Chapter 27 begins with Gina Drozler preparing for a nice relaxing Saturday morning.
Many Cones is a podcast novel based on true crime. The murders inspiring this crime fiction took place 30 miles from Chicago in Northwest Indiana, and captivated the area from the initial brutal crime scene all the way through and beyond discovery of a shockingly bizarre motive.
Gina had promised herself a sleepy Saturday morning, but old habits prevailed. The persistent dawn shone through the bedroom’s sheer curtained windows, then raced its way to fill the dark corners. She felt the insignificant warmth of the rays somewhere deep in her comatose center, like a rosebud, poised to flower. Then the brightness drummed its presence through her fluttering, closed eyes. She stirred quietly, careful not to disturb her husband.
Once fully alert, Gina listened intently for the sounds of children roaming. Satisfied all were still tightly tucked in, she soundlessly peeled back the soft sheet and wooly blanket that had held her through the night. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, stood, and stretched.
She was clad in a striped white pajama top. Nothing below. Her husband wore the counterpart. They had shared nightclothes since returning from their honeymoon. The arrangement assured neither went to sleep mad or hurt. You couldn’t carry a grudge, if you had to assign bottoms and tops before retiring. It was fun, too.
A fluffy, pink robe was folded over a bureau chair, two giant steps from Gina’s side of the bed. She finished shaking the sleep from her bones, and reached between the mattress and spring. She grabbed her panties and slipped them on. The hiding place became necessary when the children were old enough to burst into the room, unannounced, and wise enough to ask about underpants on the floor. Two long strides to a nearby robe, and she was sufficiently dressed to retrieve the morning papers from the cold concrete porch.
The aroma of coffee filled the downstairs. Gina sat at the rustic kitchen table and read through the news, intentionally avoiding reports of “Maricon” madness. After downing four cups of black stimuli and beating a semi-tough, patternless crossword puzzle, she heard her husband stumble around, upstairs. He was a horrid morning person. His bones and muscles refused to function until properly coaxed. A hot shower usually helped.
Gina removed bacon and eggs from the refrigerator, sausage links from the freezer, and pancake mix from the pantry. Within a half hour, breakfast smells chased the sweet coffee presence.
When the thumping sounds of the children announced their morning excitement, she began sizzling the bacon strips. The table was set with trays of steaming food and warm plates, as the balance of the family came down the stairs. They devoured the calorie laden repast. Gina’s husband, the slow starter, was finally able to converse. “I thought you were going to lay in bed all morning? Rest your weary bones.”
“I was going to, but my mind wouldn’t cooperate. When you’re wide awake, you have to get up.”
George flashed a contented smile and said, “Why don’t you come with us? You’re up. No reason to stay home.”
“I haven’t made myself pretty yet. You know how long that takes.”
“We’ll wait. It’s Saturday. No rush. And you don’t need to make yourself pretty. You always look beautiful. Right kids?”
Chapter 27
Gina had promised herself a sleepy Saturday morning, but old habits prevailed. The persistent dawn shone through the bedroom’s sheer curtained windows, then raced its way to fill the dark corners. She felt the insignificant warmth of the rays somewhere deep in her comatose center, like a rosebud, poised to flower. Then the brightness drummed its presence through her fluttering, closed eyes. She stirred quietly, careful not to disturb her husband.
Once fully alert, Gina listened intently for the sounds of children roaming. Satisfied all were still tightly tucked in, she soundlessly peeled back the soft sheet and wooly blanket that had held her through the night. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, stood, and stretched.
She was clad in a striped white pajama top. Nothing below. Her husband wore the counterpart. They had shared nightclothes since returning from their honeymoon. The arrangement assured neither went to sleep mad or hurt. You couldn’t carry a grudge, if you had to assign bottoms and tops before retiring. It was fun, too.
A fluffy, pink robe was folded over a bureau chair, two giant steps from Gina’s side of the bed. She finished shaking the sleep from her bones, and reached between the mattress and spring. She grabbed her panties and slipped them on. The hiding place became necessary when the children were old enough to burst into the room, unannounced, and wise enough to ask about underpants on the floor. Two long strides to a nearby robe, and she was sufficiently dressed to retrieve the morning papers from the cold concrete porch.
The aroma of coffee filled the downstairs. Gina sat at the rustic kitchen table and read through the news, intentionally avoiding reports of “Maricon” madness. After downing four cups of black stimuli and beating a semi-tough, patternless crossword puzzle, she heard her husband stumble around, upstairs. He was a horrid morning person. His bones and muscles refused to function until properly coaxed. A hot shower usually helped.
Gina removed bacon and eggs from the refrigerator, sausage links from the freezer, and pancake mix from the pantry. Within a half hour, breakfast smells chased the sweet coffee presence.
When the thumping sounds of the children announced their morning excitement, she began sizzling the bacon strips. The table was set with trays of steaming food and warm plates, as the balance of the family came down the stairs. They devoured the calorie laden repast. Gina’s husband, the slow starter, was finally able to converse. “I thought you were going to lay in bed all morning? Rest your weary bones.”
“I was going to, but my mind wouldn’t cooperate. When you’re wide awake, you have to get up.”
George flashed a contented smile and said, “Why don’t you come with us? You’re up. No reason to stay home.”
“I haven’t made myself pretty yet. You know how long that takes.”
“We’ll wait. It’s Saturday. No rush. And you don’t need to make yourself pretty. You always look beautiful. Right kids?”
The two children were engaged in a teasing match and weren’t paying attention. No response.
Gina laughed. “Nice try. I’m glad you think I’m beautiful, even if our kids don’t... I don’t know, I have to shower and do my hair. It will take at least an hour.”
“Who cares. Today’s a family day. It doesn’t matter what time we leave. Right kids?”
