The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 4-6: Redemption Thriller Series 10-12 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  “Is there a reason you’re looming over me? You’re acting like a prison guard.”

  “This isn’t normal, Ivy. You shouldn’t be taking this news so nonchalantly.” She moved around to the other side of the desk where I could see her.

  If she only knew what was churning inside of me. But I knew that sharing everything I was feeling, getting myself all worked up, wouldn’t change anything. And what would it bring? Temporary empathy? It would only make me wallow in self-pity. I didn’t need that, and I certainly didn’t want to drag Cristina into another Ivy drama.

  “I’m just a normal girl going through normal, everyday stuff, Cristina.” I could feel her staring at me, then she moved back to her laptop.

  A few seconds passed. “How’s it going with graphing the victims on a map?”

  “Making progress. Just a little slow today.”

  I craned my neck and spotted her mouthing words. It was her dyslexia. She’d admitted months earlier that one of the reasons she never enjoyed school was because of how slow she was to complete her work. It made everything much more difficult to finish, especially in the assigned time.

  “Do you need my help?”

  “No, I got it.”

  I realized that something had changed. She hadn’t complained about her reading issues since she’d restarted school in the summer. Was there any way she’d been lying about attending school? I knew she’d enrolled initially because of the case we’d taken on. I hadn’t seen a report card or actually gone to the school to see her sitting behind a desk. Yet, I had seen her carry around a new backpack. What else would be in there besides books or notebooks?

  Who was I kidding? Cristina answered to no one. Her independence, her ability to rely on no one but herself to survive, was inspiring. But her stubbornness to do things her way in her own time was almost legendary. Could she have gotten tired of me hounding her to go back to school? So much so that she decided to put on this little charade…anything to keep me off her back? I decided to give her a little pop quiz.

  “I appreciate you diving in to work on this case. But I can take over if you want.”

  “I’m good.”

  “You don’t have any homework?”

  “I usually get it done in class. Most of my teachers are pretty cool.”

  “How many credits do you have left before you graduate?”

  A pause. She was thinking about it, and my suspicion meter edged higher. “Did you hear me?”

  “Yeah, just focusing here. You know, I’m trying to get this shit done, like you asked.”

  “I know. Thank you.”

  I looked at my laptop screen to see the same message I’d read earlier. Obsessing over it wouldn’t do me any good. I clicked the browser shut. Picking up my phone, I considered texting Saul, knowing it might be easier just to communicate the news through words on a screen. If we talked about it in person, I knew I might break down. Might? Hell, I knew for a fact I’d break down. He’d console me, comfort me. Who could ask for anything better, right? But I didn’t want to be in the position, again, to garner anyone’s sympathy. I just wanted to live my life and do my part to help make this world a better place for kids of all ages. That included the kid of Armand Roussel—Zahera. And the kids who could have been kidnapped. A thought swept through my mind: was there any concern that these apparent computer hackers might someday actually abduct a kid? To at least remind everyone to take them seriously?

  “Motherfucking piece of shit.”

  And I couldn’t forget about the kid sitting across from me, cussing like nobody’s business.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Just lost all of my work. No worries.”

  Another muffled expletive, then she said, “Okay, now we’re making headway.”

  I had to jump on the positive wave. “You were reminding me how many credits you had left to graduate.”

  “Oh really? I thought you were just hounding me again.”

  If she’d looked at me, she would have seen me roll my eyes. I persevered. “Seriously, I have a bad memory.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “You’re taking that animation class. That’s probably pretty cool.”

  “Yeah, because it’s all about graphics. No words. My dyslexia didn’t go into hibernation, although I gotta admit, it’s a lot better.”

  I sat up. “Really? Why do you think?”

  “This teacher. She’s pretty cool.”

  “What class?”

  “ILA.”

  Kids used acronyms for everything these days.

  “I can tell you’re stumped. For you old people, that means English.”

