The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 1-3: Redemption Thriller Series 7-9 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  “Good idea.” I lifted my foot off the brake to allow the car to roll forward about fifty feet before stopping again. “Are you still reading that John Green book?”

  “Yep.” Her eyes stayed on the phone.

  “Knock out a couple of chapters, and even in this slow traffic, we’ll soon be at the main office of AAA Cleaning Crew.”

  “I doubt it.” Her eyes lifted for a second, then went back to her book.

  “Doubt what?”

  She released another audible breath, her gaze still on the book. “That I’ll read two chapters,” she said, chewing on a nail.

  We inched forward another hundred feet or so in the next ten minutes. “Are you going to tell me your secret?” I asked.

  Now her eyes lifted, and they weren’t pleased with me.

  “You’re calling out my secrets?”

  That was a dig. “It’s different, and you know it.”

  “I guess we all have our issues, and I’ve got a lot more than one.”

  “For what you’ve been through, Cristina, you’re a pretty normal girl; you even have that sassy-attitude thing down like most seventeen-year-olds.”

  She smirked.

  “Seriously, I’m wondering if there’s another reason why you don’t want to go to school—other than you think it’s a waste of time and you don’t want to deal with kids your own age.”

  Yet another sigh. “Just between you and me…” She dropped her feet to the floorboard and pulled her long hair over to the front of her shoulder, stroking it, like I’d seen so many teenagers do. “I have a difficult time reading.”

  I shot a quick glance her way. “Do you have dyslexia?”

  “Sure do.”

  “Sorry if I was insensitive.”

  “Well, now you know,” she said, her phone on her lap as she stared out the front windshield.

  “So are you actually reading the John Green book?’

  “Ah…yes, thank you very much.” She was being overly sensitive, but I still had empathy for her.

  “You know, this doesn’t have anything to do with how smart you are.”

  “I know that, but everyone else thinks I’m stupid.”

  “The kids at school?”

  “Them too.”

  Now I knew why she was so against going back to school. A single biker whizzed by us on the shoulder. Probably trying to catch up to the pack, which was now out of my sight.

  “It’s pretty cool that you’re into John Green. Have you read other books by him?”

  She crossed her legs. “Look, I know you’re trying to find the silver lining, but it’s something I deal with every day.”

  “I get it.”

  We had traveled no more than a mile in all this time. I was still at a loss as to why the traffic was so bad in mid-March with temperatures in the seventies.

  “Sorry if I bit your head off,” she said, turning to look at me. “I’ve read this same John Green book twelve other times.”

  “Twelve? Why?”

  “The words are familiar to me. It’s easier for me to read. Usually, I get headaches from reading, but not when I’m reading this book.”

  I wondered if her headaches might also be a result of reading off that tiny little screen, but I knew when to keep my mouth shut.

  “I love this book. I wish I could read all day and all night,” she said.

  “Have you tried writing at all?”

  “I’m worse at that than reading. My spelling sucks.” We both laughed.

  Traffic eased a bit, and we reached a speed of thirty miles an hour, passing Port Isabel High School on our right.

  “The Fighting Tampons?” Cristina could hardly get the words out before she started belly-laughing.

  “It said Tarpons. Fighting Tarpons, goofball.”

  My phone buzzed. Cristina plucked it from the cup holder and looked at the screen. “It’s Stan.”

  My heart ticked a beat faster. “Put him on speaker.”

  In typical Stan fashion, he started by asking questions about where we were. After a quick explanation, I said, “But you called us. Tell me you have something on our rat killer.”

  “We worked through the entire night, and we’ve made some progress.”

  Cristina and I locked eyes briefly. “Define ‘some.’”

  “During an investigation, ruling things out can sometimes be as helpful as finding a single clue, so I wouldn’t see this as a negative.”

  “You’re dancing around, Stan. What do you have…or not have?”

  I could hear chewing on the other end. “A candy bar,” I whispered to Cristina, and she nodded.

