Chapters 2-5

Welcome back to Murder on Sex Island, written and read by me, Joe Firestone. This is Episode 2, where I'll be reading Chapters 2 through 5.

If you remember exactly what happened in Chapter 1, you can skip ahead, but if you need a little refresher, here's a recap. In Chapter 1, we met Marie Jones, a plain ex-social worker living a double life as a sexy detective in a blonde wig. When she's not solving crime, she's sitting at home with her two cats, watching the biggest reality show on TV, Sex Island. One of the contestants' fan favorite David G. has gone missing, and the show doesn't address it at all.

That's when Marie gets a call. Sex Island producers John and Stephanie hire Luella to fly out to the island, join the show as a contestant, and hopefully solve David G.'s disappearance. We left off right as Issa, an underpaid production assistant, is bringing Luella to her first day on set. Chapter 2

I followed Issa out of the apartment building and was shocked by how nice it was outside. The sun had just come up and the breeze blowing off the ocean was cool. It felt discordant that David G. could disappear in a place like this, a real-life Eden. We walked through the parking lot much busier than it was late last night, abuzz with moving passenger vans and supply trucks. Wires the size of anacondas were taped to the ground, running through the entire lot like arteries.

This had to be the home base for the Sex Island crew. I asked Issa where we were going and she told me we were heading to my honey wagon. My what? I asked. Issa only laughed and kept walking. Eventually, Issa brought me to a small trailer, the so-called honey wagon, and gestured to the stringy thing hanging on the back of the chair. That's your costume for today, she said, popping her gum. What?

She pointed again to the thing on the chair. That's your swimsuit. It's a beach day. I shook my head. Oh, no, no. Pivoting the conversation, Issa asked if I wanted any breakfast. I tried to hold in a yawn. Like what? They can make you anything. The other women usually get egg whites. You want that? No. No, you don't want any breakfast? Issa asked. No egg whites. Get me whatever you get.

Issa looked around like she had about ten other things to do right now besides have this conversation. I usually get egg whites, she said. Okay, egg whites then. I had a strong feeling I was going to hate being on TV. Issa left me alone to figure out what to do with the thing on the back of the chair. There were strings and hooks and what looked like a button. I figured maybe this was one of those situations where I had to look at it from a distance for it to make sense.

I stepped back as far as the trailer would allow, it turned out two feet, and examined the garment from this new perspective. I could sort of make out the parts that were supposed to cover my parts. It seemed less like a swimsuit and more like a legal loophole to be able to expose yourself in public. I took a deep breath, reminded myself David G. was still missing, and tried putting it on.

25 minutes of grunting and string tying later, I was wearing it. I looked like I'd gotten caught naked in a ropes course. The honey wagon left much to be desired, though it did have one of those lighted vanity mirrors. Turns out they're real. There was a large plastic bowl on the dressing table containing a seashell and a single box of raisins.

Hollywood really rolled out the red carpet for old Luella. Next to the bowl was a call sheet. I looked it over. It was surreal to be reading the printed names of the people I'd been watching have sex every night on TV. I scanned for David G.'s name. His call time said TBD. The trailer's bathroom had one of those accordion doors that refused to close, and it took me ten minutes to figure out how to flush the toilet. Things were going well for me.

Some time later, a PA who was not Issa dropped off a white blob in a takeout container, and I took this to be the egg whites. I removed my Luella teeth and ate them quickly, as they tasted approximately like diet rubber. The one thing Luella can never do is eat in front of people. Drinking is okay, but in my experience, eating with the prosthetic teeth opens a whole can of worms. Unless it's soup.

The teeth will pop out when I least want them to, and I can't actually chew with them in, so it leads to a lot of minor choking. And I've found that minor choking tends to detract from the whole mysterious allure I'm going for here. Hence, I stand alone shoveling egg whites into my mouth as fast as I can. There was another loud rap at the door, and I assumed it was Issa this time, maybe with a second white blob for good sportsmanship.

