An Important Notice to Readers...
Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience. Please be advised.
|Making a run for it|
Voice lowered, Beckett forced a smile, and pushed the words through his teeth. "I understand your anger...dear. But we need to leave. Now." He reached out to take hold of her arm, but she wriggled out of his grasp. Then with a turn and a flounce, marched back into the cell, and loudly sighing, plopped herself on the same bench she had occupied for the last five hours.
"You know what? I have no intention of going anywhere with you You just run along, you...you jerk. I'm gonna stay right here until one of my brothers can come get me." Pulling the beach jacket tightly around herself, she folded her hands primly in her lap, and stuck her chin in the air.
In any other situation, at any other time, Beckett would have enjoyed the challenge her show of will invited. But with the mule's arrival at any given minute, there was no opportunity to play the game. Without a word of warning, he marched into the cell, picked his wife off the bench, and threw her over his shoulder as if she were a large duffel bag. Caught off guard, upside down, with the beach coat falling over her head, there was little the red head could do except shriek and flail, her hands reaching out to try and grab something to hang onto.
It was to this scene that the mule returned, his good arm full of covered dishes. He took in the sight of his prisoner thrown over the shoulder of some man in a Panama hat, who he presumed was her late arriving spouse. But it wasn't the husband he was interested in. His eyes were drawn to the struggling woman who was desperately trying to hang on to her bikini top, and to her rounded ass barely covered by the tiny piece of green bathing suit. It was therefore several seconds before he bothered to actual look at the man that was doing the transporting, allowing Beckett the smallest opportunity to pass by him, head for the front door, before he was recognized.
Behind him, he could hear the clatter of broken glass, as the dishes the mule was holding fell to the floor. Rounding through the front door of the police station, Maureen bouncing against his back, he worked his free hand to his waistband of pants, and pulled the Smith and Wesson loose, as the first barrage of bullets whizzed by his head.
|Fr. Kevin and Samuel Belkins|
Then, of course, there was the sudden, shocking appearance of Tessa Peppers at his door, and the whole fiasco regarding the death of her dog. She had promised to "rain hell" on him, and although the logical part of his brain told him she was a harmless old woman, racked with mental illness, and safely locked in a mental institution, his imagination ran crazy with all types of horrible scenarios involving his demise. So when a knock came at the front door of the rectory on a rainy Wednesday morning, he should have known his visitor was not from Publisher's Clearing House with a million dollar prize.
The gentleman stood on the porch with an air of stifled pompousness, the type that his brother Brendan would say was born with a stick up his ass. Despite the uncomfortable humidity, the man was dressed in full business array, and carried a worn portfolio bulging with its load. Mustering up his best Pastor personae, Kevin opened the door.
"Fr. Kevin O'Kenney?"
"Yes. I'm he."
The man stuck out a stiff, sweaty hand, which Kevin felt obliged to shake. "I'm Samuel Belkins.
From the diocese. I'm here to handle your audit."
"Yes, Father. All parishes are audited every seven years. Diocese policy. I'm sure you were notified."
Kevin racked his brain, trying desperately to remember ever receiving such notification. The last month had been a blur with the arrangements for the wedding, but he was sure if he had received something as important as this, he would have remembered. "I'm sorry, Mr...uh..uh.."
"Belkins. Samuel Belkins."
"I don't seem to recall knowing anything about this, Mr. Belkins."
"None the less, Fr. O'Kenney, as I am already here, I might as well take care of business. Holy Family is a small parish. This shouldn't take very long if your accounts are in order. They are in order, are they not, Father?
Copyright 2013 Victoria T. Rocus
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