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

by John W. Mefford

  The door opened, and I had to jump out of the way so it wouldn’t smack me in the arm.

  “Oh, hi, Ivy,” Dr. Amaya said. “So nice to see you.”

  The man to his left had a distinguished look. Business-casual attire—brown slacks, blue button-down shirt, and loafers. Silver tips on his sideburns. And an air about him that said he was quite confident in who he was, what he did for a living.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt. I was just going to pop in and say hello,” I said, clasping my hands in front of me, suddenly feeling slightly underdressed in my jeans and one of my comfy but worn T-shirts.

  “No worries. Clifton and I were just crunching numbers, going over some board business.” The doctor tapped his mouth with his hand, feigning a yawn. “All of the stuff involved in running this place can be a little tedious. But I guess it’s been worth it.”

  “It’s been a huge success, Doctor,” I said. “Because of your generosity, your vision, the MACC—uh, the Mandy Amaya Community Center—has become a great place for kids of all ages to come have some fun.”

  “By the way, I’m fine with calling it the MACC. I can see Mandy smiling every time someone uses that term. And, frankly, this place has grown so much, I can’t begin to keep it all going on my own.” He did a double take as the third person in our space gave me a tight-lipped smile. “I’m so out of it. You two haven’t met?”

  I shook my head.

  Dr. Amaya introduced me to Clifton Hines. I was ready for him to end his name with “the third,” using some type of snobby British accent, but he stopped at Hines. Clifton stepped forward. He kept his eyes on mine, and we shook hands. A smile played on my lips as I imagined Cristina whispering in my ear, “Does he have a son named Duncan?” As in the cake mix company.

  Now I was starting to think like Cristina. That was worrisome.

  “Did I miss the joke?” Clifton said with a self-deprecating smile.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just thinking about someone I know.” I could feel my face reddening. Busted! We made small talk for another minute or two, then Clifton said he needed to run.

  “I can walk out with you if you’re leaving, Ivy,” Clifton said, removing a key fob from his pocket. It had a logo on it that looked familiar, but not familiar enough to where I’d know the name.

  “Oh, I need to stick around. I have a little bit of business to get done myself.”

  “Is Cristina around here somewhere?” Dr. Amaya craned his neck. I didn’t want to draw attention to her specific location, in case she was speaking with the NSBitch person.

  “She’s around here somewhere. She might be in the skateboarding room.” They had this cool room that had risers and benches and other obstacles for experienced skateboarders.

  “What business are you in, Ivy?”

  “She’s a private investigator,” Dr. Amaya said before I could speak. “Oh, I’m sorry for jumping in. Really, though, I have to brag on Ivy every chance I get. She’s done so much for this community, for this city. Her main focus is helping kids, those who are in trouble, or simply troubled themselves.”

  “Wow, Ivy, that’s quite an endorsement,” Clifton said. “I don’t hear Delmart…Dr. Amaya gush over many people or businesses like that.”

  I shrugged and grinned. “Dr. Amaya is my paid spokesman.”

  We all laughed, but I took another quick peek at my phone. Nothing. Dammit!

  “Seriously,” Clifton said, taking a couple of steps toward the exit, “you don’t have a family you need to run off to? We’re not exactly in the best part of town. And I think I counted three busted lights last time I was here this late.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary.” I was flattered really. For some reason, I felt compelled to hold up my left hand and show that I wasn’t wearing a ring. But then again, it wasn’t like I was on the market. Saul and I were a…thing. Why was I constantly thinking about him today, especially in these awkward moments? “Thanks for the offer, but I can take care of myself.”

  “And then some,” Dr. Amaya said.

  Clifton waved goodbye and walked off, and then the doctor ushered me around to make sure I’d seen all the latest things at the MACC. I had, but I needed to kill some time anyway.

  We stopped at a large, open room where three ping-pong tables were set up. There were probably two dozen kids in there, with three games going on, each one drawing an equal amount of attention from onlookers. “We’ve got a tournament going on tonight. It brings out the real competitive folks.”

  “Right,” I said. I then noticed one of the MACC employees in the signature purple T-shirt. He was a youngish guy with a beard. Probably a college kid, although, these days, age seemed more difficult to determine. I then realized I had seen a purple shirt in every room so far. “So did something change? Seems like you have a lot more staffers milling around.”

  We started to walk again. “Ah, you’ve noticed.”

  I nodded.

  “We’ve had a few instances where some kids were causing problems, bullying other kids, just being jerks. So, that’s one of the things I’ve been working on with Clifton. Trying to find more funds so we can make sure we’re adequately staffed. I want every child here to feel safe and comfortable, and still allow them to have fun.”

  I put a hand over my heart. “I’m really glad to hear that. I think it’s important for every kid to feel safe.”

  We came upon a room that had the Star of David on it. “Now this is new,” I said, pointing at the door.

  “Believe it or not, we’ve found out that several kids have been ridiculed for having their own religious beliefs, so we set up some basic things for each of the religions represented in our community. One of Judaism here, then…” he walked down the row of rooms, “we have our Christian area. One room for Protestants, one for Catholics, then Islam and Hindu, and then finally Mormonism.”

