Alex: How did Claire get involved?
Unknown girl: Right, well, Ally Ford started picking up her mother’s role…told some kids in English class. She started messing with boys from the school and that’s when it started to get scary. And May started threatening us…
Alex: She was afraid of losing her job?
Unknown girl: Maybe, I don’t know. She was scary though. Two girls quit the team but then May literally wouldn’t let them quit the team. She met with their parents and convinced them to come back…because she wanted to keep an eye on the girls.
Alex: And why did May kill Claire?
Unknown girl: Are you sure no one will know who I am when you submit these? I can come forward once she’s like in jail, but, I don’t know, I don’t…
Alex: I can play the others…you’re not alone.
Unknown girl: Paige wanted you to help her go to the cops and May found out.
Holly stopped the tape. She had tears in her eyes.
“You stayed hidden to collect the truth,” she said.
“I looked guilty, Mom, but who was going to speak up once I was being held for that crime?”
“This was irresponsible and dangerous…”
“I just finished writing my real statement.”
“You lied to the police the first time.”
“They wanted me at that park, Mom.”
Holly took a breath.
“Let’s take this to the police.”
He nodded.
“I didn’t run away to hurt you,” Alex said and he looked to the floor of the tree house, unable to make eye contact with his mom. “I didn’t think you’d believe me that there wasn’t another way. You’d tell me to go to the police and you’d tell me…not to do it…”
“You’re right,” Holly admitted.
“You don’t see it, Mom,” Alex shrugged. “I didn’t stand a chance.”
“I believe in the system,” Holly said. “I worked for the system…I’ve seen justice and I’ve seen…”
“…injustice and violence and bad men winning all the time,” Alex finished. He pointed to the bag and flashed the small beam of light to the door. “You may believe in the system, Mom, but I believed in my own ability to solve this shit. You taught me that, too.”
“Then the Love is Murder Social Club is a reckless endeavor if it’s taught you to go on the lam and—”
“Fight for the truth and fight for justice. And clear the names of the innocent and apply understanding to the cases you talk about…”
“Empathy,” Holly whispered. When she and Gloria first started the club, they’d said what drew them to true crime—solved and unsolved—was an attempt to understand the human race better and to develop empathy for both the victims of these acts and for the people who felt compelled to commit them.
Over cocktails and dinners and through laughter and arguments, the women of the Social Club were her foundation. She hadn’t even imagined that their friendship would’ve inspired her son to follow in her passion, albeit by defying her direct wishes.
But maybe. Maybe Alex was right.
Maybe a year from now she’d find herself in a crowded courtroom, trying to convince a jury that her child, who’d seemingly threatened the girl, was present at the crime scene, had the murder weapon at his home, was innocent. Without DNA evidence, this was a trial that would come down to the best storyteller with the most circumstantial evidence at their disposal. A Shakespearean sized tale of a Dance Coach/school counseling secretary gone wild would be fun for tabloids, but certainly unbelievable.
Alex was imprudent and rash, but he was—she thought with a smile on her heart—the boy she knew him as. She’d described her child as bright, innovative, kind, and dauntless. He’d proved her right. Holly leaned in and hugged Alex tightly, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his cheek.
“I have something to confess, actually…” Holly said before she disengaged.
“You and Mr. Rusk are dating,” Alex said with a dismissive eye-roll.
“What? Dating? No.”
“Violet asked me if you were dating him. We had a lot of time to talk when I was keeping her from May and she was recording her story. But, hey, I get it, Mom. Every girl at school thinks he’s like way too hot. People say he could’ve gone pro in soccer but he just liked helping people…so, I mean, if…I don’t…”
“It’s okay,” Holly said with a small laugh. “Yeah. He’s….he’s good people, Alex. But I’m not dating him.”
It was the truth. No, she wasn’t dating him. She’d let that bridge burn in her attempt to get to this moment. Alex had always been more important she’s only temporarily lost sight of that.
“I was going to tell you to go for it, Mom,” Alex said with a slight flinch. “I mean…seriously. You’d probably be like way less uptight if you had a boyfriend. Or you’d also be like, inattentive, so I can play more video games, and I’ll take both.” He smiled. “But no, if you like him, you should date. Or whatever adults do.”
Holly began to cry.
“Wait, wait, stop. Not if it makes you cry,” Alex seemed immediately distressed as if he’d broken his mother.
“I raised a good kid,” she said through sniffles. He hugged her. “You’re amazing.”
“Yeah,” Alex shrugged and he put his backpack in his mother’s hands and helped her to stand so they could work through the descent together. “Did you doubt it?” he asked, and for the first time since she’d emerged into the tree house, Holly saw the smallness of her child, the childishness of him—the pining he still had for his mother’s approval and understanding.
“No,” she answered.
Before he could respond, they both turned to the sound of a scream in the night and a burst of yelling—a sudden eruption into the night of surprise and rage. Alex’s eyes went wide with worry and without thinking, Holly flew open the hatch and began to scramble toward the noise. She pulled her phone out of her pocket to dial 9-1-1, but Alex tumbled after her as the noise escalated.
