Getaway Girlz Read online

  ALSO BY JOAN RYLEN

  GETAWAY GIRLZ

  Vivian Taylor’s dreams drowned the night she found her husband, father of their four young children, in the pool with her. Days from finalizing divorce and in need of resuscitation, Vivian’s three closest friends whisk her off to exotic Playa del Carmen, Mexico, where she meets sexy Canadian soap star, Jon Tournay. Their electrifying night on the dance floor ignites into an inferno of passion during a moonlit stroll along the beach. Hours later, the girls are awakened by the bang! bang! bang! of policia at their door. Jon has been murdered, and the lead detective targets his prime suspect: Vivian. Leery of local authorities, the Getaway Girlz — vivacious Vivian, unwavering Wendy, impulsive Lucy and brainiac Kate — embark on a journey of justice to prevent Vivian from being a broad, locked up abroad.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Thanks so much for picking up our book. Get ready to settle in for a vacation loaded with margaritas, Mexican food, mysterious characters and murder! Write us a review and please, spread the word!

  Gracias!

  -Johnell and Robbyn

  a.k.a. Joan Rylen

  GETAWAY

  GIRLZ

  Joan Rylen

  Copyright © 2012 Rita Rox., Inc.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, dialogue, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imaginations or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights.

  Lyrics of Josh Weathers used with permission.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2012905109

  To Dad, here it is finally. The Book.

  Love, Robbyn

  To Danielle, Sadie, Cayce and Cameron – Love, Mommy

  Prologue

  Six weeks ago

  “WHO IS with the kids? And who the hell is that?”

  Vivian Taylor stared in disbelief at the woman stepping out of the pool, bikini riding up her ass. The woman looked at Vivian with a nonchalant expression before calmly reaching for her towel.

  The look on Vivian’s husband’s face, however, was one of disbelief.

  “Vivian, leave her out of this.”

  Daggers shot from Vivian’s eyes. “You better move that car, bitch, or I’m running it over.”

  Rick Taylor followed the woman out of the pool and walked toward Vivian, his palms to the ground indicating she should calm down.

  She didn’t.

  Vivian swung a right hook at Rick’s head, which connected, and the cell phone she’d been holding shattered into pieces. She chunked her left wooden sandal at him. It smacked his shoulder, bounced into the bushes and disappeared. Her right knee jerked up, landing squarely in his groin.

  He doubled over, gasping for breath. Vivian grabbed his shoulders and shoved him backward, into the pool.

  “I hope you drown in there, asshole.” His head popped out of the water and she kicked her other sandal at him, but it missed and flew across the pool.

  Barefoot, Vivian went into his apartment and gently retrieved her four sleeping children from their third-story bedroom. She loaded the kids into the minivan and tried as calmly as she could to drive them home.

  It took everything in her not to fall to pieces, like that phone.

  ***

  Vivian didn’t get a wink of sleep. The next morning she took the kids to the sitter, called in sick to work, and started cleaning house like a madwoman. She had caught up on two years’ worth of ironing and though she tried to stop thinking about the pool, the scene kept playing like a bad B-movie.

  Vivian hadn’t told anyone, not friends, not family, that Rick had moved out. Prior to last night, she was convinced he would realize what a mistake he’d made and come back.

  Obviously the man is thinking with the wrong head, she sighed to herself. Even if he wanted to come back now, she didn’t think she would take him. Once a cheater, always a cheater, right?

  Finally, she found the courage to pick up the phone and made her first call. Lucy.

  Tears streamed down her face before Lucy even picked up. Vivian half hoped she wouldn’t.

  Two rings, three rings. Vivian exhaled and pulled the phone away just as Lucy’s perky voice exclaimed, “Viv! What’s up, lady?”

  Vivian couldn’t speak.

  “Are you there, Vivian? Hello?”

  “Here,” Vivian choked, and started sobbing. Uncontrollable, animal-like sobs.

