Chapter 3
brEAKING: TWINS SUSPECTED IN YET ANOTHER INCIDENT Sources say “It Was Definitely Their Fault”
Alaia
“Hello!” I shout as I enter my parents’ house. “Is anyone home?”
Benny, the dog my sisters insisted my parents adopt, bounds toward me. I kneel down to pet his ears and he immediately rolls on his back to expose his belly to me.
“How’s my Benny boy?” I mutter as I give him a rub down.
“We’re here!” Beth and Anne shout in unison and I nearly fall on my ass in surprise.
Benny glances up at the twins before barking and dashing off. He finds my younger sisters speaking in unison as creepy as I do. Learn from my mistake. Never watch The Shining with twin sisters.
“Hi, Beth. Hi, Anne.”
Anne frowns. “Why did you say her name first?”
“Because I said your name first last time.”
I actually keep track of whose name I say first. It sounds crazy, but it’s a little effort to ensure I don’t wake up to my sisters standing over my bed dressed as clowns and holding knives. I used to love clowns. Now I have nightmares about them cutting my hair off with a machete.
Beth grins. “I told you so.”
Anne sticks her tongue out at Beth. And here we go again. If my twin sisters aren’t teaming up to pick on someone, they’re fighting with each other. They’re infamous on the island for their battles at the hospital where they both work as nurse practitioners.
After the bedpan incident, the hospital changed their rosters to ensure Beth and Anne never work together again. My sisters filed a complaint, but it’s hard to win an argument when the director of the hospital ends up covered in urine. At least there weren’t any feces.
“Where are Mom and Dad?”
They roll their eyes in unison. “Where do you think?”
As if on cue, the kitchen door opens and Mom stumbles out. Her hair is a mess, and the buttons on her top are mismatched. Dad follows her with a grin on his face.
I groan. They haven’t changed since we were kids growing up in this house. I probably should be in therapy, considering the amount of times I walked in on them in a compromising position. There’s a reason I don’t enter a room without knocking.
“Hey, kids,” Dad greets.
When he reaches to hug me, I back away. “Have you washed your hands?”
He barks out a laugh before lunging for me. He wraps his arms around me and lifts me in the air as he sways me from side to side. “Good to see you, kid. How’s work going?”
I wrinkle my nose. “I hope I never have to listen to a mermaid sing I Will Survive again.”
He frowns. “Not your bartending job. Your real job.”
Oh, how I wish being a journalist was my real job. As in the job to pay my rent. I shrug. “Okay.”
“Did you have your discussion with Mike? Those ideas you had about the rising sea levels were interesting.”
I sigh. “And yet Mike wasn’t interested.” He cringes. “It gets worse. The Gazette might close down.”
Just saying the words has my heart racing. What am I going to do if the only newspaper on the island closes?
“Shit,” he mutters. “Why don’t I make a few calls? I still have plenty of contacts in the industry.”
Pain lances through me at the reminder of how I got my job at the Gazette. I love my dad, but I don’t want him taking over my life and decisions – again.
I step away from him. “I don’t need your help. I’ll make it on my own.”
He holds up his hands. “Fine, but if you ever change your mind, let me know.”
“I won’t change my mind.”
I’m not going to use my dad’s connections to get me a job. Not if I can help it. I didn’t ask him to get me the job at the Gazette and I’m not asking now. I will make it on my own.
“Alaia,” Mom scolds. “Your dad is a well-known photojournalist. He can help you level up your career. It’s silly to refuse his help.”
Silly? I scowl. It’s not silly to want to make it on your own. To not want to be known for being Dan Jackson’s daughter. To not want to be dubbed the nepo baby who couldn’t get a job without daddy’s help.
Dad wraps an arm around Mom’s shoulders. “It’s her choice, Sally.”
I bite my tongue before I scowl. My choice? Really? The same way, it was my choice to work for the Smuggler’s Gazette?
“What’s for lunch?” Beth and Anne ask.
“I’ll fire up the grill,” Dad says and leaves. But not before he smacks Mom on the lips.
“I need to finish up the potato salad,” Mom mutters before returning to the kitchen.
“Good. They’re gone,” Beth says.
“Let’s discuss strategy,” Anne adds.
“Strategy for what?”
They roll their eyes. “It’s summer.”
