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

by John W. Mefford

  “You were…are a role model for kids your age.”

  She scrunched the tissue in her hand. “But I only felt pressure from having to live up to this persona I created. It felt like the weight of the world was on me.”

  She cried more, yet it seemed like her stress level had been reduced.

  I asked about her necklace. She showed the pendant to me. It was half of a heart.

  “Clifton gave it to me. He had the other half on a chain. But I learned that the other girls being held captive also had the same pendant.” She paused, took a heavy breath. “Those poor girls. Who knows how long they’d been held captive? Who knows if there were other girls?”

  “It’s good to be compassionate, but don’t put the burden of what one man did to others on your shoulders. It will only make you question everything you’ve done in your life. We can’t relive the past, only learn from it. And really, the biggest thing I’ve learned in my life is that I have to believe in myself, accept the fact that I’m not perfect.”

  She stared at me. “It sounds like you’ve gone through something similar.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you’re doing pretty good?”

  “Real good.” A tear bubbled in my eye, but I was able to suppress further emotion.

  Given Clifton’s explanation for how he and Abel worked together, I decided to let her know what had happened with her classmates. The people that Abel had killed, and then the unrelated but disturbing animal sacrifices by the group known as the Nightsteppers. She said she was aware of the group, but wanted nothing to do with them and their revenge against the high school coaches. She knew Brandon was the leader of it, and while he’d been abused by the football coach, she said he took it too far, as always.

  “He has no self-control. If he wants something, he takes it or makes it happen. He could do great things, but it seems like he uses his skills to do things that hurt people.”

  While all the Big Rules made sense, I was still curious about the Bible verse we’d found in her dresser.

  “Brandon gave it to me. He’s so extreme at everything he does, he just couldn’t help himself. He found that Bible verse to give him justification for controlling a girl…me. After we broke up, I kept it as a reminder to never let someone control me again.” She twisted her lips. “I guess it didn’t work.”

  We entered her neighborhood, but instead of getting excited, she started to tear apart her tissue. I asked if there was anything else she wanted to share.

  “It’s like you’re my shrink or something.”

  “Whatever works, right?” I gave her a tight-lipped smile. “You’ve experienced a hell few people can relate to. I’m here for you if you want to tell me something.”

  And she told me something that made me speechless. I hugged her, catching Brook’s gaze in the rearview. Her eyes couldn’t get any bigger. I was just glad she didn’t hit one of the many cars lining the neighborhood streets.

  Mia said I was the first person she’d shared that with, and would probably be the last.

  She added, “In recalling all of this crap I’ve experienced or seen, it would be easy for me to be depressed, or to hold grudges against all these people. But when I sat in that room at Clifton’s mansion, locked up, just wondering when he’d show up and assault me again, I told myself that keeping all this anger and resentment inside would just make me feel worse. It could tear me apart for years. I don’t want to be dealing with this shit when I’m old, you know, like thirty-something.”

  I smiled, not just at her belief of what constitutes “old,” but at how this tragedy had brought out the very best of Mia.

  “You’ve learned a valuable lesson, Mia. Something most people never learn, regardless of their age.” I patted my chest, swallowed back some emotion. “Redemption isn’t something that comes from the approval of others. It’s all inside. If you feel redeemed, then you are.”

  She hugged me with everything she had. And when we arrived at her house, she chose to look beyond the transgressions of her parents and hug them with every ounce of her being.

  52

  Saul opened the passenger door on his antiquated Mazda RX-7 and then kissed my cheek.

  “What’s that for?” I asked.

  “Because I’m proud of what you’re about to do. It takes a lot of courage.”

  I wondered if it was more foolhardy than courageous, but I didn’t say anything. He started the car and we began to drive to… Uh, I wasn’t sure where.

  “Where are we meeting this phantom person who supposedly knows something about my parents?”

  “We’re meeting Sally the PI at the coffee shop over on La Pressa. Then, she’s supposed to get final confirmation from her source on where to meet. She’s hoping this person will just meet us there at the coffee shop.”

  “Any clue why there’s all this secrecy? What does this person have to hide?”

  “Sally couldn’t say.”

  “Couldn’t or wouldn’t? I mean, I’m the one who’s been paying her fees.”

  “I think you know that some investigations aren’t black and white.”

  “Gray. Right.”

  We motored along another few minutes, and Saul asked more about how the reunion had gone with Mia and her parents. I’d given him only the basic info the prior day, so I spent the next few minutes reviewing all the details, finishing with the whopper that Mia had shared with me just before reaching her house.

  “Wait,” he said, shifting in his seat, turning his head toward me a couple of quick times. “I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”

  “Keep your eyes on the road please.” I pointed straight ahead. “So you’re saying you don’t listen to me?”

  He grinned until I could see his teeth. “Okay, I admit I was thinking about my first client. This family inheritance thing is a real hairball. But enough about me. Can you repeat what you said?”

  “Mia’s mom slept with Brandon.”

  His eyes got wide as he slowly turned to me. I saw headlights and said, “Brakes!”

  He slammed his foot on the brake, and the little Mazda stopped on a dime. I released a breath. “I don’t need any more excitement.”

