Jack Ryder Mystery Series: Vol 1-3

by Willow Rose

  “You bastard!” I yelled, and stood over him, ready to punch again.

  My punch had split his lip and he was bleeding.

  “Was it good, huh? Did you enjoy fucking my wife?”

  Steven Williams stared at me and at my fist, terrified I would hit him again. But I’d never hit a man who was lying down.

  “Just tell me you at least loved her,” I said, and stared into his face to see if I could detect any kind of emotion besides fear.

  But there was none. He had never loved Arianna. He had used her.

  “Where did you do it, huh? Did you take her to a motel, huh? Some sleazy place where you could pay per the hour?”

  Steven Williams shook his head.

  “Then, where? Tell me. I want to know.” I lifted the fist higher and more threateningly in the air. Steven Williams whimpered.

  “What was that? I didn’t hear you properly.”

  “At yyyour place. We met at your apartment!”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  January 2015

  I let him go. He wasn’t even worth my anger. I drove back to the station, then walked to my office, where I closed the door and sat down. I hid my face in my hands. A picture of Arianna showed up on my laptop. She was holding the twins in her arms, smiling. One of the good days, when she was happy with her family, happy with me. Now I started to doubt everything about our relationship. Had it all just been an act? Had I been betrayed all this time? Why had I even kept the picture? I didn’t know. Maybe I still loved her. Maybe I had still hoped, till this day, that she would suddenly change her mind and come back. Maybe I had clung to that hope and thought that if just…if she just had time and space, then she would remember what she had loved about our life; she would come back, at least for the children.

  “Why do you keep hurting me, Arianna?” I asked the empty room. “Even when you’re not here? Were you ever happy with us?”

  They had sex at your place! You fool! They slept together in your apartment, your furniture, your bed. How could you not have known this? How did you not see it? How did you not smell it on her?

  There was a knock and Joel Hall peeked inside. “Hey there. Is everything all right?” he asked. “You look a little pale.”

  I nodded. “It will be. Some day. What’s up?”

  He stepped in. “I just wanted to talk to you about those books. The Platt books?” he said.

  “Oh, yeah, come on in.”

  “I talked to some linguistic-experts and had them take a close look at the books, and I’m afraid they agree with Tracey Burden.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. They say John Platt’s language changed drastically three books ago,” Joe Hall said.

  I leaned back in my chair. “I’ll be…”

  “They can’t say he didn’t write them, since they are very similar in style, but especially the last one, the one that was published three months ago, that the family claims they found on his computer by coincidence, is very different. I wrote it all in this report. I though you might want to take a look at it.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and grabbed the file as Joel Hall left. I read it thoroughly, wondering what this could mean. Had someone else written the books? Maybe the son? Or, could it be…?

  I had a feeling, a hunch, but needed more than that, so I grabbed the phone and called for Peter Walker to come in for some questioning. He was sleeping, he told me, after a night shift, but would be able to make it in around noon. I accepted that and hung up. Then I found the files from the killing of the judge on my computer and went through the details once again. I kept returning to the interview with Melanie Schultz’s friends and the details about that guy from Animal Control. Where was he? Why couldn’t we find him? Animal Control said they didn’t know him. Who was he?

  I knew it was a high-priority case, and my superiors were screaming for results they could present to the press. The story was still all over the media, who hadn’t taken long to figure out exactly what the good judge was doing at Melanie Schultz’s house. Meanwhile, the husband, John Schultz, who had been named the true victim in this case, was being interviewed over and over again, asking the question we all wondered about.

  “Where are my wife and son? Where are Melanie and Sebastian?”

  The whole story stank of betrayal, just like my own life did.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  January 2015

  I placed two books in front of Peter Walker.

  “What am I looking at here?” he asked.

  “Two books that are supposed to be written by your father.”

  “I can see that much. But why am I looking at them?” he asked. He looked at his watch.

  “Busy?” I asked. “I thought you worked the night shift.”

