Dispatched Confessions (The Love is Murder Social Club Book 2)

by Talia Maxwell

  They were there to take her son.

  The instinct to protect him, regardless of guilt or innocence at that point, flooded her and she walked into the doorway and shut the door behind her. Out on the porch, the officers took a step back and Holly crossed her arms over her chest and waited. She looked at the badge numbers. The women were young, too young to have worked in the department when she was dispatching. The thought crushed her a bit as she realized she’d been out of that world for a long time.

  “How can I help you?” Holly asked. She knew her rights. She willed Joel and Alex to stay upstairs—she channeled all her inner power and strength to keep eye-contact and keep firm. It wasn’t out of disrespect for the women doing their job, but out of pure love and motherly devotion. This was her kid. And he hadn’t hurt anyone.

  They handed her a warrant.

  She’d never seen one before and her eyes blurred as she tried to make sense of what they were asking: they had a warrant and they had a list of things they were looking for. She trembled at the thought of the police inside her house, tearing about her life, their only purpose to find enough evidence to steal her son from her.

  Holly scanned the list again:

  A necklace.

  A jump rope.

  Alex’s shoes.

  “Let me call my lawyer,” Holly said, but the women politely nodded past her.

  “Please do that, Ms. Gamarra, but we’ve served our warrant and we are not waiting to begin.” They radioed for the search team to enter and officers armed with evidence bags and latex gloves stormed into her premises. She hadn’t even noticed the army assembling in the dark and she stood back, the note in her hand, the enormity of their presence bearing down on her.

  The women officers stood sentry on either side of the doorframe, taking notes, making commands. Holly leaned against her patio porch, calling Brian on redial.

  “I heard, I heard,” he mumbled, although she wasn’t sure from whom or when. He sounded like he was already up and moving. “I’m on my way.” Brian hung up.

  “Am I allowed to go back inside?” Holly asked as she walked back up to the officers. The men and women carried out their orders with precision—nothing would be left unchecked.

  The taller of the two women nodded and the shorter one followed her inside. Sure, she could go wherever she wanted, they told her, but she would have a shadow.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I didn’t lie to you,” Alex sighed.

  “I didn’t say you did.”

  “Being honest won’t make me look less guilty,” he shrugged.

  “You think you look pretty guilty right now?”

  Alex rolled his head over and looked at Joel. “Sure. To people who don’t know the story. I was in jail. I don’t know why this isn’t over.”

  “I know that. Your mom knows that. We’re on your side.”

  Joel knew his twenty-four deadline came down to this moment. If he couldn’t get Alex to talk about the prank then he’d have to go to the police and let the chips fall where they may. He hated letting the kid down; if he wasn’t guilty of hurting the girl, then he needed to be honest. His aversion to honesty was a huge red flag he couldn’t ignore.

  Holly kept insisting Alex was a charming young man, but all Joel had seen was brooding anger and smart comments. If the kid was interested in clearing his name, he had to work harder.

  “I can’t take you seriously if you’re screwing my mom,” Alex said.

  He didn’t look at Joel when he said it and Joel knew the anger wasn’t personal—he shoved the flare of instant anger down and took a breath. That wasn’t exactly what he thought the kid was going to say and he wasn’t prepared for a response.

  “I wouldn’t use that language to—”

  “People think I shot Claire Gregor and you want to know something, Mr. Rusk? Before my mom took my phone…you know the messages I’m getting? Ding Dong the Witch is Dead; you’re awesome and you did it; you’ll be a hero if you stay out of jail. They not only think I did it, but they’re glad….they’re all fucking glad she’s gone.”

  Joel sighed. Claire’s reputation was hard to reconcile in death.

  In the counseling office, they cried. On the social media apps, they bullied.

  Alex’s anger had subsided. Like the tide he rolled out and lost energy, staring up at Joel with the same look he’d given him before—a pleading frown of discontent and concern; an unspoken cry for help.