“It’s her,” Alex panted, clutching his notebook to his chest. “She found me. She’ll kill me and claim self-defense…you don’t understand. There’s no end. Run, Mom, run!”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Joel went back to the car. He sat out of sight, the house barely visible. Xiomara’s light went out. The old woman must have put herself to bed. And then he saw the shifting of the shadows next to the bushes near the front. A small thing, dressed in black. He saw a screen light up in the dark and he realized that the prowler had pulled out a phone. Without waiting to see what happened next, Joel burst out of the car and rushed at full speed toward the figure in the night.
As he got closer, he realized the person was dressed in the same dancing garb as the assembly—a black sweatsuit and a black mask. Joel knew he was noticeably taller and bigger than the person huddling by the house, so he slowed as he approached and tackled gently.
Still, she screamed. He felt a stab in his side, but he ignored it after yelling out—flipping her to the ground, his hands on her shoulders, his legs across her legs.
Joel leaned his shoulder down and used his free hand to rip off the mask and underneath there was May Ford.
May Ford…his counseling secretary. Dance coach.
She spit in his face and the saliva dripped down his cheek, and he wanted to retaliate, his hatred grew, but he remained professional and dedicated. Of course, it was May Ford.
“Did you come here to hurt him?” Joel asked his colleague.
“No,” May croaked and struggled against his grip. “I came to call the police on a boy wanted for murder.”
“That boy is innocent, May,” Joel seethed. Her eyes flashed, she was ready to kick and scream and lie. The woman would not give up her position or her opinion even as the truth scrambled away from her.
“That boy strangled a girl and harassed the members of my dance team…” she struggled and as she did, Joel noticed the gun in her waistband. He leaned
his arm against her chest and disarmed her, tossing the gun away from them into the bushes, out of reach.
“You brought a gun.”
“He’s a murderer,” May said.
“You attacked his mother?”
“Yeah,” May said with venom, her voice tight under Joel’s arm. “You’ve got something for her. Knew it the first day she walked in.”
Joel resisted the urge to push against her shoulders harder. Sometimes the truth didn’t fit the narrative of the psychopath trying to create their own story, but the truth loved the light. He said that to the teens he counseled: lying is a finger in a dam; there was no way to escape the fact that someday the liar would have to walk away from keeping the truth from pouring out.
“I’m going to marry that woman,” Joel said with every ounce of indignation he could muster. “And I’m going to make sure you rot in jail for killing kids…”
“You have no idea what this is about,” May whispered and struggled underneath his grip.
“Yes, I do,” Joel said. “This is about you trying to save your child and yourself from the repercussions of despicable behavior. You don’t think I see this play-out every day in my office? It’s basic humanity 101, May. I don’t need an advanced degree to identify it. But I do. And I can.”
“We’ve called the police!” a voice called from the shadows. Joel turned and Holly and Alex emerged into the yard. The two of them stood over the tableau: May on the ground, Joel holding her there, Holly’s arm around Alex protectively as they stared at her. The black mask was skewed to the side and her black sweatshirt covered in leaves and mud.
Joel stared at Holly, trying to ascertain her emotional state and he was relieved to see a different Holly than he’d brought to the house.
She looked amazing—assured, strong, capable. All the things she always was. All the things he loved in her.
Holly held her phone to her ear and then said eagerly, “Hello, dispatch. Yes, it’s Holly Gamarra. Mother to Alex Gamarra, who is wanted for questioning in the murder of Claire Gregor. I have Alex with me at 4567 Park Lane. He has information about the murders and is willing to tell his story for protection. Please be advised, the woman he will accuse of the murders is currently here. Um, we’re keeping her here on a citizen’s arrest. It’s May Ford.”
She took a breath.
Joel smiled and sighed.
It was over.
Alex was safe. May would be arrested. Justice would be served.
He’d confess his love to Holly.
And then he’d get on with the rest of the school year.
From behind them, they could hear the front door of Xiomara’s home open and shut as the woman stepped out on to the porch, turning on the front lights and flooding them in an instant bath of bright white light.
“Oh,” Xiomara said in her patented scowl. “Here we all are. And I see you’ve got the bitch.” She turned her head to Alex and asked, “You called the police?”
He nodded.
Xiomara tugged her robe around her further and walked quickly down her steps. She eyed May against the ground; she was no longer struggling.
“Well, look at that. Good. I’ll be inside if they need me.” And she disappeared before anyone could reprimand her for the role she played.
Joel wanted to say something disparaging about the woman, but he refrained. She was a piece of work and made an instrumentally bad call, but she’d given blind faith and allegiance to the child, even when the rest of the world was ready to toss guilt on him—and that, he knew, was a rare gift.
“They’ll be here soon,” Holly said, staying on the line. There were sirens in the distance. “No,” she answered into the phone, “No, she’s not trying to get away.”
And it was true—May had stopped the fight against Joel—she’d spread out on the grass and stared off into space, perhaps, he thought, imagining a life where things had gone so very differently.