  “I have a life outside of work too,” Peter answered.

  “I’ll make this short, then,” I said. I leaned over my desk and pointed at the books. “Here’s my little theory. I don’t think these two books were written by the same author. And I think you know it. I think your sister Laura had her neighbor from across the street, Rhonda Harris, write three books for her, pretending they were written by John Platt. I think you noticed right away when you read the first book and you confronted your sister about it. Then, I think she offered you money to shut up about it. I think that’s why you were there on the night of her murder. You wanted more money. I think Rhonda Harris believed their scam would be revealed once Laura Bennett was killed, and therefore, she killed herself. To not have to live with the shame.” I paused for effect. Peter tightened his lips. That’s when I knew I was on to the right path. “Am I right?”

  Peter Walker looked at me for a long time without speaking. His hands were shaking and he tried to hide them.

  “Take your time.” I slurped my coffee while Peter fought within himself to determine whether to lie to me or tell the truth. Finally, he opened his mouth. He exhaled.

  “All right. But…I…I…I didn’t come up with the idea. Laura did. I spotted it right away when I read the first one. There was no way my dad had written that. I confronted her and told her I would reveal it. That she was an imposter and everyone would know. She begged me not to, then offered me money to shut up. I took it. I didn’t want my family’s name getting dirty either.”

  “Plus, you could really use the money. With the lifestyle you had been used to growing up, living in a small condo in Cape Canaveral and working the night shift at Ron Jon’s wasn’t exactly attractive to you.”

  Peter stared at me. “So, am I in trouble?” he asked.

  “That’s not for me to decide. I’m in homicide; I usually don’t deal with fraud or extortion. But, tell me one thing. Why did Laura Bennett do this? She had enough money, didn’t she?”

  Peter shook his head. “She made a series of very bad investments. Plus, they were spending like crazy. She needed more money. They say it’s the worst thing that can happen to anyone. To suddenly get money. It’s like those lottery winners who take home three hundred million, and then two years later they tell the media they are now in debt in up to their ears and that winning the money was the worst thing that could have happened to them. Laura and Brandon were like that. They had no idea what they were doing, and she fell for one scam after another. Like I said, I didn’t come up with the idea. She did. Laura did. She knew her neighbor across the street wanted to write and made a deal with her. I had nothing to do with it.”

  No, you only blackmailed them. No harm in that, right?

  God, how I loathed sleaze-balls like this guy. So busy washing his hands afterwards, thinking he didn’t do anything wrong.

  “What about Brandon Bennett? Was he in on it as well?” I asked.

  “No. She was afraid he might find out, and I used that against her. Told her I would tell him if she didn’t pay up. It worked.”

  “How wonderful for you.” I cleared my throat. “So, tell me. Did you get angry with her for not wanting to pay up?”

  Peter Walker smiled. “I k
now where you’re going with this, Detective.”

  No shit, Sherlock.

  “No, I didn’t get angry with her, and I didn’t kill her. Why would I? First of all, she did promise me more money that night; second of all, it would be stupid of me to kill the hand that feeds me, don’t you think?”

  He made a strong point. I let him off the hook for now. None of this indicated that he had killed his sister, and that was all I cared about right now. Somewhere out there in my town, someone would be getting away with murder if I didn’t get a breakthrough in this case soon.

  Part Two

  I’D HAVE TO PACK MY THINGS AND GO

  Chapter Forty-Six

  February 2015

  “Welcome to Motel Albert, a historic Cocoa Beach hotel.”

  The man behind the counter was tall and well-muscled, even though he did have a little stomach poking out. His hair was brown, but had been lightened by the sun. His skin was tanned, his eyes gentle and blue. He was wearing shorts and a blue T-shirt that was tight over his chest and showed his muscles. It had stains on it, looked like tomato sauce, but could have been something else. He wasn’t shaved. He looked like one of those surfers Shannon had seen out the window of her rental car driving through Cocoa Beach. They were everywhere with their long blond messy hair, riding their skateboards, some even while carrying surfboards under their arms. Next to him stood an old woman. Shannon pulled her daughter closer and pulled her hoodie over her head.

