body?”
Mick looked Charles dead in the eye. “I’ll get rid of it,” he said.
Carly looked at Jenay. But Jenay, and Brent, were staring at Charles. They took their cues from him.
Big Daddy Sinatra: Carly's Cry Page 5