  “Ah. Thanks for the interpretation.” I instantly recalled my senior English teacher, Mrs. Foster. She’d been a positive influence in my life. She had the kindest eyes, yet I could always feel this quiet inner strength from her. I’d never seen that in a woman before. I’d read books about strong, smart women, but she was the first one with whom I’d connected. She gave me confidence in myself, in being open to learning, figuring out who and what I wanted to be. If Mrs. Foster hadn’t come along, I doubt I would have had the fortitude to get myself through college. I hadn’t touched base with her in years. Didn’t we have a class reunion coming up in November?

  “If you don’t mind me asking, how has your teacher helped with your dyslexia?”

  “She’s given me some exercises and stuff to help, but more than anything she’s just patient with me. Really calm, and…I don’t know. Just acts like she believes in me. I know that sounds stupid.”

  “Far from it. Sounds like a cool teacher I had in my senior year.”

  She raised her head above her laptop. “Yeah, but did your teacher allow you to listen to audiobooks as an assignment?”

  I looked to the corner for a second. “I’m not sure those were invented back in the days of horse-drawn carriages.”

  “You said it, not me,” she said dryly.

  “No, really. She’s the bomb?”

  “First, if you’re trying to act young and cool, we don’t say stupid phrases like that.”

  “What’s second, smartass?”

  “That I’m finally done with the homework you gave me. Want to take a look?”

  I walked around to her side of the desk as she angled her screen upward. All I saw was a hand shooting me the middle finger. Cristina smacked the table three times, trying to speak, but she couldn’t because she was laughing so hard.

  “Very funny, Ms. Tafoya.”

  “Now you sound like a snooty old teacher,” she said through a laughing gasp.

  It took her another ten minutes to calm down and create the graph. We analyzed the data for another hour, but weren’t able to derive any noticeable pattern.

  “We were lost before we even started!” Cristina exclaimed, leaning back in her chair.

  “No, we’re just not seeing the right data. We need more information. Different information.”

  My phone buzzed, and I saw a text from Zahera.

  “What’s up?” Cristina asked.

  “Zahera is throwing a celebration party at her condo.”

  “For what?”

  “She’s had her practice for four years. All the girls from the office will be there, and we’re invited too.”

  “I’ll pass. I’ll just hang out here and stare at this information and maybe something will come to me.”

  “You can bring your computer, set it up in the kitchen or maybe one of the back bedrooms. That’ll be good. We can do some multitasking. I need to talk to Stan about getting more data anyway.”

  “Dude, it’s not my kind of deal. Too much giggling and shit. It’s for women who went to college.”

  I shut my laptop and grabbed my purse. “You’re going tonight, and you’re also going to college.”

  “Pfft.”

  “I thought you felt inspired by your ILA teacher? Without even meeting her, I know she’d want you to go to college.”

  “Maybe. But
Mrs. Foster wouldn’t force it on me. She’d just let me figure it out on my own, you know?”

  I grabbed Miss “You Know” and walked out of the office.

  19

  Slack-jawed, I watched two women wearing silk pajamas beat each other with pillows while they juggled glasses of champagne. I was standing next to Cristina just inside the front door of Zahera’s high-rise condo. Cristina and I turned to look at each other at the same time. “I have no words,” she said.

  “It can’t all be this bad. Follow me.” Bruno Mars music grooved through ceiling speakers as we weaved through bunches of balloons and streamers. Most of the furniture had been moved out, and in its place were massage chairs, as well as stations set up for manicures and pedicures. Moving through the dining room we walked into the kitchen. Zahera and three other ladies sat in lounge chairs, wearing mud masks with cucumbers covering their eyes.

  “Seriously?” Cristina giggled.

  I elbowed her just as Zahera sat up. “Hey guys. Haven’t I been saying we need to have a spa day? Well, I brought the spa to us. Just find an open station and treat yourself.”

  “Uh, I’m not—”

  I stepped on Cristina’s foot. “Thanks, Z. We’ll take a look around and just get comfortable.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Hey, we have some work stuff that needs some attention. Mind if we set up shop somewhere…if you have some free space?”

