Black Jack: A nail biting, hair-raising thriller (Jack Ryder Book 4) (33 page)

W
e all grab
the same wave and ride it into the beach. It is the party-wave of a lifetime for me. I can’t believe I am riding it with my son. I feel so happy when we hit the beach and I run to give him a high-five. Sandra is, of course, shredding the wave to pieces ending on a floater, while Alex nosedives and Joey rides it old school and cool on his long board.

“That was a good one,” he yells at me once we get up on the beach. He looks so handsome coming out of the water with his well-built torso and long curly hair. I always picture him being played by Chris Hemsworth if they ever make a movie about our lives. Okay, so Joey isn’t quite as handsome as the Thor-actor, but he is up there. At least in my opinion.

“What’s going on, Marcia?” Sandra asks when we approach her.

Marcia looks very upset. She has gotten old, I am surprised to see. She used to have a very pretty face with deep brown eyes, but age hasn’t been good to her. She has gained a lot of weight, but we all have, except for Sandra, of course. Marcia’s skin is damaged. Lots of age-spots from too much sun, and visible veins on her nose bear witness of too much alcohol.

“I-i-it’s Danny. I-I-I can’t believe it…”

“What happened, Marcia?” Joey asks.

We are all beginning to feel uncomfortable. The look in Marcia’s eyes tells us something is terribly wrong.

“It’s Jean…Danny…he came home…police…Junior…”

She is making no sense at all.

“What happened to Danny, Marcia?” Sandra asks, putting her hand on Marcia’s shoulder to calm her down.

“It’s Jean. He came home around ten-thirty. Danny came home from his shift this morning. He found her on the porch. Stabbed in the throat. The scissors were still there. Sitting in her throat. She was in a huge pool of blood. The police are there.”

“Oh, my God,” Sandra gasps, cupping her mouth.

None of us can believe what we hear. A million thoughts run through my mind. I have known Jean since we were in Kindergarten. She is one of the local girls. I know her pretty well, even though I have never been particularly close to her.

“Is she dead?” Alex asks.

“Yes. I saw the body be moved on the stretcher in a closed bag. I’ve seen enough
CSI
to know what that means.”

Sandra lets out a moan of terror. Alex hugs her. She cries. I feel like crying too, but hold it back.

“Poor Danny,” Sandra says.

“How did this happen?” Joey asks. “Who?”

Marcia shrugs. “I just spoke shortly with one of the neighbors, then thought I would bike down here and tell you guys. Danny needs us now.”

“Maybe we should go there and see if there is anything we can do,” I say.

The entire flock turns and looks at me. Marcia hasn’t noticed me until now.

“Mary? You’re home?” she says very loudly, then throws herself in my arms. She reeks of alcohol.

“Yes, I’m home. Just for a few days, though,” I say, and give her a quick hug. “Got a few things to take care of.”

“Ah, don’t pretend like we don’t know about your brother,” Marcia says with a sniffle. “Everyone here knows what happened, and everyone here believes he is innocent. Don’t you ever doubt that. We’re behind Blake in all of this. Right guys?”

They all nod, to my surprise.

“Yeah, we know Blake,” Alex says. “He is many things, but not a killer.”

“Thank you,” I exclaim, maybe a little too loud. I am just so happy to hear it from someone else. “That’s what I keep telling people.”

We leave our boards on the beach and walk up to the crosswalk and down 7
^th
Street. The sun is baking from the clear sky, the moisture in the air making it feel hotter than it really is. I know the others don’t feel it as much as I do, since they are used to it. But it has been a long time since I was last in Florida’s humid climate, and even though I am wearing nothing but a bikini bottom and a rash guard, I am sweating heavily by the time we arrive at Danny’s house in Snug Harbor after a fifteen-minute walk.

A crowd has gathered in front of the police tape. Some are crying, others just staring at the scenery, shaking their heads in disbelief. I know what they are thinking. This is a quiet neighborhood. Nothing like this happens around here.

The ambulance is still at the scene, and we spot Danny, who is speaking to an officer. He is sitting on the bumper of the ambulance, shaking his head, his son sitting next to him, crying his eyes out, the poor thing. Danny is shaking his head, then pointing at the house like he is explaining. The officer takes notes. Danny looks devastated. The officer leaves him and he is just sitting there, staring at his house and the people coming in and out of it, wearing gloves and body suits.

“Danny!”

