In The House Of Candy

By C.T. Stover

"It's Gone Girl meets 50 Shades of Grey wrapped up in a modern retelling of Hansel & Gretel."- When step-siblings Hank & Gretchen Woods are ejected from their privileged, Ivy League lives they are rescued by old family friend and former socialite, Melinda Candy. But when they discover that Ms. Candy's secret "tastes" are deeper and deadlier than they first thought, they turn to a lethal solution to free themselves from the psychosexual prison in which they've been trapped. Havenshire Police Detective Mack Wright must sift through their journals, personal video diaries and other cyber breadcrumbs that tell the tale of what really happened In The House Of Candy.

In The House Of Candy is the first novel in the Twisted Fantasy series of erotic romances based on classic fairy tales, but with a modern, erotic twist. If you like modern thrillers, fast-paced romance, and fifty shades of fun then you’ll love the Twisted Fantasy series!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rutting Good Press
• Release date: Mar 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301966264

C.T. Stover

C.T. Stover lives in the wonderful Pacific Northwest. A private person C.T. doesn’t like to say exactly where. In The House Of Candy is CT’s debut novel and we at Rutting Good Press are proud to publish the first book in this exciting series! C.T. would be found on Facebook and Twitter if C.T. would get on that. Until then just give Rutting Good Press a shout and we’ll pass on the message!

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Published by Rutting Good Press

All content copyright 2013 Rutting Good Press

All Rights Reserved

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, incidents, locations and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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In The House Of Candy

Chapter One

Is that all? Havenshire Police Detective Mack Wright asks the Coroner’s assistant, Glenn Capaletti, as he watches a ninth body bag carried from the smoking ruins of the historic Candy mansion. Nine? My math right?

You got it, Glenn nods as he chews the end of his ball point pen. There could be more, but the fire department will have to dig for them. Most of the house is collapsed.

You call that a house? Detective Kel Lawrence laughs, looking at the burned shell of the massive mansion. It’s got more rooms than the high school.

Glenn shrugs and walks off, obviously done with the detectives.

Was it something I said? Kel calls after him. He rolls his eyes and turns to his partner. Where do we start?

Mack walks up to the row of body bags and paces back and forth, Kel on his heels. We start with finding any of the help that may still be around. Is there a servants quarters?

Over there, Kel replies, motioning towards a large house past the ten car garage, the tennis courts, the open air gazebo, and the rose garden, which is bare as late fall starts to turn to early winter. You could fit both of our houses in there.

I’m sure living there comes with a price, Mack says. Not a price I’d pay.

What price? Kel asks.

Indentured servitude, Kel, Mack replies. You don’t work for people like Melinda Candy. You get owned by them.

Mack Wright is a handsome man, early forties, ex-football player for the local community college. He walks with a confidence that a former jock, now police detective, has: head up, back straight, shoulders back, and a sly, cocky smile always on his face. His brown hair is cut short, but not quite buzzed, leaving the focus on his almost crystal blue eyes. Lines of age have started to show on his face, but they seem to make him even more desirable considering his personal life is filled with a rotation of local, available women. And even some not so available.

His partner, Kel Lawrence, while not the opposite of Mack, is not on any of the local soccer moms’ to do lists. Kel moved to Havenshire ten years ago and has consistently put on five pounds a year. A decade older than Mack, Kel had been quite the hunk in his day, but three wives, two divorces, with one impending, Kel Lawrence has given up and let nature (also known as Jack Daniels) take its course. A gut, bags under his deep brown eyes, and thin grey hair, Kel always defers to Mack for interviews. No one wants to talk to a fat, old drunk with bacon grease stains on his suit.

The two detectives walk their way towards the servants’ quarters, their trained eyes taking in the surroundings. Huge fir trees stand above the manicured landscaping, towering over the neatly trimmed rhododendrons, azaleas, junipers and cedars that border the grass, still lush and green despite the changing season, of the Pacific Northwest estate. Marble statues of Greek gods and goddesses, Celtic sprites, noble forest animals, and the occasional female nude, dot the landscaping. A massive fountain, flowing and gurgling noisily, is the centerpiece of the lawn that stretches nearly two football fields.

How much you want to bet the gardener makes more than both of us combined? Kel smirks.

How much you want to bet that the gardener’s help combined doesn’t even add up to our sick pay? Mack responds. Be prepared for green card resistance.

"As long as we point out that we aren’t la migra then we shouldn’t have a problem," Kel replies, not even believing his own words.

