This is a long story, almost 33,000 words. If you don't like long stories, please don't upset yourself by reading the following.
The following is a work of fiction. Except for references to well-known historical figures and broad geographic areas (e.g., Pacific Ocean, Mexico) unnamed individuals and locations in this story are a total figment of my imagination. If you think you recognize any unnamed person or place in this story from the descriptions, you're wrong. I don't know whoever you think they are, and I've never been there, period.
PROLOGUE
I met the McMasters sisters late one Friday—actually early Saturday morning—when the fire-engine red Beemer Patricia was driving went by me at 87 mpg, going the other direction on the four-lane divided highway. I turned on them and they pulled over inside half a mile, which was a good thing for them. I had a problem with speeders who tried to pretend they didn't know why they were being stopped, and I really didn't like those who tried to evade me.
Patricia—right off the bat, she wanted me to call her Tricia—and her older sister Allison were dressed for a night on the town and I suspected they'd come direct from the last club where they'd been partying. The odor of smoke, perhaps even a little weed, rolled out of the open driver's side window but I didn't get the sour smell of alcohol drifting up to me. It surprised me. I'd been sure I had a DUI on my hands, but maybe not. Then I realized I couldn't identify the odor of marijuana anymore either. I sure had them for exceeding the speed limit though—in a big way.
Running radar was one of the things I did for a living. I was a police Sergeant, supervising a patrol zone on the northern edge of the city on the graveyard shift and relaxing by doing a little patrolling on my own. My two officers who would normally have worked this area were backing up some Department of Public Safety troopers on a multi-car accident on the Interstate, so my relaxing was actually filling a gap.
Allison and Tricia were both exceptionally attractive brunettes, they were in my age group, and had beautiful legs on blatant display beneath very short skirts. All of that was a definite plus, but I was struck by the fact they seemed to be having so much fun with the situation. In this state, fifteen miles per hour over the speed limit gave me the discretion to put the driver under formal arrest, hook her up and take her down to the country lockup. The half-smirks I was seeing in the glare of my flashlight were pushing me toward doing just that. Perhaps there was some joke they were sharing that I wasn't privy to.
Tricia's grin vanished when I told her I was writing her a summons to appear, citing her for only ten miles per hour over the limit. I was giving her a break on the speed, but she became thoroughly incensed. She asked me indignantly if I knew who her father was. When I told her I didn't, she began giving me chapter and verse on how important he was, who he knew, and how I needed to call my chief before I made a big, big mistake. I did my best not to snort derisively, and I made sure I didn't argue with her.
After I listened to what was spewing out of her mouth, I decided not to use my discretion and instead, write the ticket for the whole 17 mph over the speed limit, instead of only 10. The fine she would pay would be jacked up substantially.
Tricia's face turned a nasty shade of red and only her sister's soothing voice seemed to keep her from exploding when I gave her the opportunity to sign the ticket. If she wasn't going to cooperate and give me her autograph on the summons, I was ready and willing to pull her out of the car, handcuff her, and take her for a nice ride to the county jail. She signed, clearly steaming.
I cautioned her to drive safely, and I sent the two women on their way. I thought that was the end of it.
* * *
Tricia and Allison surprised me a little more than three weeks later by showing up unannounced at my apartment and apologizing for being stupid (their words) that night. They thanked me for not being any tougher with them than I had been. I never did find out what prompted their, particularly Tricia's, change of heart. They seemed to be truly repentant, so I accepted everything they said on face value.
They actually should not have been able to find me. Sworn officers' addresses are, by law, confidential. They aren't made available to the general public, but I guessed they'd used their really-important father's influence to get around that. It torqued my jaws a little, but the women were clearly trying to be nice so I let the aggravation slide. I will deny to the end of my days that I relented because both of them were dressed in short shorts, halter tops and tall wedgie sandals.
They took me out to dinner that night, after showing me the receipt proving the ticket had been paid, and I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. We went dancing afterward, and I more than enjoyed that. The girls brought me home, each gave me a chaste goodnight kiss, and that was the end of it. I thought.
Amazingly, they came back two weeks later, on a Friday night and talked me into going clubbing with them. I never asked how they knew I was off duty that weekend; I never asked. Allison came alone the next week and I liked the one-on-one time with her. She was the older of the two sisters and just that little bit more mature and composed.
I thought Allison and I were slowly working toward a deeper relationship when Tricia began taking me places without Allison coming along. I wondered what was going on, but I was enjoying their company and I wasn't inclined to inquire, much less complain. Eventually, I stopped hearing from Allison and she slid into the background; I never knew quite why. From that point on, I had at least one date with Tricia McMasters almost every weekend, and had dinner with her a couple of times a week.
That continued for a while and I admit I was enjoying it. The woman was exceptionally attractive and when she walked into the substation I worked out of one afternoon to collect me for lunch, my manly reputation among other officer's estimation skyrocketed. Being with the sisters McMasters was great for my ego, they were fun to be around, and it was fun when being with the two of them evolved into running around with only Tricia.
* * *
At first, I hadn't even thought of marrying Tricia—a relationship with her wasn't one of the ways I saw things working out. Tricia was from a world I didn't know, and didn't want to know. I'd met her parents. I didn't like them, and they didn't like me even more. Daddy McMasters was certain I was sniffing around his darling daughter with a view to glomming on to the family fortune and Mama McMasters thought her daughter was settling for someone well beneath her. Daddy was dead wrong but Mama was most certainly correct, even in my estimation. They were united in a feeling that I shouldn't be doing much with Tricia except admiring her from a distance.
I was actually pretty much in agreement with the "distance" thing. Tricia and I dated for several months, and I never knew why she wanted to date me. We did have sex more than a few times and we found ourselves very compatible beneath the covers, but not really in sync out bed. To my mind, we just didn't have that much in common; there was little to discuss over the kitchen table or on a sofa, watching a TV movie. In vague terms, we'd talked about commitment, moving in together and stuff like that, but I'd never proposed.
When she came to see me one evening and remarked, "When're we going to be married?" I was flabbergasted. I'd been anticipating a break up, and the prospect of splitting up didn't bother me that much.
I really did not know what to do. To my surprise, when I didn't stomp on the idea, Tricia began acting as if it was a done deal. She began campaigning for a summertime wedding as if everything was settled. She began casually referring to me as her fiancé in conversations with Allison and other people we met.
