Page 13 of Alice & Meg: Summer Vacation (Fallen Lords MC & Devil’s Knights MC Crossover)

The air around the Flamingo Inn’s pool was warm and thick with the scent of grilled deliciousness and summer.

Meg stood over her little gas grill like she was queen of the pool, flipping brats and hot dogs with the kind of authority that only came from decades of feeding bikers.

A couple of tables had been pushed together, covered with bowls of potato salad, coleslaw, a heaping mound of tortilla chips, and Meg’s famous smoked salsa.

I had my legs tucked under me in a pink lounge chair, a brat nestled in a soft bun on my plate with way too much mustard, and Wrecker sitting beside me with his plate stacked like it was his last meal.

“Got room for two old ladies?”

Every head turned.

Glenna and Dottie stood at the gate in matching flamingo-print sundresses and giant floppy hats, looking like they belonged in a travel brochure titled Golden Girls Take the Falls.

Greta waved from where she was parked on her flamingo pool float, which, notably, was next to the pool, not in it. She had declared she was waterlogged from the jet boat and needed dry land. But she wasn’t giving up her float.

“The more the merrier!”

Greta called.

Glenna and Dottie made their way over, their insulated tumblers sloshing suspiciously as they sat down at the big table with the rest of us. Meg, ever the hostess, immediately offered them food.

Dottie patted her stomach.

“Oh no, we just had dinner. That diner down the road, Rosie’s? They still make a mean meatloaf. But we can’t say no to a little salsa.”

“It’s the best,”

Greta chimed from her plastic throne.

“Meg smokes the tomatoes and peppers before doing her magic with them.”

“It’s basically witchcraft,”

Clash added and dipped another chip.

“I’m serious,”

Raven said, pointing a chip at Meg.

“We need to clone you and bring your double back to the clubhouse. Wendy and Carnie hold it down in the kitchen, but girl, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind a break.”

“Please don’t clone me,”

Meg laughed and handed Glenna and Dottie a basket of chips.

“But I did bring a couple extra jars of salsa from home.”

“Desperate doesn’t even begin to cover it,”

Dottie said after taking one bite.

“This is better than anything we’ve got at the farmers market.”

Glenna nodded enthusiastically.

“I’d pay for a jar.”

Meg waved her off.

“You’re not paying. You’re family now.”

That got a few claps and whoops from the table. Glenna and Dottie fit in like they’d been riding with us for years.

“What did you two get up to today?” I asked.

“Oh, we did one of those scenic train rides,”

Glenna said.

“The ones where they take you through the woods and up along the cliffs. Very relaxing. No risk of having too much fun.”

“Did a fudge tasting too,”

Dottie added.

“Glenna bought half the shop.”

“I regret nothing,”

Glenna mumbled.

“What did you hooligans do?”

Dottie asked.

“The duck boat and the jet boat,”

Wendy answered, rubbing her shoulder.

“Let me tell you, one is scenic. The other makes you question your life choices.”

“Do the duck boat,”

Meg said, pointing a chip at them.

“Skip the jet unless you want to become one with the lake.”

Just then, Glenna shifted in her seat and winced.

“Feels like I’m sitting on something.”

She stood and reached under her seat, pulling something out.

“What in the world is this?”

She held up a small, purple turtle. Plastic, shiny, and oddly adorable.

Meg jumped up.

“I keep finding these! Where are they coming from? I have a handful of them in my purse.”

She looked around like she was about to interrogate us all.

“Who is turtling us?”

she demanded.

Adley, Wendy, Raven, and I all raised our hands. “Not us,”

we said in unison.

I turned to Greta, who was lounging on her dry-land float like the queen of chaos. “You?”

Greta shook her head. “Not me.”

“Not me,”

Reva called from the edge of the pool.

“And not me,”

Cyn added.

Meg squinted at the little turtle.

“Then where in the hell are you coming from?”

“I found three on the back of the toilet,”

I added helpfully.

“Yeah, I found two on my beach towel yesterday,”

Adley chimed in.

The table buzzed with confusion. Where were these tiny turtles coming from? Was this some quirky marketing scheme from the Flamingo Inn? But why turtles? You’d think it would be flamingos.

Meg stuffed the turtle in her pocket.

King reached out and pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Relax, babe.”

She sighed and leaned into him.

“Mini turtles are haunting me.”

“Sounds about right for things that would happen to you,”

he chuckled.

Meg pouted.

“I’m usually the one doing this kind of thing, not the other way around. I bet it’s Greta,”

she mused.

King snorted.

“Too obvious. Maybe it’s Adley or Reva. They’re quiet. Stealthy.”

Meg watched Reva, who was tucked under Hero’s arm, and Adley, sitting on the edge of the pool with her feet in the water.

“I don’t know… they don’t seem like turtle bandits,”

Meg whispered.

“Could be ,”

King offered.

Meg looked at me.

“You would do something like this.”

“Maybe,”

I smirked.

“But it’s not me. I’m mad because I didn’t think of it first.”

King laughed.

“That tracks.”

As the conversation mellowed and plates emptied, Glenna and Dottie stood.

“We’re heading home in the morning,”

Glenna said.

“Want to beat the weekend rush.”

“You sure you don’t want to stay and go mini-golfing with us?”

Greta pouted.

Dottie shook her head.

“We’re not getting caught in Falls traffic on a Friday. We love you all, but we love an empty highway more.”

Meg walked over and handed them a jar of her salsa.

“For the road. And if you find more turtles, don’t blame me.”

Glenna hugged her.

“You’re a peach. We’ll be back next summer, and you better be here.”

“We will,”

I promised.

“Same week. Same motel. Same flamingos.”

They waved their goodbyes and disappeared into their room.

As the tiki lights buzzed overhead, the rest of us cleared the table. Tossed plates, packed up the leftovers, and started trickling off toward our rooms.

I hung back with Meg as she rinsed out her big salsa bowl at the outdoor sink.

“You still thinking about the turtles?” I asked.

Meg nodded.

“You bet your ass I am. I’m gonna find out who’s behind it.”

“Well,”

I said and wrapped my arm around her shoulders.

“At least they’re cute.”

“True. But the next one I’m going to shove up someone’s nose.”

“Please not mine,”

I laughed.

With that, we grabbed the last of the cooler bags, flicked off the patio lights, and called it a night.

Tomorrow was Friday.

And the mystery of the turtles? Still unsolved.