One second, I quickly popped the Luella teeth back in and grabbed a bathrobe. I swung open the trailer door. Standing before me was, no joke, the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen in my life. He was tan and ripped with perfect blonde, wavy boy hair. He had chocolate brown eyes and long lashes that made him seem almost pretty. He wore red swim trunks, a tank top the color of cooked salmon.

and what looked to be Prada flip-flops. I think I drooled a little looking at his arm muscles. He smiled at me, and it brightened his whole face. After what felt like 400 minutes of ogling, I placed him. This was a Sex Island cast member. Hey, you're the new girl, right? I'm Phil. Welcome to the show. Yes, Phil from Wisconsin, the exercise guy.

Hi, I said, quickly running my tongue along the front of my Luella teeth. Nice and secure. Phil leaned casually against the trailer's door frame. So, where'd you come from? New York, I said. Nice. Statue of Liberty, right? Killer statue. I nodded. Did he just say killer statue? Phil kept on talking as if the statue line was normal and good.

Well, I just wanted to stop by and introduce myself. This place is kind of weird at first, so if you have any questions, let me know. I'll be around. He paused and looked at me. You okay? My face felt hot and my hands felt sweatier than they'd ever been. Oh, yeah, fine, he laughed. You're kind of funny. But that Phil hugged me. He did that thing where his arms went around my hips instead of my shoulders. In my 29 years on Earth, I had learned...

There were friendly hugs, and there were more than friendly hugs. And this was certainly a more than friendly hug. Phil smelled like coconut oil and sunshine. His arms felt broad and warm and, crap, now I was turned on. He turned to go, then looked back with a little smile that brought out a single left dimple. Don't worry, you'll be fine, he said.

A word of advice? The egg whites are bullshit. Next time, go with the protein waffles. See you on set. I smiled back at him, a goofy, egg white-eating grin. I was swooning, and I had never swooned in my adult life. Phil was easily the handsomest man I'd ever spoken to, and that hug, that hug, it felt like the kind of hug that would be illegal in 1903.

It finally hit me. Luella was actually going to be on a reality show where the sole purpose was to have sex on television. This was the stupidest thing I'd ever done. I was here for David G. I was here for David G. I was here for David G. Chapter 3 What felt like 20 hours later, Issa was back at my trailer door.

I looked at the clock. It was now 8 a.m. Miss Van Horn, we'd like to invite you to sit. I swear I felt my stomach go out my rectum. I followed Issa as she weaved us in and out of a throng of busy crew people. I felt self-conscious being nearly naked and kept hovering my hands over the bottom half of my body. I had one hand in front and one in back like I was going for an Adam and Eve fig leaf sort of thing.

It's not that I wasn't okay with my body the way it was. Sure, I've got a belly and my ass has gotten flatter and wider every day since I turned 27. But I was fine with all that. Because until now, I never had to be practically naked on camera next to 20-year-old reality TV stars. This experience was already a major turning point in my self-esteem.

Everyone on the cruise seemed to be doing something important. Hanging lights, carrying ladders, wearing actual clothes. Even drinking a coffee seemed to be an activity of significance around here. Adjacent to the parking lot where they kept the trailers and gear trucks was a stunning white sand beach. I must have missed it in the darkness the night before.

I followed as Issa made a right turn, and suddenly there was sand beneath me. It was soft, powdery, and the color of tapioca pudding. Once we were on the beach, I got my first good look at the ocean. The blue of the water made me gasp. The color was cartoonishly vibrant as if it were drawn in magic marker. Issa was seemingly over the whole beautiful vista thing. She looked at her watch and sighed. You can go see the water if you're quick about it. Two minutes tops.

I made my way down to the shore. The water was so clear there I could see little fish and shells and individual grains of sand. The waves were gentle, making swooshing sounds that were nearly hypnotic. And I kid you not, the palm trees were swaying in the breeze. I'll stop. Two minutes on the dot later, Issa wrangled me back, leading me to a large beach hut covered in tropical flowers. As we got closer, I recognized Phil and waved to him.

He waved back and I blushed. Absolutely humiliating. I felt like an eighth grader. Phil was standing with a few other cast members I recognized as Tasha, Sarah, David N., Nate, Ethan, and Blair. Oh, I loved Blair. She could be so mean. One time she stuck a wad of chewed gum in Sarah's long blonde hair because she couldn't. I didn't find a trash can.

