Cry For Help

by Wendy Dranfield

  “Sure.”

  She wants to ask him if he’s okay, but she knows he won’t open up in front of his father.

  Wyatt gets up and pours himself a whisky. Taking the bottle with him, he leaves his dirty bowl and plate for her to clean up and heads upstairs without a word.

  She resists the urge to shake her head. They never had children together. Mason is the result of an affair. She hates to think how many times Wyatt has cheated on her over the years; she’d bet he has more kids floating around out there, but she’d rather not know about them.

  She and Wyatt did try for their own children as soon as they were married, but they quickly learned that Angie was infertile, so that was the end of that. Until Mason came to live with them, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise. She’s loved every minute of mothering him and considers him her own. Not that he’ll ever call her Mom.

  “How is everyone at the park?” she asks. “Are they upset about the girl?”

  He stops eating and pushes the bowl away. “I guess.”

  He’s so closed off to her now he’s getting older, and she can’t understand why he won’t trust her. The sun is beginning to set, and where it hits his face through the kitchen window, it bathes him in an orange glow, highlighting the bags under his eyes. Is it normal for teenagers to be so tired all the time? Could it be depression, or drugs? Having had no previous experience of parenting, she’ll never know. She does know the smell of weed, though, and she’s never caught it on him or his clothes.

  “Mason? Are you ever going to tell me anything about your friends? Or do I have to stalk your Facebook account?”

  His head snaps up and he gives her a look to suggest there will be repercussions if she does. He looks like his father for a minute, making her shudder.

  “Don’t be one of those people,” he says.

  She leans against the kitchen counter and sips her drink. She knows she should hold her tongue, but her fear of losing him, mixed with her third large vodka, gets the better of her. “It’s about time you were a little more appreciative of what your father and I have done for you. It’s time to stop pretending you’re going to be a goddam lawyer or whatever you’ve got in your head, and come to the realization that you’ll be working alongside your father in the scrapyard. Then, once you’ve proved yourself, you can take over from him in our other business. You’ll be set for life.”

  He stands up, pushing the chair away with his calves. “You can’t tell me what to do once I turn eighteen.”

  She leans forward. “You really think your father is going to let you go? You’re more intelligent than that, Mason. He didn’t take you in just out of the kindness of his heart. He expects a return on all his investments. Besides,” she pauses to laugh, “you know too much.”

  Mason starts pacing the kitchen, back and forth and she worries she’s taken it too far. Scared him off. She walks over to him and grabs his arm. “Mason? Please don’t leave for college next year. Your father’s an asshole, but I care about you. I need you here. Doesn’t that mean anything? Haven’t I been good to you?”

  He collapses back onto the chair and runs his hands through his hair. “I have no idea what to do about anything right now.”

  His eyes give away his fear and she genuinely feels sorry for him. “What’s going on with you? You can tell me anything and it won’t leave my lips. I can guarantee you that.”

  To her surprise, Mason breaks down. His head is in his hands and he’s sobbing. She’s never seen him like this before.

  “What’s the matter?” She goes to him, rubbing his back.

  He looks up through his tears. “I was there that night!” He tries to catch his breath. “At the park! Nikki is my girlfriend. Was my girlfriend. And my name has just been mentioned in the news! It’s only a matter of time before I’m arrested.”

  She’s stunned. She didn’t even know he had a girlfriend, despite scouring his Facebook account regularly. She realizes how good he is at keeping secrets and it unnerves her. How could he have been there when Nikki Jackson died? She knew he was working that day but thought he’d finished well before it happened. She takes a step back and thinks about how best to deal with this.

  Mason’s looking at his cell phone. His face goes white. “Holy shit. My name’s all over the internet already!”

  Alarmed, she glances over his shoulder.

  Mason McCoy named locally as the deceased’s boyfriend. Does he have the missing knife? Did he trick Nikki Jackson into killing herself?

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were there?” she says, panicked. “Did you see anything?”

