Murder, Curlers, and Cruises by Arlene McFarlane

Murder, Curlers, and Cruises by Arlene McFarlane

Author:Arlene McFarlane
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ParadiseDeer Publishing
Published: 2018-06-01T08:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER TEN

“How did you end up in jail?” I asked Max, phone tight to my ear.

“Never mind that. What took you so long? I kept trying your cell phone.”

“It was in my bag. It must’ve gotten switched off.”

“Why’d you have it switched off?”

“Gee, I’m sorry. I forgot I was supposed to rescue you from jail today. Next time I’ll let the battery run dead so I can be ready for your call.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

I rolled my eyes so far back I saw home. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“It’s a long story,” he said. “I’m lucky the warden’s letting me use the phone. He’s kind of cute in an ugly Billy Bob Thornton way.”

My mother had her ear pressed to the backside of the phone. “Ask him if he has clean underwear.”

I gave my mother a strange look and repositioned the phone to my other ear. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Do you need anything?”

“No. Just get here!”

I hung up and asked the purser for directions to the jail.

“I’d better come with you,” my mother said. “You never know what kind of felons they have in jails down here. They steal your money and that’s not all.” She leaned in. “You know they do funny things to men, not to mention beatings and stabbings. Max is probably scared stiff being around those sickos.”

“He sounds fine,” I said. “And the jails down here don’t have the monopoly on sickos. Sickos are everywhere.”

“The sickos down here are on drugs, and they’re desperate for money.”

“Mom, the sickos down here—” I clamped my mouth shut. Why in the world was I defending Puerto Rican sickos to my mother? I had better things to do with my time. Like make sure Tantig was okay once and for all. Find out more about Kashi. Call Twix. Bail Max out of jail.

I left my mother behind and took a cab to Max’s holding cell. The ride there was not an experience I wished to replicate. The taxi resembled Fred Flintstone’s car with a big hole in the backseat floor. Every time we went over a bump, I braced myself, straddling the hole, afraid if the cab gave birth, I’d be the newborn.

We finally arrived at the correctional facility, a four-story white building with a barbed wire fence wrapped around the entire yard. Mild deterrent in case an inmate had a hankering for Ben & Jerry’s ice cream in the middle of the night. The jail sent a chill down to my painted toenails, which I stared at inside my open-toed heels. My gaze traveled up my tanned legs and short flowered skirt. Perfect outfit for springing a criminal. I’d probably get arrested for indecent exposure. Boy, what I didn’t do for Max.

The driver squealed to a stop, and I almost flew over the front seat. “Senorita want out here?”

“Si. Gracias.” I thanked the Lord I was still in one piece, then handed over money.

The inside of the jail, though old, had been updated.



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