  “Sorry. So, what the hell kind of family is this?”

  “Sounds messed up, I know. Mia said her mom told her that she thinks she was getting back at her husband for hurting her all those years ago.”

  “But what about Mia?”

  “I know, right? Well, she saw Mia getting older, not having time for her. She just felt alone, like no one cared. So, it just happened.”

  “And Mia’s able to move on?”

  I nodded. “She’s an amazing girl.”

  “Just like you,” he said, taking a right onto La Pressa.

  “All of this flattery. I’m not sure—”

  Just then I noticed a plume of smoke and fire engines at the intersection in front of us. Saul drove past the coffee shop, but a cop in the middle of the street held up a hand. I could see two mangled cars, and a small fire from one of the cars.

  A sinking feeling washed over me.

  Saul found a parking space on the side of the road. With our eyes still on the crash, we walked across the street and into the coffee house. We got our drinks and sat at the bar that faced the window and watched the first responders do their work. Neither of us said a word for fifteen minutes.

  “It’s ten after. She’s late,” I said.

  Saul looked at me, then over toward the crash. We saw a body being lifted from the crash and then put into a bag.

  Saul put the phone to his ear. “Let me see if I can find her.” After three attempts, he said, “She’s not answering.”

  We both looked out the window. I couldn’t help but wonder if this attempt at feeling normal, at trying to fit in with the majority of people who knew their parents, would play out like so many other situations in my life: in crushing disappointment.

  Saul put his phone away and scanned the shop behind me. Perhaps he was hoping
that she’d snuck in without us noticing, or maybe that she’d been in the restroom when we had arrived.

  He pursed his lips. “I’ll see what I can find out.” He walked out of the shop, moving toward the crash. As he got closer to the police cars that barricaded the road, he shook hands with one of the four cops standing guard, ensuring that onlookers stayed back. Maybe he knew the guy. A moment later, he walked back into the coffee house.

  “What did he say?” I asked before he had a chance to sit down.

  He shook his head.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I know the cop from a case I worked for Ross. He’s a good guy. I gave him the lowdown, and asked if he’d break protocol and tell me the name of the deceased.” He paused, looking into my eyes. “I’m sorry, Ivy. It was Sally.”

  “And we have no other name or number to find out who her mystery source is?”

  He shook his head, then put his hand on my arm.

  But I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel anything. My body had gone numb, inside and out.

  We went back to Saul’s and turned on a mindless football game. And during those three hours, I told myself that I couldn’t continue to search for parents who didn’t give a damn about me. I had to let it go.

  53

  Looking up from the patio at the Belmont in Austin, beyond the white lights swooping from the second floor railing on one side to the ivy-covered brick wall on the other side, brush strokes of orange and purple cut across a darkening blue sky. There was a chill in the air, but the buzz at this legendary indoor-outdoor music venue made the temperature feel ten degrees warmer.

  Our very own Cristina was about to walk on the outdoor stage and perform with the Batastics, who, I was told, were a hot new indie band right out of Austin—probably the most eclectic music scene outside of San Francisco. How had she landed such a prized gig?

  I wish I could say I’d set it all up. But I had nothing to do with it. It was Leo, with whom she’d bonded over the tragic drug addiction of his sister, Nikki, a few months back. A lot had changed since then. Nikki was actually sitting at our table sipping on a Coke, smiling, having a good time, alongside her brother. Leo had known the lead singer of the Batastics for a couple of years and sent him a recording of Cristina performing a song. He’d flown in last week to personally deliver the news that Cristina would be performing with this band. If it was what she wanted. And she did. It was a kind and thoughtful gesture.

  Yet as I sat there, it was still difficult for me to see them as a couple. It wasn’t just the four-year difference in age—which at this juncture for Cristina was enormous. And I couldn’t say he was out of her league. Once Cristina grew up, matured a little, maybe it would seem more natural. And I knew Cristina. For others witnessing this romance, it probably seemed nonsensical. I was trying to prepare myself for the inevitable questions from our group: Our seventeen-year-old former street kid is dating a twenty-one-year-old Hollywood stud, someone who probably has to fight off girls constantly, hot, willing, whatever. How is this possible?

  “Can I get anyone else a refill?” Saul stood next to my chair, his hip against my shoulder. He had on tight jeans and a casual pullover, and wore a subtle cologne that had me clawing at his jeans under the table.

  “I’m good,” Nikki said on the other side of our eight-seater table.

  Leo, who was talking to his friend with the Batastics, held up a hand and shook his head. Brook raised her glass. “I’m not driving, so bring it on. And make it a double.”

  “Gin and tonic, right?” Saul said.

  Brook had already turned around to the stage as some band members, including Cristina, began setting up. The restaurant/club was piping out old rock music and Brook was into it, swaying one arm back and forth to the rhythm. Off to our right, Stan and Bev were in a conversation with another couple. Finally, Stan noticed we were all looking at him. “Sorry,” he said, grinning. “Just found someone who’s going to be competing in the same Dallas Marathon here in three weeks. Just more water with lime for me. Gotta keep training, you know.” He patted his stomach, which had shrunk significantly, at least by fifty percent, in the last few months.

