Dispatched Confessions (The Love is Murder Social Club Book 2)

by Talia Maxwell

  It was dawning on Joel, the pattern of the story. The game gone wrong and Alex’s threatening note, his anger and his desire for violence. If he didn’t act on it, then someone else did. He saw Holly putting the pieces together as well; it was easy to see the child’s distress while not condoning the extreme actions. That didn’t make Alex’s hurt any less real.

  “He didn’t want you to text any more of the guys?” Holly asked, asking about the phone.

  Nayeli shrugged. “He deleted all my accounts. I mean…they’re easy to restore. It’s just…like, my streaks and the people…”

  “That’s enough,” Gloria interrupted and rolled her eyes. She looked at Holly and lifted her eyes and frowned an apology. “I called and talked to the detective from earlier and told them the reason Alex took off. I think they were already heading down that path based on their nonchalance.”

  “Look,” Nayeli said, “I wasn’t screwing with boys like Alex. Like Alex is kind and good and I don’t know why someone would break his heart like that…but the guys we…”

  “It’s fine,” Holly interrupted. She waved Nayeli’s explanation away. “You don’t need to defend yourself to me, sweetie. I know you feel badly and I know your mom will already give you an earful…”

  “She’s already started.”

  “…so, you know what I’m going to say, too. That’s a dangerous road. To lie. It’s a gamble that they won’t find out, but they will. Everyone always finds out. The truth loves its time in the spotlight and the universe loves that, too. And lies don’t like to back down without a fight, so it’s ugly—always—for someone. You hate those guys?” she thumbed a finger toward an imaginary jerk in the corner. “Then report them. Find out where they work and tell their bosses they hit on fourteen-year-olds in their spare time. Unsolicited pictures? You don’t have to take that shit, Nayeli. And you shouldn’t feel like you have to play tricks on grown men to get justice. I’m sorry that’s happened to you, kiddo. Okay? But lies hurt. Even ones told with good intentions.”

  “Her intentions,” Gloria said, “were dubious.”

  “You can’t keep punishing me,” Nayeli whined under her breath and Joel couldn’t help but smirk. The parent-child dynamics that played through his office every day ran the gamut, but the mouthy mom and the whiny daughter was the most ubiquitous. He knew how to handle this.

  “Hey,” Joel said from his spot behind the couch. “Nayeli, you did the right thing by telling your mom. And your mom did the right thing by telling us. I know that it was risky to tell…but it took courage and a real heart for Alex. That’s how we see it. Now, whatever consequences you have to deal with because of family rules you broke? Well, I can’t help there. But we,” he pointed to the adults in this room, “know it’s hard to admit you’re doing something shady in order to help someone. You did good. Okay?”

  Nayeli nodded. Gloria air-kissed Holly and shook Joel’s hand and ushered her embarrassed teenager out the door.

  Joel brushed her shoulder with his hand. She leaned into him.

  “Thanks for putting up with this shit show,” she said and sniffed, burying her head into his chest. She hugged him, arms around the waist, and started to say something more, but he tucked a finger under her chin and lifted it up to him; he kissed her and she tasted like Blistex and salt. And he loved it anyway.

  But she pulled back too soon, letting the kiss stop, and Joel leaned in for more. She shook her head and took a distinct step back, putting her hands out against his chest, a storm brewing. Joel felt the moment slipping away—he could see and recognize the burning strength of Holly Bloom rearing and getting ready to deliver a zinger.

  She was everything and nothing like her teenage self.

  “It’s been not a good day and I think I need to…spend some time with myself.” She looked to the ceiling then her shoulders fell. Shaking her head, she amended. “Like, not in a sexual way. Just…I need to be alone.”

  Joel understood. It was reasonable and expected and he wasn’t hurt by her clear directive: don’t touch me. He could honor it, but he wasn’t ready to go home.

  “Sure,” he attempted to say with a coolness and ease. “Of course.” He resisted. Hoping that if he hung out long enough she’d offer a night cap—it was evening, so it counted—or a quick movie or. He saw it. In her eyes. The resignation and the questions and the bubbling of emotion and he realized she needed to be alone because she needed to freak out.

