He threw a towel around his hips and grabbed a hammer from his tool bag, raced outside, intent on scaring the weirdo away. It worked, yet before heading back inside, he noticed a large manila envelope resting in the truck bed.
Reaching his truck, he opened the door and threw the hammer on the passenger seat. It landed with a soft thump, right on top of the overstuffed envelope he planned on opening later when at home.
He had things to do. One Chapman girl was down, and Kip had the strangest niggling in the back of his mind the other might not be too difficult to coax out of her clothes. Nothing was more of an aphrodisiac to a damsel in distress than a mighty warrior swooping to rescue her from the big, bad villain. Taking twins! Every man’s wet dream. A Dear Penthouse moment for sure.
Jogging across the parking lot, Kip marveled at the funny way the universe worked. Had he not arrived at the perfect time, Sam might have been seriously injured—or worse. For a split second, he wondered what Sam did to the man to set him off.
Opening the back door, he noticed Suzy and her mother huddled together in the corner, whispering. Both spotted him at the same time yet only Suzy smiled. The smoldering, sexy stare made his stomach flip.
“Hold the door for an old woman?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Kip held the door as Sam’s grandmother stepped outside. He noticed she seemed a bit unsteady on her feet while walking to the table with the ashtray.
“Thank you. Lord, I need a few puffs.” Caroline extracted a slender cigar from her purse. “Oh, where’s my damned lighter?”
“Got ya covered, ma’am.” Kip extended his arm, flicking the lighter. The flame made the woman look spooky.
“Mercy, the air is rather chilly! Go inside and have you a nice sip of something strong enough to warm your bones. I’ll be in directly.”
Returning the grin, Kip shut the door, never noticing the woman in the shadows.
She watched, tears streaming down cold cheeks while staring up at the second floor.
Kip Hale didn’t have a clue the night’s events would haunt him for the rest of his life.
ENJOYING THE PEACE and quiet, grateful to escape Ethel’s cackles which grew louder with each glass of wine, Caroline smiled. She was proud of Samantha for a variety of reasons. Knowing she saved a piece of Garland County’s history from being torn down was yet another feather of pride in a full quill. The Halstead Home never looked better, even when Caroline was a child. Of course, the times she’d been inside before were to visit Dr. Halstead when she was ill, so not a fair comparison. Dr. Halstead gave her the willies. His short, rotund stature, beady eyes, and smelly breath reminded her of the troll under the bridge from Three Billy Goats Gruff. She was in her early forties when the old doctor passed away, alone and practically destitute. Rumors swirled for years about the man performing strange experiments in the basement beneath the home.
Caroline knew from firsthand experience the doctor didn’t always conduct an above-board practice.
No one believed the whisperings until Dr. Halstead’s wife and three children disappeared, nor did anyone buy the concocted story he gave to the police about his wife taking the children and sneaking away in the middle of the night to Chicago, supposedly to reconnect with an old high school flame. Even when the police searched the home from top to bottom, finding no evidence of a crime or bodies stashed away, the damage was done. Patients sought out other physicians. Caroline imagined the old man died of a broken heart from loneliness. She couldn’t fathom what her life would be like without her family—even Charmee.
When the doctor’s youngest son reappeared to claim ownership of the house years later, the damage to Dr. Halstead’s reputation stuck. Whatever happened between the doctor and his wife was ugly enough that the three children let the residence sit and slowly rot, doing nothing for the old place except pay the yearly real estate taxes.
A twinge of sadness made her sigh. For some reason, Big Sam had a soft spot for the old place. He considered buying it a few times yet Charmee talked him out of the purchase. Caroline wished he was here, seeing the treasures of his life succeed and the old place restored to her former glory. Big Sam died too young. It was a crime against nature for a parent to be forced to bury a child. The day Charmee came by and broke the terrible news, Caroline thought her heart would explode. Her baby boy was supposed to outlive her, enjoy playing with his precious grandchildren; revel in pride at his son-in-law’s craftsmanship and direction he led the company. Plus, she missed her only child more than words could express.
