Jack Ryder Mystery Series: Vol 4-6

by Willow Rose

  The girl thought he was being stupid, but that was just one of the emotions she felt when looking at him.

  Since his mother was keeping the boy from socializing with other children, it soon made him timid, eccentric, and a little strange. Often, the girl would go with the nannies to the park close to the house and the nannies would pull him away when other children came to play with him, on The White Lady's orders. Once, the girl overheard The White Lady tell another mother that her child had tested in the genius range and that was why she didn't want him mingling with other children. That had made the girl laugh to herself. Dylan was many things, but he certainly was no genius.

  A year later, The White Lady caught him peeking at the nannies when they were dressing. She then realized it might be time for him to hang out with other children and she selected a few that she believed it would be okay for him to be with. She paid their parents for the children to play with him and picked them up in the family's limousine. The first boy, Troy, who came to play walked down the hallway of the back-house, took one look at the doors, then pointed and said:

  "How come all the doors have deadbolts on them—on the outside?"

  After that, Troy was never invited to play with Dylan again.

  Chapter 9

  Nassau, Bahamas, October 2018

  Nancy felt sick to her stomach. They were walking in an indoor market between stands that sold souvenirs and clothing. The noise in there was unbearable. People were yelling at her from all sides, telling her to come to their shop and buy their hats or dresses or small wooden hand-carved turtles.

  The other girls were walking ahead of her, while Nancy fought to keep up. She felt dizzy, and her stomach was cramping.

  Maria stopped and looked back at her. "Are you okay, Nance? You look awful."

  "Well, thank you very much," she said, moaning as she felt another pinch in her stomach.

  "Do you think it might have been the food?" Maria asked while Nancy leaned against a stand with tie-dyed T-shirts.

  "You want T-shirt, huh?" the lady standing next to it asked. "Very cheap. Very cheap."

  Nancy looked at the pattern and felt even worse. Then she shook her head and staggered onward.

  "It was probably that burger," she said, addressed to Maria. It was the only thing she had eaten since she landed on the island. That and the soda she bought from that guy selling them outside the old church, but that was in a can.

  "We also had those conch fritters, remember?" Maria added. "Down at the port. They did taste a little suspicious."

  Nancy nodded. She didn't really care what it was, only how to get relief.

  "I…I think I need to find a bathroom, fast," she said.

  "I saw a sign over there for restrooms," Maria said and pointed. "I'll walk with you."

  "No. It's okay," Nancy said. "You just go ahead. I'll catch up afterward. Just don't go too far, okay?"

  Maria gave her a look.

  "Are you sure? We'll just walk to the end of the market up there and then wait for you, okay?"

  "That sounds fine," Nancy said absentmindedly. She had spotted the sign to the restroom and was staggering toward it, bending forward, holding a hand to her cramping stomach.

  "Text me if you need anything," Maria yelled after her, concerned.

  Nancy waved at her, not hearing—or caring—what she said, her eyes only focused on getting to the bathroom, fast. She pushed the door open and hurried inside a stall, then bent over and threw up into the toilet bowl, not even noticing the awful stench or closing the stall door.

  Nancy threw up the burger, the conch fries, and the soda. Once her stomach was finally empty, she slid to the floor, drool running down her chin, panting for breath. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt this awful. The nausea subsided for just a moment, and that made her relax as she leaned her head back against the stall wall, closed her eyes, and breathed in.

  She almost didn't hear the door to the restroom as it squeaked open.

  Chapter 10

  Nassau, Bahamas, October 2018

  Emily ate a small piece of chicken and even had a bite of one of my conch fries that I convinced her to taste, telling her that she simply couldn't have been in the Bahamas and not eaten conch fries.

  Pleased with my accomplishments, I leaned back in my chair after dinner, drinking my beer and watching the next singer as she grabbed the microphone. It was karaoke night at the hotel and, much to my surprise, none of the singers who took the mike could carry a tune. Most of them were locals who came to hang out and sing, but it sounded so terrible that I considered taking my beer up to the room instead. Yet we stayed and made fun of them. It turned out to be something we could both laugh at.

  "I am so sorry," I said after the third singer had left and we had stopped laughing.

  "Why?" she asked. "You're not the one singing."

  I chuckled. "That's not what I meant."

  "What did you mean?" she asked. "What can you, the amazing Jack Ryder, everyone's savior, what can you possibly be sorry for?"

  I exhaled. "For everything. For neglecting you. For not being able to save you."

  She gave me a look, and I thought I saw the old Emily in there somewhere. Just for a brief second, then she was gone.

  "I told you. I’m not yours to save. I’m happy, Jack."

  I scoffed. I couldn't help myself. "Happy, huh?"

  She nodded. "Yes, happy. I told you; being skinny makes me happy."

  I could hardly breathe. Hearing her say stuff like that made me want just to grab her and shake some sense into her.

  "Well, then, I’m sorry I couldn't find more relatives for you," I said, trying to take the conversation elsewhere.

  She gave me a look, then leaned over as the next singer approached the mike on stage, and the DJ yelled something so loudly into his mike that it was impossible to understand.

