Killing Mary Jane: A Dark Romantic Thriller

by Amarie Avant

  He was surprised. Megan was night and day compared to Mary Jane’s stories. Even respectful enough to abide by her sister’s wishes not to be called Mallory.

  He cleared his throat of that innate desire to dislike her and said, “I was told she left with a man and a woman.”

  “Well, unfortunately it wasn't with me or Keegan. I’m sorry for Dad’s tone. He sounds homophobic, but you would be surprised that even with the don’t ask don’t tell policy in the army, we don’t discriminate. He just doesn’t like Keegan. Nobody is good enough for his daughters. Even before Mal married.”

  “Oh, okay.” Wulf started to back away, his brain working overtime with scenarios about what happened to his woman. He needed to wrap his mind around everything that had just occurred without staring at this beautiful creature. Even with short hair and style fit for teaching kindergarten, Megan reminded him of Mary Jane. Where is she?

  “Do you have a moment to get a drink? There’s an Irish Pub around here.” She laughed when he looked her over. “Yeah, I know it doesn’t look like I’d drink a beer. There are some good drafts at the pub. Besides, there are a few things you need to know before you leave.”

  “I…” His mind was already calculating how majorly he’d failed Mary Jane. Seventy-two hours. The first few days were most critical and he hadn’t even started searching.

  “Please,” she implored. “With that look on your face as you spoke to Dad, I could just about bet you had no intentions of returning—with or without my sister. I know whatever is going on with you and Mal, you’ll find her. So please, just one drink. I won’t take too much of your time.”

  They ended up at a tiny restaurant across the street from the Lakewood mall with dark wood walls, low lighting, and a set of framed family photos. The beer was better than he expected.

  “I stopped praying,” Megan began after taking a few sips of her own root beer. “After Mallory married Peter, I just couldn’t believe that she forgot her upbringing. She turned away from everything Mom taught us. So I stopped. But, Mom, she prayed harder. Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to talk about, Mr. Wulf. My dad and Mal had an awful relationship.”

  And when I find her, she’s not coming back here. He rubbed a hand over his jaw so as not to give away his feelings.

  “Dad isn’t a monster. He’s very stern with outsiders. But he’s no villain.” Megan paused to take a sip of her drink. “Have you heard the saying that people who act the same clash?”

  “No,” he mumbled, ready to close himself off from the Portmans.

  “All right. Well, they’re just about the same darn person, too stubborn. They clashed when she was a kid. The first big fight was after he came home for good. You see, we were used to vacations and trips with dad, and then he’d leave for overseas. With Mom, our house was a democracy. When we were sixteen, Dad came home for good. Mom went on vacation.”

  To Wulf, it sounded like Elena may have run from her husband, especially if the familial dynamics always called for him staying away. She probably loved him best a thousand miles apart, but a tinge of sadness was in Megan’s voice.

  “They called it a vacation… Then here’s our stern father measuring how tightly our bedsheets were tucked in. He made life a living hell when Mom came home wearing braces. See, it wasn’t a real vacation. It was to recover. She’d actually been assaulted one afternoon while taking tithes for the church to the bank.”

  “Wow,” he sighed.

  “Mal and I weren’t aware that she’d spent her vacation time in the hospital and the braces she came home with were wires. Just that Dad came home unexpectedly, and he’s the kind that wants to shelter his family—even though we were old enough to know. It probably tore Dad to shreds. You go away to keep the country safe and leave the home front unguarded.” Megan pushed her drink away. “Dad started teaching us self-defense like a man possessed with our safety. Hardcore, three-hour regimen defense lessons that left just enough time for homework and sleep.”

  “That must be why MJ knows how to fight,” Wulf thought aloud. He leaned back in his chair, not so angry with Vincent anymore. He now understood Elena’s paranoia. Vincent didn’t reprimand his wife. He’d just catered to her horrors.

  “Mal’s so smart.” Megan smiled, far away in her thoughts. She crunched on a few pretzels. “Mal got good grades. She had a check mark for every requirement our dad had and even more. And to top it all off, she was queen of the chess team. Like Dad, life was a competition. She was missing the club meetings due to Dad’s rigorous self-defense schedule. One day, she just snapped. She just stopped throwing combos and cussed him out.”

