Better Not Cry (Rebekka Franck Book 8) Page 7

  "But Tobin wasn't a suicide?"

  "No, that was a freak accident. The kid did something stupid. It happens, unfortunately. All we can do is pray it won't happen to one of our own, am I right?"

  "Right."

  The ceremony began and we were asked to stand up. I stood next to him, wondering about that craziness he said occurred around Christmas. Was that a universal thing or just here in Cocoa Beach?

  29

  It was such a beautiful ceremony. It made me cry. No, that's putting it too mildly. I was bawling my eyes out. I simply couldn't stand the thought of that poor woman losing her only son. It was too much to bear. Detective Ryder ended up holding me while I cried and I saw him shed a few tears himself as well. I have always admired a man who dares to cry.

  "I am sorry for being such a mess," I said as we exited the church.

  "That's okay," he said with a sniffle. "It was a tough one."

  I had grabbed a Kleenex on my way out and blew my nose in it. "I never even met the kid," I said. "And look at me."

  Ryder put his arm around me and chuckled. "Don't worry about it. I do that too. I was thin…"

  He stopped and looked at something. I pulled away from him to see what he was looking at. It was a young girl, a few years older than Julie, but other than that she reminded me a lot of her, especially in the way she was looking at us with anger in her eyes.

  "Sydney," Jack Ryder said.

  The girl approached him.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked.

  "You know what I’m doing here," she said, speaking through gritted teeth. She handed him the pamphlet with Tobin's face on it. "Still think it was a suicide?"

  "What are you talking about?" he asked.

  "He didn't kill himself, just like Tobin's death wasn't an accident."

  Ryder grabbed the girl's arm and pulled her away from the crowd. "Don't say stuff like that here. These people are in the middle of mourning the death of their son."

  "The same death you claim is an accident. Who on earth is so stupid as to climb up into a chimney, huh?"

  Sydney's face was glowing red now. I stood awkwardly beside them as they discussed it. Ryder was trying to keep his voice down, Sydney yelling as loud as she could, creating a scene.

  "You need to go home now, Sydney," Ryder said and pulled her further away. "I am not letting you ruin this for the family."

  He escorted her down the road where I saw him let go of her and point in the opposite direction, yelling at her to stay away or he'd have to call her mother. The kid then yelled something back at him before she started to walk away.

  Jack Ryder returned, red in the face, and approached me.

  "What was that about?"

  He sighed and ran a hand through his blond hair. "The kid lost her dad last year and now she has all these theories. I feel bad for her, really. She has a hard time accepting that he’s gone. I’ve tried to talk to her and explain things to her, but she won't listen. The kid has got these crazy ideas. I just can't let her ruin this moment for Tobin's family."

  "Of course not," I said, looking in the direction of the girl who had started to walk down the street. I reached out my hand. "It was nice to meet you again, Detective. I need to get going. My family is waiting for me."

  "Sure. Of course. Nice to met you again, Rebekka Franck."

  I waved, then rushed after the girl and caught up with her halfway down Ninth Street.

  30

  We had coffee at Juice 'N Java. My treat. We found an empty area inside with some soft couches and sat down.

  "So, tell me," I said after a few minutes of silence. "What was all that about today?"

  She leaned forward. Her brown eyes lingered on me. She seemed to be a very smart girl; you could almost tell by the look in her eyes.

  "Last year, my dad died in December. He hit a tree somewhere inland. They called it a suicide since there were no other cars on the road and since there were no signs that he tried to brake before hitting the tree. No marks on the asphalt. That's what they told us."

  "But you don't believe them?"

  "It doesn’t add up. My dad had no reason to kill himself. Sure, he and Mom had their troubles, but who doesn't? There was no way he could have killed himself. He would never do that to my sister and me. He loved us so much. Too much to do something like this."

  I shrugged. "That's what all people say when their loved ones kill themselves. It's fairly normal for it to feel like it came right out of the blue."