  “Unfortunately, after looking at all of the video footage from the garage, we weren’t able to find a single clear picture of the suspect’s face.”

  “Not one?” Cristina asked.

  “He wore a cap, kept it low on his head in every bit of video we saw.”

  “Just like the witness, Robert. He never got a clear view of his face,” I said.

  “Speaking of Robert, he worked with our sketch artist to create a full-body rendering of what this guy looks like. Nothing there for eyes, but he’s pretty sure he saw pockmarks covering his face.”

  “Can you send it to me?” I asked.

  “I’ll do that the moment we hang up.”

  “What about fingerprints?”

  “Like we suspected might be the case, we weren’t able to get a clear print.”

  Another strike. “Damn,” I said, my brain still cranking on possible evidence trails.

  “As for the Subaru that the witness identified driving out of the garage…” Stan paused and we could hear more chewing. It sounded disgusting over the speaker phone. A few seconds later, he spoke again, but his words were still garbled. “We were able to get the plates.”

  “Kick ass,” Cristina said.

  “Yeah, kick ass. Uh, can you drink some water please?” I couldn’t take any more of the chewing noises.

  “Hold on.” A moment later, we heard ruffling sounds and an “Ah.”

  I took that as a cue he was ready for the next question. “If you found the plates, then why haven’t you arrested the bastard?”

  “The plates were stolen. Belonged to a VW bug.”

  I ran my fingers along the edge of the steering wheel. “If you can figure out the make, model, and year, then you should be able to narrow down the list of owners, right?”

  “Uh…”

  I could picture his mustache twitching. “What?”

  “Honestly, it’s a long shot. We’re thinking the car is stolen too. And by now, it’s probably been abandoned or set on fire in the middle of the Hill Country.”

  “Crap.” I smacked the steering wheel this time. “He makes these mistakes, and we can’t capitalize on them. Or maybe he’s just really good at covering up his mistakes.”

  “It’s not all bad news. We talked to the woman who made the post about Joanna’s boyfriend, and she told us that she’d never met the guy, but she recalled that Joanna found him on this new dating website, talldarkandhandsome.com.”

  I bent closer to the phone. “Stan, this guy left a digital trail. You just need to—”

  “We’ve already reached out to the company owner. Nice guy. He’s in the process of sending us everything we need, and we didn’t even have to threaten him with a search warrant.”

  Renewed hope quickly lifted my spirits again. My gaze found a gray building in the shape of a castle off to the left, a large souvenir shop. Something still nibbled in the corner of my mind. An unknown that wouldn’t let me rest until we found the answer.

  “What’s up, Ivy?” Cristina asked.

  “Stan, can you do me a huge favor?”

  “It depends. Will it cost me my job?”

  “It shouldn’t. I think it connects to this investigation..”

  “What is it?”

  “A person from my past.” I stopped there, not sure if I wanted to continue.

  “Are you still there?”


  “We’re both here,” Cristina said. “She’s in some traffic. Give her a second.”

  I looked at Cristina, and I could tell that she knew I was struggling with opening up. After a few seconds, I took in a deep breath. “It was one of my stepparents. Kim Wheeler. I’ve thought a lot about what happened, and I think Kim would find pleasure in seeing me hurt, seeing people I know hurt.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ivy,” Stan said, “but I think we’ve established that the person in the garage, your kidnapper…has to be a man.”

  “I realize that. But I wouldn’t put it past Kim to hire someone. I think she’s that devious.”

  A few beats of silence. “How many years ago was this?” Stan asked.

  “I was young, so a long time ago. She was arrested, put in jail. After that, I can’t find any record of her. I just have this feeling that somehow she might be connected to this shit. Can you figure out a way to run a check on her?”

  We heard a chomp on the other end of the line. “I got this cousin,” he said, then chewed some more. “Nick works for the FBI in the Boston office. We were close growing up. He lived two blocks over. We did stuff together all the time. Not everything was legal, but we were tight. He’d probably do me a favor.”

  “Wow, that would be great.”

