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

by Talia Maxwell

  Her friends were champions, but Holly’s needs were bigger than their generosity. They could give her food and companionship and love, but they still couldn’t be her partner. They couldn’t give her intimacy and wild passion in alternating shifts.

  “Please come over tonight,” she whispered. His hands moved to her ass and she melted against him. “I want to feel good. I guess. I need to.” He put his hands back on her waist.

  His face reflected his doubt.

  “I show up, we,” he leaned closer, whispered, “make love. And then after a few hours,” he rested his cheek against the top of her head, “you’ll feel guilty and send me away.”

  Holly nodded. She pushed down tears building deep in her chest and behind her eyes. Right. That was exactly how it might play out—maybe after she’d released all her sexual longing, she’d reflect upon those hours spent as time she could have been looking for her child. She couldn’t help it. “Maybe,” she admitted. “Maybe.”

  They heard Brian’s voice calling from the hallway; knocking on the locked counseling office door.

  “Joel?” Brian called and they had to slink out like caught teenagers, Holly’s heart thumping. She was thirty-five and feeling ashamed; the place on her hip where Joel’s hand had just been felt tingly and warm as if Brian could detect everywhere she’d been touched in the two minutes he’d been gone.

  Joel led them back out and he held her hand. He kissed her on the cheek when they said their goodbyes. Brian’s eyes lingered on the two of them without comment and Holly followed her lawyer back out to her car.

  Once in the passenger seat, she texted Joel: Come over tonight. Please. I won’t send you away.

  She meant it when she sent it—she pictured their evening in full; talking about the case, working through the doubts, leaning on him. She was scared and she’d been beaten. When everything was said and done and the house was empty again, she wanted Joel with her. She wanted a man with her. She wanted to run her hands through his hair and feel protected.

  Brian had offered to stay and she knew he was irked by her turning around and extending the invite to Joel, but Brian was Brian.

  He looked a little bit like a cross between Zach Galifianakis and old Mark Hamill, but with a ponytail. And he was her rock and a source of constant protection and friendship, but Brian was now married and always smelled like Caesar salad.

  Currently, she had Joel with an open invitation to show up at her house.

  She paced with the phone clutched to her ear, and the sound of Maeve driving in the background.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Maeve said and tried to catch up. “The attackers were wearing costumes?”

  “I invited him over!” Holly said. “After I told him I couldn’t see him again…I invited him over.”

  “Dance team costumes?”

  “Are you even listening to me?” Holly asked.

  “Are you even listening to yourself?” Maeve answered back. There was a brief lull and Holly stopped walking. She stared at the ground and kicked a pebble. “Hello? Did I piss you off?”

  “I’m still here.”

  “Joel coming over is fine. You deserve to have a distraction. Blah blah blah, fuck his brains out. BUT…But I need answers. Are you getting a list of the dance team all surreptitiously and shit?”

  “Already done,” Holly said. She watched a car pass her house—a black sedan with tinted windows. There was nothing remarkable about it, but she was certain she’d seen it drive by at least twice while she was standing at the end of her drive. “I think I have someone stalking my house.”

  “Holly, stay sexy and don’t…”

  “…get murdered. Yeah, well, if Karen and Georgia were here they’d know what to do,” she replied, referencing the group’s favorite podcast about murder. “Yeah, I’m trying.”

  “Another reason to keep a strapping man around. Maybe if you’re worried, stay at Joel’s?”

  “I hear your facetiousness.”

  “I’m glad. It was obvious.” Maeve’s mouth moved away from the mouthpiece like she was turning her head from the phone. There was a clicking noise; Maeve eased into traffic, muttering to the cars around her. “Holly, I love you. You’re one of the reasons why I joined the Love is Murder group and you’re one of the best brains I know. Stop thinking. Stop. Rest. And if you think someone is stalking your house, get the hell out of there.”

  “Did I make a mistake?” she asked. It was a sincere and deeply felt question—this was a guy from high school? This was a guy from high school who stayed in high school. This was a guy who stayed in high school who wanted babies someday. Babies she’d never give him.