  Saul ran off to fill our drink order, and I searched the scene for one more person of interest. There must have been three hundred people packed into the venue, even some loitering on the outdoor stairs. A number of folks wore colorful T-shirts with the familiar phrase on them, “Keep Austin Weird.” That was a staple for this part of the state.

  A howling laugh brought my eyes to the second floor, where I could see Zahera, my best friend, talking to a couple. She leaned over and gave them air kisses, then paraded down the stairs in an outfit that only Zahera could get away with. Lots of purple leather and lace and a fair amount of skin. She’d just returned to Texas after a two-week trip to “find herself.” Turns out she found herself in French Polynesia.

  “The emerald water was magical, but the general manager of the resort performed a magic on me that left me speechless,” she’d said when she returned. Leave it to Zahera to “find herself” by finding a new hunk to rock her world. I told her she could have stayed in San Antonio, if that was what she was looking for. She replied with, “But have you ever done it on a beach before, with sea turtles meandering out from the ocean? It was a very organic experience.”

  She’d probably meant orgasmic, but I didn’t correct her.

  She came over and sat next to me as Saul returned with our drinks. Soon thereafter, Cristina walked up to our table.

  “You nervous?” Zahera blurted.

  “Not until you asked,” Cristina said with a wink. She whispered something in Leo’s ear, then made her way to our side of the table. “Thank you all for driving up to Austin to support me.” Leo had actually paid for all of us to ride a luxury bus, so none of us were complaining. And Zahera had said she’d pick up the bill for hotel rooms at the W.

  Cristina rested her hand on my shoulder. I placed my hand on top of hers and motioned her down. “You’re going to kill it tonight. I just know it.”

  “Maybe. I only had two practices with the band for my three songs. But I’m feeling pretty good about them.”

  “Leo is something else,” I said, looking across the table.

  “Yeah.”

  I heard some hesitation, and I turned to look up at her. “You and Leo okay?”

  “I think so.”

  “What is it?”

  “He put me in the friend zone.” Surprisingly, I didn’t see sadness. “He didn’t…?”

  “He’s cool. He’s a great guy. He just said he knows we’re in two different worlds. But he wants to keep in touch. Even invited me out to LA.”

  “Sounds like you’re handling it really well.”

  “Better than I thought, actually. It kind of makes me wonder—” She stopped as her eyes were drawn to the stage, someone calling for her.

  “Wonder what?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I like girls more than guys.”

  She shrugged then walked up on the stage.

  “Everything good?” Saul asked, then sipped his whiskey.

  “Uh, I think so,” I said, still processing what I’d just heard.

  The crowd cheered as the lead singer rushed to the mic and welcomed everyone.

  “I kind of wondered, to be honest with you.” I turned to see Zahera an inch from my face. “Sorry, I was kind of eavesdropping.”

  “Kind of?”

  “But seriously, more power to her. Cristina’s just figuring out who she is in this world. We just need to support her. She’s got no one else but us.”

  I patted her on the leg as Brook smacked her glass on the plastic table. “Did Stan ever tell you about Peterson?”

  I looked at Stan, who caught my gaze. “Haven’t had a chance,” he said.

  “Yeah, well, that asshat actually has a cousin working in our department, some kind of forensic fingerprint guy. Anyway, his boss caught him looking at our case file. He was Peterson’s mo
le.”

  “He’s a complete tool, I’ll say that much.”

  “Yeah, well, he and his cousin might want to go job searching together,” Stan said through a crunch of his ice. “Formal charges haven’t been made against the coaches at his school, but four have been suspended without pay.”

  “Glad to hear someone is finally paying attention to the right stuff,” I said. “He was so smug, acting like all that mattered were his school’s stupid test scores.”

  Saul leaned toward Stan. “So the belief is that all the kids who were…” He paused a second, making sure no one else was listening at the table. “The kids who were killed all happened to go through Abel’s confessional?”

  “Yep,” Stan said.

  Saul nodded, sipped his beverage. “And so Clifton had just apparently lost it?”

  “We found out that, in the last six months, he’d learned he had an inoperable brain tumor and wouldn’t live another year.”

  “So, instead of making the best of his final days, he goes berserk and kidnaps these girls so he can abuse them whenever he feels like it.” Saul shuddered. “Nasty.”

  Stan held up his prosthesis and then somehow used the muscles in his arm to shift a finger on the fake hand. “How about that? You like that?”

  We all smiled.

  “Anyway,” he said. “Turns out we found his sister buried on the farm, behind the barn. We think Clifton killed her too. He quit his job a number of months ago and probably needed a place to pull off his crazy crimes.”

  The drummer started laying down a beat, and a minute later, the band kicked off its first song. Right away, the crowd was into it, although none more so than Brook, who whistled and hollered at every break. The Batastics played their first three songs minus Cristina.

  “You’re having fun,” Saul whispered.

  “Yeah, I am.” I placed my hand on his knee.

  “It’s been a week since…you know.”

  “Since Sally died, as did my hopes of finding my parents.”

  He was about to say something else, and I put my finger to his lips. “It wasn’t meant to be, Saul. It’s okay. I just need to look forward, not backward.”