  “It’ll be good to talk to him. And, honestly, if you have a gut feeling about this Kim Wheeler, then I have no problem telling him that she’s a possible suspect. It makes sense, looking into your past like that.”

  Stan said he’d follow up by sending me the artist’s rendering of the suspect and would keep me in the loop as new information came in. He told me to stay positive and that he still had hope we’d find the creep.

  An hour after leaving Los Fresnos, we finally turned into the parking lot of AAA Cleaning Crew. I was hoping we could right at least one wrong from the past.

  30

  With every step, my bare feet sunk into the powdery, warm sand as wind whipped my hair into a tangled mess. But I didn’t care. I plodded across the beach of South Padre Island, my sights riveted on the powerful waves smashing into the shoreline, one after another, scampering tiny birds with stick-sized legs. Just beyond the line of waves, I spotted a larger bird as it nose-dived into the Gulf, emerging with a fish in its bill. I was in awe of what Mother Nature offered.

  “That’s a brown pelican,” Cristina said, pulling up next to me.

  I closed my eyes and filled my lungs with salty air. I heard a few voices, but mostly crashing waves and squawking birds as the sun warmed me from the inside out. Despite all of the angst from the brutal killings of people I knew, along with the stress from the hunt for Anika’s parents, this feeling, more than relaxing in the lavish accommodations at Zahera’s condo, infused my soul with an organic resiliency.

  “Aren’t we going to be late?” Cristina asked.

  When we’d dropped by AAA Cleaning Crew initially, the owner, a portly woman named Marta, said we’d just missed Mona and Dexter. They were off to take a lunch break and would return in an hour.

  I’d been to the beach just once in my life. I was fourteen, and I had run away from my foster home. I took a bus halfway, then hitched a ride and ended up here, in SPI. I was equally in awe back then, and probably a little frightened at the vast waters. I hadn’t been a swimmer. Still wasn’t. I pushed out a breath and instantly felt five pounds lighter. One unencumbered breath in the right environment, and I already felt like the stress had begun to dissipate.

  “You said you wanted to get there early, right?”

  “Five minutes. That’s all I need.”

  Three minutes into it, my nirvana was rudely interrupted. A wave of sand enveloped my body. I began to spit, while Cristina did the cussing. “What the fuck, dude?”

  Wiping my eyes, I could see a guy wearing his cap backwards, stumbling over his own feet, as three of his so-called friends pummeled him with what looked like pieces of bread.

  “Sorry ’bout the sand, ladies,” he said, slurring every word.

  I waved a hand in front of my face, telling Cristina, “He’s drunk as hell.”

  “I prefer to call it sufficiently hydrated with beverages containing alcohol.” He spit out the last few words, and his brew crew cracked up.

  I brushed sand off my T-shirt and jeans. “Not sure I’ll be able to regain my moment of solitude. Let’s get out of here.”

  He swatted at my arm, while turning to the water. “Boys, ladies, I think I just made a discovery.”

  “What’s that?” one of them said.

  “I think this ocean might be forty miles wide,” he said, spreading his arms until his hand almost knocked me in the face.

  His buddies broke out in hysterics. Cristina and I flipped around and headed back toward the parking lot, unamused at his antics. I then focused on all the tents scattered across the beach, each one in different color combinations. Red and black, maroon and white, red and blue, burnt-orange and white. Even with temperatures just in the seventies, lots of girls in skimpy bikinis, guys chugging beer bongs.

  “Did we just go through a time warp?” I asked, as we dodged clueless young people running around and goosing each other.

  “It’s spring break.”

  How was I that unaware? “I guess that explains the traffic.”

  “Yeah,” Cristina said, her eyes wide with shock as two guys held a buddy by the ankles while he sucked beer in through a hose. “And I thought I was a little overboard.”

  “I know I talk about the virtues of getting your college degree. Well, this is when college kids instantly lose about ninety percent of their brain cells.”

  “It might be safer for me to stay on the streets.”

