You Can't Hide: A pulse-pounding serial killer thriller (7th Street Crew Book 3)

by Willow Rose

  I hear softness in Salter’s voice again. It makes me happy. He’s usually such a sweet boy. I don’t like when his heart hardens into a rock like it’s started doing recently, especially when talking to me.

  I think about Danny and the daughter he never got to know and now maybe never will, since we can’t find her. I can’t stop thinking about all the single moms and their daughters that have gone missing over the past few years. Where did they go? Have they simply moved?

  “Was there anything else you wanted, Mom?” Salter asks. “‘Cause Dad, Jackie, and I are going fishing today.”

  “Not in the lagoon, are you?”

  He scoffs. “No, of course not. It’s filled with dead fish. Dad has borrowed a boat and we’re going out on the ocean. We’re leaving from Cape Canaveral.”

  “Wow. That sounds really great, buddy. Say, you do know not to ever go with anyone you don’t know, right?”

  He sighs provocatively. “Mom.”

  “I’m just a little worried, that’s all. You do know not to trust anyone you don’t know, right? You know Stranger Danger and all that, right?”

  “Mom. I am not a moron.”

  “I’m not saying you are; I just want to make sure you realize that there are people out there who steal kids.”

  Okay, now you’re just terrifying the kid!

  “I mean, there are bad guys in this world who might…”

  “Mom!” Salter says harshly. “I know these things.”

  I can hear Joey’s voice in the background, and soon Salter disappears and Joey is there.

  “Stop babying him,” he says. “You gotta stop it. You are so freaking controlling. Geez.”

  “I am not trying to baby him. I just want to make sure everything is alright,” I say. “I have the right to worry about my son.”

  “Why wouldn’t everything be all right? Huh? Because you don’t trust me, that’s why. Because you don’t trust anyone with your child. No one can do as good a job as you, right? Well, guess what? We’re doing pretty good around here without you.”

  Ouch!

  An awkward pause follows, where I try to gather myself. “I’ll stop by with some clean clothes later today,” I finally say, holding back tears.

  “No need to,” he says. “Jackie bought him lots of new clothes; they went to the mall this morning.”

  “The mall? But Salter hates the mall.”

  “Well, not any more. He loved it with Jackie,” Joey says.

  He loved it with Jackie? What’s going on here?

  “So, what you’re basically telling me is you don’t need me at all, is that it?”

  “Don’t start that,” he says. “They’re bonding. Salter and Jackie are. It’s a good thing. Don’t make this about you.”

  “But it is about me. It’s all about you replacing me, leaving me out of my own damn family!” I yell.

  I hear a click when Joey hangs up. I groan and throw the phone down, then I pick up a pillow, place it in front of my face, and scream into it.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  April 2016

  I spend the rest of the afternoon working on my article, but I can’t really focus on it properly. I keep writing things, then deleting them. I drink loads of coffee and stuff myself with chocolate bars, and as the day passes, I even dive into the ice cream. Ben and Jerry’s, Brownie Batter. That’s when you know you’re in trouble, that things are really bad.

  I try hard not to feel sorry for myself as I get into the story, researching online all the many theories about the fish-kill, and try to find an angle that all the newspapers haven’t already covered. I know my audience is different from theirs; they’re spread all over the world, so they might not have heard about the fish-kill, but I still need to add something to the story that no one has heard before, and so far I don’t have anything.

  Just before six, the doorbell rings, and I walk over to open it. Outside is Detective Fisher. He isn’t wearing his usual smirk. It frightens me.

  “Chris?”

  He runs a hand through his hair several times in a row. I can tell he has been doing that a lot today, since his hair is slightly greasy.

  “We haven’t found her,” he says.

  My heart drops. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  He looks surprised. “Why would I kid about something like that?”

  I shake my head. That was a stupid thing to say. “No. Of course not. It’s no joke. She wasn’t at the rec center?”

  “Never showed up for the game. I had a man there all afternoon to wait and see if she did show up, while we contacted everyone that knows the family. I’ve spoken to all the parents from the sixth grade; no one has seen her since the rally this morning, since before the accident.”

  “You’re scaring me,” I say.

  “Well, you should be. We all should be. I mean…what if something happened? I can’t bear to think about if…”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Detective,” I say. “How’s the mother, how’s Nicky Stover?”

  He draws in a deep breath and calms down. “Better. Lots of broken bones and temporary memory loss, doctor says. Many months of recovery in front of her, but she’ll live.”

  “That’s a relief,” I say.

  “Yeah. But imagine if her daughter doesn’t show up after this. It’s almost too cruel to bear, you know what I mean?”

  “I know. I’m sure you’ll find her,” I say, but I know I don’t sound very convincing.

  “We have to find her before it gets dark, so we’re walking door to door now through the entire community, asking if anyone has seen her, and we’re having a big search of the entire Minutemen area. We only have one dog to help us, but it’s better than nothing. We’re starting here at six o’clock. We’re asking the public for help, asking all who can to join us look for her. So, if you can?”