  As Megan talked, Wulf found himself madly in love with this Mallory Portman. There were parallels in the temperament with the woman he couldn’t help but love. She was a witty, willful woman. He needed to find her.

  “Geesh, I don’t even think Mal knows the entire truth about our dad’s obsession with our self-defense lessons. But I hope you can see we are a family… We were once a happy family.”

  Megan had painted a picture of a family that cared for each other but were caught up in circumstances. He needed to be sure of Vincent’s love for his daughter because he wouldn’t rest until he found Mary Jane. “All right, thank you for chatting with me.” Wulf grabbed his wallet from his back pocket, prepared for the long journey ahead of him, but Megan stopped him.

  “Look, I know you’ll find my sister, but honestly,” she shoved a hand through her hair, “I need you to bring her back here when you do.”

  “I will find her,” he assured.

  “I understand that time is of the essence and Mal is tangled into a bizarre story, but you’ve gotta understand that we’re a family. One more story, if you don’t mind.”

  “You’re right, Ms. Portman, I don’t have time.” There was a softness in his gaze, but he attempted to be polite.

  “Mal was studying for a PhD at USC. Only twenty-two years old and half way there.” Megan smiled though her face was marred with sadness.

  Wulf placed money on the table and leaned back.

  “My sister just started an awesome paid internship at Peter Grienke Laboratories. She stayed with Keegan, her high school boyfriend, through it all. Anyhow, Mal and Keegan were getting married. They went to Mexico. Come to think of it, they stayed right near where you two lived. Mal often felt weird at Grienke Pharmaceuticals. However, Peter was one of the only employers that paid for internships, and just his name on a resume was career gold. Just so you have a visual, the internship actually paid for flowers and other wedding vendors.”

  Wulf nodded.

  “Then Dad found out about the wedding. She wanted to tell him at the last minute. More of a silent ‘you’ll get the invite in the mail’ type of request. Dad flipped and forbade her to marry the boy. Mal was at work, and we were speaking about a dinner to calm the waters at her lunch break. Mal became eerily silent. She said she found something on Peter’s computer. She never came home that night. Dad was at our apartment, angry but quietly waiting for Mal to come home. I’d decorated and cooked, and Keegan just sat there embarrassed as we all waited for her in silence. The next thing I knew, she was married to Peter. She never came home. He wouldn’t let me see her.” Her voice broke.

  “Peter wouldn’t let you come around?” Wulf started to connect the dots. It was easier for Peter Grienke to make Elena and Megan out as the bad person and to totally send Mary Jane into repulsion over Vincent. So keeping Mary Jane away from her family worked.

  “Yeah. The one time I visited my sis, it was by accident. The gate of their mansion had malfunctioned and she answered the front door.” Tears welled into Megan’s eyes. Her voice broke with emotion. “My sister hugged me tightly after almost a year of not one single word. She told me she would put me in rehab and do whatever I needed if I’d stop doing drugs. Drugs!” Megan gasped. “So you have to understand. Our family has fought for Mal to return home. You’re our only hope.”

  45

  Before Wulf
merged onto the freeway, he had connected a call with his sister, Shelly, and gave her a short rundown of what had occurred. Wanting to help, she logged back into the LAPD database with Quincy’s credentials to provide Wulf with the address of the Blackwoods. As the last people to see her, the detective in him decided to begin there.

  The Blackwoods lived about thirty minutes away in a luxurious condominium characterized by tennis courts, day spas, and ample room for joggers. Wulf found an empty spot in the parking lot across from their home just as a middle-aged man and woman went running along the trail before him, their smiles and chatter fit for a commercial. This was the type of place Mary Jane would be leery of. Don’t fucking get caught up in emotion, Dylan. Focus on finding her instead.

  Wulf walked past the trail that surrounded each home and opened the gate for the Blackwoods’ lot. As he knocked on the door, a savory smell of meat and spices wafted to him.

  “I’ll be,” Tom said, opening it. “Dylan, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

  Before Wulf spoke, Amy appeared and wrapped herself in his arms. They weren’t the type to question his unexpected arrival, she smiled. “I’ve just finished the beef stroganoff. Come in, come in. Where’s Mary Jane?”