They took everyone down to the station for questions. Brian met them there; his ponytail askew and his cheeks flushed. And there, Alex told his story. Alex was twice a victim of ruthlessness and yet he’d remained stupidly brave—using aliases and apps that the adults had no idea existed while he gathered his own evidence.
The interrogations took hours.
But when they all emerged, exhausted and downtrodden, tearful and rejoicing, the media waiting with cameras and microphones and Joel felt powerfully protective as he walked with Alex and Holly on either side of him, using his body as a shield and a barrier to the more persistent questioners.
“Why did you run if you weren’t guilty?”
“What is your connection to May Ford?”
“Alex, who killed Claire Gregor?”
And they answered no one. Heads bent down against the rush, he felt Holly’s heart beating wildly as he pushed his hand against her back and led them down into the parking lot.
He opened the door for Holly, then Alex, and tucked them both inside and then he moved to the driver’s side and hurried into his seat, shutting the door with a purposeful slam, eclipsing the questions and inquiries hurled like insults toward them without regard for the trauma they’d endured. The media were pests.
Vultures.
Before he could start the car, Holly took his hand. She seemed to realize herself then because she let it go and shifted over to the far side of the car, pushed against the window, her breath fogging a small circle of glass.
Alex cleared his throat.
Joel started the engine and glanced at the boy in the backseat. “Where should we go?” he asked Alex.
“Here,” Alex said and he passed Joel a folded up sheet of paper. Holly turned and tried to make a grab for it, but Alex intervened and took it back. “Do you know how to get there?” he asked.
Joel nodded. “I do. Two stops?”
“Yeah,” Alex said. “That okay?”
“You’re the boss,” Joel said and pulled out from the station and up into Northwest Portland, following Alex’s directions without ruining his surprise, much to the exhausted frustration of Holly, who seemed determined to pout.
“Where are you two going?” she said. “I just want to go home…I have a headache…”
“Mom,” Alex sighed. “You have to let me do this one thing.”
Chapter Thirty
They stopped by Powell’s and Alex acted like he was on an 80s game show for how many books he could buy in a short amount of time. He had a few he went to straight-away; cleaning out Jason Reynolds and David Leviathan and Adam Silvera copies of their used books and then stocking the rest of his basket with nonfiction and early readers and books on the law written so kids could understand.
Three different cashiers helped ring him up.
Then Joel grabbed the car and parked in a loading zone in the parking garage while they loaded the paper bags into the back of the car. Holly by that time had a pretty good guess of what was going to happen next.
Her heart was bursting with pride and love. The situation made her doubt her own child, but she’d been right—her child wasn’t a killer and he wasn’t a psychopath.
Misguided. Dumb. But kind. And hers.
The Donald Cooper Detention Center was just over the river. Alex hauled the books up to the front counter and explained the gift. After discussion and rejection and then a call to Brian and a supervisor, the books found their way inside.
“There was a library, but it needed updating,” he said as they walked away. “It was total shit.”
Joel cleared his throat and they approached the car.
“We’re close,” he said with a sniff, “to this walkway along the east bank. Anyone up for fresh air?”
Holly wasn’t.
“I really want to get home,” she said with a sad smile.
“A quick walk, Mom,” Alex pleaded and Joel cringed apologetically, sorry to have mentioned it.
She relented. Of course, a quick walk, anything.
Even at fourteen, he slipped his hands
into hers and she was grateful for the time with him, for his return, for his bravery, for being himself and so different than her.
At the East Bank, Alex cleared his throat. The hair on the back of Holly’s neck stood on end because she knew her child and she knew he was about to say something unpleasant because he always cleared his throat before a confession. It was his tell.
“Mom,” he said. “I’m going on a walk over there…” he pointed to a well-lit area of a walkway and then he pointed out to the river, the city reflecting in the water—the same city she saw every morning in miniature from her window at her house.
“Why?” she asked and as she turned, she saw Joel take his place. “Hello,” she said instead.
“Hello,” he replied.
“Did he know you wanted to bring me here?” she asked.
“We might’ve made a deal. Yes. His errand for mine.”
“Your errand?” Holly challenged .
“I think what I meant was…” he said instead as he grabbed for her hand and turned him toward her, the city in the background and his eyes reflecting her and nothing else.
Holly began to shiver and the rain began to trickle. Oregon at its November finest.
“…I’m sorry,” he continued. “I should’ve told you everything…I should’ve fought for you and your son and nothing else. I was wrong.”
“I shouldn’t have asked you to do those things,” Holly replied and wiped the rain off her face.
“We screwed up,” he said. And for all the million ways that they had screwed up, she did not expect the next confession to be the one: “We should’ve dated in high school.”
“What?” Holly asked, a smile playing on the edge of her lips, the rain started to run down her face. She wiped the drop away.
“We should have dated in high school.”
Holly stopped smiling.
“Shut up,” she said and rolled her eyes. “We’d have been a disaster in high school.”
Dispatched Confessions (The Love is Murder Social Club Book 2) Page 25