  “Of course,” I say. “I’ll be right there. Just let me feed my dad first.”

  “Sure. Bring flashlights and maybe that dog of yours. We need all the help we can get.”

  I look at Snowflake behind me. He is wagging his tail trying to get out to the detective and talk to him. But I am holding him back. He has a tendency to jump people when he gets excited.

  “Of course. No problem.”

  “See you down there.”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  April 2016

  Boxer is out of his mind with anger and frustration. He tries not to think about it as he joins a group of people outside of city hall. They have all showed up to search for Paige Stover. A policeman came to his door earlier and asked for his help. Of course, Boxer will take part in the search. They need all the eyes and hands they can get.

  An officer holds a picture up of Paige and others are showing copies to people and asking them to look at them closely.

  “Paige Stover was last seen at the rally this morning. She was seen here, in front of city hall, where this picture was taken with her mother, then later way down Minutemen just before the school, where she was walking with three of her girlfriends. No one has seen her since the chaos erupted. Her mother was hit by a car and we suspect she might have seen or known about it, then run off in shock. We need people to look everywhere. In all the bushes, in the dunes at the beach, under and inside boats, in the canals, anywhere she could be hiding in case she got scared or something. She might not even know about her mother being hit by the car; maybe she was just scared by the panic, who knows? We’re asking you to be careful in approaching her. If she is in shock, she might be really afraid. Should you find her, get ahold of a police officer or call 911. We’ll get someone out there to help you. I want to thank everyone for coming out to help us. Now, let’s find Paige!”

  Boxer is handed a picture of Paige and he starts to walk along with the group. He follows them towards Minutemen where the group is split. Some walk towards the beach area while others walk towards Minutemen Causeway and the schools. He greets a couple he knows from his street.

  “This is aw
ful,” the woman says.

  “I know. Poor girl,” Boxer says. “I just hope she’s all right.”

  “Yes. So do we. And her poor mother too. Being hit by a car and now this? Now her daughter is missing? Can you imagine?”

  Boxer shakes his head in sympathy. “I really can’t.”

  “Well, I’m just glad so many people showed up to help with the search,” the woman continues. “I remember last year when Olson’s little boy ran away from home. He was found hiding under a boat, apparently too frightened to bring home his report card to his dad. Poor thing. His dad is a police officer. Nice man, but a little harsh on the kid, I can imagine. What do you say, Clark?” she says, addressed to her husband, but he doesn’t answer.

  As they reach Minutemen, a group of them grab each other’s hands and they shape a long line. Boxer looks at the lady next to him. She is holding a dog as well, a white Goldendoodle that seems to be very excited.

  Boxer looks at her hand as she reaches it out to him. He has seen her on Facebook. This is the lady that took the pictures of Paige during the rally, the ones that led him straight to her when he couldn’t find her.

  “It’s okay. I can hold both you and the dog,” she says. “This is Snowflake, by the way.”

  Boxer smiles. “Well, hello there, Snowflake,” he says. Enjoying the attention, the dog jumps him.

  “Snowflake!” The woman says and pulls the dog down. “I’m sorry. He’s just very excited about people. If he spots Paige Stover in the bushes, he’ll run straight to her, is my theory.”

  “That’s nice,” Boxer says.

  “Shall we?” the woman says and reaches out her hand again. Boxer grabs it in his. They walk through the street and comb through all of the parking lots. Some look in the bushes along the street, others under cars and in yards in front of the houses. Walking hand in hand, they comb through the entire area until they reach the school. Some are calling her name, others worrying more quietly.

  “It’s nice when the community comes together like this, don’t you think?” the woman asks. “It’s good to know that they have your back, right? I mean, you never know when you’ll need other people’s help, right? It feels good to know that you’re not alone around here.”

  Boxer nods, his eyes avoiding hers. “It sure does. It sure does.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  April 2016

  This is awful. This is so painful I can barely stand it!

  I imagine the most terrible things happening to poor Paige Stover. I try not to think about it while walking with the search group around the area of the school, but it is hard not to. I can’t stop thinking about Paige’s mother and how terrible she must feel.

  Luckily, I know Salter is with his dad on that fishing boat. They’re probably coming in by now, driving home for dinner or grabbing a burger on the way back, I imagine.

  I’ll have to call him again to make sure he is all right when all this is over. They can get mad all they want at me; I am a mother, and I have the right to worry.

  I am walking with the group, holding hands with Danny on one side, and a man I don’t know on the other. I remember seeing him before, but I don’t think I have ever spoken to him. He seems very shy. Shy people make me insecure, and I have a tendency to blabber like a crazy woman when I get insecure and when I am with people that don’t say much. They scare me a little because you never know where you stand with them, you never know what they think or feel about anything.

  By the time we have circled the entire school area, I think I have told him my entire life story. I have even made a few jokes that were completely inappropriate for this situation. I feel embarrassed by myself and bite my tongue to shut up.

  But when I do, there is one thought that I can’t escape, one thought that keeps popping into my mind, and I don’t want to think it.

  What if Paige has been kidnapped? What if her disappearance is somehow related to all the other disappearances?

