Dead Ringers: Volumes 1-3

by Darlene Gardner

  I’d promised when I borrowed her car to tell her what was going on with Max. Time to make good on that. As soon as she stops swinging. That takes about ten seconds. Here goes. “Max is only into me because he was a missing person, too.”

  “Get out of here!” Her response reminds me that she doesn’t buy my story.

  “It’s true. I saw his missing person flier.” For someone who hasn’t made up her mind about Max, I sound pretty defensive. Stay cool, Jade. I fill her in on the details.

  “That’s all you know?” Becky asks when I finish. “Did you even call the police to check if he’s telling the truth?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Anybody with Photoshop can make a missing person flier. Why are you taking Max’s word as gospel? He could have made up the story after he heard about you.”

  It’s the same thought that ran through my mind, but I want to discount it. “Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know. But I’d damn sure find out if he was on the level.”

  “What’s with the about-face, Becks? I thought you liked Max.”

  “I like you, Jade. I’m on your side. And you’re not...” she hesitates. “...thinking real clearly lately.”

  “I’m thinking just fine!” I snap.

  “Down, girl.” Becky holds up a hand. “All I’m saying is that you need to start separating fact from fiction.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Contacting the Greensboro police about Max will have to wait. While Becky’s driving me home, I get a text from my mom asking me to pick up Suri at Uncle Landon’s surf shop.

  “Why would she leave Suri with him?” I haven’t said much to Becky since she implied I was having problems with my sanity, but a girl can only hold a grudge against her best friend for so long.

  Becky pulls up to a red light and turns to me. “She must have had some work thing and couldn’t reach you.”

  I hold up my cell phone.

  “Reception around here can be spotty,” Becky says. “When did your mom send the text?”

  I check the time on top of the message. “More than an hour ago.”

  “You’ve got your answer, then.”

  No, I don’t. Uncle Landon let down my stepfather when he needed him the most. A few months ago, before Uncle Landon retired and opened his shop, he was one of the top defense attorneys in the state. He’s represented murderers and rapists, yet he turned his back on his best friend. But Becky knows all this. I’m not up to explaining for a second time why it’s possible to hold grudges against both my stepfather for committing armed robbery and Uncle Landon for not defending him in court.

  “So can I borrow the car?” I ask.

  “How about I drive?” Becky isn’t about to let me take the Fit again now that she has it back. “If we can’t find a parking spot, I’ll wait in the car.’

  The beach is crowded, like it is on every sunny day during the summer. Becky double-parks beside a Lamborghini that probably costs more than my house and lets me out. Damn Ocean Breeze. Before the fancy resort was built, Midway Beach wasn’t on the radar of the rich.

  “Be back in a flash.” I hop out of the car and hurry down the boardwalk toward Uncle Landon’s shop. Most everyone is on the beach soaking up the rays except for the odd person here and there.

  Oddest of all is a tall, square-shouldered figure I can only tell is female because I recognize Roxy. Then again, she is wearing a tent-like sundress. She’s a few storefronts past the surf shop, walking away from me and holding the hand of a small dark-haired girl.

  It feels like Edward slashed my chest with one of his scissor hands. The girl is Suri!

  I take off running, my flip-flops flapping against the planks on the boardwalk. The girl isn’t skipping, the way my little sister usually does when traveling from point A to B, but her hair is up in another of those French braids she likes so much.

  I’m not wrong. It’s Suri.

  And Roxy has her.

  “Let go of her!” I yell as I close in on them. No way will I let Suri wind up in that forest with the evil clown. “Let go of my little sister!”

  Roxy keeps up her lumbering gait.

  “I said, ‘Let go!’” I scream and grab Roxy by the arm. She shakes me off like I’m a sand flea, but she stops. I struggle to keep my balance. Next to Roxy, Suri looks very small.

  “What’s all this?” Roxy bellows. She looks surprised to see me.

  “Get away from that woman, Suri!” I hurry to my sister’s side. I’m about to rip Suri away from Roxy and clear of danger when Suri’s lips tremble.