  “Oh my god, who died? Are you okay? Did you fall down the stairs again? Hang up and call 911!”

  Vivian’s ears were hot and her face burned. She glanced at the cordless phone and wondered if it could electrocute her due to the conductivity of water.

  “Rick” is all Vivian could say.

  “Rick is dead? Oh no, Viv! What happened?”

  “No, he’s not dead.”

  He should be, but he’s not.

  “He left,” Vivian blubbered.

  “What do you mean he left? Left to where?”

  “He LEFT me, Lucy. Gone! Moved out! AND he filed for divorce!”

  “Shut UP. No way. When did this happen?”

  “He left two months ago. Said he just couldn’t cope.”

  “What? Two months ago? Where are the kids?”

  “They’re at the sitter.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  Vivian closed her eyes. That makes two of us.

  Lucy had a barrage of questions, which Vivian attempted to answer. Most of her responses were head shakes, but Lucy saw them.

  Vivian was still in shock. She thought Rick would figure out he left the best thing that ever happened to him. She gave him four beautiful children and great sex. What else could a man ask for?

  How about fake boobs, a nose job and bad highlights. He thought the grass was greener with her, but he was campin’ out on artificial turf!

  Lucy assured Vivian she would be fine. She was strong, beautiful, smart and fabulous.

  Vivian looked at herself in her way-outdated 1970s wet-bar mirror. Her naturally curly blonde hair had become unruly and stuck out everywhere. Her green eyes were almost swollen shut, and her face was red and splotchy. Though her twin-pregnancy double chin was now a single, her double D’s remained.

  Screw fabulous, Vivian thought. I’m a wreck. I will be 30 and divorced with four kids in less than two months. How did this happen?

  Lucy’s voice brought Vivian back. “I’ll come down for your birthday. No, better yet, I’ll figure something out and we’ll get you out of town for your birthday. Do you think your mom can keep the kids? You really need to get away, girl. Leave it to me.”

  Thank god for my dear, dear friend, Vivian thought, but “okay” was all she could muster.

  “Listen, Viv, you WILL be fine. Of all of us, you are the one who can handle this. I’ll call you back with birthday details. Love you, Viv. Hang in there. It’s going to work out, I promise.”

  Click.

  Vivian put down the waterlogged phone and walked closer to the wet-bar mirror, getting a better look at herself through the tacky, two-tone squiggles. She hated that mirror, so she flipped it off.

  CHAPTER 1

  Day 1- Bienvenidos a México

  TRUE TO her word, Lucy did call back after talking to their mutual best friends, Kate and Wendy. The three had picked a destination, booked flights and a hotel. Fast forward a month and a half later and Vivian found herself on a plane headed to Playa Del Carmen, Mexico where it was sunshiny and a warm 82 degrees.

  Vi
vian’s seat was toward the front in coach, but a middle seat.

  Whatever, she thought, I’m just happy to be getting out of town for a few days.

  The 50-something guy in the window seat wore a business suit, glasses and sported a bad comb-over. Why do men do that? Grow one long wisp of hair and wrap it around their head as many times as it will go?

  Not good guys…not good.

  The lady in the aisle seat was a bit of a chubster but with a friendly face. She smiled and moved to let Vivian in, gathering up her long flowery sundress, which practically needed its own seat. She chatted about going to Cancun for her brother’s wedding.

  Vivian didn’t feel like talking, but raised with southern manners, she forced herself to be nice. She responded with the usual “sounds fun, blah blah,” niceties and reached for her seatbelt. She clicked it and pulled the strap tight, let out a sigh (mostly because she couldn’t breathe) and shut her eyes, feeling mixed emotions about the trip.

  She leaned against the headrest and thought about it. On the one hand, she deserved a break. The divorce had been dragging out a bit more than either of them wanted, but the end was definitely near. Her mom came up for the week to keep the kids, but Rick would still get them on his scheduled days. On the other hand, she wondered why she was leaving the four most precious things in the world to her at such a tumultuous time.