  She shook her head and sipped her coffee. "There's more."

  "I had a feeling there might be," I said and leaned forward on the soft couch. The café had a nice big-city look to it with modern art on the walls made by local artists, surfboards strapped under the ceiling, and the couches and armchairs upholstered in denim fabric. "You don't strike me as someone who would let this go easily."

  "I have one question for you that I haven't seen answered in the case of Tobin," she said.

  "And that is?"

  "Who lit the fire in the fireplace? The mom and the dad and the sister all say they didn't do it. Either they're lying or something else is going on."

  I nodded and sipped my coffee. "All right. You have my attention," I said. "Dazzle me."

  "I think something is going on," she said, lowering her voice. "Something really odd. I don't have the specifics but there is a connection between these deaths and I’ve been looking into it. In 1992, a kid died on Christmas morning. Eight years later, Rob Wilson disappeared while walking with his girlfriend in Osteen Park. Both incidents happened in December, both cases were never solved. Last year, my dad died, and this year, Tobin. Too many unresolved incidents in the same month and if I keep looking, I’m sure I'll find more."

  "But does anything else connect them except for the fact they happened in December and were here in the Cocoa Beach area?" I asked.

  She nodded. She grabbed her backpack and pulled out some printouts, then showed them to me, looking over her shoulder.

  "What's this?" I asked and looked at the pictures.

  "These are all from the police files. From their autopsies."

  "And just how did you come upon them, might I ask?" I said, sounding a little more like a mother than what I cared for.

  "You don't need to know that," she said. "I have my ways."

  I smiled and sipped my coffee, thinking about Sune and how he used to have his ways of getting me any information I needed. I missed those days when we worked together.

  "Okay, and what am I looking at?"

  "All of them have these," she said and pointed at a set of small red marks on a man's neck. "All of them with no exception."

  31

  "In the reports, they always conclude it's some sort of bug bite. None of the forensics experts put a question mark on it or even realized the connection. They just conclude that it is a bug bite; some say it's a spider-bite, others that it’s from a mosquito."

  I was intrigued, to put it mildly. The girl was certainly onto something. I stared at the picture of Tobin's neck, what was left of it, and realized he had two marks that looked very fresh on his skin.

  "And you say your dad had those too?" I asked.

  She placed a picture in front of me. "Probably a bite from a spider or red ant, the forensics' report said."

  "I'll be…" I looked at the pictures. They were all the same. I pointed at one, then asked: "Who is this?"

  "Rob Wilson. Died in the year two thousand when walking with his girlfriend in the park. The body wasn't recovered until many years later. She was blamed for killing him, but once the body was found in a pond nearby years later, they couldn't prove she had done it even though they tried. But the body was very well preserved. The girl ended up in a mental institution. Years later, she was on trial for killing her husband, or ex-husband if you prefer. It was also her younger brother who was killed in December of 1992. Infant death syndrome, they said, but the kid was five. Rumors later had it that she killed him because she
was jealous of him, but it was never proven. She was in the room when the parents entered and found him. That's how the rumors began. The kid had the same two marks, look."

  "So, this woman had two people she cared about die like this?" I asked. "And you say she was on trial for killing her husband?"

  "Ex-husband, yes. She shot him on Christmas morning. He came down the chimney and she thought he was Santa, she said. He was dressed like Santa and wanted to surprise their kid. He had recently left her, and the prosecutor argued she killed him because he had taken their daughter from her and wanted custody. The media called her the Santa-Shooter."

  "Why would she shoot Santa?"

  "I don't know. Here's where it gets really weird."

  "Yes?"

  "She was the last woman to see my dad alive."

  I put my coffee down. "You're kidding me."

  "Nope. He was evaluating her. He worked for the government from time to time to evaluate prisoners to see if they were fit for trial or not. He found her perfectly fit. When he left the prison, he ran into a tree without even trying to stop. When they did the autopsy, he had those two red marks on his neck just like the rest of them."