In a confessional, she once told millions of viewers that Nate's balls smelled like Lipton soup mix. She had curly brown hair, a flat stomach, and I'll say it breasts the size of cantaloupes. It's possible Blair was made in a lab for reality TV. As I approached the group, Issa made introductions. Hey folks, this is Luella. She's going to be joining us as a wild card. Me, the wild card. Hi. I tried hard to swallow anything that could be misconstrued as fangirl energy.

The collective group murmured some casual hellos. Nate even flashed me a peace sign. For them, I gathered this was just a typical Wednesday. They all looked so different in person. David N. wasn't nearly as skinny, and I noticed for the first time he had bright green eyes. On television, Ethan looked practically orange, but here he just looked like a guy who got his money's worth at the tanning booth.

I could see Sarah's individual toe rings. I counted seven. Issa got a far-off look as someone spoke into her earpiece. All right, in a few minutes, Luella's going to be coming in through the hibiscus arch camera left. I need jealous reactions from Sarah and Blair and a sexy reaction from Nate. I tried to remind myself this was somehow detective work. Phil spoke up. Hey Issa, I'd like to do a sexy reaction too.

Nate let out an exasperated whine. Why can't I be the only sexy one for once? Issa held up her finger, waiting for the person in the earpiece to respond. Okay, we're going to have both Nate and Phil giving sexy reactions. Nate sulked. Issa continued. Ethan and David Inn, let's have you wrestling in the background. And Tasha, we just want you to stand there. Tasha crossed her arms and looked toward the ocean, her long black hair shining in the sun. No, bitch.

she said under her breath. For what it's worth, Tasha did technically just stand there. I was amongst professionals. I was escorted to the hibiscus arch camera left. Issa got that far-off look again as someone in her earpiece gave her further instructions. A sound guy came over to give me a microphone pack on a lanyard. As he placed it around my neck, he muttered, Just don't touch it and you'll be good.

I'd once heard that same sentence from my 85-year-old male gynecologist. Isa addressed me. Luella, you're going to walk through the hibiscus arch, shake your hair, and give a smoldering look to camera. This footage will be in slow motion, so try not to blink at all. And stop covering your body. That's why you're here. Ready? In 4, 3, 2, action. And just like that, Issa was gone and I was left to smolder and not blink and be practically naked on national television.

I decided to just focus on the not blinking. I looked at Phil, who was looking back at me in a way I can only describe as we're having sex right now. I had been married for six years and had never been looked at like that before. I tried to remember this was for television, that there were hot lights everywhere and cameras, and I was here to find a missing man, and if all that weren't enough, this wasn't even me. Phil was staring at Luella Van Horn.

but I still couldn't get enough of that look, which was great because we did that same thing 14 times. 14 times I walked through the hibiscus arch, and 14 times he stared at me like I was a Christmas ham. But the thing is, I kind of loved being the Christmas ham. I started to understand why all these people did was have sex and scream at each other. A makeup artist came up to me between takes 11 and 12. She introduced herself as Hannah.

Honey, I know you do your own makeup, but you're sweating like a pig. Okay, if I give you a little dab? Oh, sure, I said. Pig. Pig becoming ham. After that 14th take, Issa came back and announced they had gotten what they needed and we could all take a break. I decided I had done enough acting for one day. It was time to do my real job and find David G.

Before I could reorient myself toward the parking lot, I found Phil standing right in front of me. Hey, great work out there. I think we have something going, yeah? He shifted his weight from one Prada flip-flop to the other. I looked at him for a second, trying to see if he was serious.

Now you're kind of funny. He raises eyebrows at me. I'm serious. You're cute. Uh, I gotta go do something. And with that excellent line, I ran away on the sand and heels, which in itself is a huge accomplishment. I needed to talk to someone, anyone who didn't want to have immediate televised sex with me. I found a snack table and decided to linger there for a minute to get my bearings. Surely the cast and crew might say things there that they might not say near the cameras.

The topic of David G. could come up. I made myself a coffee with cream and five sugars and drank it slowly. John Murphy, the short producer with the blue eyes, sidled up to me. It looked like he hadn't slept much the night before.

This morning he was wearing a bright blue Hawaiian shirt that felt a little on the nose for a Sex Island producer. Hey, sorry for all the takes. We just needed to establish your character. Now you can mostly go about your business here. But I was only on camera for ten minutes, I said. Oh, don't worry, a reality TV editor can magically make an hour of television with, like, 20 minutes of raw footage and 40 minutes of recaps. How's the investigation going? Any leads? John chewed on his thumb.