  “And no protests so far?”

  “Not a peep, thankfully. But most of the kids go to school together and understand what it’s like to be in a diverse environment. So if it’s not their thing, then I think most of them just look past it and find something else to do.”

  We waved at a couple of folks with purple shirts in the various religious rooms. “And are those people just MACC employees, or do they have some type of training in that particular religion?”

  “They’re volunteers from their local temples, churches, mosques, whatever. We wanted to make sure we have the right kind of people in each religious room. They gladly give their time, since they have an opportunity to interact with kids in a more relaxed setting.”

  “Damn, you continue to amaze me, Doctor.”

  He pointed at the cross on the door next to us. “You sure you should be saying that word right now?”

  He had a point. We made our way back to the center part of the building. I saw a girl talking to Cristina, and I stopped in my tracks.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” the doctor said.

  “Uh, no…I just—” My thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of my phone. It was a text from Stan asking me what was up. I excused myself and stepped away from the doctor to call Stan.

  24

  Stan let out an exhaustive breath. “And you have a favor you want to ask.”

  “Oh, I assumed it was, more or less, implied.” I tried a lighthearted giggle, but it came out more like a snort. Silence, and then a sudden thud.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “The two-by-four that’s attached to my stub. I’m actually working from home. Bev helped me set up a home office so I could be closer to her and Ethan at night when I have extra work to do and I don’t have to be in the office. I’m a little out of my element, which means I move around with the grace of a dinosaur.”

  “Funny, Stan.”

  “Anyway, sorry for the distraction. No solid leads have come in from the flyers?”

  “No, nothing.” I considered sharing a burgeoning theory after my conversation with Brandon, but to s
ay it was far-fetched would be an understatement. “But I need you to search for the GPS on her phone.”

  I was about to bite my nails—an old bad habit of mine—when Stan said, “Sure. Just have the Romeros come in and file a missing persons report and then we can do a lot of things.”

  “Dammit, Stan. I’ve tried over and over, but they won’t budge. They only see the worst-case scenario.”

  “I won’t let that happen.”

  “Thank you for saying that, but they don’t trust anyone. And I kind of see where they’re coming from.”

  I heard what sounded like lips smacking. Was he back to eating candy bars? “Are you stressed about the murdered girls?” I asked.

  “Just got back the ME’s report, and we’re learning more about them. And by the way, I’m chewing a piece of gum,” he said as if he’d read my mind.

  “Can you share what you know?”

  “Eh, I guess. But first things first. Mia. I’m thinking we might be able to put in the GPS tracking request because we think she’s connected to the animal sacrifice crime.”

  “So the only way to make this happen is to implicate an innocent girl in a crime she didn’t commit?”

  “To make this quick and easy, yes. If you or the Romeros want to still keep her name out of the investigation, we can take it up the chain and make our own case. It might take four or five business days to get approval.”

  I thought about calling the Romeros, but I knew their state of mind, and it was near panic. “Do what you need to do, Stan. And make it quick.”

  “Let me put in the request right now.”

  “Then you’ll call me back to give me the scoop on the ME’s findings on the double murder?”

  “Sure. It couldn’t hurt to get your take on it.”

  I hung up just as Cristina approached. She raked her fingers through her hair, which signaled that something wasn’t right.

  “I thought I had her,” Cristina said, flipping her head left, then right.

  “NSBitch?”

  She didn’t respond. I followed her gaze to a flock of teens huddled near the ping-pong room. One of the girls in the group—a brunette with a head of curls—looked in our direction for a quick moment.

  “Do you think that’s her?”

  “Maybe. Who knows?”

  “So the girl you were talking to earlier wasn’t her?”

  “Nah. She was just asking me where the bathrooms were.”

  “So did NSBitch tell you what she looked like or how to pick her out from the crowd?”

  “Never got that far.” Cristina typed a quick note into her phone.

  “Sending NSBitch a text to see if the curly-haired girl responds?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping. I’m not going to turn around, so you need to tell me what you see, okay?”

  I was positioned perfectly, where my eyes could peer just over Cristina’s shoulder and look in the direction of the girl. Sure enough, she reached for her back pocket.

  “You see something, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, hold on. She’s looking at her phone.”

  Just then, the girl put her hand on her friend’s shoulder, then broke through the pack. I took a single step to the side of Cristina.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I think she’s headed for the exit.”

  “Crap. This has gone on too long.” She broke into a jog and headed straight for the main exit. Seconds later, as Cristina approached a guy in a purple shirt, he held his hand up and said, “No running. You should know the rules.”

  Cristina swatted his hand out of her face and picked up her pace. Two other purple shirts came out of nowhere and began to converge on my ECHO employee. This, I could see, wasn’t going to end well.

  I took off in that direction.

  All of the purple shirts were focused on Cristina, so my jog went unnoticed. I caught up to Cristina just as she, four purple shirts, and NSBitch reached the exit.

  “It’s time we had a talk…in person.” Cristina reached out and a put a hand on NSBitch’s shoulder.

  “Excuse me?” she said, pushing Cristina’s hand off her shoulder.

  “You’re NSBitch. You can’t hide it any longer.”