  "I read the article again," Emily said. "In the car and I thought about something."

  "Yes?"

  "Sofia worked for a family as a maid," she said.

  I nodded. "The family whose daughter she killed."

  Emily shook her head. "Maybe it’s just a stupid idea."

  "No, go ahead. It's better than no idea."

  "I just thought that maybe if we went to them and talked to them, then maybe they could tell us something about her? Maybe they have some of her stuff? It said in the article that she lived with them. Maybe they have some pictures or anything that can tell me who she was or whether she has any relatives? Maybe they’ll know where to search for her family?"

  I stared at my daughter, a smile spreading. "That is actually a very good idea."

  She made a face. "You hate it, don't you? I knew you would. It was just stupid."

  "No. I just said I thought it was a great idea."

  She wrinkled her nose. "You're just saying that to be nice. You do that a lot. I know you're afraid of making me sad, but please don't do me any favors."

  I reached over and grabbed her bony hand.

  "No. Emily, listen to me. I’m not kidding. I think we should do it. We’ll go pay them a visit tomorrow, okay?" I shrugged. "What do we have to lose?"

  Chapter 11

  Bahamas, October 2018

  Nancy blinked her eyes. A bright light was shining in her face, and it made her feel sick. She sat up and looked around.

  Where am I?

  She was sitting on a couch. It was soft. In front of her was a round coffee table made from thick glass. All the furniture was very high-tech and expensive. Nancy's parents weren't rich, but she had been around wealthy people enough in her life to recognize an expensive couch when she saw one. The fabric alone felt amazing.

  What am I doing here?

  She tried to remember. She recalled the ship docking in Nassau, then she and the girls got off the boat and headed into town. Then they had the burger at Hard Rock, and then they went shopping. She had promised to bring back a souvenir for her boyfriend, Billy. She had been looking for a h
oodie for him and maybe a similar one in a different color for her, when she fell sick, when she needed to go to…

  The bathroom. I threw up and then…

  Nancy gasped and rose to her feet. As she did, she felt dizzy again and had to sit back down. As she gathered herself, she remembered the door creaking open, then the steps that followed and soon stopped right behind her. She remembered gasping and turning to look just as a set of hands reached out for her. She vaguely remembered there being a car. She remembered screaming, but she also remembered her mouth being covered and then there was something, a prick against her skin. Then dizziness followed before everything went black.

  Panicking, she looked around her and realized the room she was in had no windows. It was very expensively decorated with paintings on the walls—that didn't seem to be copies—and designer lamps hanging from the ceiling. But there was something missing.

  A door. No matter where Nancy looked, there was no door.

  "Mom?" she asked into the vast space, hoping and praying she was somewhere back at the ship in one of the more expensive suites. Maybe someone had taken care of her while she was sick?

  "Dad?"

  Nancy whimpered as she turned around once more to see if she could find a door, but there simply wasn't one. Finally, she managed to get to her feet and walked to the stone wall behind the couch and felt it. There wasn't a crack in it to tell her this was the exit. There was no door handle or anything she could pull.

  How did I get in here if there is no door?

  Suddenly, the air felt tight in her throat, and Nancy gasped. What was this place? What was she doing there?

  Nancy knocked on the wall as if she believed it would somehow magically open. She walked to the middle of the room and stared up at the ceiling.

  "Hello? Can anyone hear me? Hello? HELLO?"

  Chapter 12

  Bahamas, July 1983

  Before Gabrielle came along, the girl had never thought about running away since this was all she knew. She had believed she belonged here, that this was her home, and that The White Lady took care of her because her grandparents had died.

  It wasn't until one of the newly-arrived grown women, Gabrielle, started to talk about getting away that the girl even considered it a possibility. But where would she go?

  Gabrielle couldn't stop talking about it, about how they were being kept there against their will, that this wasn't what she had paid all her mother's savings to get to. She had been promised America, a job, and freedom. This wasn't that at all. This was just another prison. This was no better than back home.

  "They're exploiting you all," she said, pointing her finger at each of them while they sat on the brown tiles in the kitchen. "Keeping you as slaves."

  The girl didn't quite understand what Gabrielle was talking about, but the more she listened to her stories about foreign places, the more the girl started to remember how her grandparents had been dreaming of the same thing. How they too had talked with feverish eyes about the USA and how everything would be better once they got there. How the girl would see her real mother and father.

  Being ten years old now, the girl suddenly understood a lot more and started to dream herself. Was there really a life outside of this place, a life where no one would beat you if you made the coffee too strong or dropped a cup on the floor? A life without constantly fearing The White Lady's wrath?

  "I’m telling you," Gabrielle, said. "I’m leaving. Tomorrow. Anyone who wants to come with me is welcome."

  "It's dangerous," Carla said.

  The girl had always liked Carla. She took good care of her and washed her wounds that time when The White Lady had scratched her with her long nails and made long bloody stripes on her back. The wounds had become swollen afterward and infected, probably because of dirt and bacteria from underneath her nails, Carla had explained, then called her a disgusting monster.