  And yet her body needed him in ways she’d never experienced before.

  Maybe the man was pure hedonism.

  “Stop thinking,” Maeve instructed again, a bit more forcefully. “Give yourself a night to be.”

  “With him?” Holly asked again. “Or did you mean…a night to just…be.”

  “I’ve never seen you so insecure,” her friend mused, almost to herself. “What answer do you want? Do you need my permission to fall in love, Holly? Or to shut him out?”

  The way Maeve said fall in love, made Holly pause and stop pacing.

  Was that what she was doing? Falling in love? She thought perhaps she was playing a game or obsessing over things she’d told herself she couldn’t have. She thought he was a distraction. Maybe he wasn’t.

  “But it’s Joel Rusk from high school,” Holly said, “and me.”

  “Yup,” Maeve announced with a fun and chipper flair. “And based on that photo in the yearbook, he’s a specimen.”

  The black sedan passed by again. It slowed. She was certain of it. Bravely, she walked down to the edge of the driveway and peered after its taillights, but there was no sign of the car any longer. She remained at the edge of her driveway, visible, and unafraid. She would not hesitate to call the police to her home—the images of the attackers dressed in cozy black, their dance team masks firmly on their faces stayed with Holly.

  “A specimen,” Holly repeated, wondering what she meant.

  Maeve elaborated. “Like, a piece of art. Something that someone created to capture the human form in a beautiful—”

  “I get it,” Holly said. “Did I tell you he’s a soccer coach?”

  “Mine’s a nurse, sweetheart. We got this made.” Maeve laughed and Holly laughed with her and she wondered, genuinely, if she’d laughed at all since the entirety of her troubles with Alex started.

  Maybe she’d laughed having drinks with Joel. Maybe she’d laughed a bit as they stumbled through sex for the first time with each other.

  The black sedan.

  Holly stepped back inside the shadow of a tree in her front yard. She was unconcerned about being seen, but if she could only partially grab the plate number, she wanted to be able to try again. As the car passed, Holly stepped to see the back, but the car didn’t have plates.

  “Someone’s driving by my place,” she told Maeve.

  “Want me to come over?” Maeve asked suddenly serious. “Gloria’s closer. Let me text her.”

  “Nah, I’m fine.”

  “Shut up. Go inside, seriously, and lock up.”

  “I will,” Holly promised. But she wasn’t in a hurry. Her latent rage was almost asking for a fight; could the assholes think they could intimidate her again? She was going stir-crazy without knowing where Alex was and without knowing if he was safe. And then the car and its incessant trespassing on her sense of security.

  No. No. No way. She wasn’t going to roll over.

  “Call the police,” Maeve suggested.

  “I will,” Holly said.

  And she hung up. She scrolled through the contacts and pushed on Joel’s name. She’d put a photo in the contact. It was a picture from her senior yearbook. The only picture that she and him had ever been in together—the talent show. Her eyes were closed and for the first time ever she noticed that his eyes were on her.

&n
bsp; There she was, thirty-five, alone, afraid…and she could turn and see herself again at eighteen: sweet and oblivious, a heavy girl with red hair and freckles and a confident sense of self and a tendency to run her mouth. God, she thought, staring at the picture that she’d dug out of purgatory.

  If only she’d seen it then.

  If only she had the ability to see herself through his eyes in that picture.

  It was hard to reconcile that Joel with the one she had at her fingertips. It felt too perfect to be real—as if she would soon have reason to say, “It’s corny, but I feel like my entire life was leading up to this moment…every choice.” And she wanted to believe in the entire fairytale, she wanted to give herself fully into the romantic fantasy of being loved like that boy loved that girl.

  As she held the phone, contemplating calling him, her phone vibrated.

  She thought for one second that it was Joel—psychically connected to her through the line, but when she looked down at the number, it was Xiomara.

  There was something so disturbing about seeing Xiomara’s number and picture pop up on the screen—as if she’d interrupted her and Joel twice. She shivered and answered, expecting bad news.