From the looks of it, he'd been chewing on his thumb for the last three days. I took another sip of the too sweet coffee. Not yet, I said. Well, we really appreciate you being here, being on camera, all of it. So you think you could wrap this up the next day or two? We're kind of on a time crunch, I'm sure you understand. I understand. Next day or two? Was he serious? To no one's surprise, John's thumb started bleeding. He sucked on it and continued talking, now in a low whisper.

It's been three days now that he's been missing, and I know, I know we should have notified his family. But you understand, right? They'd leak it to the press, and then the network would get upset, and we'd all get canned. For some of us, it's our first season. and it could still turn out to be a lot of hullabaloo for nothing. He grabbed a powdered donut and ate it so fast I thought he'd form a cloud. Who saw him last, I asked. Well, it's Wednesday now, and he didn't show up to set on Monday.

Saturday and Sunday are the cast and crew's days off. If and when bad things happen, it's usually on a weekend. I think Tasha was the last one to see him late Friday night. They were together. Are. Are together. So when John told me on the phone that David G had been gone for only 48 hours, he was omitting the weekend, just counting Monday and Tuesday. Very strange. Um, to answer your question, Tasha was probably the last one to see him.

He continued digging through the mixed nuts for a cashew. He popped it into his mouth and chewed fast. If something happened to David G. on Saturday or Sunday, by now he'd either be in horrible shape or dead. I didn't have high hopes. I was no veteran detective but I'd done this long enough to know that something bad had probably happened. Judging by the airport alone the island wasn't large. Looking around I started to wonder how long a dead body could go without being noticed around here.

John took my silence as a reason to excuse himself. Well, I'll leave you to it. Let me know if you have any questions. Just FYI, some of the crew can be a little shifty. Pretty much the whole grip department has a criminal record, so I'd keep an eye on them. John walked away, glancing back at me only four times before he realized it was getting weird. I looked around at the bustling cast and crew. Could there be a dark underbelly to this place?

The sky was blue, the water was clear, and everywhere young people were chatting, working, laughing. Then I saw someone staring at me from behind the hibiscus arch. They ducked back, but I spied their long, straight, black hair. It had to be Tasha. I wonder how long she'd been watching me and why. Chapter 4 Tasha was a 22-year-old fitness instructor from Orange County, California.

In addition to her signature long black hair, she was known for her 24-carat diamond belly button ring and her big brown doe eyes. One time in an interview with E! News, she told a reporter she hated the smell of air. Tasha was well known for her shocking and unfiltered contributions to the show. In one famous confessional, she claimed, in an ideal world, I would have sex 16 times a day. That pretty much sealed her fate as a regular from then on.

Most recently on the show, she'd been paired with David G. But before that, she'd had flings with Nate and this other guy named Noah who got voted off two weeks in for being openly afraid of cunnilingus. Rumor had it he was now getting his own spinoff show where he reviewed restaurants called Noah's Eating Out. It really begged the question, what is life? Most episodes Tasha came across as irritable, jealous, and entitled. As a viewer, I didn't like her.

but the show was so hyper-edited it was hard to know what everyone was actually like. David G's absence was raising suspicion amongst the show's diehard fans on online forums. Many were quick to blame Tasha, and a meme had been going around saying she had the breasts of a killer. Whatever that meant. Sometimes misogyny can be so creative. Tasha knew I'd seen her behind the hibiscus arch, and maybe for that reason she was walking toward me now. I felt a chill run down my spine.

Maybe it was because a murderer was approaching, or maybe it was because I was wearing practically no clothes at all and there was a slight breeze. I couldn't say. She approached the snack table without acknowledging me, so I pretended to stare straight ahead. For my periphery, I watched her pick up a turkey sandwich, remove and eat the turkey, then place the bread back on the tray. She was now my number one suspect.

I wanted her to talk to me, so I picked up a sandwich from the tray, fished out the lettuce, then put the sandwich back, hoping game would recognize game. I put a small piece of the lettuce in my mouth and attempted to swallow it whole like a pill.