  “Claire was a difficult person to love.” Joel knew that he was saying the opposite of what he told Violet, and then he wondered which was the truth. Or could they both be true? Claire was good to a few and a monster to most, and so she wasn’t universally loved or hated. Within that ambiguity, Joel didn’t think he was lying to say she was a good friend and a hard person to love. Some of his own friends fit that category, too.

  “She was mean,” Alex said.

  Joel knew it was his window.

  “She played with people.”

  Alex nodded, aware that Joel dropped something they hadn’t talked about before into the mix, but he didn’t seem surprised.

  “Who else did you hear it from?” Alex asked. He was giving Joel his full attention, watching him slowly lose his relaxed posture, sitting up straighter. Outside a car door slammed and Alex jolted a bit, afraid.

  Joel was walking a fine ethical tightrope.

  “Her friend Violet,” he answered. “It seems she believed someone might kill her, too.”

  “Sure, maybe,” Alex said with a nod, his anger and resentment returning.

  “For the prank.”

  “You don’t know what they did to me,” Alex said slowly, shaking his head. “I thought you did.”

  “She wouldn’t say.”

  “Because she’s scared.”

  “Yes, I understand that, Alex. I totally and one-hundred percent could see that she was scared. Of what? Of who? Of you?”

  He shrugged. “Not me. But people like me….people who….”

  “…who were pranked.”

  “Stop saying it like that because that’s all you know about it. Prank is trivial and stupid, something that people don’t threaten murder with. They didn’t prank me, Joel, they annihilated me. Publically. And you know what? Expulsion is awesome. Seriously. You think I want to go back? I’m not going back there…I refuse and can’t you see how much they think I did this, Mr. Rusk?”

  Immediately, Joel reached out for the kid. He thought of how much the boy was in need of a hug, a comfort, and he sat on the bed and put his right arm around his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, kiddo.” He hurt for the kid and he thought of all the stories the kids brought into his office, the ways other kids hurt them—the pain might have remained the same over generations, but the methods of inflicting pain became easier and stronger.

  Joel had an inkling that the narrative of Alex’s story ran deep and rampant in part because it was public embarrassment. People knew about the note and the gun and the expulsion. What came before were the missing pieces of the puzzle, and Joel knew if he had five more minutes, Alex would open up—he’d see the benefit of having help.

  “You have no idea, Mr. Rusk.”

  And Joel had to admit to himself that the kid was probably right.

  “Give me an idea,” Joel said. “Tell me.”

  Alex nodded. “Fine.” He scooted away from his counselor and looked him straight in the eye, determined and breaking, his eyes red and his freckles still visible under the red splotches of fear blooming on his cheeks.

  “It’s okay. Everything will be okay,” Joel said to Alex, unconvinced.

  “Okay,” Alex began. “I’ll tell. It started last school year. Eighth-grade. February. Because it started on Valentine’s Day.” He breathed in and out, gathering the strength to keep going.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  “Police!”

  And Alex went ashen and dove under the covers, leaving Joel to turn off Metallica and put his han
ds in the air as the door swung open.

  When everything was said and done, they took out a small box of items: a shoebox filled with notes, an old iPod—Alex didn’t even know about those things since Holly kept him secluded downstairs. She was certain they also found a yellow jump rope. Joel wrote down everything that happened and everything he could hear said, per Brian’s suggestions, and delivered a nice collection of notes to the lawyer.

  Ten minutes after the police left, the girls arrived.

  Brian and Holly sat at the table and the Love is Murder Social Club walked through the door without ringing the bell armed with cleaning supplies and determination in their steps.

  This was the second time he’d witnessed the social club girls come in to literally clean up a mess. Maids who solve murders, he thought could have been a million dollar idea. He was rubbing Holly’s shoulders as Gloria approached, a comforting frown on her face.

  “I’m taking Alex tonight,” Gloria said with a definitive nod toward upstairs where Alex had gone back to exile. “My kids asked for a sleep over and it has been forever. Let us do it. Seriously…it is not good for him to sit alone in that room all day. That’s literal torture for prisoners and, yes, children.”