  Maybe I should unclick this seatbelt and go home? She thought.

  Vivian heard a thud and opened her eyes. The airplane door was sealed. That settled that, she was going.

  Vivian noticed the book in Seat Buddy’s lap, one of her favorite authors, Janet Evanovich. They chatted while the flight attendant instructed on what to do in an emergency. Vivian had seen the blow-up-the-seat-cushion/life jacket thing, so she decided to get her own book, which was properly stowed under the seat in front of her. She moved her body in an unnatural position, twisted and scrunched, and reached for her bag. Vivian’s chin was practically in Swirly Heads’ lap. Yuck.

  Vivian dug around in the bag, and pulled out her latest read, a good one by DeMille. She straightened herself up and flipped it open. She couldn’t concentrate though.

  Bump! Vivian felt the plane move. She craned her neck to look out the window and saw the runway zooming past. She decided to close her eyes and lean forward, resting her forehead in her hands, and started perspiring.

  No fiery death yet. This is good.

  She hated the feeling of being pressed into her seat. She heard the landing gear retract and listened for any abnormal sounds (like she’d know them if she heard them). She took a deep breath, and flowery seat buddy asked if she was all right. “You look a little pale,” she said.

  “I’ll be fine. Thanks,” Vivian answered. Her ears popped.

  Seat Buddy dug in her seat-back pocket and found the barf bag.

  “Here you go, just in case.”

  Vivian took it, opened it, and kept leaning.

  She wished she would have arrived at the airport earlier and had a drink or three before boarding the plane. Vivian detested flying. She tried to distract herself from images of doom and thought about her friends who put their lives on hold for a week just for her. They were all still close, although they lived in different cities. Vivian moved to Fort Worth after college, Kate Troutman stayed in Austin, Lucy McGuire landed in Boulder and Wendy Schreiber stuck it out in the Get Down.

  The four of them grew up in Pasa“Get Down”dena, a suburb southeast of Houston. The Get Down was famous, or was it infamous, for the honky-tonk Gilley’s. “Looking for Love” popped into her head, and she knew it’d be stuck there the whole way to Cancun International. Pasadena also had a propensity for refinery explosions. While the refineries had put the Get Down on the map, one day they could wipe it out completely.

  Vivian had known Wendy the longest, since first grade. They lived six streets apart, and their parents had carpooled them to Brownies, dance class, you name it, they were always together. In their neighborhood it took hell (divorce) or high water (usually combined with a hurricane) to dislodge you. Vivian’s parents and Wendy’s mom still lived in the same houses. Because of the tendency to stay put, they had gone all the way through 12th grade together, adding friends along the way. That’s where Kate and Lucy came in.

  In junior high Wendy and Vivian joined the band. Vivian played clarinet, and Wendy played flute. Their band director had a Fonzarelli fixation, and tried to look the part. This was inhibited by his wattle that flapped to the beat of the music as he swung his arms around conducting them. Vivian would never be able to hear Chicago’s “25 or 6 to 4” and not think of his perfectly puffy hair. He had an earring hole, too, which was far out to the sixth-graders in Pasadena, Texas.

  Vivian and Wendy met Lucy in sixth grade. Another band dork, she was in the drum line, which was a fraternity all its own, except she was a girl, and the only girl at that. The guys refused to call her by her first name, so they created a new one for her: Wonkita. No one knows how it came to be, but it stuck like Galveston beach tar to her heel. She was smart, fun and got great grades in science (which helped Vivian in high school!).

  Kate turned the trio into a quartet in ninth grade. You know it, in band. A classic overachiever, she dominated first-chair flute, was president of everything and eventually led the band as drum major. She was a total brainiac, but the girls loved her anyway.

