Page 1 of Dead Clucked
1
Ronan
It’s Raining Hen
October, present day…
October was Ronan O’Mara’s favorite month of the year. Apple picking season was in full swing. Pumpkin spice ruled the roost. New England was awash in shades of red, orange, and yellow as fall foliage reached its peak. Sweater weather had arrived. There was nothing Ronan loved more than wrapping up in a warm blanket and snuggling with Tennyson in front of a roaring fire, but along with all of October’s highs, there were also some lows.
Raking leaves was at the top of Ronan’s list. Ten was inside with the kids making roasted chicken, buttery mashed potatoes, and fresh bread for gameday, while he, Jude, and Fitz did yard work. It would all be worth it when they were settled around the table for lunch and football, but at the moment, Ronan was dealing with a nasty blister on his left hand.
“You’re not done yet?” Fitzgibbon asked, coming up the sidewalk behind Ronan, carrying his rake.
Ronan turned and held up his blister for Fitz to inspect, pushing out his lower lip to make himself look as pitiful as possible.
Fitz took Ronan’s hand. “Yikes, that’s the most lethal blister I’ve ever seen in my life. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re not going to make it. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of Tennyson and the kids. Ten could be Jace’s sister husband. I would imagine Everly and Ezra will be calling me Daddy before the snow flies.”
Ronan gasped and yanked his hand back from his boss, who’d obviously lost his mind. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, asshole?”
“Who’s an asshole?” Jude asked, crossing the street.
“Fitz! He looked at my blister and said that when it killed me, Ten could be Jace’s sister husband.”
Jude snorted. “How dare you, Fitz! Seriously, we both know Ten would be much better off as Cope’s sister husband! Hell, with you out of the picture, I bet we could talk Tennyson into making his yummy roast chicken every weekend!”
Ronan’s mouth hung open. He thought Jude and Fitz were his best friends, he was apparently badly mistaken.
“With Ronan gone, I’d promote you to co-captain of Cold Case! Imagine how quiet our days would be without Ronan’s incessant yammering. We’d probably close all of Salem’s unsolved cases by New Year’s Eve.” Fitz laughed so hard that he had to lean against Jude to keep from falling.
“Fuck you both!” Ronan shot them a double bird. He had a lot more to say on the matter of Ten being anyone’s sister husband, but was stopped by Darth Vader’s “Imperial March” playing on his phone. “It’s Cisco. Just when I thought this day couldn’t possibly get any worse. O’Mara,” Ronan barked.
“Hey, Ronan! Any chance Fitz and Jude are with you?” Salem Police Chief Cisco Jackson asked. He sounded like he was in a happy mood, which meant he was calling with good news, or was jazzed by the thought of reaming Ronan out for something he’d done or was beingunjustlyaccused of doing.
Rolling his eyes, Ronan tapped the speaker button. “Yeah, both of them are standing right here.”
“Hey, Cisco! What the hell has Ronan donethistime?” Fitz asked, with a smile spreading from ear to ear.
“Actually, it’s not what Ronan’s done, but what I want him to do. What I want all of you to do, in fact.”
“That sounds mysterious and a little scary. Tell me you didn’t volunteer us for parking meter duty or jaywalking enforcement.” Jude held up his crossed fingers.
Cisco laughed. “No, nothing like that. The three of you have been asked to pose in a beefcake calendar.”
“A what?” Ronan asked, certain he hadn’t heard the chief correctly.
“You know, those hunky cop calendars with bulging biceps and tight, juicy asses.” Jude waggled his eye brows, practically salivating over the idea.
“I understand them wantingme, but Ronan and Jude too?” Fitz snorted. “Or was it the kind of thing where they had to agree to use these knuckleheads in order to secure my participation?” He flexed his muscles, dropping a kiss on his left bicep.
“You’re hilarious,old man!” Ronan shot back. “You’d be perfect for a geriatric shoot. Cops of the Northeast who should have retired decades ago.”
“Enough!” Cisco sighed heavily. “You sound like a bunch of clucking hens. I’ve scheduled a meeting at ten tomorrow morning. I’ll fill in the details and give you the schedule for the photo shoot. Don’t be late.” The phone beeped three times, signaling Cisco had ended the call.
“Holy shit,” Ronan muttered. “They want my sexy-ass self in a calendar!”
“I don’t mean to be Chicken Little, but who exactly arethey?” Fitzgibbon asked. “Cisco wasn’t exactly heavy on the details. I mean, this calendar could be for some kind of anti-aging serum and they want Ronan to be one of the before images, highlighting the ravages of time.”
“Or it could be the Assholiest Cop of Salem.” Jude grinned. “Just think, twelve long months of Ronan being the asshole we know and love. Shoveling snow in January in a tiny thong. Breaking hearts in February.”