  I leaned back on the couch, thoughts spinning like crazy inside of me. "I'll be…"

  "I know."

  "And no one wants to listen to you when you tell them about this, I take it?" I asked and looked at the pictures once more.

  "You saw it with your own eyes today," she said. "As a matter of fact, you're the first one to ever listen to me."

  I looked at Sydney, wondering about everything she had told me. It would be so easy for me right now to just walk away, to tell her I didn't believe any of what she told me, but something inside of me, an intuition, told me she was on to something. I knew I was on vacation but somewhere in there was a story buried and this girl needed it to be told. She needed it in order to be able to move on.

  I pointed at the guy who had disappeared in the year two thousand. "I think the clue lies with this woman. It seems like she is connected to a lot of these deaths. I think we need to talk to her. What's her name?"

  "Sara. Sara Andrews. She's on death row in a prison outside of Orlando."

  32

  We ordered an Uber to take Sydney home before I hurried back to the beach house. The kids were sitting in the living room, William and Tobias doing the puzzle while Julie was on the computer. Sune was sitting by the window looking at the ocean.

  "I'm back," I said and kissed Julie on the top of her head.

  I approached William and Tobias.

  "Mommy!" William said, gnawing on his pacifier. It made me cringe. I was so ready to get rid of it.

  "Let me take that for a second," I said and pulled it out of his mouth with a smile. "There. Now I can better hear what you're saying."

  "Binky!" he cried, reaching out for it.

  I shook my head. "No, you're a big boy now, remember? And big boys don't talk with something in their mouths."

  "Binky!" William cried again, reaching for it. "Gimme."

  "No. No. Remember what we talked about when we left on this trip? That it was time for you to give that thing up."

  "BINKY!"

  "Just give him the darn thing," Sune hissed from his spot by the window.

  "No," I said as William's crying intensified. "He needs to get rid of it. He's four years old, Sune. It's ruining his speech and his teeth."

  "He's just a kid. He'll be fine," Sune said.

  "Gimme, gimme," William cried and reached out for the pacifier in my hand, tears streaming across his cheeks.

  "He needs to get rid of it."

  "Does it have to be right now? Just give it to him," Sune said again.

  Will was inconsolable by now. All he could think about was the binky, and the crying grew stronger and louder. Finally, Sune had enough. He turned his chair toward me.

  "Why did you have to come in here and ruin everything? We were having a nice, quiet time until you got here."

  Ouch.

  I threw out my arms with a deep sigh. "I can't do anything right by you, can I?"

  The two big kids exchanged looks that obviously said, Here we go again.

  Sune grumbled something, then rolled past me into the kitchen. "How was the funeral?"

  "It was…tough."

  I walked to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, then drank from it. "He was just a kid, Sune."

  "Was he there?"

  "Who? Detective Ryder? Yes, he was. This is a small community where people look out for one another and of course he was there to pay his respects like the rest of us."

  "I wasn't asking for his entire story, just asking if he was there or not."

  Sune grabbed a banana and peeled it. He was annoying me so much right now I could cry.

  "Were you at the funeral all this time?"

  I looked away. I didn't want to lie to him. "No. I went for a coffee at Juice 'N Java afterward."

  "With him, I take it?"

  "Will you stop with the jealousy?" I said defensively.

  "So, it was with him," he concluded.

  "You know what? I don't have to listen to this anymore. You're the one pushing me away, and I get it. I really get it, Sune. You're angry and bitter and sad and you have the right to be, but I can't keep doing this. I can't keep being your punching bag."

  He looked into my eyes. I searched for softness in them but found none. Where was my beloved Sune? Where was the boy I had fallen in love with, the funny, crazy wonderfully irresponsible Sune who always made me laugh and always looked positively at things?

  He smiled sarcastically. "Then, don't."