  That band glue held them together through high school, and then Kate, Lucy and Vivian went off to Austin and the University of Texas. Wendy stayed in the Get Down and attended the community college affectionately known as “Harvard on the Highway,” then moved on to the University of Houston to finish her degree.

  The plane shuddered and Vivian sat up as the PA system ding-donged. The pilot went into a spiel about how many gazillions of feet they were above the Earth, what time they should land, etc. He said they could move about the cabin (which Vivian wouldn’t do) and drinks would be served (which she would do). She looked around for the flight attendant and fanned herself with the barf bag.

  Might as well use it for something.

  CHAPTER 2

  WHILE SHE waited for her first frosty beverage, Vivian thought about college. Life was so much simpler. No kids, no soon-to-be ex-husband, no mortgage. Her biggest worry had been making it to her 9:00 class in semi-clean clothes.

  Lucy and she had been roommates in Austin, which worked out great for Vivian since Lucy was an OCD neat freak; and she, a creative mess. Their apartment was always pristine except for Lucy’s cat, Fredericka, who never grasped the litter box concept. Her spastic tail would undo the entire purpose of using the litter box, and she’d sling shit everywhere.

  Fred was Vivian’s first and last cat.

  Though she was still in Houston, Wendy would occasionally get a wild hair and head out for Austin on the spur of the moment. She would call when she was 30 minutes away to make sure Vivian and Lucy were home. If not, she let herself in with the key they left for such occasions.

  Kate lived in a dorm her first couple of years at UT, and then took an apartment close to campus. Vivian and Kate’s educational paths rarely crossed, Kate being an architecture major and Vivian journalism. Though studious, Kate did occasionally embrace the party scene. Their junior year they went to a Halloween party together involving the “devil’s cauldron” conveniently full of mushroom tea. Kate adamantly refused to drink the magical brew; Vivian however, was a bit of a wild child and partook freely. The rest of that evening had been in Technicolor and the thunderstorm two hours later felt like a Pink Floyd concert on steroids.

  Vivian signaled the flight attendant for a second rum and Coke and adjusted the air vents so all three blew on her. Swirly Head and Seat Buddy either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Vivian was not a good flier. Was it the lack of control over her destiny? Was it the plane crash that nearly took out Lucy’s house in high school? Whatever it was, Vivian couldn’t get on a plane without having a physical response that was quite unpleasant. Maybe sh
e should try hypnosis? For the duration of the flight, alcohol would have to be her personal cure.

  The flight attendant arrived with a mini-bottle of rum, a fresh Coke and more ice. She also handed Vivian three snack packets. Vivian ignored the hint and pushed them into the seat pocket and happily cracked open the little bottle.

  These are so cute, she thought. She wouldn’t let the flight attendant collect her empties. She liked to line them up on her tray table.

  The last time the girls had been together was at Kate’s wedding, when Vivian was about ready to pop out the twins and she and Rick were doing fine, or so she thought. Lucy and Steve were fine, or so he thought. And Wendy was dating a guy named Jake who had definite potential.

  Nine months later, Vivian had doubled her kid count and was on the brink of divorce. Lucy and Steve had separated, with her moving into an apartment. Wendy and Jake had gotten more serious, and Kate and Shaun were still in the lovey-dovey, honeymoon phase.

  With the second drink going down Vivian began to ease up. Her knuckles were no longer white, the sweat circles on her blouse were drying, and she could unclench her jaw. She began to look forward to the next week, lying on the beach, relaxing by the pool and drinking her worries away, or at least trying to.

  Vivian never expected to be divorced. Did anyone? She certainly didn’t think it would happen after four kids. Rick was an attorney. A criminal defense attorney, but still, he should have known better.

  Vivian swirled her ice around, poured in the rest of the rum and added the bottle to her lineup. She let out a big sigh. My poor kids. Will they be screwed up from this? Fuckin’ Rick. What kind of man does this? The twins aren’t even a year old. Will I have a nervous breakdown? Isn’t that normal after something like this?