  “No, Mom. It’s too hot,” Angela proclaimed angrily and pulled it off.

  Shannon growled and pulled it back on. “Just leave it on, okay?”

  “Name?” the man behind the counter asked.

  Shannon looked around the lobby. It wasn’t quite the type of hotel she was used to staying in, but that was the entire point to it all.

  The man behind the counter stared at her, waiting for her reply.

  Don’t let him see your eyes. Don’t let him see your face.

  “Name?” she repeated. “Well…Schmidt. I have a reservation booked under the name Schmidt.”

  “Schmidt, yes,” the man said. He turned and pulled out a key. “If you’ll just sign here.”

  He pointed at a piece of paper and Shannon signed it using the alias.

  “Okay,” the man said and put the paper away without looking at her signature. “Mrs. Schmidt. You’ll be in number one-fifteen. Has a nice view of the beach, that one.” He handed her the key, then walked around the counter. “My name is Jack. My parents own this place. I help out on the weekends. Let me help you with your suitcases.”

  “There’s no need to,” Shannon said, and grabbed the suitcases herself. She turned her head to make sure he didn’t see her face, even though it was covered by her scarf. Joe had provided a very rough beating the day before and Shannon was determined this was his last.

  Never again.

  Angela smiled and stuck out her hand to shake his. “Hello there, Mr. Jack,” she said with a grin. “I’m Angela. I am six years old. You can take my suitcase if you like.”

  “Angela…” Shannon said. “There’s really no need to…”

  “Ah, but I don’t mind,” Jack said. “Let me carry it for the young lady. It’s right up on the second floor to the right.”

  Shannon and Angela followed Jack up the stairs and down the long carpeted corridors. He stopped in front of a door, then opened it with the key. It was an old fashioned key, not a card like other hotels had. Everything about this motel was old and seemed like it hadn’t been updated since the seventies.

  “Here you go,” Jack said, and let them inside.

  “Thank you,” Shannon said, hoping he would leave them alone. She found a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to him.

  He chuckled and shook his head. “No need for that.”

  “Please, I insist,” she said. “I’d also appreciate my privacy while I’m here, if you understand.”

  Jack took the bill, then put it in his pocket. “I’ll put this in the tip jar in the bar then. They work hard for their tips down there.”

  “Whatever,” Shannon said.

  Jack stayed in the doorway. Shannon wondered why he didn’t just leave. He didn’t seem like a bellboy, but a lot in this place wasn’t like in other hotels. Shannon, who was used to a life of extreme luxury, couldn’t remember ever staying in a place like this. Not that it wasn’t nice; it was. The dark wood everywhere made it a little somber, though. The floors creaked when she walked on them. The carpets were nice and soft and the beds neatly made. The view was spectacular…sandy beach as far as the eye could see. And the almost green ocean right outside her window. There was a small balcony she could sit on. There were chairs to sit in everywhere, especially on the wooden deck. There didn’t seem to be many guests in the motel, which suited her perfectly. You could say the place was charming in its own way. It wasn’t massive and big like the hotels she usually stayed in on her tours.

  She looked at Jack, wondering why he was still there.

  “I’m supposed to tell you about the place. There’s a story of a house-ghost that wanders the hallways at night. The story goes she killed herself in one of the rooms downstairs. She was last seen in the bar at the restaurant downstairs. They say she likes to move things around in there.”

  Jack looked at Angela, like he wondered if those stories would frighten her.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Shannon said. “She loves creepy stuff like that. She has loads of imaginary friends herself. Some of them are dead, she says.”

  “Have you seen any ghosts?” Angela asked.

  Jack chuckled and shook his head. “Not yet. I have two children the same age as you. They’re down at the beach now playing with their granddad if you want to come down later?”