  And she couldn’t freak out with him there.

  Not yet. They hadn’t built that level of trust and he needed to just walk away. Still.

  They stood at an impasse. Holly wasn’t quite aware what he needed and Joel waited for her to change her mind and need him to stay.

  He didn’t even want to think about the children part. Did she really not want any more kids?

  “I’ll totally go. I need to know…do you feel safe here?” he asked.

  “Safe from?” Holly questioned, rearing back a bit. “I’m not in danger,” she scoffed and crossed her arms. She was perplexed, then she made an erroneous connection. “Oh, you mean safe from Alex? You think my own child is a danger?”

  “No,” Joel answered matter-of-factly, sensing an argument he couldn’t win nor wanted to start. Nobody could deliver a rhetorical-tango quite like Holly. It was an unwinnable war and the tired fury in her eyes let him know he’d already lost the verbal battle.

  “Then what?” she asked. But she didn’t wait for an answer. “Unless you know something I don’t, my son knows who killed this girl and they’re coming for him, too. But not me. I’m safe.”

  “You know I don’t—”

  “Okay,” she said curtly. “I’m sorry. See?” Her lip trembled. “I have a lot I need to process and I need to be alone. I don’t even make sense. I just want to fight.”

  “You want me to come back sometime tomorrow and pick you up and get you back to the school? I imagine you’re taking tomorrow off, and I can, too, if you need…”

  “School? What? No, don’t take the day off work.”

  “So, I’ll come by and pick you up after?” he asked.

  “For what?” she asked, suddenly aloof. Joel’s heart plummeted. This didn’t make any sense—she’d been fine, hot for him, calling him over—cuddling him and teasing him…and fuck. She’d just simply changed her mind? Joel wasn’t what she thought she wanted and he was already too far gone to notice.

  “The car,” he said, his mouth dry. “Your car is at the school.”

  “Shit.” Holly hung her head.

  “You know what,” Joel said and he snapped his fingers. “Give me the key. I’ll grab one of my roommates and we’ll deliver it to you.”

  “Sure, yeah,” she said and turned to find her keys in her purse, slipping the car key off its ring and handing it to Joel. “Roommate, huh?” she asked.

  He registered the tone and tilted his head.

  “Um,” Joel replied slowly, “yes. Do you find that unusual?”

  “No. I mean. I suppose it’s not really what I hoped to deal with at thirty-four…other people’s roommates.”

  “Ouch,” Joel said. He tried to be playful, but the barb hurt. She was a school secretary and he was a school counselor. Neither of those salaries could land the house she owned, but he bit his tongue in mentioning it to her. Yes, he had a roommate—he also had a pension, a 401K, and a college fund already started for his non-existent children, but he had a roommate. And he felt more bothered by her potential snobbery than anything else.

  “No. Not ouch. Truth,” she said as if her version of the truth could be spoken without regard for feelings, “because that would mean everything would have to be here.”

  “Everything what?” he asked.

  Holly blushed, but not in a cute, I’m so embarrassed, way, but in a way that made him feel leery as he took a step back. There was a fire that burned in Holly and while he loved it in her, he was afraid of it, too.

  “Everything…nothing,” she said. “Not
hing. Nothing would have to come here.”

  “You know I didn’t—”

  “You know what…I’m telling you…I can feel myself. You won’t win tonight, Joel. I’m tired and I need to just clear my head and really…I’m not myself.” She walked to the door. All of the warmth and love from her voice was gone; she was tired and flat. “You have to give me space until…”

  “…if you’re worried about whether or not this is ethically…” Joel started, thinking of maybe how it might look to the outside world. But Holly leaned her head back and growled.

  A real growl.

  She started over, “What I’m thinking ethically? You have to give me space. I’ll call you when I’m ready…and…” she started to cry.

  He knew where this road ended and he hadn’t seen it coming.