  “Jade?” Suri is barely audible. “What’s wrong?”

  Keeping myself from clawing at Roxy’s eyes is harder than going cold turkey on horror movies. “Nothing’s wrong, small stuff.” I use my stepdad’s pet name and put my hand on her shoulder, glaring over her head at Roxy. “Mom asked me to come get you, is all.”

  “But Roxy and me are going for ice cream,” Suri complains.

  Of course. Lure the eight-year-old away with the promise of a treat.

  “I’ll get you ice cream after lunch.” I grab Suri’s hand. Trying not to snarl at Roxy, only because it would further freak out Suri, I demand, “What are you doing with my sister?”

  “You heard her.” Roxy’s eyes are like slits. She isn’t wearing sunglasses, but I don’t think the sun is what’s narrowing her eyes. I think it’s disdain. “We were going for ice cream.”

  “Why is that, Roxy?” I put my body between Suri and Roxy, shielding my sister from her. “You don’t know my sister.”

  “I was in the surf shop.” Roxy clearly doesn’t like explaining herself. “Suri was asking the owner—Larry, I think his name is—to take her for ice cream. He was busy. So I offered.”

  “And he just let you take her?”

  “The beach community is like a family,” Roxy says.

  “Family knows each other’s names.” I’m keeping myself under control, but just barely. “His is Landon.”

  “Isn’t that what I said?” Most people look better when they smile. Roxy looks demonic. “If you don’t need me to watch Suri, I’m gonna get going.”

  “You’re right,” I say tightly. “You’re not needed. Suri’s never going to need you.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” Roxy’s smile grows even scarier. “You won’t be able to get into the trailer at the carnival tonight.”

  No surprise. She’d caught me going through her desk drawer.

  “Where am I supposed to keep my backpack?”

  “Same place you always keep it. See me when you get to the carnival, and I’ll give you the new combination for the lock.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Deadly serious. I don’t appreciate snoops, but I’ve got nothing to hide.” Roxy peeks around me to get a view of Suri. “Bye, short stuff.”

  “Bye, Roxy,” Suri says. The most frightening thing of all is that Suri doesn’t seem the least bit afraid of her.

  As soon as Roxy walks away, I stoop down, grab my sister’s narrow shoulders and look her straight in the eyes. “This is important. Suri. You can’t go anywhere with Roxy ever again.”

  She looks at me blankly, causing me to tighten my grip. “Do you understand?”

  Tears fill Suri’s big, brown eyes. “You’re scaring me, Jade.”

  I’m about to repeat my warning when one of the tears drips down Suri’s cheek. My heart constricts. I hug her, holding tight. After a moment, she hugs me back.

  “Is something wrong?” It’s Becky. Over Suri’s shoulder, I can see her rushing toward us.

  “No, everything’s fine.” I stand up, take my little sister’s hand and try to act normal. “What happened to waiting in the car?”

  Becky knows I’m not telling her everything, but she won’t quiz me in front of Suri. “I found a parking spot.”

  “Do me a favor, Becks?” I walk over to her, still holding Suri’s hand. “Would you take Suri to that playground by the parking lot? I need to tel
l Uncle Landon something.”

  “We can come with—” She doesn’t finish the sentence when I raise my eyebrows and give her a pointed look. She nods. “Sure. We’ll be at the playground.”

  Becky holds out a hand to Suri, who goes willingly. As they’re walking back to the parking lot, Becky casts a worried glance over her shoulder. She’s been doing that a lot lately. I march into Uncle Landon’s surf shop. Ocean waves are painted on walls that are lined with the usual assortment of surfboards, body boards, skim boards and wetsuits. Signs advertise lessons and the cost of rental equipment.

  Despite what Roxy said about Uncle Landon being busy, he’s sitting behind the cash register in an empty store. He’s dressed in a garish Hawaiian shirt. Back when he was a defense attorney, I never saw him in anything less formal than a dress shirt and tie without a jacket.

  “Hey, doll.”