Joey yells. That is so typically Joey. The entire crowd turns their heads and lets him go through. Joey walks up to the police tape. Danny spots him, then gets up and walks closer. An officer stops Joey from going under the tape. We are all right behind him. Danny approaches us, his eyes bloodshot and disoriented.

“Oh, man,” Joey says. His voice is breaking.

Danny was probably his best friend growing up. Joey reaches in over the tape and hugs his buddy. Danny hides his face in Joey’s shoulder and sobs, his upper body jerking back and forth.

“I’m so sorry, man,” Joey says, then repeats it over and over again. “I’m so sorry.”

“She’s gone, Joey. She’s really gone. I can’t believe it,” Danny says. “How am I going to do this? How am I going to get through this?”

“One step at a time, man,” Joey says.

“Yeah, one step at a time,” Marcia says, and puts her arms around him as well.

“We’re all here for you,” Sandra says, and joins in.

Alex nods and wipes away a tear, then he leans in on me, and not knowing what else to do, I try to comfort him. That is when I spot someone in the crowd. She is kind of hiding behind a bigger guy, but I can always spot Chloe from a distance.

“Chloe,” I say and wave. “Chloe!”

She approaches me with her arms crossed in front of her chest. “What the heck is going on?” she asks and gives me a quick hug.

I can’t believe how much she has changed. It is quite a surprise to me. She looks nothing like the old Chloe from twenty years earlier. Gone are the many piercings. Gone are the military boots and the black hair. Now she is wearing sporty shorts and a T-shirt and a baseball cap, making her look like any of the other soccer moms around here. But in her eyes, behind the glasses, I still spot the defiance I always loved so much about her.

“Something happened to Danny?” she asks.

I shake my head. “Jean is dead,” I say. “She was found killed this morning.”

Chloe looks at me. “Jean is dead?” she whispers back. “Killed here in this neighborhood?”

I nod.

“I bet he did it,” she says, looking in Danny’s direction.

“Chloe!”

“I know. I know. Danny could never have done it. But I wouldn’t blame him if he had,” she says. “That woman treated Danny like he was garbage. Nothing was ever good enough for her.”

“That’s hardly a reason to kill her,” I say.

I know she is right about one thing, though. Jean has made a lot of enemies over the years. She wasn’t a very nice person, at least not back in high school, and I never understood what Danny saw in her. But, still, I can’t imagine why anyone would want to kill her.

“He loved her,” I say. “Danny loved her.”

T
he ear infection
is gone quickly, and soon everything goes back to normal. Penelope stays at home with the baby while Peter goes to the office and spends long hours working on his case. Long afternoons turn into evenings, and soon he doesn’t even come home at night.

At the house, Penelope tries to make everything work. The baby doesn’t cry as much as when she was sick, but it is still enough to drive Penelope crazy. She feels so claustrophobic in the house. It is like the walls are closing in on her, like the house is getting ready to suffocate her.

Penelope tries to make the best of it. She takes long walks on the beach with the stroller or drives to Lori Wilson Park and sits at the playground while the baby sleeps. She looks at all the small children playing, running, screaming, and thinks that this is soon going to be her life. Worried mothers are chasing the youngest among them around, making sure they don’t fall and hurt themselves or put dirt in their mouths.

Is she looking forward to this? She isn’t sure. She loves her little girl and is looking forward to seeing her grow up, but she is just so insecure of her own abilities as a mother. Is she good enough? There is so much that can go wrong, especially when they start walking and running around. Penelope doesn’t feel certain she will be able to be there constantly, watching over the baby every minute of her life. What if something happens?

One day, when Penelope is watching the kids on the playground, one of them picks up a small piece of metal and puts it in his mouth. The mother doesn’t see anything and soon it is stuck in his throat. The kid starts to cough and turns blue before the mother discovers it and completely panics. Minutes later, the kid is taken to the hospital.

Penelope watches the scene with terror, thinking anything could happen at any moment if you aren’t careful.

That same night, she prepares dinner for her husband at six, as usual, and sits down and waits for him to come home. At seven, when the lamb has turned cold and grey, she decides to clean it all up again. Peter isn’t coming home for dinner tonight either. While cleaning up, she wonders where he is and what he is doing. She knows he is done with the case he worked on before, but apparently he has a new one now that takes up all of his time. She doesn’t understand how he has to work this much constantly. Isn’t there any time for a break? Any time for his family?