  “What’s wrong?” Holly asked without even saying hello.

  “Has the boy come back yet?” the woman asked.

  “Do you mean has Alex come back home to me?” Holly asked, mouth open, incredulous. “Like you don’t know?” she began to pace again, one eye peripherally scanning for the car. She wasn’t going to give up the idea that the woman had some idea where he’d been. It was, honestly, keeping her saner than she expected.

  “He told me he’d come home. He’s a shit, Holly, sometimes, but he doesn’t break promises.”

  “You gave my son money and a head start?” Holly gasped. Her heart pumped wildly and for a moment she squatted in her driveway and hung her head, too confused and despondent to move.

  “No,” Xiomara corrected, indignant. “I gave him money and time to do his little plan. Then to report to Brian Jenkins, the lawyer. I’m not a moron.”

  “Did you call Brian?” Holly asked, thinking of her pony-tailed friend and his scruffy beard hiding that Alex was safe from her. She had to assume he had no idea of the grandmother and grandson’s grand plans.

  “I did,” Xiomara answered with a matter-of-fact tone.

  “And?”

  “He said Alex hadn’t contacted him and that I was essentially harboring or something…”

  “Jesus,” Holly breathed.

  “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”

  Holly stood up in rage. “Oh, please, Xiomara.” She spat the woman’s name like a curse. “Maybe the woman who just illegally harbored a runaway shouldn’t throw stones. Or pluck the plank from her eye. Or maybe just shove the Bible verses and stop and think about what you’ve done.”

  Holly paced behind the gate. Down the street, the sedan stopped. It sat and waited, red taillights, red brake lights. A flood of color, of announcement.

  And there, in the middle of her blood-boiling rage, her phone beeped.

  Another call.

  This time, it was Gloria.

  Her friend hadn’t called her since the emergency meeting and Holly had been anxiously waiting to see if something had shifted between them after the night Alex stayed over and took off and Nayeli confessed to her catfishing experiments.

  Maybe they’d both sat around over-thinking their roles as moms.

  Overthinking their responsibilities and what they could be blamed for.

  Middle-aged relationships took a special type of balance and work, not unlike, Holly realized, teenage relationships. She sucked in a tight breath and watched as Gloria’s number flashed on the screen.

  Maybe Gloria thought she blamed her or maybe she blamed Holly; and while Holly’s head could spin with the possibilities for the radio silence, she desperately wanted to take Gloria’s call. Xiomara knew nothing. The woman was a walking, brainless, checkbook to Alex who, like his father, learned early how to con the woman out of cash in exchange for some fake praise and affirmations.

  “Hey, Xiomara,” Holly said with as much bite as she could muster. “I’ve got another call and I’m waiting to hear about my child. And since you’re nothing but the reason why he’s gone…”

  She switched over to Gloria’s call in a flourish, hoping the drama of her exit wasn’t lost on the loathsome woman on the other end. Holly hated the fact that in her divorce she inherited more time with the wretched, meddling mother-in-law, not less. It was a fucking travesty.

  “Hey,” Holly said quickly, hoping she didn’t sound too distracted.

  “You’re pacing,” Gloria said and Holly stopped walking up and down her driveway and paused.

  “You spying on me?” Oh, let it be Gloria! She thought.

  “I can hear it in that small pant in the phone. What? Do you already know?”

  “Already know what?” Holly asked and she stopped pacing. Already know what. “Out with it…I know nothing…other than the fact that my fucking horrible former mother-in-law gave Alex cash and sent him on his merry way three days ago…”

  There was a pause on the other end as Gloria processed the news and then Holly stopped. She spun back toward her house and began to march back up the walkway. She was headed to her keys. She felt a sudden urge to go somewhere, do something, see someone, punch something. Maybe she’d get in her car and go ram it into the black sedan for fun.

  “You knew?” Holly asked.

  “I just found out,” Gloria admitted.