One of the oldest families in the Pacific Northwest, Melinda Candy is the last heir to a fortune built on Oregon timber, Alaskan gold, and more recently, California silicone and Seattle software. Havenshire is a quiet town, strongly upper middle-class, but it is surrounded by wealth. It is a little known fact that there is almost as much money in the estates that make up the borders of Havenshire as there is in all of Silicone Valley or New York.

Mack Wright hates it all, but after a political and personal scandal involving his former boss’s wife (and housekeeper) that nearly destroyed his career, the Havenshire Police Department was the only place that would hire him and let him keep a detective’s badge. They say you can’t always go home, but Mack begs to differ. The four years he’s been in charge of Robbery/Homicide have been fairly quiet, but his gut tells him that is all over.

Hello? Mack calls out after his fifth knock on the front door of the servants’ quarters. The place really is able to fit both Mack’s and Kel’s houses inside it. The knocker on the door probably cost as much as Mack’s car. He pounds again. HELLO?

Probably skipped town as soon as the fire trucks showed up, Kel states.

There has to be a butler, head housekeeper, someone that’s in charge, Mack says as he walks around the right side. Let’s check the back.

A flutter at one of the windows catches his eye, but before he can say anything he hears his name being called.

That’s Genny, Kel says. She sounds freaked out. We better get back.

Mack nods as he hears the Chief Coroner’s voice call his name again. Somebody’s in there. Put a uniform on each door. I don’t want anyone sneaking out until we interview them.

Can’t really hold ‘em, Mack, Kel states. Can we?

If the uniforms look scary enough whoever’s inside will stay put, Mack replies as he strides towards the impatiently waiting Coroner. Have it be Mumpower and McRory.

Will do, Kel nods as he walks over to a couple of patrol officers leaning against a patrol car, coffee in hand, while Mack closes in on the Coroner.

Gennifer Bloom, Chief Coroner for Havenshire, stands with her arms crossed across what the more considerate officers of the Havenshire Police Department call her ample bosom. There are very few considerate officers. Standing at 5’ 2, Genny would be considered petite by most standards, but she inherited her mother’s wide hips and is constantly complaining about never finding a goddamn pair of jeans that wasn’t made for a goddamn stick figure!". Genny tucks a few strands of her shoulder length, dark blonde hair behind her ear and fixes Mack with her green eyes.

You’re going to want to see this? she says as she turns and walks past the body bags and into the smoking, water saturated mansion.

Havenshire, despite its many mansions and estates, does not have a huge budget for police work. Not enough happens in Havenshire. At least, not enough is reported to happen. So Genny is forced to not only be the Chief Coroner, but the Chief Forensics officer. Luckily she gets an assistant for each job.

That forensics assistant, Carlos Weinstein, leans next to the massive fireplace that fills the sitting room off to the left of the entry hall. He nods at Mack, receives a nod back, then pushes the second brick from the left on the mantel.

A clicking noise is heard and Carlos shoves hard against a door hidden in scorched paneling.

How very Scooby-doo of you, C, Mack smiles. You been down there yet?

Carlos and Genny share a look. Uh, yeah, Mack.

And…?

Come on, Genny says as she moves past Carlos, flicks on a flashlight, and descends down a flight of stone steps.

Mack follows and isn’t surprised Carlos stays behind. There’s too much work to be done for everyone to go on a field trip.

Didn’t call me back, Mack says as they get halfway down the steps. What’s up with that?

I’m sure you found someone to occupy your time, Genny replies coldly.

Actually, I didn’t, Mack smiles. I was home all night. Alone. Wasn’t that the point of our little talk the other night?

Was it? Genny frowns as she turns and shines the light in Mack’s eyes. I thought the point was for me to tell you to go screw yourself.

Hey, Mack says as he grabs her by the arm. She shakes loose and her eyes blaze. We never said we were exclusive, okay? But the second you said you wanted to I agreed, dammit. I agreed. You can’t hold what happened in the past against me.

Michelle Ferguson? Genny snaps. Really? She has more crabs than Fisherman’s Warf, for God’s sake. Belinda Connor? She’s a walking cum dumpster! Hailey Johns? Seriously? Did you know that woman has screwed every male teacher her kids have had, plus the soccer coach?  I knew you were a man-whore, but give me a break, Mack!

She says those words as they get to the bottom of the stairs and walk into a massive stone walled room. Mack’s jaw drops and he stops dead in his tracks.

Holy shit, he whispers. You just never know, huh?

No, you don’t, Genny says as she reaches over and flicks a light switch.

Mack misses the double meaning of her response and walks further into the room. His eyes take in the scene and he has to remind himself to shut his mouth as it wants to stay perpetually slack-jawed.