  “Oh shit,” Joel said and he took a step back. “Okay. That was fast. Shit.” He looked at the ground and tried to gather up his emotions—he was stunned, first. Then he was sad and confused. Anger was low on the list, but it was there nonetheless. Had she been cruel to him? Or merely passively indifferent? Joel shook his head.

  “Please don’t look so dumbfounded or sad,” Holly implored stepping forward, cementing the thought that was crossing his mind: she was breaking things off with him.

  He felt like someone rammed him against a wall; he was momentarily stunned by her tears and her apologies.

  “Wait,” Joel said, scrunching his brows and taking a breath, “I can give you space, Holly. But I’m still here. Okay? When you need me, call me.” He hated that the lyrics to Ain’t No Mountain High Enough crossed through his mind, but his mother used to play the song on repeat while they cleaned on Saturday mornings as torture. He wanted to say that out loud to Holly and make her laugh, but he knew that nothing he said would make her laugh in that given moment.

  She’d built a wall and she was pushing him out.

  “This is so much bigger than you and me,” Holly said. She clutched her hands to her chest. “My son is gone and something awful happened to him and I didn’t get to comfort him…because he wouldn’t even tell me who broke his heart. And why would he? I thought he’d talk to you and I pushed that and…it was selfish…I just wanted to see you again.”

  She’d invited him over and sent him to counsel her child because she wanted to keep the evening going. Carla was right. Shit.

  He understood now.

  “But you don’t want to keep seeing me?” Joel tried not to sound devastated.

  Reality was setting in and the shock was wearing off and in the harsh glare of their genuine lives, Holly was scared. It was fear in her eyes as she practically pushed him out into the walkway, shutting the door and waiting against it until he had moved down the steps.

  “You want kids, Joel,” she finally said. A nail in the coffin. “And I’m done. In my world, there’s just me and Alex. That’s the choice.”

  “Is that what this is? You’re turning this whole argument about having kids?” he asked back to her, as her hand turned the knob. “Holly, I’ll call tomorrow…”

  “Don’t,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’ll call. Let me call.” And she disappeared.

  Joel got into his car and shut the door a little harder than usual. “That was a crazy weekend,” he said out loud to himself as he took a moment to lean his head against the steering wheel before he started the engine. He cranked up the radio, and sped a little-too-fast down Holly’s driveway.

  He wasn’t resentful that Holly needed time. Fuck, he’d given her nearly seventeen years.

  He was just sad.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Holly sat with the detectives and listened to each recorded confession. They were cryptic and short, and the sound was different, too.

  “He started using a voice box to disguise his voice,” the detective said.

  “He upgraded,” someone else said.

  Holly didn’t care about their commentary. She was listening to the content of the messages. If Alex was trying to reach someone, she thought it might be her. And the detectives liked that theory also. She listened to the messages with a notepad in front of her, feeling like a real police officer—coffee in a Styrofoam cup, a nice pen, headphones, and the recordings on a loop.

  She’d been at it for three days—ever since the first calls came in.

  Someone was using short bursts on the 9-1-1 emergency system to drop clues to the person who killed Claire Gregor. They’d made their intention clear, but the clues needed decoding and Holly in addition to the detective team worked at it. The calls hadn’t been made public and their existence was a secret. The fact that they kept coming despite the lack of media coverage meant the message wasn’t intended to go wide.

  The level of detail about Claire’s murder was disturbing and even with her training, Holly had a hard time listening to the robotic voice plug along knowing it was Alex on the other end.

  “Also,” the detective continued, pushing stop on the recording, ending her session, “we did get a hit on a location once. And found a kid on a burner phone with a script and a device. Said someone gave him the stuff and paid him.”

  Holly sat up straighter. “What? That doesn’t make sense. Those aren’t Alex then. The first one, I’d swear…but there’s no way Alex is handing out burner phones and—”

  “Nah, kid ID’ed your son, Holly. Alex is out there scheduling these calls so there would be no way to trace him. Why? Right? He wants to stay hidden and he needs these calls to keep coming…”

  “Because he’s scared,” Holly said.

