Frisky Friday Flashy Fiction
Happy Friday! How are you?
I’m doing pretty good these days. First, I’m sleeping so much better. Having my husband around is a big part of that. Doesn’t hurt that I’m sleeping on a better mattress, too. Some nights I still have a hard time falling asleep, but I don’t wake up constantly. Not having to suffer one-hundred percent humidity has been a tremendous help. I can breathe! I don’t wake up with a headache every morning. Who knew moving back to Southern California would have been so beneficial?
Who likes a good steamy paranormal romance? Then you don’t want to miss out on the anthology my alter ego is in:
And now for this week’s installment of Deception.
I had no intention of spending a second inside a filthy jail cell. I’d worked too hard creating the perfect life while allowing my siblings to do my bidding. They carried out the murders I’d instructed—mostly. But shit changed. It was up to me to put into play my contingency plan.
First, I had to get rid of Roberta. That was an easy problem to solve. All I had to do was put her on a bus and let the police sniff her out. Sure, she’d end up back in the crazy farm, but at least it wasn’t prison. Or a coffin. Besides, my little sis was used to the straitjackets and drugs to flatline her brain.
Solving the Mary was a different, more complicated issue.
Truth be told, it should have been a straightforward matter to fix, especially since I never liked our half-sister. Mary always wanted to do shit according to her agenda. She never listened to anything I said. Plus, she thought she was pretty. I’m destined for the big screen, she often told me. Actually, Mary’s fate was tied to a hypodermic needle with a lethal dose of paralytic. She deserved it.
Mary was the one who sliced and diced our parents. Mary was the one who went on the killing spree. She’d be the one to pay for it. Hopefully, the authorities apprehended her ass at the airport.
I passed a handful of cash to the agent and took the ticket. One fare to Savannah. Plenty of stops and opportunities for the cops to arrest Roberta.
Beside me, my sister sighed. “Is this really necessary?”
Facing her, I asked, “Would you prefer going to jail?”
She shook her head.
“Look, when everything calms down, I’ll come back for you,” I lied.
Roberta narrowed her gaze. “You shouldn’t lie. We both know you’re not returning.” She took the suitcase from me. “Good luck, sis. Or should I say, break a leg?”
I watched her walk toward the glass doors leading to the buses. Once she was out of sight, I made a beeline for the ladies’ restroom. I checked each stall and found I was alone. Turning the lock on the door, I propped my tote bag on a sink.
As much as I hated to part with my shoulder-length dark-brown hair, it was a necessary move if I wanted to change my appearance. Snip-snip. Good thing I studied cosmetology. I worked magic with a pair of scissors. After creating a short bob, I shoved the length beneath a lavender-pig wig. To complete my look, I added a pair of large hoop earrings, fake lashes, and over-done makeup.
Someone tried the door and then knocked.
I had no time to waste. I stripped out of my white tank top, jeans, and sneakers, dumped the items in the trash can, and donned a skin-tight black mini dress. Slipping my feet into a pair of stiletto pumps, I removed a small clutch from the tote and then stuck it in the garbage. I checked my lipstick and then unlocked the door. The plump woman gave me a piercing look before pushing past me.
Sashaying from the restroom, I scanned the area. Finding the right mark was key. He had to appear not too bright. Someone who practically drooled when he saw me.
Ah, there he is.
Near the ticket counter was the perfect target. Even beneath the faded, cheap clothes—plaid, flannel shirt, thermal Henley, and ripped jeans—I could tell he had a body to die for. But the black baseball cap and toothpick perched on his lip screamed hick. I bet he drove a pickup.
Sauntering up to the man, I smiled. “Hey, there. Going my way?”
He grinned. “Do I look like Greyhound?”
Funny. He doesn’t sound like a local.
I shimmied my shoulders. “Well, that’s a good thing. I was hoping for a private ride out of this two-bit town.”
His eyes flickered over me. “As long as you don’t mind riding in my truck.”
Like I said, perfect.
“Oh, that’s perfect. What’s your name, handsome?”
“Just call me Al. And you, pretty lady?”
As I walked to the exit, a frigid chill passed down my spine. Should I have packed a jacket? Then, I remembered what I left in my tote. Without my pistol, I’d have to find another way to get rid of Al.
Stay tuned next week for the conclusion!