The third installment of the murder mystery series, started just after the move from Lineone bbs servers to usenet, but never finished.
by 'Wind Dancer', Dyan Scott
(c) 2002. All rights reserved. The person(s) portrayed in this story are fictional and any resemblance to real people or ideas is purely coincidental and unintentional.
Episode 1
Some people wonder as they pass the strip club called 'Happy Valley', some give it strange looks, some wonder if it's a gay bar, and some go in. The lights are always low in the club, except for on stage. It's set up like a modelling show's catwalk, spanning across the back of the bar and then jutting out amongst the chairs in an inverted 'T'. Smoke often clouds the air, and the smell of alcohol is rapant. People still seem to like it, though, as it hasn't gone under yet.
Odd thing about this place, though, is the fact that one of the best strippers is a man. A good looking young male - dark hair and dark eyes. Powerful physique. They call him Terry. No last name, just Terry.
"Hey Terry!" The bartender calls.
Terry quirks a shapely waxed brow, "Yeah, Barson?"
Barson Steward, aka Bar Steward, leans on the bar, the clock just having chimed three a.m., and says, "Offer you a nightcap before you head out?" This is a regular routine for them, as Terry's usually pooped by the time he finishes his shows.
Terry nods, just as the door swings open and a bouncing little girl enters, followed by a tall blonde woman. Terry laughs, "There's my girl!" and scoops the tiny one up, standing to kiss the cheek of the older woman, "Hey Sandra."
"It's just me!" The girl exclaims, wrapping her arms happily around her Papa's neck, and says, "Don't you ever change that funny underware, Daddy?"
Sandra chuckles at the misenterpretation of Terry's "underware" and nods to Bar, "Hello, Barson. Can I have a white before you go?"
"Sure thing, Sandra," Barson smiles blissfully at the woman. Green eyes do something to a man. "And a Shirley Temple for little Kayla, eh?"
Kayla bounces in her father's lap, "Yep! Oh... can I help?"
Barson nods, opening the door to the kitchen, "Sure, c'mon."
As the girl disappears with Bar, Sandra leans a hip against the counter, tilting her head, "Good show tonight, Terry?"
"Sandra..." Terry shakes his head. "I've got to put food on the table. You know that." His eyes stray to where his daughter disappeared. "I'm not getting into this arguement with you. Not tonight."
"But hone--"
"Sandra. No." Terry holds up a hand, shaking his head. "I know you love Kayla, and I know you and I are ...close, but that doesn't give you rule on what I do to provide for her." He quirks his brow again, "I'm going to go change." With that, he stands and pads barefoot over the broken peanut shells to the dressing rooms.
Sandra crosses her arms and frowns, back still to the front door, "Hmph." A man shouldn't be raising his daughter by stripping. He should settle down with a beautiful, smart, intelligent young woman like... Sandra nixes that thought and rolls her eyes. "Not me."
The bar's eerily quiet now that it's empty, and even the cigarette butt that Sandra flicks across the room echoes. She scoots up onto a barstool and glances at the calender. Valentine's day, indeed. She spent the night watching Kayla. Footsteps draw her attention and she glances up, "Back so soo-"
A gloved fist comes out of nowhere, decking her. She slides on the tiled floor, coming to a stop, and raising up on one elbow to wipe at the blood at the corner of her mouth, "What the..." Her eyes grow wide when she sees the steel. She scrambles back, "God, no."
The blade slashes down, cutting out Sandra's indrawn breath, and blood spurts out of her neck.
"Happy Valentine's day," the masked figure laughs, stealing out of the bar.
Episode 2
"Gramma Boo! Grampa Grey!" Kayla bounces when the door opens, chirping, "Guess what? Sandra died, but Daddy says all the blood and stuff was just ketchup that she spilled and that she wasn't killed by a murderer like on Law and Order but I don't believe him cause it smelled funny and Barson said that--"
With a sweet smile, Terry covers Kayla's babbling mouth with his hand and says, "Hi Mom, Hi Dad."
"Terrance." Augusta Beauticia "Boo" Swanson-Grey's wide, sapphire eyes wander over her son and quirks a shapely blond brow, "Murder?" She spares Kayla a warm glance before it frosts over upon returning to Terry's face.
Patrick Grey, on the other hand, stooped down to cuddle up his granddaughter, "There's my Kay." He lifts her into his arms and says, "Let's leave these silly adults to talk about this and go raid the kitchen."
Kayla's happily squeal echoes around the hall as they dash off.
"Mom," Terry's plaitative sigh as he stands sounds almost pitiful. "I had nothi--"
Augusta holds up one hand, "First, you marry that...that...that *woman*, then she falls over some bridge and you go and become..." Disgusted, she gestures to Terry's body. "And now murder? While Kayla was around?"
"Like it would be any better if she wasn't there, Mom," Terry argues. "First of all, I loved that *woman*. Jackie was a good woman with a good heart. Sh--"
"Too bad she didn't have a good pocketbook," Augusta interrupts.
Frustrated, Terry groans, "Mother. Get over it." He shakes his head firmly, saying, "Secondly, I make good money. Better than I ever made behind a desk." His eyes narrow, "And Kayla never /never/ sees me do it."
"She's smart," Augusta waves a hand, "She'll figure it out."
A cleared throat from the kitchen doorway draws attention. Patrick smiles, cordless in one hand and Kayla in the other, "Phone for you, Ter. Some detective."
Kayla claps her hands, "A detective! Daddy, are you going to jail?"
"No..." Terry sighs and takes the phone, walking into the kitchen himself, if only to get away from his mother. "Yes, hello?"
"Hi Terry."
"Well, I'll be a Flying Nun!" Terry laughs and sits on one of the breakfast stools, "Butch Gregory! A detective, eh?"
A laugh comes over the line, "Yeah, well, I figured if your Pa picked up the phone, your Ma wasn't far off."
Terry rolls his eyes, "How's business?"
"'Business'? Oh, 'business' is good enough," Butch's voice grins. "Haven't had to give anyone concrete shoes in a while yet. How business?"
"Eh," Terry shrugs, even though he knows Butch can't see him, "Depends on who you're asking. Me or Mom." His head shakes, "Hey, we had a slasher last night at the HV."
"Slasher, hmm...Anyone you know?"
Terry nods, "Yeah. Sandra Mitchell. Know anything about it?"
"Terry, Terry. You know I don't do that. In fact, I'm insulted! I like blood money more than I like blood."
Terry winces when Augusta's chatter cuts through, "The *nerve* of that boy!"
Kayla'a eyebrows wiggle from across the breakfast bar and she stage-whispers, "Gramma Boo's mad at you again. Can I have a cookie?"
Her father rolls his eyes and says, "Yeah, go ahead." Back to the phone, "Butch, I've got to run. Mother's about to have a cardiac arrest. Can I call you back?"
"Yeah, sure, no problem."
"Great." Terry clicks the off button and tosses the cordless onto the couch, just behind Kayla, who's now smeared with chocolate. He scoops up his daughter and says, "Come on. We'll use the distract and conquer method." Kayla giggles and lands a sloppy chocolate kiss on her Daddy's cheek.