  I let that one pass as we finally made it back to the car. We drove across the arched bridge that connected SPI with the mainland—in particular, Port Isabel. We showed up in Marta’s small strip center office just in time. We entered and were greeted with a warm welcome.

  “They should be walking through the back door any moment.” Marta smiled so wide, she only had slits for eyes. “I’m so excited for them. A big inheritance. It’s like winning the lottery.”

  I cringed inside, but nodded, clasping my hands in front of me.

  A moment later, the door opened, and in walked two people who could have been twin munchkins from The Wizard of Oz. Standing no taller than my shoulder, both had short, brown hair, and square bodies. The pair took three steps in and stopped, their faces blank.

  “We have a surprise for you, Mona and Dexter.” Marta put two hands to her face and squeezed.

  The pair looked us over, not uttering a word.

  “This woman here is a probate lawyer for a distant relative of Mona, and they would like to share something with you.” Marta turned to me. “Who did you say it was, an aunt Beatrice?”

  “Well, yes, but…”

  Mona slid her hands in her apron pockets, her eyes slowly shifting toward her husband.

  “Marta, would you mind terribly if we have some privacy? Maybe you could slip out for a few minutes,” I asked.

  “Of course,” she said, grabbing her purse and walking toward the front door. “I’ll make my daily run to the supply store. Take your time.”

  Cristina and I both turned to watch her leave. The moment her hand touched the door handle, I heard shoes scooting across carpet. I flipped around to see Mona and Dexter bolting for the back of the shop. “What the…?” I heard Cristina say by the time I’d already taken four giant steps. The back door slammed shut, but I only slowed down enough to twist the knob and bang the door open with my shoulder.

  I should have taken my time. The door didn’t budge, and I ricocheted backward, dropping to the floor right by Cristina’s feet. “Crap,” I said, rubbing my shoulder.

  “Dear God, what just happened?” Marta’s mouth formed a circle.

  Cristina ran to the back door, twisted the knob. “This locks from the other side too?” she asked Marta.

  Ignoring the q
uestion, Marta jiggled all over as she jumped up and down. “What’s going on? Why are Mona and Dexter running away?”

  Up on all fours, I said, “How can we get back there?”

  “I have the key somewhere,” she said, pulling out a wad of keys.

  “Marta!” I shouted.

  She jumped and jiggled some more. “You have to go around the strip center, and then you’ll see our little area by the dumpster with the red graffiti on it.”

  I launched out of my stance, brushing by Marta as I swung open the front door.

  “Are you really a lawyer?” she yelled.

  No time to chat. My shoes crunched loose gravel as my pace hit full stride. I could hear another set of footsteps behind me. Had to be Cristina since it didn’t appear Marta had run in the last ten years.

  “Throw me your keys,” Cristina hollered. It made no sense, but I didn’t ask questions. I pulled the keys out of my pocket and blindly tossed them over my head. Two more steps, and I turned the corner. No sign of cars or people. Only about a hundred feet to the back of the building. I whirled around the stucco wall, sliding on loose gravel. I dropped my hand to the surface to maintain my balance and then pumped my arms until I was in a full-on sprint again.

  The parking area was narrow, maybe forty feet wide, a cluster of cars parked every forty feet. I figured each set belonged to people who worked at one of the storefronts. A six-foot chain-link fence surrounded the property on the back side. They had to be here somewhere, unless they had climbed over the fence already. Slowing my pace, my head swiveled as I searched for movement. I could hear what sounded like a vacuum off in the distance—probably from the car wash next door.

  “Lupe, get your ass back here.”

  I flipped around to look behind me, and I saw a man running. It wasn’t Dexter. This man was thin with shorts on, yelling, waving his hands, looking down the side street.

  I took a breath and turned around. Questions pinged my mind: Why did Mona and Dexter run? What made them so afraid of us?

  Suddenly, I felt like I was being watched, and I began to question my judgment for running after them. I carried no weapon. Well, I had a can of mace on my keychain, but Cristina had my keys.