  Angela made a joyful shriek. Shannon shook her head and saw the disappointment in her daughter’s face. But she couldn’t be too careful. She had chosen this place because no one would find her here. They wouldn’t even think of looking for her here. That would buy her time. Time to figure out…things. Time to find out what she was going to do. If she had to stay in the motel for months before she figured out what to do, then so be it.

  “I see you brought a guitar?” Jack asked. “You play?”

  “I get by,” Shannon said, sensing he was getting a little too nosy now. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, we need to get settled in.”

  “Yes, yes of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to impose. I just always wanted to learn how to play. Must be great to have music in your life.”

  Shannon scoffed. Music was her entire life, and had been for as long as she could remember. It was still her passion, even though it had also made her life complicated over the years, and sometimes she wished she could go back to the time when music was just something she did for fun.

  “Anyway,” Jack said. He paused and looked at her. “Mrs. Schmidt, I’ll see you around. Let me know if there is anything you need. If you have any questions, I’ll be glad to be of assistance. I’m here all weekend helping out. I live in a condo right next door. My parents are here 24-7, in case you need anything.”

  He looked at Angela and reached out his hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Angela. I’m sure you and your mom are going to have a great time here at Motel Albert.”

  He made a funny face and Angela laughed. Shannon smiled, but hid it behind her scarf. He seemed like a nice guy. Not the type to alert the media if he found out who she was, but she could not be too careful.

  “The restaurant is always open,” he said, looking at Shannon. He had a nice smile.

  “I prefer room service,” she said.

  “That, we don’t do. I’m sorry.”

  “All right. I need to find a pharmacy. Where is the closest?” she asked.

  “Right up A1A on the other side of downtown Cocoa Beach.”

  “Great. Thank you.”

  “It might be a small town, but they have everything here. We also arrange guided tours, in case you’d like to see wha
t the city has to offer. I bet you’d want to see Kennedy Space Center and maybe take one of the boat rides to see alligators and manatees.”

  “Alligators!” Angela exclaimed. “I wanna go, Mom. Can we, please?”

  “Let’s look into it,” Shannon said, to keep her daughter from begging more. Truth was, Shannon had hoped they could stay in the room for most of the time, but she knew it would be impossible.

  “You can read all about it in our folders in the lobby,” Jack said. “There’s a lot to choose from. And there are also trips to Disney and SeaWorld in Orlando, of course. Anyway. Welcome.”

  “Thank you.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  February 2015

  I couldn’t believe a month had passed and I was still not closer to cracking any of the cases. I had interrogated Brandon Bennett over and over again, but he still didn’t remember much from that night. I was getting nowhere.

  I had gone through the Bennett’s entire social circle, but no one had a motive, and all had alibis that checked out fine. Including both of her sisters, who were also deprived of their inheritance.

  The case of Rhonda Harris’s suicide was closed, so that was some good news. But it wasn’t good enough. By far. The worst part was the judge. I couldn’t believe I had gotten nowhere on his case. I had interviewed tons of criminals that he put away, his family, his political opponents, and still it lead me nowhere.

  It was driving me crazy.

  My dad hadn’t been well lately. Not after a bad case of the flu hit him at the end of January. So, I was trying to help out a lot more at the motel. This weekend, I was taking care of everything, so my mom could rest a little as well. It wasn’t very busy, so I took my time with the guests and hung out on the deck with some of the snowbirds, telling them where it would be best to fish and where to go to see dolphins. The motel was located on the thinnest part of the barrier island, and we had water on both sides. They could just cross the road to get to the Intracoastal where they could see manatees and tons of stingrays and dolphins. I really enjoyed hanging out at the motel and realized why my dad had wanted this his entire life. People who came here were happy and cheerful. They were looking to have a great time and enjoy the area, and I got to help them with that. It was so much more rewarding than chasing down a killer, I thought.