  “What would you do?” Holly asked, defeated.

  “Alex was teased and ridiculed and he snapped, okay? He’s not a monster. You think he’s a monster? Trap him in his room and don’t let him have access to his feelings and he’ll become one. He needs friends. Come on, he hasn’t seen my kids in a long time and I think everyone could use a giant sleepover. He got a vacation where he cleaned up old lady vomit, come on…”

  “Okay, okay,” Holly said, giving, but putting her hand up to indicate she had an amendment. “But come over here…this place is great for slumber parties and—”

  “The goal,” Gloria said with a plastered smile, “is to get Alex away from you…”

  “Alex was away from me…and that’s why I don’t really—”

  “Do you trust me?” Gloria asked and she put her hands on her hips, ready to showdown.

  Holly tapped out quickly. “Of course I do. You know I do.”

  “I have five kids and you’ve met them. Are they awesome? Nice? Assholes?”

  “They are not assholes. They’re great,” Holly said. She looked up at Joel and patted his hand. “I get it, Gloria. Take him home with you. Not too much sug—”

  “Aye dios mio, Holly. My house, my rules. Next time my kids come over we’ll eat some of your vegan spinach dessert.”

  “Don’t mock it,” Holly urged. They were back to happy banter and she wondered if that meant Gloria forgave her. “That’s fine, fine. Take him. He’ll have a great time.”

  Alex was coaxed downstairs with promises of sugar and spending time with the Hernandez family. He was shaken from the search, despondent about the things they took, and he didn’t want his mother to see him cry. Joel, with Alex’s assistance, packed him a duffle and the crew exited en masse.

  Soon, they were alone.

  The Social Club and all its magic had put Holly’s life back in order.

  “Thank you for being there for him…he told me…”

  She leaned into his body and he put his arm around her. “I don’t know what happens now,” Joel said. “They’re looking at him for what? He was at the Cooper Center.”

  “He’s innocent. They won’t find anything. That’s all I have to keep saying.”

  “Innocent or not…they’re looking at him, Holly. They still think Alex could have something to do with her death.” He couldn’t even bring himself to say her name again. The girl—the girl who couldn’t keep herself out of harm’s way.

  “I don’t know what I can do,” she said. “Joel,” his name rolled easily off her tongue, her chest tight. He wanted to lean in to kiss her, but he stayed back.

  “I don’t think you have to do anything,” he answered. “You wait.”

  “For them to arrest my son for something he didn’t do.”

  “You know that for sure? Is Alex innocent? Of course he didn’t pull a trigger, but did he do something? Did he ask other people to do something?” he asked point-blank. Holly blanched back as if the questions were a slap. She shook her head and tears filled her eyes.

  “He didn’t do this,” she said.

  “Then I’ll stand by you and we’ll figure this out.”

  “Oh, Joel,” she said. She placed her head against his chest. She cried. He held her and ran his hands through her hair until her tears ran dry and she didn’t have the energy to hold on to him anymore. Joel scooped her up and carried her to her bed. He put her down upon the comforter and she curled up, and looked at him.

  “You’re strong,” she said in a whisper. “I’m not usually the carried type…”

  “Shut up,” he said tenderly. “You’re perfect.” He put his hand on her shoulder and ran his fingers down her arm to her elbow.

  “What is this?” Holly asked, sitting up on to her elbows, her body lifted up. “What are we? In the middle of this?”

  “This? Us?” Joel motioned around her room. “This is life. This is a mess and a shit show and it’s fun and awful at the same time. And this is…this is whatever we want it to be, Holly.”

  She didn’t like that answer. “It’s not going to be easy.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You don’t care now.” She shrugged. “Things change. Aren’t we both evidence of that? How could we have predicted that we’d both be here…that we’d find each other like this?”