  “That’s why I’m here.” Wulf stood rooted at the welcome mat. He quickly explained that he hadn't seen Mary Jane since the morning they left for home. “When you said goodbye to her, who was she with?”

  “I dunno.” Amy began to fret. “They were rude. Hardly even spoke to us.”

  “Real tall guy,” Tom said. “And…a woman.”

  “What did they look like?” Wulf asked.

  “Mexican,” Amy chimed in, shrugging as if that sole fact was description enough. As Wulf waited, she sighed and continued, “Well, the female, she had a little Spanish flair about her. Lighter skinned. Penelope Cruz with a snotty attitude. Her hair was very long, past her waist. But the guy was dark skinned, really tall, and real uhhh…ugly with a puffy, fat face—”

  “Yes, he had a boxer face,” Tom finally got a word in.

  Amy nodded. “He had on one of those shiny gangster suits. Not as tailored as the woman’s. Her clothes were very expensive looking.”

  Wulf probed, “Anything else? Ages? Distinguishable marks or tattoos?”

  Amy’s eyes narrowed in keen observation. “Um…both had to be around thirty or so, give or take a few years. The guy had a tiger head tattooed on his neck. It appeared as if it might have continued past his collar. Why? What’s wrong? Is this official police business?” Amy rushed, as if a light bulb went off in her brain. Her blue eyes lit up with interest.

  “Go get the camcorder, Ames, we’ve got to document this!” Tom sprang into action.

  “No,” Wulf cut in. “Do you remember anything else about them?”

  “They had a nice car. A Mercedes AMG, dark gray, nice chrome,” Tom added with a nod.

  “License plate?”

  “Nah, sorry.”

  “Names?”

  “Uh…the lady’s name was Soledad,” Amy said with a confident nod. “At least I think. When the guy called her that, she got really mad. Maybe it’s some type of nickname.”

  “Okay, anything else you remember?” Wulf asked, stopping Amy’s chattering ways.

  “Nope.” Tom shrugged.

  Amy shook her head.

  “Okay, thanks. Once she comes home,” he felt stiff making the statement, “we’ll invite you to dinner.” He turned to leave, heaviness weighing him down, since he was always a man of his word.

  Amy gasped. “Oh, Mary Jane did leave a message for you!”

  “It’s probably inconsequential now. But what was it…?” Tom chewed his bottom lip.

  Amy said, “Something about her cooking. Uh, she’d gone fishing and marinated salmon—or was it bass? Mary Jane was so serious about it, I swear. I can’t believe we forgot to tell you then. She’d said lunch would be ready when you got home.”

  Wulf gulped down the notion that he’d failed Mary Jane. Just like Gracie. He was reliving the day he’d told the girl’s social worker he didn’t have enough time to become a caregiver.

  Wulf turned down the street he grew up on and honked his horn at Bryan and Ryan who were coasting past him on the sidewalk. While his own stomach rumbled for dinner, the boys seemed like they could run the summer away without so much as stopping for nourishment. He managed a tight smile despite the uneasy tightness in his gut, seeing them turning at the end of the cul-de-sac and heading back toward him. He parked on the sidewalk and stared out of the window for a moment. The suburb faded away as Wulf thought about catching the first flight back to Mexico. With the Feds after Jake and their interest in tying him to Mary Jane, he didn’t want to alert them with using his debit card. He sure as hell didn’t want to make any wrong moves. Because right now, Wulf only had Amy and Tom as witnesses to Mary Jane’s disappearance. He’d have to use resources and be smart about finding her.

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Wulf determined his game plan and got out.

  Brenda sat on a lilac colored wicker chair with fresh snipped roses in her lap as she watched Bree. Wulf put his hands in his pockets and watched her from the gate. The tot rode leisurely around on her Big Wheel, making a wide turn at the porch then coming toward him.

  “Uncle.” Her shy voice was drowned out by her loud brothers’.

  “Dylan, Dylan,” they said in unison. Questions flew around him about playing catch and basketball.

  He patted both boys on the head as Bree methodically moved out of the bike.