You could throw quite a party with this stuff, Mack says as he runs his hands over furniture and equipment. There are obvious signs of fire in the room, but most of the damage seems to be from smoke and water dripping through the floors above.

Mack has been a homicide detective long enough to know what most of the equipment is for. The A-frame, with chains and manacles hanging from its top beam, ready to hold a person captive. The Berkley horse, leaning at an angle for perfect flogging. The X-cross, Queening stool, stocks, bondage benches, chairs, wheels and tables. Plus, one hell of an expensive looking bondage bed.

But none of that compares to the massive iron cage that is the centerpiece of the room. Chains and shackles hang from each corner, top and bottom. Harnesses lay on the floor, dirty water sliding slowly down their leather. Mack pulls on a pair of latex gloves, opens the cage door, and steps inside. He’s over six feet and the top of the cage is well above his head.

You can really get some leverage in this thing, Mack smiles as he fingers a manacle, a sly smile on his lips as he looks at Genny. Care to give it a test? For professional curiosity, of course.

Sure, Genny says as she steps inside with him. You first.

Mack winks at her and steps past, making sure his arm slightly brushes her breasts.

Ass, she mutters.

The bottles of wine and the many glasses around the room tell Mack that it wasn’t just a dinner party that was interrupted by the fire.

Why would they have dinner after? Mack asks aloud. Usually its dinner first, drinks, then dessert.

My thoughts exactly, Genny replies. Doesn’t make sense that we’d find them all upstairs. I’m guessing they did have dinner first, came down here, then it all went wrong somehow.

But why run up into the fire? Mack studies the room for several minutes in silence then nods and walks to the stairs. Get C down here to go over this room. I want every pubic hair accounted for.

Jesus, Mack, Genny sighs. People died.

Hey, no offense meant, Mack shrugs. To each their own. He starts back up the stairs then stops, his eyes drawn to a bit of white peeking from between two stones in the wall. Still gloved, he reaches for the white and gently pulls. A small, leather journal tumbles from the stones and flops to the floor. He picks it up and leafs through it quickly. What the…? Got a bag, Gen-gen?

Genny gives him a duh look and pulls an evidence bag from her jacket pocket. She opens it and Mack drops the journal inside. She seals it and then punches him in the arm. Don’t call me Gen-gen.

Ow, ok, he smiles. Process that first please, Ms. Bloom. I think we may have something there.

Genny nods then looks about the room.

So this is what the rich do for fun, she muses. I guess a dildo and a bottle of wine just doesn’t cut it in their tax bracket.

Does it cut it in yours? Mack asks, stepping back to avoid the next punch.

With only pricks like you in this town? Genny says as she walks past Mack and up the stairs. It has to.

***

What’s her story? Mack asks as he looks through the one-way window at the young woman sitting in the interrogation room. She looks rough.

Says she’s one of the housekeepers, Kel replies as he jots some notes down on a small pad. Estrella Lopez. She wasn’t supposed to be there since most of the help were sent off for a few days holiday.

Sent off? Mack asks. She say why?

Happens every month, Kel shrugs. Ms. Candy lets the help take a few days off with pay while she hosts a private party.

Hosts a party, but doesn’t need any servants? Macks ponders. Does that sound right?

From what you found in that basement I’m not surprised, Kel responds as he tucks his notepad away. Best way to keep secrets. Genny say when she can ID the victims?

Few days at the soonest, Mack says, his focus on the woman in the interrogation room. Corpses are pretty ruined. Might be able to get a dental match at some point. One of the corpses is missing the teeth altogether.

No teeth? Kel asks, surprised. Well, that changes things, doesn’t it.

Shifts it to the murder column in my book, Mack states. Accidental fires don’t remove teeth.

No, they don’t, Kel agrees then eyes Mack, smiling at how his partner seems transfixed by the housekeeper.

The young woman in the interrogation room is in her early twenties, but the dark circles under her eyes, sunken cheeks, and roughly chopped, unkempt black hair make it hard to say for sure. Her brown eyes look sad, tired, ready for everything to be over. She wears a loose pink t-shirt and jeans and keeps wringing her hands as she stares down at the table she’s seated at.

You know her? Kel asks Mack.

Huh? No, never seen her before, Mack says. Pretty.

If you go for the young, helpless Latina look, Kel shrugs. Which I wouldn’t put past you.

Latina? Mack asks, studying the girl further. Really?

Didn’t you hear the name? Pretty good accent, but speaks English fine, Kel says. I got it all written down if you want to skip the follow up. I honestly don’t think she knows a thing. It’s the handyman I’m gonna focus on.