“I’m aware.” Since Mermaid Karaoke season has begun. Outside of the summer, the island doesn’t get enough tourists for karaoke. Thank the pirates. There are only so many times I can help a woman reattach seashells to her boobs before I decide burning the bar down is best for humanity.
“Time to discuss strategy.”
I blow out a breath and pray for patience. My sisters often have conversations with each other without speaking. I’m not part of their whole twin mind game thing. I have no idea what they’re talking about most of the time.
“Strategy for what?”
“How to steal Plank.”
My eyes widen. “You want to steal Plank?”
Each town on the island has a live mascot. Smuggler’s Rest, where I live, has an adorable otter named Viking. Rogue’s Landing has a marshmallow addicted raccoon named Rogue. And Pirate’s Perch, the smallest of the towns, has a foul-mouthed parrot named Plank.
In addition to each town having a live mascot, it’s tradition for smugglers to steal the mascots in the summer. It’s not an easy task since the location of the mascots is kept secret.
“Plank hasn’t been stolen in years.”
Plank is the most difficult to steal since he can shout as loud as a smuggler to the world about how he’s being kidnapped.
“Do you know where he is?”
Beth’s smile is terrifying. “I do.”
“Girls! Can you set the table?” Mom shouts.
“We’ll discuss this later,” Anne whispers as she skips toward the kitchen.
Since it’s a warm, sunny day, we set the table on the back porch while Mom finishes her potato salad and Dad places hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill.
“Hot dogs are done!” Dad announces before setting a plate piled high with hot dogs on the table.
“Oh shoot. I forgot the ketchup.” Mom returns to the kitchen.
“I’ll help her.” Dad hurries after her.
I roll my eyes. “They’ll be gone for a while.”
Beth rubs her hands together. “Good. We can resume our discussion of strategy.”
I hold up my hands. “I’m not helping you steal Plank.”
“Why not?” Anne pouts.
“Maybe because the last time I helped you with a prank, my eyebrows were burnt off.”
“Not our fault!” they shout in unison.
I lift a, thankfully once again full, eyebrow at Beth. “It wasn’t your fault that you lit a match while spraying hairspray in my direction?”
She shrugs. “I got distracted.”
“By what? It was the middle of the night.”
I never should have agreed to help them prank a classmate. I thought we were going to toilet paper his house or maybe attach cotton balls to his car. I never in a million years imagined they wanted to throw firebombs at his treehouse. Or that they wouldn’t know how to make a Molotov cocktail.
“I thought I heard a police car.”
I give up. We’ve had this argument a million times. There was no police car or any other car, for that matter. I’m convinced my sisters targeted me on purpose. You refuse to cover for them when they break curfew one time.
“I’m hungry. I want a hamburger.” Anne stands and walks to the grill.
Benny, who’s lounging on the patio near the grill, barks as she approaches.
“Knock it off, Benny. It wasn’t my fault you got burs in your fur.”
Judging by his growl, he doesn’t believe her.
“Stop being a baby.”
Uh oh. If there’s one word Benny hates, it’s baby. He jumps to his feet and snaps his teeth at Anne. Her eyes widen in surprise, and she whips her hands up. Unfortunately, the hot dog on the plate she was holding falls to the ground.
Benny pounces on the food. It rolls under the grill, but he’s determined. He sticks his snout under the grill. His tail wags as he burrows further.
The grill wobbles since there isn’t room for a fifty-pound dog to fit under it.
“Grab the grill!” I shout as I jump to my feet.
Anne reaches for the grill but it’s too late. It topples to the ground. The charcoal spills onto the grass and fire explodes.
“Dad!” Anne and Beth shout.
“What’s wrong?” he yells from inside.
“Fire!”
“Again?”
Spoiler alert. This is not the first fire ‘accidentally’ ignited by the twins. And probably won’t be the last.
Dad flies out of the house with his shirt unbuttoned, yielding a fire extinguisher. He sprays the grass while Benny barks and runs circles around him. I imagine the dog is trying to explain how it’s not his fault.
Beth points to me. “You are not writing about this fire in the newspaper.”
“Yeah, sis,” Anne adds. “We are not going around town being referred to as those arsonists again.”
I shrug. “If the fire fits.”
I am totally writing about this incident in the newspaper. And Benny will not be getting the blame. After all, I still owe my sisters for my eyebrows. They took six months to grow back!
And the smugglers love to read about the antics of the twins. Maybe the article will help sell more copies of the newspaper. Maybe it’ll help keep the Gazette from closing.