  Joel leaned in and brushed Holly’s hair out of her face and gently led her back to the bed. Once she lay flat, he kissed her shoulder. Then her elbow. And lifting her shirt, he kissed her side and her ribs and up to the side of her breast and across her breasts and down her stomach. His kisses landed on her skin in tiny intense bursts of energy and he watched as she grew more excited by his touch.

  “Wait,” she said and she ran her hand down to find his mouth. Her fingers covered his lips and he drew in her index finger and she kissed each one slowly.

  “Wait,” she said again and he stopped.

  “What do you need?” Joel asked. He cuddled up alongside her, their bodies connected, breathing together, his arms holding her.

  “This,” she answered. She scooted into him and reached back to pull a blanket over their bodies. He leaned back to get the light. A big spoon and a little spoon, perfect and one—Joel remained still and asleep, Holly in his arms, until morning.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Holly didn’t have sex dreams.

  She wasn’t a sex dream kind of person. When she was a teenager, she had some crush on an actor from television and once dreamed they were married and had a ranch house in New Jersey; she literally dreamed of making him breakfast in a 50s skirt and apron.

  Her dreams lacked the unhinged sexuality of some of her friends. Some told tales of bondage or kinky proclivities; Holly was stuck in some Leave it to Beaver land. Maybe she pined for traditional romance because her first and only relationship lacked both those things.

  But then: as she slept, Joel cuddled up against her body in real life, folded over her like a gravity blanket, her brain supposed it was time to make up for it.

  As his real life body pushed up against her, giving her warmth and comfort and stability, she could not help but dream of him inside her. It was a sex dream to end all sex dreams. In one part of the dream, they were in the back of a taxi…and their cab driver was OJ Simpson, which was creepy, but that morphed into them being chased by killer birds and having sex in the park on a tire swing, which seemed impossible.

  Life went from missionary position to the full Kama Sutra in the matter of a moment.

  Holly woke up, shaking, she looked at the clock. It was nearly four in the morning and Joel was still wrapped up beside her, his arms heavy with sleep.

  She rolled him on to his back and slipped out from under his arms. When she turned back, she realized he was waking up, opening o
ne eye.

  “It’s really early. I’m just getting a glass of water,” she said in a soothing voice. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Are we still waiting?” Joel asked.

  “For what?” Holly asked, not understanding.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said. He was awake and staring at her, intently, and she backed away, walking backward to her door, a smile on her face. She was still fully dressed, her clothes askew and glued to her body, smelling like sweat.

  “No,” she dismissed. “You’re beautiful,” she repeated. “And your point?”

  “We’d make beautiful babies,” he said as a throwaway and then he tilted his head and squinted and added, “We really would, Holly. God, I want to make a baby with you.”

  “Jesus—” Holly said. She motioned to her stomach and drew an X. “No babies. Alex is enough.”

  “I want kids,” Joel said instantly and sat up. He crossed his legs and suddenly Holly felt a chill go through the room as if she’d unearthed some big argument without understanding how or why. And things had been going along so swimmingly.

  “Okay.” She crossed her arms.

  “It’s always something I’ve imagined for myself…”

  “Okay,” she said again and didn’t move. “Well, I don’t know what you want me to say…yes, Joel, I’ll have your baby? Because…I’m done. One and done.”

  He hung his head and she knew he could tell instantly how ridiculous it sounded. They’d had one night of wild sex interrupted by her mother-in-law and one accidental date because she couldn’t get a gun safe in the car. These were not the romantic retellings that one repeated to grandchildren. Of course, there was something very animalistic in the way she desired him and she was certain part of it had to do with the biological drive to create. The fantasy of growing a life together was amazing; Holly knew the reality was always quite different.

  “I mean…we don’t have to talk about it tonight,” he said, which she understood meant: they’d save the argument until it was painful and hurt too much to disagree and it ripped them apart. She’d been married before; he hadn’t. She’d been down that road and it had been hellish. The love that never died, did. Painfully.