“Celebrating your victory, I see.”
The hairs on Caroline’s arms and neck popped up. Though it had been years since she heard the voice, she recognized it. Turning in the seat, she watched the woman step out of the shadows as she lit a cigarette. The bright light of the flame revealed her haggard face. A twinge of guilt wound around Caroline’s heart.
“Yes, I am, because I have every right to. I thought you received twenty years for your crime?”
“I did. I was a model prisoner and made parole several months ago.”
Caroline chuckled. “Congratulations. If you’re here to beg for more money, you wasted your time. I’m not about to provide more so you can waste it by sniffing it up your nose or injecting into your arm.”
The woman stopped before reaching the deck’s railing, inches away from the interior lights streaming through the windows. “I’m clean and sober now, Caroline. Sobriety is one of the requirements to live in the halfway house. I had opportunities to continue to use while in prison, yet I refrained.”
“I’m afraid a pat on the back is all you’ll get from me, Maria. If you want a sobriety chip, look elsewhere.”
“You missed quite the show earlier. The tainted sap from your family tree seeped down the roots to the next generation. Samantha’s in a pickle of her own. Like father like daughter.”
Caroline’s mouth went dry. “Granted your freedom less than six months and already turned into a stalker. Tsk, tsk, dear. That kind of behavior might land you back in the slammer.”
“You should have notified me about his passing, Caroline. We have rights.”
Caroline maintained her composure despite the rapid pace of her heartbeat. “True, yet whose fault is it you were incarcerated and unable to read the probate notice? I didn’t turn you into a criminal or put you behind bars. Your actions did.”
“You’re still riding the high horse after all these years. Some things will never change.”
“Stop the dramatics, Maria. Get your head out of the past because there is nothing we can do to change things. You should be celebrating too. Your body’s out of a physical prison, so perhaps the time is right to release your mind from the mental one? Stop dwelling on past…”
“Don’t, Caroline. Don’t you dare finish that blasphemous sentence. This place holds too many memories, too many secrets. It should have been left to rot away.”
“Perhaps, but there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“How can you stand the irony of Samantha owning this place, or even being in it for that matter?”
Taking several puffs, Caroline forced the cobwebs from her wine-soaked brain. “Leave before I forget my gentile upbringing and say or do something I might regret later.”
“Life is full of regrets and pain, Caroline. Your dirty chickens are coming home to roost, and peck your eyes out for your sins.”
Standing, Caroline snuffed out the cigar. “Maybe. What you seem to forget is the fowls in your yard are just as filthy. We came to an agreement years ago. It’s too late to alter it.”
“It’s never too late for reckonings, Caroline. Never.”
Before Caroline could respond, she heard the crunch of leaves as Maria disappeared into the darkness. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, praying the interaction was a figment of her imagination, or an encounter with the ghosts of her past.
“I’m too old for this shit.” Caroline opened the door. “Too old to keep these damned secrets.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Wednesday, November 23, 2016
“WHEN’S DAD GETTING here?”
Kathy jumped, bumping the edge of the mirror on the counter. White powder fluttered down onto the dirty linoleum. She controlled the urge to yell at him through the bathroom door. “Any minute, honey. Are you all packed and ready?”
“Yes.”
Glancing at the toothbrush holder on the edge of the sink, Kathy sighed. “You forgot your toothbrush, which means you probably forgot other things. Go through the bag one more time. I’ll be right out to help you.”
“But Mom!”
Unwilling to let the expensive coke go to waste, Kathy dropped to the floor, straw at the ready. “Grayson, stop whining. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Kathy waited until Grayson’s foot stomps ended. She heard him rummaging around in his room, so she snorted.
Leaning against the bathroom wall, she closed her eyes as the rush took over. She felt guilty for getting high when Grayson was in the house.
“Not my fault. This is all on you, Kip.”
