The Price of Candy Read Online Free Page A

too-long brassy
hair. They both happened to be wearing sweatshirts and jeans,
Sandy’s were a couple of sizes smaller. Abby appeared older, but
must be about the same age if they were in rehab together. “So you
were also a juvie victim? Geez, what a terrible place.”
    “Yeah, no barbed-wire, no strait-jackets, no
padded cells, just a horny counselor who couldn’t believe his luck
in charge of a couple dozen nubiles in need of obedience
training.”
    Sandy said, “Some psych grad student got a
grant to set up that pathetic operation. Someone should have
investigated and closed the place. No therapy was going on
there.”
    They walked through to the kitchen and sat at
the table. A wide chrome-edged retro affair with matching chairs
featuring chrome legs and red-vinyl seats. The kitchen wasn’t large
and lacked counter space. Perfect size, Sandy thought, given she
didn’t cook. She could see herself standing at that sink. Not
washing dishes, heaven forbid, maybe just rinsing out wine glasses.
In fact, she liked the entire house. Thought it seemed cozy.
Considering it featured both back and front porches, she guessed
the house was early-fifties. She’d take it. Beat the hell out of
the tiny studio apartment she was crammed into at present.
    She should stop thinking about kitchens and
houses though. She shouldn’t question her current life choices even
though she had just passed thirty. It still made sense to her to
spend what little money she had for student loans, textbooks, and
car payments. She had to have that sporty car, for commuting to
campus as well as for her psychological well-being. That little red
convertible was her big love affair. If she died in a car crash,
they’d need to pry her cold dead fingers from it. Better yet, just
bury her in it. In an emergency, it would be her last possession to
go.
    A house would be nice, but she felt on track
for her goal of a law degree. In that regard, eighty-plus Jerry
Kagan and his law office was a lifesaver for her. Kagan was a
genial and courtly man with old school manners. They had met back
when he was struggling to defend her brother against the murder
charge. She showed up, and with tough fieldwork, a skill well honed
at her job in Philadelphia. She got enough cooperation from
unlikely sources to hand Kagan a solid defense of reasonable doubt.
With his case against her brother in shambles, State Attorney
Lawrence Moran, the state’s prosecutor, capitulated and moved on to
a more likely suspect. Blew Moran out of the water, was the way she
once phrased it. He would never forget. As a result, Jerry Kagan
came out looking quite contemporary and was able to rejuvenate his
moribund law practice.
    At his insistence, she now spent her days
studying in his law office at the ancient front desk with an
ancient dark oak chair. The one with a huge squeaky spring
contraption underneath and a wooden seat that fit no one’s bottom,
certainly not hers. She had haunted the thrift shops until she
discovered the ideal cushion on an old wicker poolside chair. The
blue and white striped canvas cushion had one good side; the other
was stained from too many spilled Piña Coladas. The oversized
cushion fit the seat of the squeaky chair perfectly thereby
boosting her body and her sprits. She was sitting pretty.
    In return for assisting Kagan in his law
office, she received a modest wage and plenty of time to study. She
had free access to Wi-Fi, his password to the Lexis legal
research site, as well as his own dusty, but extensive law library.
Occasionally, she would perform some investigative fieldwork for
him. With all that going for her and a law career ahead, she knew a
house and all that permanent possession crap could come later.
    “Nice house,” Sandy stated honestly. She
didn’t want to waste the day talking to Abby. She took the
conversation back to their shared rehab experience, “Wasn’t it
clever the way they called their prisoners, clients?”
    “Everyone knew who you