  “Oh, so I’m on babysitting duty tonight,” he replied, tossing Bree into the air. She gave this tiny little shrill. “Girl, we have to toughen you up.” He caught her and placed her down.

  “Yes, you have to watch us,” Bryan cut in.

  Ryan piggy-backed with an upbeat response, “Our parents are going to a party. So what are we gonna do?”

  Wulf rubbed a hand over his face. He needed to focus and ask Quincy to use his resource of the LAPD database about Mary Jane’s abductors. The children followed him up to the porch where he planted a kiss on his mom’s head.

  “We’re on diaper duty?” He barely managed a joke.

  “Not me.” Brenda grinned. “You’ve got some catching up to do, and my DVR is filled with every episode of Law and Order.”

  “Sometimes Grammy recites the words.” Bryan chuckled.

  She reached over and grabbed his cheek, smacking it with a kiss. “So what? It makes me feel younger, recalling the words. Okay?”

  “Okay, tonight we’ll have some fun,” he said. “I’m going to head in and get cleaned up.”

  In the house, Shelly walked down the steps in a simple white dress and strappy high heels. “Hey, before I forget, there’s a package in the hall for you. What happened with the infamous Mary Jane?” Though Shelly’s voice sounded encouraging, her eyes warmed with worry. “Were your mutual friends able to help?”

  Wulf’s eyebrows furrowed, ignoring her question. He’d been ready to address Quincy and beg for his help in searching out Mary Jane’s abductors, but he went to the accent table in the hallway. Wedged between a vase of faux orchids was the family’s junk mail, but at the edge of the table sat a small brown box. He plucked it up and headed back into the living room to sit down.

  Shelly stood at the ornament mirror, placing a ruby red chandelier earring into her ear. “C’mon, spill, I need to know what —”

  “I haven’t given anyone this address.” He glanced at the official USPS stamp then at the sender. Linda G. Curbelo from San Francisco.

  “You haven’t?” His adoptive sister mumbled, slipping on the second earring.

  “Should you be opening that?” Quincy speculated as he ambled down the stairs in a white linen suit. “D, who is it from? Do I need to call in the bomb squad?”

  He put it down, grabbed his cell phone, and Googled her name. A hunch made him add “+ Grienke.” Instantly, various articles popped up with divorce settlements and claims
that Linda had helped Grienke create a revolutionary facial product but she did not get the credit.

  “She’s Peter Grienke’s ex-wife.”

  “D!” Quincy’s vein pulsed. “You’re telling me that crazed sociopath, Peter Grienke, has his ex-wife working for him? That he possibly knows where your entire family lives?”

  “I don’t think the package is a threat,” Wulf barked. “Listen, I have never given out this address. And, Quincy, I haven’t left L.A. to unlearn everything.” He held up the package. “It’s probably some mind-fuck or taunt about Mary Jane. She’s missing.”

  “Quincy, we have to help.” Shelly came to sit down beside her adoptive brother.

  “I need to ask you a question, Quincy.”

  His friend’s chest deflated as he leaned against the doorframe.

  “Mary Jane left with two people,” Wulf said. “A male, around seven feet tall, with a tiger tat, possibly traveling from his neck and downward. A woman with—”

  “You want me to run their description through the database. Why would I do that?” Quincy crossed his arms. “Why would I help you, D, put yourself in further danger for that crazy bitch?”

  Shelly cleared her throat. “Quincy, if you don’t help my brother, I will.”

  He cut her off with a raised hand of defeat. “The Feds are handling it, Shelly. And if something happens to your brother, then you’re in my face, harping another tune. So I’m out of this. And, babe, your supervisor’s annual summer fling is tonight. I don’t want to go, but I’d prefer it to whatever suicide mission Dylan is on for some girl he hardly knows. Hell, she doesn’t know herself.”

  “Quincy!” Shelly snapped.

  “No, the two of you went behind my back earlier to figure out my password. Just do it again.”

  Shelly glared at her husband’s back and then gestured for Wulf to open the box. Too anxious to sit, Wulf took a wide legged stance next to the fireplace and worked his finger into the adhesive. A letter was tied around a leather-bound notebook. He started there, placing the notebook onto the coffee table.