He never showed up the day before to pick up their son. She tried calling him several times, yet he never answered. When she tried an hour ago, it went straight to voicemail, which meant the phone was dead, he was avoiding her calls, or out on another bender.
Either way, she didn’t care. She had been the one forced to endure Grayson’s whining and crying all night, not Kip. The poor kid had been so upset, worried his father had been in an accident or worse, Kathy couldn’t bring herself to leave him with the sitter and go to the bar, which made her furious. November and December were the best two months of the year for tips. Lonely men came into the club, drank shots in pathetic attempts to erase their sorrows while tossing cash as though confetti at the strippers. She hated missing out on the extra money.
Kat’s Toys was a smaller club compared to many of the others on Beale Street. The best part was she owned it. After the former owner, Ron Kincaid, died, his last will and testament was found by the police, locked inside the middle drawer in his office. He had no children, no ex-wives, no real friends, so he left his earthly possessions to charity except for the club, The Pussy-Purr Parade.
He left the business to his “favorite dancer Shannon Simpson, real name Kathleen Amanda Hale, who’s been a loyal and honest employee from the moment I hired her.”
What no one knew was only minutes before he overdosed in the dank office from a deadly speedball, courtesy of Kathy mixing heroin into his stash of cocaine when he was in the bathroom, Kathy forced Ron to write his last wishes on paper. It was quite easy since one hand held his balls and the other a gun locked and loaded, the barrel inches from his disgusting junk. She even had him backdate it over a year prior. In exchange for his life and the promise she, or any of the other girls he employed, would never have to get on their knees again to keep their jobs.
The memory of the terror behind his eyes and sweat pouring from his pores while she held the flaccid, small piece of skin made her grin wide. Kip, and the police, were clueless as to the truth. When the detective working the scene came to their apartment, informing her of Ron’s passing and asking standard questions, Kathy gave the performance of a lifetime, playing the shocked yet grateful employee. She even forced a few tears for “poor Ron—he was a fair boss.”
After the police left, Kip beamed like a proud father. “See, Kath? All the hard work you put in paid off! Now you don’t have to dance anymore! You’ll be a legitimate business owner, like me.”
It took every ounce of self-control to keep from punching Kip in the nuts. He had no idea how “hard” the work had been.
Once the club was hers, she changed the name. Kathy made sure to hire the hottest girls in town. It was an easy task since she was female. She took care of the girls, let them keep most of their earnings, and didn’t insist they suck her off or give private performances during their job interviews or while working.
Her club wasn’t a front for prostitution or live sex shows like it had been under Ron’s ownership. She made her money from selling overpriced watered-down liquor, and cigarettes and cigars, plus dancing every Friday and Saturday night at 2:00 a.m. The patrons were drunk enough to enjoy her seductive show yet still had plenty of cash to throw on stage.
“Mom! I can’t find my Gameboy and Dad’s here!”
Opening her eyes, Kathy felt a sense of relief hit her square in the gut. Though unwilling to admit it out loud, she worried all night something happened to Kip. A twinge of jealousy slithered around inside her stomach like a coiled snake. She still had friends in Hot Springs, who kept her up to date on his whereabouts and habits after their marriage fell apart and he moved back to Arkansas. Between her cocaine habit and his fondness for bourbon, their marriage broke. She heard through her contacts he was working with Reed Mason, who was married to Suzy Chapman, and working on restoring the Halstead Home, which Sam Chapman bought.
The knowledge made her furious. It was bad enough their marriage fell apart and she kicked him out, leaving her to raise their son alone. But for Kip to work for and alongside the two women he knew she hated more than any others in the world?
No forgiveness.
Period.
The betrayal and Kip’s not showing up to get Grayson spurred her to finish filling out the divorce papers she printed from the internet the night before. Once their son stopped crying and went to sleep, Kathy’s mind was made up.