  He doesn’t respond; he’s too busy scrolling.

  “I wish you’d told me sooner. I could have handled the situation before the press got wind.” It’s too late now. She downs her drink and puts her glass on the counter. “Mason, listen to me. You need to get away from here, otherwise the cops will try to pin this on you. I want to protect you, and we both need to protect the McCoy name.”

  A look of shock passes across his face, but he quickly realizes she’s right. “But where do I go?”

  She thinks about it. “Grab some things—clothes, a sleeping bag, a flashlight—then meet me out front. We’ll take my car.”

  He just stares at her.

  “Now, Mason!”

  He turns and runs up the stairs while she collects some food and drink. She has to take control of the situation and make sure no one can find Mason anytime soon.

  32

  Independence Day

  Nikki screams as if she’s being attacked. Then she spins around and giggles in relief as Mason comes in for a kiss after tickling her.

  “You’ve got to stop doing that! I’m nervous enough without you creeping up on me, especially at night!”

  He laughs. “Sorry, I’ll stop. I promise.”

  The glint in his eye tells her he’s lying, but she doesn’t mind really.

  She’s taken over at the runaway mine-train roller coaster and a woman in line for the ride clears her throat to get their attention. It’s dark outside now and the big firework display is about to start. The lines for the rides are reducing, as everyone wants to film the display on their phones.

  “Sorry,” says Nikki. “That’s fourteen bucks.”

  The woman slides the money over as her child cries loudly. Nikki slips the little boy a stuffed animal from the lost-and-found box. “Mr. Lion’s lost his owner. Would he be able to stay at your house with you?”

  The boy’s cries reduce to sniveling. His chubby hand reaches out for the lion as he gulps back his tears. “Okay.”

  His mom nods her thanks and leads him away to the ride. When they’re safely harnessed, the ride assistant starts it up with only them and one other family on it.

  “I take it you want kids someday?” asks Mason.

  She’s surprised by the question. He looks at her so intently, like she’s the only person in the park. Is he asking about kids because he sees a future with her? The thought makes her hopeful, but at the same time a feeling of dread runs through her, like it always does when she considers anything that might make her happy.

  “Maybe.” She’s hesitant because she doesn’t want to risk passing down her mental health issues to a child. She’d hate for them to have to go through years of therapy and anxiety, never mind the dark days that seem never-ending.

  It’s like Mason knows what she’s thinking. He puts the Be right back! sign in the ticket booth’s window and pulls her up from her seat.

  “I can’t just leave,” she says.

  “It’ll be fine; everyone’s going to be watching the fireworks. Come with me.” He takes her hand and leads her away from the rides and up the hill to the staff parking lot. “Sit up there.” He lifts her onto the hood of his car.

  It’s quiet here, with a great view of the park. Sometimes they come here to listen to music on their breaks.

  “Turn toward me slightly.” With the amusement park lit up behind her, Mason pulls
his cell phone out and backs away. “Stay there,” he says. “You look great with the rides as a backdrop.”

  She smiles self-consciously as he snaps away.

  “I can’t see your face, so I’m going to try the flash.”

  When he has what he wants, he sends her the best photo and climbs onto the hood next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they wait for the display to start. It’s so warm out she can smell his anti-perspirant working hard. The screams from the rides are loud, but she finds the sound comforting. She prefers being around large groups of people; anonymous. It’s when she’s alone that she spirals.

  Suddenly the first firework shoots up into the sky above them, exploding into a shower of flashing bright colors. It’s followed by more, and the sky turns wild.

  “Wow!” She can hear the customers whooping and whistling in the park, equally enthralled as her. She pulls her phone out and snaps some photos, then decides to just enjoy the moment.

  She rests her cheek against Mason’s and they take it all in. Nights like this make her feel invincible, but they’re so rare.

  When the fireworks start to wind down, she notices he’s staring at her.

  “What do you want to do next year?” he asks as he entwines his fingers with hers.