  Doll? Okay, I can roll with that. Uncle Landon has lived in the south for a long time, but he grew up in Brooklyn and went to college and law school up north. He gestures at me with his half-eaten burger. “You just missed your kid sister. She’ll be back in ten or fifteen minutes.”

  Lashing out at him isn’t the way to go. It’s smarter to see if his story meshes with Roxy’s. “Where is Suri?”

  “With that big gal from the carnival. They went for ice cream.”

  Now I can let it rip.

  “I can’t believe you thought it was okay to send Suri off with her!” The words erupt from me like the green projectile vomit from Regan in The Exorcist.

  His face scrunches up like he truly doesn’t get it. “Why not? She’s your boss, right? And you went on that ski trip with her.”

  “I never went skiing with her!”

  “Calm down, honey.” His voice is slow and measured. “I’m pretty sure I know which ice cream place. Watch my shop, and I’ll get Suri and bring her back.”

  I pace from one side of the store to the other, almost knocking over a stand-up paddle board. Uncle Landon is being so reasonable, it doesn’t make sense to keep yelling at him. “I already got her. She’s with Becky.”

  “Then no harm done, right?”

  “I guess so,” I say grudgingly. “But I don’t want Suri or Julian anywhere near Roxy.”

  “Okay.” He bites into his burger and chews before he continues. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I see why your mom’s worried about you.”

  “You mean, because she won’t believe Roxy’s a liar?”

  “That and some other things.”

  “What other things?”

  “Maybe that you won’t have anything to do with Zach.”

  Mom told him about my refusal to visit my convict stepfather. Unbelievable that she’s confiding in him. It’s like she doesn’t care that Uncle Landon turned his back when her husband was in trouble.

  “I’m not going to see him. Don’t waste your breath trying to change my mind.”

  Uncle Landon takes a noisy sip of what smells like a chocolate milkshake. “I won’t. I don’t think you should visit him.”

  “What?”

  “Zach let your whole family down. Why have anything to do with him?”

  That’s not what I expected him to say. Uncle Landon and my stepfather used to be so close that for years I thought they were brothers. “What happened between you two?”

  He shrugs. “We grew apart.”

  “Why’s that?” The timing has never made sense. The two men were close until Uncle Landon’s wife lost her battle with Lou Gehrig’s disease. And then, when it seemed like Uncle Landon would need a good friend more than ever, they stopped speaking to each other.

  “Nothing to concern yourself about,” Uncle Landon says.

  “This growing apart, is that the reason you didn’t represent him on the armed robbery charge?”

  Uncle Landon puts the remains of his burger down and spreads his hands. “Look around. I’m not in the criminal defense business any more. I’m a surf shop owner.”

  “A dog never forgets his tricks.”

  Uncle Landon laughs. “I don’t know about that. You see Bubba over there?”

  Bubba’s his dog, a Doberman so excitable he used to take Uncle Landon for walks rather than the reverse. Bubba is curled up in a corner of the shop, his eyes closed.

  “Bubba!” Uncle Landon calls. The dog opens one eye. Uncle Landon picks up a pencil and flicks it across the office. “Fetch, Bubba!”

  The dog yawns and shuts its single open eye.

  Uncle Landon laughs. “See? Bubba’s forgotten his trick.”

  The phone rings. Uncle Landon turns to me. “We’re done here, right? Nothing else you want to ask me?”

  Nothing that will get me a straight answer, except maybe if I asked when he stopped being a vegetarian and started eating burgers.

  “See you around, honey.” He winks at me and answers the phone like everything’s settled. Except I’ve never felt so unsettled in my life.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Later that afternoon, I call the Greensboro police. My call’s transferred from cop to cop until I get someone on the line who deals with missing persons. The cop’s female and speaks in a high-pitched voice, sort of like Jason’s homicidal mom in the Friday the 13th movies.

  “You need to come into the office,” she squeaks before I can tell her what I’m after.