Looking online didn’t help her mindset either. It brought back memories she didn’t want to revisit. When she read the article in the Sentinel Record the day before, she almost threw her tablet across the room. The article about Sam Chapman’s new firm, how she ‘saved a piece of history before it disappeared” was accompanied by several pictures. Seeing the two twins grinning from ear to ear flanked by mother and grandmother, each dressed in outfits and accessories Kathy could never afford to buy, looking like they were in their early 20’s rather than pushing hard on 40’s door, made her livid.
They were living the life she should have lived. A life they stole out from under Kathy’s feet. Suzy Chapman took Kathy’s rightful place as head cheerleader because of some stupid prank in seventh grade. She tried out for the squad again all the way until their senior year but was blackballed. Ostracized by people unworthy to lick her boots much less shine them. Those were the words her step-father said the day she came home sobbing after getting suspended and kicked off the squad.
Kathy refused to let memories of what else the lowlife scum did and said afterwards. She wouldn’t waste a good high by crying and puking in the bathroom at the atrocities endured at the hands of her step-father.
She was the one with a hot body and face! Men tripped over their own feet sometimes when walking down the street ogling her, yet she lived in a small, two-bedroom apartment. The Chapman sluts lived lives of luxury and ease. They were born into wealth with life handed to them on a silver platter. Neither one had any idea what it was like to claw and scrape by, wondering if there was enough money to keep the lights on, food on the table, or pay for a visit to the doctor when sick. And neither woman ever took off their clothes off under hot lights while faceless, disgusting men gawked at them as though starving, drooling beasts staring at a fresh kill.
Grabbing a tissue, Kathy wiped her nose before cleaning the mirror and floor. Catching a glimpse of her reflection, she grimaced. Dark circles and a fresh batch of grays around her temples made her cringe. She looked every bit her age and more. Working the night shift and years of snorting coke to stay awake had taken its toll. If she had money like the Chapman twins, she would go straight to the nearest plastic surgeon to nip and tuck the years away.
She shook her head to rid herself of the disturbing thoughts. “I’ll be right there, son.”
Exiting the small bathroom, she smiled while listening to Grayson shower Kip with hugs and kisses. At eight, the boy was still at the age when showing affection wasn’t considered uncool. He still he
ld her hand when they went places in public, and she knew the day would come, soon, when that would stop.
Stepping into the living room, she held in a gasp. Kip looked terrible and reeked of booze. His clothes were wrinkled as though slept in for two days straight. Dark stubble on his chin and cheeks made him look like he was homeless.
Yep, Kip went on a bender.
The decision to divorce had been the correct one. Thankfully, their son didn’t notice. “Grayson, go get your toothbrush out of the bathroom please.”
“Okay. Hey, Dad? Can we stop at Scoops on the way? I love their ice cream.”
“Sure thing, buddy.”
Irritated at the slur in Kip’s voice, she motioned for him to sit on the couch. After joining him, she waited to speak until Grayson was out of earshot. “What the fuck, Kip? Where’ve you been? Grayson’s been worried sick. If you think I’m letting you drive with him in…”
“Don’t start. Please? My head’s pounding.” Kip closed his eyes, leaning back against the cushions. “I don’t plan on going anywhere. I couldn’t drive if my life depended on it. Let me stay tonight and sober up. I promise it’s not a ploy to get into your pants. I’m trying to wrap my head around some things and not doing a very good job.”
Kathy glanced down the hallway to make sure Grayson was still in his room. “How did you get here?”
Kip rubbed his temples. “I took a taxi.”
“What’s going on? You look like something an alley cat dug out of a dumpster then shit on.”
“I…oh, God. I’ll never be able to explain. Here.”
Kip extracted an envelope from his jacket, handing it to Kathy. She took it with trepidation, wary of what she was about to read.
Seeing Kip trashed was normal. He cried when drunk, and when she told him she wanted a divorce. Whimpered like a big ol’ baby like Grayson used to when little. Something in the tone of his voice seemed odd and out of place. “What’s this?”
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