  It’s a strange question. She still has two years of high school left. “I’m going to school.”

  He sighs. “Once I graduate, I’m out of here.”

  She turns to face him. Their hands drop to his lap. She wants to ask, “What about me?” but instead she says, “Where will you go?”

  He smiles. “You mean where will we go?”

  She doesn’t know what to say.

  “You could finish your final year of high school online, or somewhere else,” he says. “I’ve worked for my dad’s business since I was eleven and I’ve saved everything I’ve earned, except for buying my car. I’m thinking of heading to New York City. Somewhere we could get lost. Somewhere my fucked-up family can’t find me.”

  She looks away to the water. Mason won’t talk about his family so she doesn’t know why he wants to get away from them, but she knows who the McCoys are. She doesn’t know why he’s so unhappy with them. They seem nice from the interviews she’s seen on TV. They’re always raising money for one cause or another and she knows they gave a neighbor of hers a loan when times were tough. But she also knows Mason’s been struggling for a long time and that’s why he was in therapy.

  As for her own parents, well, they wouldn’t miss her but they’d miss her wages. Her dad always accuses her of eating more food than she pays them for and running the shower for too long. But he literally sits on the couch all day drinking vodka. More than once she’s wanted to point out that vodka costs a hell of a lot more than a cheese sandwich. But she never would.

  “What’s your dream, Nikki?”

  She clears the image of her parents from her head. She doesn’t want to spoil tonight. “What do you mean?”

  “What are your hopes and ambitions?” He’s looking into her eyes. “What do you want from life?”

  She shrugs. “All I know is surviving day to day. That’s enough for now.”

  He smiles sadly and kisses her forehead. “Ever been to New York?”

  She laughs. “I’ve never been anywhere.”

  He whispers into her ear, “Come with me. We’ll start afresh, with no adults to mess us up.”

  Looking into his eyes, she feels like he means it. Like he would rather she joined him than go alone. Her heart feels like it might burst. If this were her last day on earth, this is how she would choose to spend it. “Count me in.”

  He hugs her to him and they sit that way, listening to the screams of children mixed with the heavy beats of their own hearts.

  33

  It’s only 6.30, but Mike’s eyes are heavy, and rubbing away his exhaustion isn’t working. He glances at the coffee mug on his desk. It’s empty again. He takes that as a sign that it’s time to finish up for the evening and head home. By the time he switches off his computer, Alex is hovering behind him. “What is it?”

  “I have an update on the forensics from Nikki Jackson’s investigation if you have a minute.”

  Mike sighs, then reluctantly follows him.

  “And I just saw on the news that someone is saying our victim was murdered by her boyfriend.”

  Mike stops in his tracks. “What? Who’s saying that?”

  “Kate Flynn.”

  “Goddammit.”

  Alex leads him through a dark corridor where a flickering light tries its best to make up for a lack of windows. He opens the door to his makeshift lab—it was an evidence storage room before they hired him—and points to the wall-mounted TV, but the news anchor in the studio has moved on to a different story.

  “She said Nikki’s boyfriend has been named as Mason McCoy,” says Alex.

  “Shit,” says Mike. A feeling of unease creeps over him. Why did her boyfriend have to be Mason McCoy? He shakes his head. “How come everyone talks to Kate Flynn but no one tells me anything?”

  Alex raises an eyebrow. “I guess she comes across a little friendlier than you.”

  Mike shoots him a warning look, but Alex is unfazed.

  “The thumbprint from our victim’s face doesn’t belong to her or the employee who found her.”

  “How do you know? I thought Ricky disappeared.”

  “I lifted fingerprints from his staff ID badge.”

  Although Alex is annoying, he does use his initiative.

  “Turns out his name isn’t Ricky Gregor; it’s Marty Baker, and he’s wanted in four different states for robbery.”

  Mike sighs. The guy will be long gone by now. “Any offenses against kids?”

  “None. I checked Trevor Sanders’ prints too—the guy who owns the park. Again, no match.”