  “Guest bedroom. I have a desk back there, and it’s even quiet. Mi casa es su casa.”

  I wasn’t great at Spanish, but I understood Zahera’s basic message. I turned to head back across the condo when I heard someone hollering.

  “We turned four today. Woo-hoo!” The lady who worked the front desk at Zahera’s practice bumped into my shoulder, sloshing her drink over the side. “Aw, damn. I guess I’ll have to go get another Screaming Orgasm.”

  Some female voice yelled, “That’ll be your first, Nancy Klein.”

  Every girl in the room cracked up. Everyone except Cristina. Nurse Nancy, who had cotton balls between her toes and was walking on her heels, finally noticed Cristina’s blank stare. “Can I get you something, honey? A Shirley Temple maybe?”

  Cristina shifted her eyes to me. I only had a few seconds before she would say something that might lead to an unnecessary spat. I hooked my arm around hers and pulled her out of the kitchen. “See you gals in a bit.”

  The second we exited the room, Cristina said, “Damn, that bitch should be thanking you.”

  “Come on, Cristina. She’s just—”

  “A cutesy girly-girl.”

  I was almost stunned that she hadn’t come off with a rash of cuss words. “Aw, come on. It’s not so bad. I thought it would be much worse.”

  “Where I come from, it doesn’t get much worse.”

  I escorted Cristina through the throng of ladies, spa personnel, and a couple of bartenders. I saw Kelly, Zahera’s office manager, lingering near the large bank of living room windows. She held up her glass, and I gave her a quick wave in return before she continued to converse with two younger girls from the office. From my two-second perspective, she appeared to be forcing an interest in their conversation. But neither seemed to catch on to her disinterest. It was probably a generation-gap thing.

  As soon as Cristina and I turned down the main hallway, the noise level dropped in half. The guest bedroom was immaculate as always. So many shades of off-whites and tans, but somehow perfectly blended to soothe your senses. I picked up a waft of lavender as Cristina plopped her computer bag on the desk.

  “Don’t scratch it.” Somehow Zahera, or maybe her interior decorator, had been able to pull off placing an impeccable, cherry wood antique in the middle of a contemporary setting. It worked, and I sure as hell didn’t want to damage it.

  “Chill,” she said, carefully placing her laptop on the desk. “Is that better?”

  “Much.” I thought back to our conversation at the office and all the old high-school memories that had subsequently flooded my mind on the ride over to Zahera’s. “Your English teacher—”

  “ILA.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Mrs. Foster. You’re going to die when you hear this, but I’m almost certain she was my senior English teacher.”

  Cristina slid into a rattan chair, grimacing a bit. “Not likely,” she said, logging into her computer.

  “Why would you say that? Sounds like she is just as positive and encouraging as she was to me, and that’s a great thing. If you don’t mind, I might drop by your school and say hello.”

  She turned to look at me. “First, please don’t come to my school…ever.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because everyone will think you’re my mom, or older sister, or aunt. And it’s just not something I want to deal with.”

  I wouldn’t make that promise. If I wanted to catch up with my old teacher, I would. That lady truly had changed my perspective on what I could do with my life. It had been far too long since I’d seen her, to thank her for how she’d inspired the person I’d become. “You have a second reason?”

  “It’s not the same woman.”

  “Why are you so sure?”

  “My teacher just got out of college in the last two or three years. I think she’s twenty-six or something, which in my book is still old, but not ancient.”

  A tinge of disappointment washed over me. Then I had a thought. “I wonder if she might be related.”

  “It’s possible, I guess. Mrs. Foster talks about her parents all the time. I think they had a big anniversary recently. Oh, she talks about her brother too. He has autism and all, but they seem like a pretty close family.”

  I nodded.

  “Dammit, Ivy. I didn’t mean to bring up family stuff after the rejection note from the adoption website.”