Who?

Stanley Wheldon, Kel says, turning and pulling a shade from a one-way behind them. Drunk as shit. Says he didn’t hear or see a thing and has been in his room for the past couple days on a bender. He blew way over the legal limit. Smells like he hasn’t showered in days.

And you don’t believe him?

I believe he’s drunk and been drinking for a while, Kel replies. But something about him doesn’t feel right. Kel points at the young man. Look at his wrists? See the bruising? And his hands aren’t rough enough to be a handyman.

He in the system? Mack asks as he looks the young man over. A few days of black stubble on his face and head. Nasty scar across his right cheek. Looks recent. Dark, almost black eyes that dart towards the door to the interrogation room, down at the table, up at the window then back at the door.

Nothing that I could find, Kel answers. Same with the chica back there. Clean records. In fact, no records. Can’t fingerprint them unless we have cause.

Let me talk to the girl, Mack says as he moves to leave. Let Stan there sweat it out.

Will do.

***

Are you thirsty? Mack asks as he sets two cups of water down on the table in front of Estrella, taking a seat across from her.

No, thank you, the woman responds, her accent thick, but not too thick. When can I leave?

I have a couple questions then I’ll get an officer to give you a ride to a hotel, Mack says as he picks up one cup and takes a sip. He eyes her over the rim and she looks at him when he says hotel.

I cannot go to my room at the Candy estate? Estrella asks, surprised, almost relieved, then shocked. But I cannot pay for a hotel.

It’s on the City of Havenshire while the investigation continues, Mack says, holding out his hand. I’m Detective Mack Wright. I’m in charge of the murder investigation.

Estrella gasps then tucks her head and looks down at the table. Murder, she says in a quiet voice. Not a question.

Her tone of voice catches Mack by surprise and he leans forward. His hand starts to move towards hers, but he catches himself, unsure why he wants to take her hand, to comfort her.

Ms. Lopez?

Estrella, please, she replies quietly.

Estrella, is there something you want to tell me? Why are you glad not to be going back to the estate?

She shakes her head and her short hair shakes lightly. Mack can see the hatchet job of a haircut she has. He even wonders if it wasn’t done with a hatchet. Estrella slowly looks up at him and her eyes lock with his. Mack feels a tingle up his spine and forces himself to breathe easy. The look, her eyes, her sadness, grips him.

Estrella, did something happen to you there?

She starts to open her mouth, but there’s a knock and Kel peeks in. We got trouble.

The door is pushed open and a tall, thin man, dressed in a very expensive suit, strides past Kel and over to Estrella. He grips her by the elbow and lifts her from the chair.

Hey! Mack shouts and closes on the man.

The suit takes a step back before Kel can grab Mack and hold him back.

Detective, the man, Arthur Stimpson, barks. As attorney to Ms. Melinda Candy, I represent all of her employees per their contract. They have signed a binding non-disclosure form and this interview is concluded. Your partner has the paperwork, if you care to see it. As of this second all questions will be directed through me and no further interviews will be conducted with Ms. Lopez or Mr. Wheldon. As your partner has instructed me that the Candy estate is a crime scene, I will be sure to find appropriate accommodations for Ms. Lopez and Mr. Wheldon. Not the flea bag your department would have put them in. My firm will submit the bill to the city when your investigation has concluded with my clients.

And then they were gone, leaving Mack to stare at the open door to the interrogation room.

What the hell was that? Mack asks.

We got lawyered, Kel sighs, slapping Mack on the shoulder. Let’s get a drink.

It’s barely the afternoon, Mack grumbles.

Then we’re late, Kel smiles.

***

The waitress sets down the two cheeseburgers and huge basket of fries then smiles at Kel. You need another beer?

No thanks, Marcie, Kel grins at her. But get Mack another Coke and maybe some extra napkins?

Sure thing, Kel, she says as she turns quickly and walks away.

Kel watches her go, his eyes clocking the swing of her hips and the legs that tuck up into the denim shorts she wears. He looks over at Mack and frowns. Okay, what’s eating you, man? I know you, man, and an ass like that would never get ignored.

Huh? Mack asks, shaking his head. Oh, right. Mack looks over at the wait station as Marcie cocks her hip and leans on one leg, pouring another Coke. Nice.

Nice? Kel laughs. That’s all you’ve got? He leans forward. "It’s that Lopez chick, isn’t it? Something about her has Little Mack all worked up and now you’re fixated. I know how you get. Spill it now and let’s work it out or