  For Mike, Trevor was never really a suspect as he’d have the most to lose. If he was going to kill someone, he wouldn’t do it on his own premises. “Have you run the thumbprint through the database?”

  “Of course. No match.”

  “Great.” Mike shakes his head. Along with the missing knife, this confirms they’re looking at a homicide now. “Is that everything?”

  “No. I have some fibers and hairs I’ve sent to the state lab for analysis, but it could take a while for the results to come back. I also went through Nikki’s cell phone. She really only ever messaged two people regularly: her mom about mundane things like when she’d be home; and her boyfriend. His number is stored under ‘Mason’, adding weight to Kate Flynn’s version. She has a few social media apps installed, but she logs out after each use, and without the passwords I can’t gain access to check her private messages.”

  Mike rolls his eyes. “Great. Getting access to any social media accounts is almost impossible without passwords.”

  “I’m aware. Also, there’s a photo on the phone of Nikki taken on the night she died.”

  Mike’s eyes widen. “Show me.”

  Alex opens the photo on his computer. “Mason sent this to her at nine fifteen.”

  He leans in to get a good look. It shows Nikki sitting on the hood of a maroon Dodge Ram with the park behind her. The flash from the camera is lighting up her face. She looks a little tired and disheveled from a long shift in the hot sun, but the bashful expression on her face is similar to that in the photo he saw on her parents’ fridge. Is that doubt he sees in her eyes too? Her arms are folded self-consciously and her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

  “What were her exchanges with Mason about?”

  “Just the usual,” says Alex. “What shift are you on, want to get lunch together, I miss you and so on. But on the night she died, she texted him at eleven thirty and asked him to meet her at the park.”

  Mike remembers Lena concluding that the girl died sometime between midnight and 2 a.m. “Did he reply?”

  “Yes. He said, ‘On my way. Is everything okay?’ She didn’t reply. Which means he was likely the las
t person to see her alive. Which could also mean her death was a suicide pact like someone on the news suggested, or perhaps Mason killed her and made it look like a suicide. If his prints match the thumbprint found on her face, you have a lead.”

  Mike nods. Normally he’d be annoyed at Alex for telling him how to do his job, but he’s distracted. He’s starting to get a bad feeling about this case, because if Mason McCoy is implicated in the girl’s death, things are about to get complicated.

  34

  Nate’s tired, hungry and ashamed. He regrets storming out on Madison but he didn’t know what to think when she told him she’d been misleading him all this time.

  He’s been questioning whether it was stupid of him to agree to investigate her cold case and travel all this way for her. She’s meant to be just an employee, but he’s taking massive risks for her and so far she’s brought him nothing but trouble. And if he’s honest, from an investigator’s perspective it doesn’t look good for Madison to be the sole beneficiary of Stephanie Garcia’s property. If he were a cop, he’d be looking into whether she could have hired someone to kill Stephanie in order to benefit from her will.

  Madison told him she wanted his help solving her cold case, but was that just a lie? Could she be using him for his money; as a free ride from California to Colorado, where she perhaps always intended to claim Stephanie’s property and then find her son? Knowing now that her service weapon was used to kill Officer Levy—something else she held back—he’s realizing there’s a lot he still doesn’t know about her. But from what he does know, he can’t believe she’s capable of murdering anyone, despite how it looks on paper.

  He spent last night alone in a nearby church. Well, almost alone. He thought he’d find solace in either the church or the cocaine, and it was peaceful watching the sun set behind a stained-glass window. The organ music filled his soul with hope. He was able to imagine he was young again and still training to become a priest, before he fell in love with Stacey Connor. Before she was cruelly taken from him. It made him question whether it was time to return to the church. He could find a town to settle down in and blend into the community, helping out at Sunday school and surrounding himself with people he could support. Being a PI doesn’t help as many people as he expected. But on the other hand, those who hire him have far more serious problems than anyone he ever met at church.