  “But I’m in Midway Beach. That’s hours away.” Inside my bedroom behind a closed door with my retro posters of The Bride of Frankenstein and The Creature from the Black Lagoon, to be exact. Mom’s not home, but I’m not taking any chances that Julian or Suri are listening.

  “Midway Beach is out of our jurisdiction, ma’am. I can direct you to another department and transfer your call.”

  “No! No! No more transfers.” I’ve got to talk fast. The cops on her force have itchy transfer fingers. “The person I’m calling about isn’t missing anymore. He’s been found.”

  There’s a pause at the other end of the line. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m calling about an old case from back in January. A teenage boy by the name of Max Harper.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  It couldn’t be harder to draw a breath if my lungs filled with ice. Frankenstein’s bride seems to be staring at me out of the poster, silently warning me about the danger of getting too close to the wrong guy. “So your department never handled a case involving Max Harper?”

  “I didn’t say that. I said I didn’t remember. Can you tell me anything the case?’

  “Max was walking home when somebody came up from behind and clocked him.” I repeat the tale Max spun for me. “Two days later, he was found in the same spot where he disappeared.”

  “Oh, yeah. How could I forget? His mom was very insistent that we find him.”

  The ice coating my lungs starts to thaw. The bride of Frankenstein no longer seems to be shooting warning looks at me. “Then Max was missing?”

  “Depends on what you mean by missing. I’ll say this. His mother didn’t know where he was for a couple of days.”

  “Do you know where he was?”

  “I can’t say any more, ma’am, but there are other ways to get information.”

  “Do you mean a P.I.? Because I don’t have the money for that.”

  She clears her throat. Even that noise is high-pitched. “I was talking about Google.”

  Two minutes after I hang up, I’m on the Internet with my cyber tail between my legs. I’m a product of the digital age. How could I not have thought to research Max’s story online?

  Nothing comes up when I type Max Harper into the search engine. I change the first name to Maxwell and search again.

  The first result is a newspaper story accompanied by a school photo of Max. At the time the story was published, Max was two days gone. The facts match what I’ve been told with only one new detail. When he disappeared, Max was returning home from canvassing for a longtime North Carolina congresswoman running for Senate.

  The na
me of the congresswoman seems familiar. I call up another browser and do a search for Savannah Shepherd. This time, the screen fills with results, most of them about the congresswoman’s son. I click through to the first story, a news brief.

  The teenage son of U.S. Rep. Savannah Shepherd (R-N.C.) is missing and presumed dead after his twenty-foot sailboat was found drifting empty off the coast of Corolla, N.C.

  Adam Shepherd, 19, was out on bail awaiting trial on a charge of vehicular homicide. Last fall, the car Shepherd was driving T-boned a pickup truck. Several witnesses said Shepherd was traveling at a high rate of speed and ran a red light. His passenger, Madison Everett, 18, died at the scene.

  Madison was the daughter of Edmund Everett, founder of the Ever Fresh grocery store chain. Sources said that Adam Shepard was despondent over the accident.

  Adam Shepard was staying at his family’s vacation home in Corolla, N.C., when he set sail. Savannah Shepard said her son left behind a suicide note but declined to reveal the content.

  Intriguing. I scroll down to the next result on the page, click through to another newspaper story about the congresswoman’s son and read it through to the end. The last paragraph mentions that after the empty sailboat was found, the Coast Guard conducted a search for Adam Shepard’s body that lasted several days before it was called off.

  But none of this is about Max. I flip back to the other browser.

  Max wasn’t exaggerating about his mother. She’s quoted extensively, insisting her son would never take off without telling her and begging the public for information. The only mention of Max’s return is a single paragraph in a news roundup that doesn’t mention where he was for two days.

  If it’s like Max said and the police figured he was off on a bender, he ran into the same skepticism as I did.

  I’m still puzzling over how our cases are connected when I report to work. I catch a break and run into a co-worker with the new combination lock to the trailer, so there’s no need to track down Roxy. After I dump my backpack, I check the night’s assignment sheet. First up for me are the swings.