  The other women in the kitchen nodded, agreeing with Carla.

  Gabrielle scoffed. "You're all just cowards. Well, suit yourselves. Stay here for the rest of your life if you like. See if I care. I’m getting out of here."

  That night, the girl lay awake on her mattress. Her wide-open eyes were watching the lizard crawling on the ceiling while wondering with a pounding heart whether she too should take the chance and get away from there, find herself a life of freedom away from The White Lady and all her rules. She could pursue the dream her grandparents had and maybe find her real parents. For years, she had waited for them to come find her where she was, but as she grew older, she slowly realized that maybe they didn't know where she was. Maybe they weren't coming after all.

  Maybe she'd have to find them herself.

  Chapter 13

  Lyford Cay, Bahamas, October 2018

  I had never seen such wealth in my entire life. Not even in Fort Lauderdale where I grew up, not in Miami or any of the suburbs, or even in West Palm Beach. This was out of this world. It was so extravagant that it made me feel sick to my stomach.

  The family that Sofia had served with lived in Lyford Cay, a gated community on the western tip of New Providence Island. It was hard to imagine that this was the same island that also housed the capital, Nassau. It was considered to be one of the world's wealthiest and most exclusive neighborhoods, known to house billionaires and playboys, where they could live their press-shy lives unnoticed.

  According to newspaper articles—and Google—Ella Maria Chauncey's family were shipping heirs, or at least the mother was, while her husband used to be a New York financier before they met. Now, it was commonly known that Mr. Chauncey mostly handled golf equipment and champagne bottles.

  I had called ahead and spoken to the father, and he told me he'd put my name on the list at the gate. I had to admit, I felt slightly nervous as we parked the rental car in the driveway that was big enough to be called a highway where I came from.

  "Why are you sweating so much?" Emily asked me as we got out of the car. "Your shirt is all soaked."

  "It's hot," I said.

  "You didn't sweat like that yesterday, and it was just as hot."

  I pulled my shirt from my sweaty chest to get some air inside it. "What can I say? Rich people make me nervous."

  Emily chuckled. "You're married to one."

  "It’s not the same, and you know it. Shannon is a singer, famous and rich, yes, but nothing like these people. She is not demanding and entitled the way rich people usually are. She doesn’t set up standards so high you can't reach them. She's human. These people aren't."

  Emily chuckled again. "They still put their pants on the same way as we do. One leg at a time."

  "I’m not sure people like this even wear pants, Em," I whispered as we approached the front door.

  "How are they, by the way?"

  "Who?" I asked.

  "Shannon and the kids? Back home?"

  It was the first time Emily had asked about them. I had been calling them each morning and evening, but she hadn't seemed interested in knowing how they were. I was guessing she really needed the break from them. It was a little much and a little crazy around the house with five young kids and a puppy, but that was my reality. And Shannon's. I just hoped she was handling it well. I worried about her. Of course, I did. She had only been off the painkillers since August. I feared this was too much for her, being alone with all those kids. But she had assured me she could do it.

  "They're great," I said. "Shannon's a little overwhelmed, but she's doing well. I spoke to Nanna earlier, and she even says Shannon is doing awesome."

  "She didn't use that word," Emily said.

  "Of course not. She said she was getting by. That's a lot coming from your grandmother on the subject of Shannon. You know it is."

  Emily chuckled again. "Sure is."

  I gave her a satisfied look, then turned to face the door just as it was opened.

  Chapter 14

  Lyford Cay, Bahamas, October 2018

  We were led through the huge hall and into what mig
ht have been a living room, one of many, I suspected, in a mansion like this. The black woman showing us the way nodded politely toward the other end of it, where a white man came walking toward us. He was wearing a golfing outfit and looked like he was about to leave.

  "Hello," I said and approached him, stretching out my hand. "I’m Jack Ryder. We called earlier?" I made sure to keep out the detective part—once again since I had also done it on the phone—so he wouldn’t be nervous. I had no jurisdiction here in the Bahamas. I was here on a private matter, so it wasn't important.

  "You must be Mr. Chauncey?"

  The man nodded and shook my hand. Much to my surprise, he didn't seem as snobbish as I had expected, and I was able to relax my shoulders.

  "Yes, yes, welcome. Now, how can I be of help?" he asked. "It was regarding Sofia, right?"

  I nodded and pulled Emily forward. "First of all, I am so sorry for your loss. I can't even imagine how…"

  Mr. Chauncey stopped me. He held a hand to his face, shook his head, and sat down on an armchair behind him with a deep exhale. We sat on the couch in front of him and, as I looked closer, I could now see the deep grief in his eyes. I had seen it so many times before in my job, and still, it almost made me lose it every time. The thought of losing a child was simply too unbearable to me. I had many kids, but none to spare. I wouldn't be able to go on living. I don't think I could. I thought about the twins back home and then about Tyler and Betsy Sue and Angela. I put my hand on top of Emily's and squeezed it, worrying about her and whether I would end up losing her.