  It was, after all, supposed to happen today, according to the pattern.

  You can’t think like that.

  I shake my head and focus on the task at hand. In the distance, the sun is starting to set, and for once, I wish I could stop it or slow it down a little, just for a few hours so we have more time. It is heartbreaking to know that somewhere out there Paige might be sitting, all afraid and scared and out of it. What if she has to spend the night without being found? What if she is stuck somewhere and can’t get up? What if she is hurt so badly she can’t move?

  What if she has been kidnapped?

  Danny, on my left side, is very quiet as we walk towards the high school to go through the area behind it. I have a feeling I know what he is thinking about, but of course—nosy as I am—I have to ask.

  “You thinking about Tara?” I ask.

  I keep my voice low so no one else can hear us, except maybe the guy to my right, but I am guessing he doesn’t know Danny or me and has no idea what I am talking about.

  Danny nods. He doesn’t seem bothered by the question. At last not visibly. “How can I not?”

  “I know. I can’t stop thinking about it too. All those women and children disappearing. I can’t just ignore it. It can’t be just a coincidence. I don’t think I believe that anymore.”

  “I never believed that. Not since I found out about them. Something happened to Tara and Maria. Something bad. I just know it.”

  “Let me ask you something,” I say, still keeping my voice low. “Were you in love with Maria?”

  Danny looks at me shortly, then turns his head away.

  “I think you were,” I say, “That’s why you could never visit. You couldn’t bear the fact that the woman you loved and your child, the family you couldn’t be with, was right there. And you couldn’t be with them no matter how badly you wanted to. Why the heck didn’t you just divorce Jean?”

  “In retrospect, that’s what I should have done,” Danny says. “I see that now. I thought about it every day. But I guess I was too much of a chicken. This was the easy way out. Maria and Tara never expected anything from me. Junior and Jean did. They were the ones who would have been most heartbroken and disappointed with me if I told them.”

  “So, you chose your own heartbreak over your son’s and wife’s? Wow. Quite the sacrifice, I think.”

  “Or maybe I was just a chicken,” he says.

  “Did you tell Junior yet?”

  Danny nods.

  “How did he react?” I ask. I notice there is a commotion by the canals on the other side of the road where another group is searching. I look in their direction, but can’t seem to figure out what is going on. People seem upset and focused on the area over there. Some are running towards them.

  “Well, he’s not here with us today,” Danny says, “even though I asked him politely to be, and he hasn’t wanted to have anything to do with me since I told him. He refuses to even talk to me, so how do you think he took it?”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Worse,” Danny says with a sigh. “Seems like I am just losing everyone these days. Say. What’s going on over there?”

  “We found something!” a voice yells.

  I look at Danny. “They found something in the canal!”

  Hearts pumping, we start to run towards the group that has gathered in a place where the bushes are low and the canal very visible.

  Please let her be alive. Please let her be alive.

  A man crawls down; everyone waits with tension and worry until he pokes his head up. He looks terrified.

  “It’s a body,” he says. “Help me pull it out of the water.”

  The men all step up. I watch while the body of a young girl is pulled out of the water and put on the grass. I walk closer and look at her pale face. Danny feels her neck for a pulse, then looks up at all of us and shakes his head.

  “She’s dead.”

  A gasp runs through the crowd.

  “Is it her?” someone asks. “Is it Paige?”

  I t
urn and look at them, then shake my head. “No. That’s not Paige Stover.”

  “This one has been in the water for a long time,” Danny says, examining her arms and neck.

  “There are more,” the man who spotted the body suddenly says, terror in his voice. “I see an arm sticking out between the dead fish over there! Oh, my God, the river is filled with dead bodies!”

  Part Three

  Here I Come

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  April 2016

  He takes off his shoes as he walks across the tiles to not make a sound. He knew his sister would forget to lock at least one of the sliding doors to the beach. She never was very careful.

  Blake walks across the tiles in the living room. It’s the middle of the night. He walks by the light of his flashlight. He waited outside the house till it grew dark; it felt like it took forever for Mary to get to bed. It was way past midnight before she turned her light out, the last one in the house. He then waited an hour to make sure she was completely away in dreamland.

  He stops and looks at the pictures hung by the stairs. Lots of them of Salter and Mary, the stupid dog, and even of dear old daddy, taken both before and after he was paralyzed.

  But none of Blake.

  He walks closer to one of Mary with her surfboard. It is from back when she was a lot younger. Blake remembers the picture. He doesn’t remember the day she got that board. It was shortly after their mother had been shot. He was no more than a baby. But the picture has been staring at him from his father’s desk for all of his childhood. Now, looking at it again, makes the rage come right back up in him. All the times he was called to his father’s office only to be yelled at or told he was useless, meanwhile resting his eyes on that exact picture of his sister who could do nothing wrong.

  “Why can’t you just be a little more like your sister?” He can still hear his father going at him. On and on and on again. All through his childhood. It came to a point where Blake would know the exact words that would come out of his father’s mouth. He would mimic them as they flew across his lips.