Any chewing was out of the question. Finally, she mumbled something. I turned to her. Get your mic back and follow me. She mumbled again. This time I heard her. She walked toward the parking lot. I tucked my mic pack into the dirt of a potted palm tree and followed her. I saw Issa take notice and say something into her walkie-talkie. Were P.A.s always supposed to be watching or was Issa especially diligent?

I planned to read Issa's file when I got home that night. I followed as Tasha zigzagged her way through the lot, then onto a side street populated by a few small businesses. We passed a handful of locals doing their errands. There was a newsstand, a laundromat, and a small credit union that looked like it had been closed for many years. The street curved and eventually dead-ended with a little cafe.

I had a feeling we weren't supposed to journey this far during our break, and I wondered if the locals were used to two American women in bikinis and high heels wandering about their town. Tasha sat down at a table and tossed me a well-worn laminated menu.

I took the seat across from her. As luck would have it, my menu was covered in large orange stains. How appetizing. A waiter came by to take our orders. Tasha smiled and pointed at two pictures, one of a latte and one of a plate of fried plantains. I smiled too and pointed to a picture of a glass of tropical fruit juice. The waiter chuckled, jotted down the orders, and walked away. Our interaction left me unsettled. Tasha waited until the waiter was out of earshot.

You know you ordered a double daiquiri? New girl, it's not even 11 a.m. Oh no, I said. Don't worry, I'll split it with you. Unless you really need a double, and if that's the case, I get it. I don't, I insisted. You don't say much, do you? I laughed, not knowing what else to do. Already, Tasha seemed more grounded than the woman I knew from TV. Look, I know you're new, so I just wanted to let you know what you're getting into here. I'm sure you've heard about David G., right?

I gave her a small nod, hoping she'd interpret that as a go-on. Well, he is like nowhere to be found and like nobody even cares. We're just being told to go on with the show like it's normal. So okay, we're bringing in new cast members now? No offense, but what the hell? Nobody's seen him, I asked. John said Tasha was the last person to see him Friday evening. I wondered if she'd confirm that timeline. Before I could get into it, Tasha shushed me as the waiter came by with our drinks.

Mine was served with two umbrellas and a generous slice of pineapple. Tasha was quiet until the waiter disappeared back into the kitchen. She leaned closer to me. So don't tell anyone this. I saw him on Saturday, but I think Nate saw him after me. David G. told me he was going to hang out with Nate that weekend. They're like best friends. But then by Monday, David G. had completely disappeared and Nate claimed he never saw him.

Also, just FYI, we're technically not allowed to be outside the compound and we could get in a lot of trouble if anyone caught us here. You more than me because you're new. I nodded. Tasha took my drink and gulped down a quarter of it. Whoa, that's yummy. You should try it, she said, already beginning to hiccup. I took a sip. It tasted like a rum-flavored slushie. Seconds later, I got the hiccups, too. Tasha and I made for quite the pair.

She held her latte in both hands and blew on it, temporarily distracted by the jiggling foam. Like, I don't even know why I'm telling you this. I just don't know what the hell else to do. Are you and David G. still together? I asked. Well, we broke up on Friday and then on Saturday we met up to process the breakup. He wanted to get back together, but I said we should feel it out. He wasn't acting like himself. He didn't even want to have sex with me anymore. He said he didn't feel up to it.

I thought maybe he was seeing someone else. Maybe Sarah. She sucks, though. I mean, Tasha wasn't wrong. As a viewer, I could confirm. Sarah did kind of suck. She was nice, and there's just no place for that kind of behavior on Sex Island. 30% of her OnlyFans proceeds went to a local food pantry. Ridiculous. The waiter arrived with the plate of fried plantains. My stomach rumbled. I ran my tongue over the fake Luella teeth to remind myself to not even try it.

Tasha fanned the plate. I noticed she was missing one of her red acrylic nails, the right-hand thumb. I wondered where that ended up. Tasha groaned. Ugh, they make everything so hot here, it's really annoying when you're trying to eat fast. Can't they cook them without getting them so damn hot? She glanced up at the clock on the wall. We gotta head back sooner, they'll start to notice. I tried to steer her back on track.

What time on Saturday? Okay, so are you a detective or something? No, I said, taking another sip of daiquiri. Well, I don't know, maybe 11 at night? She picked up a fat plantain with her fingers, took a small bite, and dropped it directly onto the table. Ugh, it's still too hot. Then I heard someone shout, Tasha! We both turned to see Isa running into the cafe. She was out of breath and held her clipboard under her arm.