  “Of what?” the detective asked. “We can protect him. He needs to come in. He’s scared of something else. We think we can put him at the park the night she died, Holly.”

  “He was at the Donald Cooper Detention Center. In jail.”

  “Minimum security,” the detective finally said. “There was a fight that night and they interviewed the kids who witnessed it late. Three kids said that a handful of kids from a certain block of rooms never got a lock-in.”

  “Detention center covered it up,” someone said. Holly felt like the room was spinning around her. “But the truth is, they can’t vouch he was there all night.”

  “Stop,” Holly said. “If you want me to help you bring him in…”

  “We don’t think he killed her,” one of the detectives said, but she had no idea if he was telling the truth. “We need to flush him out…make sure he knows that if he has information he can exchange it for safety.”

  “Then get that message to him,” Holly said, aggravated. “I agree! Get him home.” Her thought went to the money. There was no way that Alex would’ve been able to access his accounts without her knowing and the only other person he would beg money from was his grandmother. She exhaled and tried not to look annoyed—of course, Xiomara. “He’s scared…” she repeated. “Or he’s comfortable. Or both.”

  “We’ll find him, Mrs. Gamarra.”

  “Ms. Bloom, actually. I’ve gone back to my maiden name,” she corrected and with a nod, she added, “And, yeah, I know. I just want to make sure he comes back to me in good condition. I want him okay.”

  “Ms. Bloom, that’s our goal, too.”

  Holly hated guns.

  But she was thankful for the gun, too, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to stand up to her ex-mother-in-law without some sort of backup protection.

  She drove over to Xiomara’s house and parked her car out of sight. Then she walked and stood at the end of the drive, looking at the silent ranch in the moonlight. Xiomara’s car was in the driveway and a single light was on in the back of the house. It was hard to admit, but Holly felt a certain adrenaline rush as she kept an eye on the house in the dark, no one knowing she was there. She felt powerful and in control and it scared her.

  The Love is Murder Social Club often discussed prowlers or serial killers who stalked their victims—the Golden State Killer walked through houses weeks before, disrupting lives, memorizing schedules. And while she
wasn’t plotting to kill her mother-in-law—the thought had briefly crossed her mind—she did hope to scare her a little. Plotting an efficient way to do that was the key to the whole thing. She’d consulted her friends, heard varying advice, and made her way to Xiomara’s in record time.

  A light went on in the living room.

  Holly crouched next to the mailbox, ducking out of sight. Someone turned on the TV. She stood and walked closer, positioning herself in the dark. She could see inside clearly. There were no voices, no signs of Alex, but she could see the woman who’d hated her the moment she saw her sitting alone, her mouth in a frown. For a second, she felt sorry for her—was sitting around watching television in the dark the only option for aging?

  She tried not to let the woman’s fragility scare her away from doing what she needed to do.

  Slowly, Holly walked up the porch. She took a deep breath and sent up a prayer. She wasn’t sure she believed in God, but she was certain she believed in something. “Go my way, okay?” she beseeched to whatever saint was in power over delusional old women and wayward sons.

  She opened the screen and tucked it behind her body to prop open. She pulled out the gun, kept the safety on, and held it outstretched in her right hand. Then she pushed the doorbell with her left and waited. Holly closed her eyes and listened to the soft steps answering the door, the hesitation at the lock.

  “Who is it?” Xiomara called through the marbled glass. Holly was but a blur to her.

  “It’s Holly. Open up.”

  There was a pause as if the woman was trying to concoct an excuse as to why she needed to be sent away. Xiomara made a few sounds of resigned disgust and then slid the deadbolt back and unlocked the door.

  When she opened it, her eyes went to the gun first, but Holly was ready and pushed her way inside, moving no further than the entryway and having Xiomara shut the door quickly. Dead-bolting it back into place.

  Holly made her do that in case she called the police on her, which was a possibility with all sorts of silent alarms or other triggers that an old lady might have hidden around the house. Of course, if she called Francisco first, the ass had a key. At any rate, she’d lower her gun when she found her son.