Murphy's Flaws Read online

  Murphy's Flaws

  Miss Fortune World: Wholly Moses!, Volume 1

  Kamaryn Kelsey

  Published by J&R Fan Fiction, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 by Kamaryn Kelsey

  All rights reserved.

  This story is based on a series created by Jana DeLeon. The author of this story has the contractual rights to create stories using the Miss Fortune world. Any unauthorized use of the Miss Fortune world for story creation is a violation of copyright law.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author and the publisher, J&R Fan Fiction, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Murphy's Flaws (Wholly Moses!, #1)

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

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  Author's note:

  This book is Book 1 in a series and may be considered a standalone. The following books in the series are not intended to standalone.

  This is a work of fiction. Other than Jana DeLeon's original story elements, the characters and names are creations of the author's imagination.

  CHAPTER 1

  As she drove, Mo Murphy asked herself for the hundredth time, "Why?"

  Why are you going back to Sinful, Louisiana? Part one of your life that covered your birth until you left Sinful for college? That wasn't humiliating enough? Okay, so part two of your life, college to responsible adult, now returning home to Sinful, was even worse. Now wait- is that even possible? Think, Mo, think!

  Part one of your life- Your rebellious, slutty teenage mama ran away from home and gave birth to you in New Orleans, then left you in a basket on the street during a parade. That wasn't your fault. Your Grannie Annie tracked you down within a few days and brought you back to Sinful to raise you. Not your fault. Your name- Moses May Murphy? Shudder! Not your fault. Blame Grannie Annie for that heavy-handed attempt at Biblical humor turned to horrifying humiliation.

  In high school, you were voted most likely to (there was nothing after those words), and nominated for the senior prom court as jester. You won because you were the only candidate. Everyone called you "Little Mo" because you were short, skinny, and flat chested. And the fact that had Junior Whitehead asked you to the prom, you would have said yes? Oh, crap! Was life really that bad? Oh, my God- it was!

  Move along to part two of your life! The college years weren't so bad. You escaped Sinful and ended up in California. And that pot hole you just hit in the road? That's a painful reminder that no one will call you "Little" Mo again, and that bras are no longer considered enemies, but necessities. But getting back to California. Maybe it was a mixed bag, or maybe more like a sack of crap. Divorced (not dumped). Your ex and that model wife won't last a year... make it five years now.

  A failed career? Well, lots of adults returned home when the economy bottomed out. That's nothing to be ashamed of. Then again, they moved during the economic free fall. Maybe your career was another victim of the ripple effect from that whole thing. But more than likely, it was your less than ethical business partner, who turned your thriving business into a money laundering operation for the mob. Just because you answered the phone, made appointments, led a field crew, and kept the legitimate books didn't make you guilty.

  Thank goodness for jury trials and good friends married to better lawyers! Not that those lawyers gave discounts. So paying out your life's savings to stay out of prison wasn't really a hard choice to make. It left you starting over, but at least you don't have to worry about getting shanked in the prison yard because you got the baked potato that someone else wanted. Let's face it, Mo. You're just gullible. You bought every lie and half-truth your business partner told because they came dished out with a side of compliment. You felt useful and needed.

  CHAPTER 2

  Mo turned the rear-view mirror to look at her reflection, then bent it so hard it broke off in her hand. Great! She tossed it into the back seat with the rest of her life. What was left of it. Well, there hadn't been much to see in that mirror, anyway. Just a short, not-so-skinny woman, with blue eyes, a few freckles, and dishwater blonde hair. Those little lines around her eyes- that was character! And her blonde hair... yeah, about that.

  Mo was sure nature intended some folks to have flat hair, just like some folks had wavy hair. She tried layers once. Unless she puttied or waxed them into bird wings, they collapsed like a cheap, overused paper plate. So maybe the bangs and chin length bob were optimistically young looking for a 30 plus (plus) year old failure. Nature wasn't really working in her favor when it came to options, so she took what she could. It's not like she had to impress anyone, right? And she sure as hell had nothing to lose!

  Not after that embarrassing incident on the Oklahoma interstate. In a case of mistaken identity, her whole life had been strewn across the side of the expressway when her car was reported as a drug runner's. The mortifying episode- her blubbering, while the highway patrol tore her car apart, the drug dog with the cold nose, putting it in places it shouldn't be allowed, passing drivers pointing, laughing, taking pictures, the stern police officers just doing their job, the next two hours trying to figure out where the stripped out car panels belonged because the officers had to leave for an emergency.

  Mo's heart raced, her blood pressure rose, her face turned red, her knuckles turned white, her respiration increased, her foot pressed the gas pedal to the floor. Hell in a handbasket- again? Even without a rear-view mirror, she knew that siren was meant for her, so she pulled off the side of the road and waited. At least it wasn't the interstate. Just a less traveled highway, thankfully close to her destination.

  A knock on the window. "License and registration."

  Mo blew air up the front of her bangs as she reached to her glove box and struggled to find the registration paper. Thanks to those interstate jackasses nothing was where it belonged. The officer was getting restless when she finally found it and shoved it out the window, hitting him... uh, oh. Well, maybe they had standard issue cups, like athletes. Mo didn't ask but instead dove into her purse.