  I thought I could be direct, but Cristina’s form of bluntness could win awards. “I’m cool.” I walked to the door. “I’m going to mingle a little, get a drink. Can I bring you something?”

  “Food. But give me some time to study this graph I put together. Sometimes if I’m in the zone, I can find crap that even surprises me.”

  I liked her confidence and told her that I’d bring her a sampler plate in a few minutes.

  20

  After dropping my purse on the bed, I walked back into the living room. Kelly swooped in just as I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket. “Please take me away from all this inane conversation. They’re so young and immature; I’m just not sure I can take it any longer.”

  She tipped back a flute of champagne and drained the glass. It appeared she could hang with the younger girls. But was she basically saying that I looked to be closer to her age? Surely not, right? “You know I’m the same age as Nancy and the others. Or at least in the same range.”

  She touched my arm. “Oh dear, I offended you. Believe me, I only wished I still had everything that you’ve got.”

  I shrugged. “Uh, thank you.” I looked for a bartender, but she squeezed my arm and I turned back to her just as she laid her palm to my face.

  “Not a blemish on your buttery skin. Your blue eyes are simply luminescent. And I can tell you work out. Wow, it must be nice to be in your twenties, yet I know that you’ve lived a hard life. I can feel wisdom oozing from your pores.”

  Feeling awkward about her praise, I gently removed her hand from my face. “Thanks again,” I said, padding away.

  I found a bartender and ordered a lemon drop martini for me and a Coke for Cristina. She’d appreciate the jolt of caffeine. As I headed for the long table of food laid out by the entertainment center, I felt my phone buzz. I plucked it from my pocket. A text from Nick.

  Sorry about delay, Ivy. Was forced to join long conference calls. I just reached out to my partner, Alex. Turns out she’s in Lyon attending meetings on her investigation. She’ll call me tomorrow. I’ll let u know if and what she can share about Zeke.

  A quick glance over my shoulder to ensure the ladies nearby didn’t h
ave wandering eyes, then I thumbed a response to Nick.

  Thanks for reaching out. If you think it will help our cause for me to speak with Alex, let me know.

  From the blinking dots on the screen, I could see he was typing. Then his message popped up.

  She’s a bit of a spitfire, but thx for the offer. I’ll contact u tomorrow. I’m taking Stan out for a late-night walk.

  I responded with: Thx for pushing Stan. He needs a big brother…or cuz right now.

  I heard a “whoop” and then an arm smacked the back of my head. “Oh, Ivy, did I hurt you?”

  It was Nancy, who’d fallen to the floor. Two other girls helped her up. She was officially the drunkest person at the party.

  “Sorry about the drunk punch to the head.” Zahera, with her face now clear of the mud mask, had snuck up from the opposite side. “Hey, is that a text from Stan’s cousin, Nick?” She dipped her head closer to my phone. I pulled it to my chest.

  “Wait, is he in town?”

  “Uh, yeah. Just visiting.”

  “Are you hiding something from me?” She playfully tried prying my arm away from my chest. “Ivy, what are you doing? We share everything, right?”

  “It’s nothing, Z. We’re just talking about how to get Stan motivated.”

  Realizing it would only create more suspicion, I released the tension in my arm and read Nick’s latest text—the only thing showing on the screen: It will be good for both of us to jog with Stan. Talk to u tomorrow.

  I could feel my shoulders drop in relief. “Nick’s not holding back. He’s even got Bev involved. Earlier, I watched him clean out the family fridge of all the bad food.”

  “I bet that was fun…or gross. Was there anything left when he got done?”

  I chuckled. “He was going to give Bev a new list of groceries to pick up, and I’m thinking it’s all going to be organic.”

  Zahera brought a hand to her face. “Tough love from his cousin. This will be great for Stan. Hell, it will be entertaining for us to watch this transformation.”

  “For him to lose the weight and be able to run in the Dallas marathon by December, it might take a miracle. But we need to support him.”