  “Shit,” Holly seethed as she bounced up the stairs two at a time and rushed through her front door. “There’s a black car that keeps driving by my house. Gloria…”

  “Maeve already texted me about the car. Are you inside? Did you call the police?”

  Holly tried not to say, of course, underneath her breath. No, she hadn’t called the police…and she was only now inside.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Holly admitted, honestly, and in a rush of angst and unwillingness to back down. Only, she didn’t know where to put her energy—or who to fight.

  “Stop and listen,” Gloria said in her mother voice and Holly listened. She shut her front door and leaned against it, locking the deadbolt out of habit.

  “I’m listening,” Holly said.

  “I’ll make this quick. The Social Club’s been working overtime on a few Alex leads. One of which comes from a few rumors we tracked down around the time Alex took off. Anyway, we called around the area and found a hotel renting a room in Francisco’s name. Check-in had ID and credit card—looks like Francisco paid for the place, too.”

  “That mother-fucker,” she seethed.

  “We don’t know who got the room, only that his card was used.”

  “And it’s Alex who’s staying there?” Holly breathed, unable to tell yet if this was good news or bad news.

  “We think, yeah. A call and a hang-up after we tried the room. But we sent people over there, Holls,” Gloria replied.

  “People over where? Where is he?” Holly asked.

  “To the room. We just did. Like minutes ago.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before? Why am I not going?” Holly couldn’t stop herself from starting to shout a bit, working herself up—if they found where Alex was staying then she needed to get there now.

  “Let the girls check it out first. What if it’s a false alarm? You’re already under scrutiny, Holly, you let us do this shit, okay?”

  “This is my boy, Gloria.”

  “Let us do this,” Gloria said in a voice that meant business. Her mom voice. And Holly wanted to step away; she wanted to relinquish the fight, but she couldn’t because there was something else tugging at her—the entire foundation of her motherhood. This was Alex.

  “No,” Holly said. “I can’t. If I can get to him now, I will. I’ll get it some other way and you know I will.”

  Gloria paused, weighing her choices—and Holly wa
s grateful that she couldn’t consult the other girls in that moment because she was certain Maeve and Millie would’ve also counseled caution. Holly wanted answers.

  “You wouldn’t let me do this and keep you in the dark,” Holly tried, spinning it back to Gloria’s children, who were her entire life. It wasn’t cheap, it was honest, and she could see that it touched a nerve.

  “We’re trying to keep you and Alex safe. Legally and otherwise,” she answered.

  “I am going to get my boy,” Holly said and she hoped that every ounce of her voice imbued the strength and assertion she wanted Gloria to hear—she wasn’t going to back down. She wasn’t going to get her kid, whether it looked bad or not.

  “Holly—”

  “Gloria. If this was your child, you wouldn’t stay away either and I wouldn’t make you. The truth is you had a lead and I stormed over there, and I don’t think the truth looks bad…”

  “Then you’ve never watched a crime show, you traitor,” Gloria deadpanned and Holly stopped. She sighed. Gloria continued, “Holly, we’ll bring him home if he’s there and if he’s not, it was a false lead and—”

  “Give me the address.”

  Gloria was silent for a beat and then she gave in. She read Holly the address of a hotel not far from her. And Holly scribbled the name and the potential room number on to the only paper she could find, the front title page of a cookbook.

  “Will you listen to me at all?” Gloria asked with a petulant sigh.

  “Sure. One piece of advice.”

  “That I know you won’t just ignore?” Gloria asked and then breathed deep. “Let the girls go in first and then follow. That’s all I’m asking. Hang back. Be there. Hang back. Can you do that, Holly?”

  “Why are you saying that like you think I’m not going to listen to you?”

  “Because I’m worried that you’re not going to listen to me,” Gloria said back with a fair amount of sass in her voice. Holly’s shoulders slumped.

  “I can do that,” Holly answered.

  They said goodbye and hung up the phone.

  Holly dialed Joel. She summed up the issues succinctly and without embellishment.

  “I think I’m being followed. And I can’t drive to the hotel alone,” she confessed. “If you’re not up for it, I could call Brian—”