  "Moses?" the officer asked when he saw the registration slip.

  "I'm looking for my license," Mo snapped. She tipped her bag out onto the seat next to her. Then she flipped. Those jackasses hadn't returned her license!

  She poked her head out of the window, and he jumped back a pace. "I have a minor issue with my license," she told him.

  "You don't have a license?" he asked.

  Mo sighed. In another life, she'd stop to admire the fine specimen sternly standing by in his crisp state patrol uniform, his dark brown hair cut close to his head, with tanned skin, and brown eyes... that weren't looking happy.

  "I have a license, just not with me," she said. Mo, just give it up. Maybe a night in the local jail wouldn't be such a bad thing. Unlike trying to explain your way out of this.

  "I see, Moses. So where is your license?" he asked, and she caught a flash of nice white teeth, the jerk. Why couldn't they be yellow, nicotine stained, and rotted, or missing? "Ma'am?"

  "My license is currently in the possession of the Oklahoma Highway Patrol, believe it or not." She saw the
look on his face, and her blood pressure nearly blew the top off her head. "Why don't y'all give them a call and ask them why they didn't return it? I've a mind to sue their asses after the indignity of the whole case of mistaken identity!" Please, lord, tell me I didn't just say y'all! That word has not passed these lips in over ten years- why now?

  His brows rose. "They didn't buy that your name is Moses, either?"

  "They were too busy looking for drugs!" she yelled. His look turned to suspicion. Uh, oh! Best to keep your mouth shut, Mo. We don't want a repeat episode of that indignity!

  "Officer, do you have a means of communication?" she asked politely, but maybe a little too tartly. He didn't bother to reply, so she continued, "Maybe you could try contacting the Oklahoma Highway Patrol to inquire into the whereabouts of a California license in the name of Moses May Murphy?" Her voice rose. "Because I sure as hell had it when they pulled me over and strip searched my car. And now I don't have it," she shouted. "Sherlock, I'll give you one guess as to which state my license is in."

  He didn't think her sarcasm was funny, and he found her anger threatening. "Ma'am, step out of the car with your hands where I can see them."

  "I can't," she said tersely through her clenched teeth. Out came his gun. Mo's eyes got huge. "I'm not disobeying, I'm stuck!" she exclaimed.

  "Seatbelt?" he asked. She shook her head. Maybe he wouldn't notice she hadn't been wearing it at all. "Hands on the wheel."

  Mo put her hands on the steering wheel, and he put his head through the window to check the situation. Mm! He smells nice. If my hands weren't on the steering wheel, I'd feel his hair!

  He backed out with a chuckle. "Vinyl seats... Let me give you some advice if you plan on staying in these parts. Get some cloth seat covers. Light colored if you can. In the meantime, turn up your AC and aim it up your skirt. That will help in just a minute or two." He turned red when he realized what he'd said.

  Mo rubbed her already sweaty brow. Couldn't he see her skirt was long enough to reach the edge of the seat? Obviously not. She closed her eyes. "That won't help in just a minute or two." How was what should have been an easy road trip, now an unending, twisted drive through hell and back, with a stop at every scenic turnout of pain, flames, and torture?

  His eyes finally twinkled with humor. Mo didn't think it was funny when he asked, "Do I need to call for the jaws of life?"

  "Sure, why not? Then this whole unbelievable road trip through the pits of hell can be forever preserved on the front page of the local newspaper. Because I know they have nothing better to put on the front page than a picture of my fat ass being pulled out of my sawn apart car... for no reason!" She paused for a breath, then asked in a mild voice, "Do you have any baby powder on you?" It was like she had asked for a mint. His eyes narrowed, and she sighed. "Powder of any sort?" She was still going for the light, happy tone of voice, because she really wanted to grab that pistol of his and start shooting anything that would blast into satisfying pieces. His head for starters.

  He gave her a suspicious look and cautiously answered, "Gun powder."

  CHAPTER 3

  No, Mo, do NOT go there... don't do it- too late! Her face turned red and an uncontrollable surge of laughter, that started at her toes and worked its way up, exploded out of her mouth in near hysteria. Now the poor guy just looked worried. She wiped the tears of laughter from her face. What did it matter? She had no dignity or shame left to salvage, so she lifted her skirt and pointed at her legs.

  His eyes bugged, and his face turned purple. "I should arrest you for soliciting! Are you offering me a bribe?" he barked.

  Well, Mo, that answers your question of whether or not things could possibly get worse! Still not over her laughter, but no longer angry, she said in a resigned voice, "No, sir, I'm desperate. I'm not stuck to the seat. I'm stuck together. As in my thighs? I've been driving for three hours. I should have listened to Grannie Annie, who always told me to keep a tin of powder in my purse. Now I know why. Officer, I'm sorry to say I inherited her thighs. She was a fine sprinter in her day. Apparently, she was also a wise woman. I guess I didn't inherit that. So unless you have a non-explosive powder, you'll have to wait ten minutes for the AC to work its way up my embarrassing dilemma. Your only other option is to peel me out and I guarantee that's not something either of us will enjoy."