She grabs the phone and calls the office to hear how he is doing. It isn’t something she has ever done before, because Peter told her not to unless it is an emergency, but today she is tired of waiting. She is sick and tired of sitting alone in this big, empty house talking to a baby all day. She wants to be with the man she loves; she wants him to be with her, to notice her, to love her like he used to. In the days after the ear infection, he was like in the old days. He stayed at home when they came home from the hospital. He was with her and the baby and looked at her like he used to back in the days when their love for one another was still new and warm. But as soon as the ear infection was healed, he stopped paying attention to her again. He went back to his old self, his old overworking, and serious self, telling her she can handle the home and the baby perfectly fine and that she doesn’t need him around now that the baby is well.

“Hello, Penelope? What’s wrong?” he says when he answers. “Is the baby sick again?”

Penelope looks at the sleeping baby in the crib. Then she starts to cry.

“Penelope. Is everything all right? Why are you crying?”

“The baby is sick again, Peter. You’d better come home.”

I
take
Salter back to my dad’s house and take a shower while Salter walks Snowflake. Dogs aren’t allowed on the beach, so he has to walk him on the street. Meanwhile, I get all the salt and sand washed off of me while wondering about Jean. I remember her vividly from my high school days.

She belonged to a flock of girls that I hadn’t socialized a lot with. They were sort of the outsiders at the school. When the rest of us went surfing or skateboarding, they liked to just hang out and drink at the beach. Often they would stay there after dark. They would steal chairs from people’s yards or old wood, or even break down part of people’s fences to have wood for their bonfires. Then they would get drunk and be very loud all night. Our neighbors often called the police on them, especially when they had fires on the beach during turtle season. When the police came, they would confiscate the girls’ beers and send them home. But the next weekend, they would be down there again. They always chose 7
^th
Street as their location, and always right in front of our house. Sometimes, they would have boys down there with them and could be very loud. My dad never called the cops on them, yet they still had it in for us. One morning, when I came down to the beach to clean up after them as usual on Saturday mornings, they had written something, a message using the empty beer cans. It said:

BURN IN HELL MILLS

I felt extremely uneasy reading the message. Coming back to the house, I told my father about it, but he told me to leave it alone. They were just
drunk and fooling around
. Meanwhile, I was terrified of these girls and avoided them the best I could in school. But their dirty looks were always on me when I walked the hallways or in class.

I shiver thinking about them again and turn off the shower. I grab a towel and get out. I can’t help but wonder if Jean had changed since those days. We were, after all, very young…just teenagers. I can’t believe that our sweet Danny would marry her if she hadn’t changed.

I get dressed and brush my hair. I am about to put on make-up, but decide not to. I am not going to impress anyone anyway. It is a very liberating feeling to not wear make-up for once. I leave the room feeling ten pounds lighter. Today, I am just going to wear a light summer dress and no makeup.

This is me. Nothing but just me.

Salter has apparently decided to take a longer walk, so I have nothing much to do while I wait. I decide to go down to the kitchen and prepare some lunch for the entire family. I know Laura won’t make anything; she probably doesn’t even eat lunch while on her paleo-gluten-free non-fat, no-sugar diet. Does she eat at all? I wonder. She doesn’t look like it.

I walk down the stairs and into the hallway. When I am supposed to turn right to go to the kitchen, I stop instead and look down the hallway to the left. I don’t know what comes over me at that moment, but my heart suddenly starts racing. I have a hard time breathing, and I feel an enormous pressure on my chest. I gasp for air as I look down the hallway to the rooms at this part of the house that no one ever uses except for Laura. I hear a voice in my head, a small childlike voice.

Please! No, no, please, please don’t.

I grasp the railing of the stairwell so I won’t fall. I am panting for air as the many pictures run through my mind. Usually, I can block them out, but these won’t go away. I see my mother, my beautiful, stoic mother on the stairs. She is smiling, smiling at me.

Please don’t! Please stop!

The screams get louder, then are replaced by a child crying. I see myself. I am not a child, though. I am a young teenager. I am crying. I can’t stop. I feel so helpless. Then the screams are back. Squeals of pain. I close my eyes and try to focus on my breathing.

Think about something good. Think about Salter. Salter and Snowflake. The two things in your life that are good, that make it all worth it.

My heart is finally calmed down and I can open my eyes again. At the top of the stairs, I spot my dad. He is looking down at me. I can tell he has been there for a long time. He watches me for a few seconds, then turns and walks away.

I want to yell after him, tell to come back, to face me and my pain, but I don’t.