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Joe, approaching Mike, shared a quiet word. "I understand the rumors hurt, but discipline, especially of this sort, is up to her Daddy," he whispered.
I couldn't help but worry about the efficacy of Kristen's impending discipline. Her Daddy, Marcus, was known for his lenient approach, and I feared Kristen might not truly grasp the gravity of her actions.
The moment of reckoning came sooner than expected. An hour later, Daddy and Uncle Joe gathered us in the living room for what they termed 'the conclusion of their investigation.' With a dramatic flair, they revealed the discovery of red dyed cotton near our sleeping area.
Caught unprepared, I choked on my cereal, the sudden accusation catching me off guard. Daddy rushed to my aid, his pat on the back both comforting and a silent prompt for an explanation.
Once I regained my composure, I faced Daddy's inquiry with a feigned calm. "Oh, I was just... surprised at your excellent detective skills," I managed to say, my voice a mix of admiration and nervous deflection.
Mike, sensing the precariousness of our position, launched into a frenzied explanation. "Ah, yes, the art project! We were working on a life-size cotton replica of Mount Rushmore, you see. The red cotton was for... special effects. We planned to donate it to the local museum, being the kindhearted Littles we are," he babbled, his story as elaborate as it was implausible.
Daddy and Joe exchanged a look, their expressions a blend of amusement and skepticism at Mike's hastily concocted tale. The depth of Mike's imagination, while impressive, did little to dispel the growing suspicion of our guilt.
It became clear that our attempts at deception were as transparent as they were creative. As Joe led the initiative to scour the house for any sign of Kristen's dolls, suggesting we start in the basement—the most likely haven for a mythical "Doll Goblin"—a wave of panic washed over us. Our secret was on the brink of exposure. When Daddy emerged from the basement, box in hand and a knowing look in his eyes, it was clear our ruse had been discovered.
In a desperate bid to divert attention from his impending doom, Mike leapt to his feet with a proclamation so outlandish it momentarily stunned the room into silence. "Ah, yes, I almost forgot! I'm off to Australia to study the exotic wildlife. Did I not mention that?" he announced, his voice brimming with feigned enthusiasm.
The room's collective eyebrow raise was almost audible, especially when Mike added, "And I'm part Australian, you know. Great-granddad was an Australian sailor."
Joe was quick to deflate Mike's imaginative balloon. "Nice try. But your ancestry results showed no Australian heritage," he retorted, his tone a blend of amusement and exasperation as he effortlessly scooped Mike into his arms.
Undeterred, Mike scrambled for another outlandish excuse. "Ah, but you see, the sailor was from Tasmania. That's why it doesn't show up in the results," he argued, his desperation climbing to new heights.
When his claims of Tasmanian heritage failed to gain traction, Mike launched into a series of increasingly absurd justifications for his sudden need to exit the premises. "I'm actually late for my salsa dancing class," he declared, a statement so unexpected it drew skeptical looks from all corners of the room.
"This is the first we're hearing of it," his Daddy countered, his skepticism growing. "Especially considering your notable aversion to any form of dance or physical activity. And aren't we in Miami?"
Elijah and I exchanged glances, a silent acknowledgment of the precarious situation we had found ourselves in.
Chapter 10: Lina
AS DADDY FIXED HIS GAZE UPON ME, the weight of his question hung heavily in the air. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?" he asked, his voice calm yet carrying an undercurrent of disappointment that I couldn't ignore. With a heavy sigh, the truth tumbled from my lips, "Yes, Daddy. I did it. Mike, Elijah, and I... we were all involved in the prank."
Mike's reaction was immediate and theatrical. Gasping dramatically, he sprang into action, assuming the role of my attorney with an earnestness that bordered on comedic. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," he began, despite the absence of an actual jury, "I plead insanity on behalf of my client. Clearly, the stress of the vacation has taken its toll on her delicate psyche."
As he delivered his impromptu defense, Mike crawled around in a tight circle, casting nervous glances at Daddy and Uncle Joe, as if seeking their approval or perhaps bracing for their rebuke.
Daddy, arms crossed, watched the spectacle unfold with a mix of amusement and skepticism. "Mike, this isn't court, and you're certainly not a lawyer. Let's stick to the truth, shall we?"
Undeterred, Mike continued, "Ah, but you see, Your Honor," he addressed Daddy with a flourish, "my client, the esteemed Miss Lina, was under the influence of a severe and acute case of beach-induced delirium. It's a well-documented condition, I assure you."
Joe couldn't help but interject with a chuckle, "Beach-induced delirium, you say? And where might one find this condition documented? In the annals of your imagination?"
Mike paused, his brows furrowed in mock concentration. "Precisely, Daddy! A place of vast knowledge and untold mysteries. Furthermore, I submit that my client cannot be held accountable for actions taken while under the influence of such a debilitating and entirely fictitious ailment."
Daddy, unable to contain a smile at Mike's antics, replied, "Well, Counselor Mike, while your creativity is commendable, I'm afraid we deal in reality here. And in reality, actions have consequences."
Mike, realizing the jig was up, finally dropped the act. "Alright, alright," he conceded, coming to a stop and standing up straight. "But it was worth a shot, right? For the record, I was also under the influence of beach-induced delirium."
Elijah and I erupted in laughter at Mike's final attempt to lighten the mood.
As Elijah now owned up to his part in the prank, Uncle Joe's reaction was one of resigned frustration, but also a hint of the disciplinary action that was to come. "Your Daddies will hear about this once I'm done with Mike," he declared, his voice firm.
Mike saw this as an opportunity to negotiate. "How about a plea deal, Daddy? If we all confess together, can we agree on a kiss in the same area for every spank that we get? Seems like a fair trade to avoid the cost of going to trial," he bargained, his tone half-serious, half-playful.
Joe, lifting his boy into his arms with ease, was quick to counter. "The only deal I'll accept is adding an extra spank for each spank you thought you could get away with this, especially for dragging your innocent friends into it."
Mike, still in the guise of his self-appointed legal defender, shot back with sass. "Ah, but isn't the justice systemall about rehabilitation and not just punishment? I submit that kisses are essential for my emotional rehabilitation."