  He gave her a look of disbelief and leaned against the hood of her car, stunned and embarrassed.

  "You can put the gun away," she told him. "It won't help," she added with a chuckle.

  He rubbed his forehead- hard, then shook his head before looking at her again.

  She raised a brow and shrugged. "Do you think I WANT to lie about this?" she asked. "Isn't there anyone you can call? I'm on my way to Sinful. I don't know who is in charge over there, but someone will tell you my Grannie Annie Murphy lived in Sinful her whole life, and she raised me, her granddaughter, Moses May Murphy. In fact, she's to blame for the name, because that's not something I'd lie about either."

  He looked grateful for an excuse to dump this whole mess onto some other poor, unsuspecting fellow lawman. "Do you know the LeBlancs?" he asked.

  Well, there went any progress her AC made. Her toenail polish melted as she gaped. Who was he kidding? There wasn't a female still breathing within a five county radius who didn't know of the LeBlancs at least by reputation. She was pretty sure a few women who passed to the other side were still gasping for air as well. It didn't matter which LeBlanc he was asking about. Mo wasn't even sure how many there were, but it didn't matter because they were all hot. Mo dreamily drifted off. What was the name of...?

  "Ma'am, would you like a napkin or a facial tissue?" he asked with a grin.

  "None of your business," Mo yelled as she sat up straighter. She crashed back to reality and casually reached up to wipe the drool from the corner of her mouth. She gave him a flustered grin. "It's been a stressful day," she admitted sheepishly.

  "So I see. Well, Carter LeBlanc is the one to see, once you get to Sinful. He'll verify your story with the Oklahoma state troopers." Mo sighed in relief, then he added, "You might want to mention that I gave you a warning for not wearing your seat belt, and your rear-view mirror is missing. Make sure you don't let it happen again, or you'll be ticketed."

  Seriously? Her life lay in embarrassing shreds, and he still slapped her wrist for minor infractions? "Who should I say sent me?" she snarled. He handed her a card with his name and badge number. She reached for the it with a shaky hand, working to control the impulse that wanted to grab his tie and slam his forehead against the roof of her car. His final parting words?

  "Make sure you cool those thighs down, ma'am." He sauntered back to his patrol car like it was an ordinary traffic stop.

  She should have listened to her impulse! Instead she crammed his card into her purse and pulled onto the road at a pace that belied her frame of mind.

  CHAPTER 4

  By the time she rolled into Sinful, she was just glad to have successfully made it, more or less. Screw officer hottie and his instructions to check in with Deputy LeBlanc! The first thing she'd do was check into the Sinful Inn. Sure, everyone knew what a dump it was, but it was cheap, and Mo knew how to clean.

  With a room secured, Mo finally relaxed and decided stop two was a trip to Francine's cafe for the special and a tall glass of sweet tea. The cafe was one of Sinful's few redeeming features in Mo's mind. Plus, it had AC! The bell tinkled, announcing her arrival and everyone turned to stare. From the back corner there was rustling and the sound of chairs scraping on the floor. Then the crash of one going over onto its back.

  "Holy Moses, its Little Mo!"

  Mo closed her eyes, then cracked one. Well, that answered her question about who she would still recognize. Ida Belle hadn't changed much- she was making a scene, and Gertie was trying to calm her down. Mo barely had time to notice there was another woman at their table before Ida Belle came flying across the diner, running faster than a woman her age should be capab
le of moving. Upon verifying that it was indeed Moses, the she said, "Well, I see you got Annie's thighs!" Ida Belle looked her over and added, "But at least you got the hips to carry them off."

  Thanks, Ida Belle. I really needed that announcement made! Sure enough, everyone looked again, now expecting to see a rap star with a big booty.

  Then Ida Belle shocked her by giving her a hug. She backed up and looked at Mo's chest. "You didn't get that from Annie."

  By then Gertie had each woman by an arm and pulled them to the table in the back corner. But Ida Belle wasn't finished. "Did you buy those in California?" "Ida Belle!" Gertie scolded. "That's not polite, and you know it." But she eyed Mo's chest with interest and asked, "How are you, dear?"

  "Wait your turn," Ida Belle demanded. "I asked the first question." She looked at Mo with her brows raised. Gertie pretended to be interested in the menu, even though their empty plates told the story. Mo smiled at the third woman and answered Ida Belle. She'd get no peace until these women had the whole story.

  "No, ladies, I did not buy these." Mo rolled her eyes. "Trust me, if I was going to have surgery I would have started below the waist, not above. And if I was paying for a rack of boobs? I wouldn't have chosen a set that could tip over the Flintstone's car."

  "Hmm." Ida Belle didn't seem convinced. "Well, you didn't have those when you left for college." She elbowed Gertie and hissed loud enough for the whole cafe to hear, "Isn't that the first thing women buy when they move to California?"

  "Yeah, well I didn't have Grannie's thighs when I left, either. I guess I'm a late bloomer, because by the time I finished college I had both. I assume the upper endowment is a genetic flaw passed down from my unknown daddy's side of the family."

  "She's got you there," Gertie chuckled as she nudged Ida Belle. "Annie had some powerful thighs, but she was shaped like a pear."