You guys can't leave set. Tasha, we've talked about this. Let's go. My mind was racing. I understood there was a rule, but exactly why couldn't we leave set? And how did Issa find us? Was it normal for a PA to know exactly where each cast member was at all times? If so, maybe Issa knew something about David G's disappearance.

Tasha groaned, fished a wilted $50 bill out of her bikini top, tossed it on the table, and followed Issa out. I followed them hiccuping and wondering why Tasha told me what she told me and if it was anywhere near the truth.

Chapter 5 Once we were back on the lot, I tried retracing my early morning steps to get back to the apartment building. The afternoon sun was becoming oppressive. I now understood why we started filming so early in the morning. I felt beads of sweat rolling down my back. I was hungry and agitated.

I hadn't slept enough, and I needed to organize my thoughts. I needed to eat. Most importantly, I needed to put on some clothes. After a few wrong turns, I finally found the apartment building. On the elevator ride up, I started fantasizing about hot dogs. Ice cream. Lobster rolls. How does one eat meals around here, I wondered. The elevator dinged for the seventh floor and I got off, daydreaming of the fast food chain Sonic. Would they have Sonic on the island?

I walked down the hallway to my apartment and noticed my door was left slightly ajar. Sonic was no longer top of mind. I felt immediately on edge, but maybe I'd forgotten to close the door in the early morning rush. I walked in hesitantly. Normally I carry pepper spray, but there was nowhere to hide it on a string bikini. The place smelled differently than before. There was a new musk, possibly sweat.

or sweat mixed with something worse, rotting vegetables, ferret. Someone was still in there or had just left moments ago. Best case scenario, this was some kind of new cast member hazing ritual. Worst case, I was about to be dead. either way the intruder had seen my wigs the apartment layout was simple enough upon entry there was a kitchenette which was separated from the living room by a breakfast bar with two stools

The bedroom was to the right of the living room through a doorway. The bathroom was attached to the bedroom. From where I stood, frozen at the front door, I could see all of the living room and kitchenette. But the bedroom door was closed and that made my heart drop into my stomach. I removed my heels. As quietly as possible, I tiptoed through the living room to the closed bedroom door.

I listened for movement of any kind, but I could only hear the blood rushing past my ears. My mouth was so dry I couldn't swallow. I needed to stabilize. I needed this moment to be over. In dealing with a possible intruder situation, there are two schools of thought. One is to go fast and the other is to go slow.

As I stood facing the closed bedroom door, I considered both options. Open it slowly, then whoever was behind there had ample time to see me and kill me. Open it quickly, then whoever was behind there got so startled that they killed me. I opted for fast. I swung open the door and quickly scanned the bedroom. Not a soul was there. I looked under the bed. No one. I ripped open the closet. Nobody.

A wave of relief poured over me until I realized the bathroom door was also shut. Shit. At least now I had a system. Do it fast. If anyone was still in that apartment with me, they were behind that bathroom door. And if they were planning to off me, I'd given them plenty of time to prepare. I took a deep breath, maybe the first one I'd taken since I'd gotten inside the apartment.

I yanked open the bathroom door and jumped to stay behind it as it swung. I paused. There was no sound coming from the other side. I peered around the flimsy plywood, some protection that would have been. and to my shock, there was no one there. Just the lemon yellow tiles, the toilet, the sink. My mind started to do mental gymnastics. Maybe I had closed these doors, but left the front one open?

It was entirely possible, but the ferret smell was stronger in here, much stronger. Then I noticed the bathtub. The shower curtain had been pulled closed, but there was something... In the tub, from this angle I could see a swath of dark denim peeking through the water-stained plastic curtain. I stepped closer, opened the curtain, and looked down. A wave of the stench hit me. There was David G., dead in my bathtub.

This has been chapters two through five of Murder on Sex Island, read by the author, Joe Firestone, which is, that's me. It's produced by Barry Finkel. Our music is from Blue Dot Sessions. Episode 3 comes out next week. I'll be reading chapters 6 through 11. If you can't wait that long to find out how David G. got in Marie slash Loyola's bathtub, then you can buy the book. Till next time.