  “What did you call me?” She turned to face Cristina. I could see her nostrils flare.

  I tried to push my way to the middle, but one of the purple shirts beat me to it and stepped in between the girls. “You should both know our policy. No fighting or even arguing in the MACC. “And you,” he said, nodding at Cristina, “that kind of language will get you suspended from the MACC for a good month. Dr. Amaya has a zero-tolerance policy on bullying.”

  I made my way up next to Cristina just as she was about to retort. I put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

  “Guys, everyone, it’s just a misunderstanding,” I said to the group. “Cristina thought this girl was an old friend, and they used to call each other those names. She’s sorry.” I looked at the curly-haired brunette, who may or may not have been NSBitch. She glared with her lips pressed tightly shut. I turned to Cristina. “Right, Cristina?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” she said, her eyes locked on the other girl, assessing her. I nudged her in the arm.

  She peeled her eyes away and looked to the MACC employees. “Okay, you’re right, Ivy. I was just messing around. And sorry about running too.”

  Everyone seemed to take a breath. “You cool, Nat?” The lead guy in the purple shirt asked the girl. Nat.

  Cristina and I shifted our eyes to each other.

  “No problem. We all have our issues,” she said, stuffing her hands into a pair of ultra-tight jeans. “I’m late getting home.”

  She walked out the door as the rest of the group began to break up.

  “We need to go after her,” Cristina said under her breath.

  I hooked my arm in hers and guided her away from the door. “If we go out that door, we’ll have a dozen purple shirts all over us. And even if we catch up to Nat, it doesn’t sound like she wants to talk right now.”

  “Dammit!”

  “Text her later. See if she’ll even reply to you. Then maybe you can find out why she got cold feet.” I saw the snack room and moved in that direction. “Are we a hundred percent sure that girl was actually your source?”

  “You heard the guy say her name. Nat. It has to be her.”

  “I’m just saying we don’t know until we get confirmation. So when you text your source later, you might want to play it cool, not give anything away. If it wasn’t her, you don’t want to scare her off. She might have her own reasons for not showing up.”

  “True.” Cristina walked straight to a bin of candy. “You got a couple of bucks on you?”

  “I guess. I need to tell you what happened earlier with Brandon.”

  “Throw two bucks into the jar, and then I’ll sit and listen while I chew on some Twizzlers.”

  And we did just that.

  25

  Benito Alvarez walked across the open expanse behind the old church, known by many as Mission San Jose. Clouds had parted just enough for a bright moon to drench the area around him in a pool of light. It only added to his mounting anxiety. He could practically feel the crosshairs of a rifle on his chest. He knew that was a metaphor—he was prone to being overdramatic anyway. And now, heading for a dark church in the middle of the night, the creep factor had tripled.

  He forced out a breath and watched the fog curl into the sky. Before he knew it, or even wanted it, the edge of the back of the church was right in front of him. After another few steps, he stopped and rested his hand on the stone wall. He could see the silhouette of the cross at the top of the church’s tower, which now blocked the moon. The sudden absence of light brought another rash of anxiety. He knew why—he was close. So very close to irreversibly altering the course of his life in a way that he never thought possible. In his most private moments, he would question whether he wanted to follow through with this…transformation.

 
; A shallow exhale. His airflow was restricted. It felt like one of these enormous stones from the church had been carved out and strapped to his chest.

  Maybe that’s what happens to your body when you’re about to go through an exorcism, Benito. Tears pooled in his eyes. He thought more about why he was here, why he would put himself through such a ritual.

  It’s because of your so-called condition, Benito. You’ve known it ever since you were a little kid.

  “But there is a way to fix you,” he said out loud, quoting the holy man who’d convinced him that there was indeed a method to rid his body of… What had he called it? Oh yes, a disorder.

  A disorder. A popular name used throughout the years, depending on the level of paranoia of the community in which he lived. His parents had moved across the country before settling in San Antonio during Benito’s freshman year in high school. It was rough at first, being the new kid and all. Especially since he was carrying this extra burden that he wanted to share with the world but knew that he’d only shame his parents. Things had settled a bit. He’d found some friends who were supportive. But then came this year’s football season. He was a starting linebacker, one of the key members of a defense that was considered one of the best in the area. Somehow, seemingly out of nowhere, rumors had started circulating. The same kind that had emerged at his previous schools. He felt like he was being exposed, thrown into the middle of a coliseum, stripped of his clothes, the world’s eyes boring holes through him.

  Which is why he had reached out and sought help. It was either that or commit—

  He stopped himself before uttering the “s” word: suicide. He’d promised his mother years ago to never use that word. She’d found him crying in the corner of a hot attic, petrified to show his face to anyone in the neighborhood. The hateful slurs, the sarcastic comments, even a simple sneer, all had made him feel like he wasn’t deserving to be called a boy, nor even a person. He couldn’t face the kids at school any longer, and the park wasn’t much better. The ridicule was nonstop, and as he’d told his mother, it very often turned violent. He was punched and kicked by gangs of kids just looking to humiliate someone. He was the easy choice because he was always outnumbered, five to one, or even ten to one. Once, they had even thrown stones at him.