  33

  Next to the day that her brother died, this Saturday had to have been the worst day in Alyssa's entire life. Luckily, it was almost over, she thought to herself as she closed the door to her bedroom tightly, and finally let out the tears she hadn't dared to shed all day. She put her back against the door and slid to the floor, letting out a deep sigh. The days since her brother got stuck in the chimney had been like a nightmare that she couldn't wake up from. Her mother had broken down completely and could do nothing without Alyssa's help. She could barely even walk. Meanwhile, her father had completely shut down and barely uttered a word to any of them. Alyssa guessed he had to be in a state of shock of some sort. She had read a lot about it online in groups she followed about kids who lost a family member. She talked with a bunch of kids in there and asked for advice. She wouldn't know what to do without those kids to help her. They had no other family since all their grandparents had passed away and her mother was an only child. The only one they had left besides them was her uncle, her father's brother, but they hadn't spoken to each other since they had that argument over their inheritance after their parents’ death. Alyssa couldn't understand how money could destroy something as deep as being brothers.

  But that left Alyssa as the only one to take care of her parents. Who was going to take care of her?

  Alyssa sniffled, then walked to her computer and sat down. She wrote to her friends in the group chat.

  JUST BURIED MY BROTHER. WHAT A NIGHTMARE. MY PARENTS ARE A MESS. I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. WILL IT EVER GET BETTER?

  She leaned back in her chair, thinking about her brother and how badly she missed him already. He was a pain in the neck, but of course she loved him. She was his sister, for cryin' out loud.

  She pulled out the desk drawer and pulled out a package of cigarettes. She walked to the window, opened it and lit one, blowing the smoke into the salty air coming from the ocean. She wondered if her mother would be able to smell it on her, smell that she had been smoking, then doubted she would even care.

  It was dark outside now. She had told her parents she was going to bed, but they didn't even react. The house had been filled with people after the ceremony, people bringing food and tilting their heads, asking her mother how she was holding up.

  No one asked Alyssa that same question.

  Alyssa blew out smoke into
the darkness. She didn't really like smoking that much, but it calmed her down. She killed the cigarette in an old can, then closed the window as she heard a sound indicating that someone had replied in the chat.

  IT DOESN'T GET BETTER. BUT IT GETS EASIER TO LIVE WITH, someone wrote.

  That wasn't much of an answer.

  Alyssa sighed. She could hear her parents coming up the stairs now and they’d be getting ready for bed. Alyssa looked at her own bed and questioned whether she would be able to sleep at all after this day.

  SO THAT'S IT? I JUST HAVE TO LIVE WITH IT? THIS IS MY LIFE NOW?

  She wrote, tears piling up in her eyes. She didn't know how to live with this pain inside of her, with this somber darkness that had fallen upon her childhood home. She wanted it to go away. She wanted to wake up from this freakin’ nightmare.

  34

  Alyssa fell asleep at her desk and woke with a gasp. Disoriented, she looked at the clock on the computer. It was past midnight. Her head was hurting from sleeping like that and she felt groggy.

  Many of her friends had written in the chat, trying to cheer her up, but she didn't want to read what they said. It didn't make her feel any better anyway. Nothing did.

  Alyssa's stomach growled and she remembered that she hadn't eaten all day, even though the house had been filled with food carried in by all the friends and neighbors who had been at the ceremony and had come to the house afterward to pay their respects. There had to be at least fifteen lasagnas still somewhere down in the kitchen.

  Alyssa got up and walked out in the hallway, walking cautiously to not wake up her parents. As she passed Tobin's door, she paused. The door was ajar and, for just a second, it was like he wasn't gone. Like none of this had happened. She imagined him in there in his bed, sleeping, or maybe sitting at his desk, drawing under the light of his lamp. Alyssa poked the door and it opened up a little more so she could see inside. She peeked in, but of course, Tobin wasn't in his bed or sitting at his desk. Of course not. It hadn't all been a dream or some freakish nightmare.