Still no response, although both children heard the question. They flashed blank stares at their parents.
Gina pushed herself away from the table, stood and said, “OK. I’ll go with you guys. Let me clean this table, first.”
As she picked up the first empty plate, the kids began chanting, “Daddy let’s go.”
She changed her mind before she reached the sink. “It’s not going to work. We’ll have a mutiny before I’m ready.
George was a tad depressed. He did want to spend the day with his wife. “You’re probably right. Okay kids, we’ll leave in five minutes. Do whatever you have to do, then we're outta here.”
Both children ran upstairs, yelling in celebration all the way to their rooms.
Gina put her arms around her husband and gave him a juicy kiss. He hugged her, then lowered his arm and squeezed her firm ass. “Be here when we get back?” he whispered.
“Maybe,” she said, while swishing her ass against his hand in bump and grind fashion. The kids were back in a flash and prevented any additional groping.
Gina walked with her husband and children to the garage, and watched them enter the vehicle. She pressed the cream colored button, and the overhead portal cranked to life. The day crept into the garage as the wide door jerkily ascended.
The family backed out of the garage, away from the parked green vehicle down the driveway, turned onto the street, and was off. Gina reached towards the button to close the garage, but hesitated. She could hear the space begging for air and light, and decided to leave the overhead open.
She spent a half hour in the kitchen rinsing plates, loading the dishwasher, wiping the table and counter, and then cleaning the sink. One more cup of coffee was consumed at the now pristine table. Gina sat down to a regular crossword puzzle, conquered it easily, then decided to head upstairs. She checked the kitchen again to make sure everything was orderly, then adjusted pictures and pillows as she walked through the front room. As she headed for the stairs, she thought now it’s time for me.
The fluffy, pink robe was returned to its usual resting place, the back of the bureau chair. Gina removed her pajama top, and laid it on the bed next to the bottoms. She self- consciously puttered around the bedroom in her panties, straightening little things that looked out of place.
The neighborhood was beginning to come alive. Through her bedroom window, Gina heard lawn mowers and hedge cutters. Men tending to their castles. She forgot about her appearance, went to the window and looked out, but no one was in sight.
Seeing her breasts reflecting against the glass, she pirouetted away from the pane. “Whoops,” she said to no one in particular. Still the freedom felt good, and she passed by her robe two or three more times, taunting it, without ever reaching for it.
The two story Drozler residence was erected with some amenities. A sizable bathroom off the master bedroom was one of them. The bathroom contained a vanity nook that Gina loved. She entered the alcove, and sat on a small cushioned chair, facing the oblong mirror.
Gina stared at herself for a few seconds. “Nice tits,” she winked at the girl in the mirror. She cupped one breast, checked for lumps, then repeated the exercise on the other. George spends enough time with them, she thought. He would tell me if something was wrong. Actually, he just sees them as toys. Probably not reliable.
Gina raised an arm and pressed soft fingers into an almost stubbled pit. Reversed and repeated that exercise. No lumps. But I should shave today.
She leaned forward and made silly faces. Checking the corners of her eyes and mouth. Fucking crow’s feet are on their way. I can hear the little bastards pattering towards me. Hopefully I’ll wear them well. There’s always makeup.
Gina rose from the petite chair, and quickly scanned her ass and legs. “At least I can control you guys,” she said. And winked again.
Time for a long, luxurious, steamy, bubble bath. While the tub was filling, Gina poured scents and potions into the water. Panties removed, she tested the temperature with a painted toe, then quickly removed it. Too hot. Let some hot out, put some cold in. Toe the water again. Still hot, but manageable.
She eased into the sudsy tub. When her entire body was submerged, she exhaled with a loud, “Aah.” Gina leaned her head back against the white edge, and her red toenails surfaced on the other end, like an enemy submarine.
The soaking lasted a half hour. Gina’s mind drifted off to some far away land. Complete shutdown. No thoughts, worries, ideas or concerns. No trouble in River City. Relaxation with a capital R. She would have been missing longer, but the phone rang.
The third ring jarred her, caused ripples in the tepid water. “Jesus,” she said. “It’s been a while since I’ve done that.” The phone continued ringing. Gina refused to be sucked in. She had hurried out of a tub before, only to have the phone stop its wailing upon her arrival.
Gina lolled in the water without movement until the noise stopped, leery of encouraging it by any response. She waited a respectful time during the silence to make sure she wasn’t trapped, half in, half out. It might have caused her to race for the receiver.
Satisfied the caller wasn’t obstinate, Gina stood in the bathtub. She opened the drain, reached for one of the thick, navy blue towels, and began drying her upper torso. When the water was almost completely drained, she worked on the lower half. Skin relatively dry, she stepped out of the tub and finished drying moist areas vigorously.
The damp towel was hung over an open rack, and a new one was wrapped around her body. She spent a few minutes fixing her hair and face, grabbed the panties and returned to the bedroom. The underwear was dumped on the dirty clothes pile.
“What to wear?” she said to her reflection in the bureau mirror. Well, it’s a Saturday morning and I am not going to do a useful thing all day. Okay. Scruffs. Old jeans and one of George’s faded shirts.
Gina grabbed a pair of panties and a bra from her dresser drawer, unwrapped the towel, tossed it on the bathroom floor, sat on the bed, and donned her underthings. As she rose to find the jeans and shirt, the overhead garage door loudly clanked shut. The sound was unmistakable. It caught her attention.
“What?” Gina asked herself. “I wonder what they forgot.” She finished dressing, added running shoes to compliment the jeans, and headed down the stairs to tease them about their inability to function without her.
At the bottom of the stairwell, Gina turned to walk through the front room, and saw Ricardo Morales with some leering, tall, rangy kid, and she screamed her heart out.