LET ME GO (Eva Rae Thomas Mystery Book 5) Page 7

  He didn’t feel at home at all here, and Eva Rae wasn’t home again.

  “Where did she go this time?” her mother, Elizabeth, asked when Matt went in there and grabbed a beer from the fridge. It had been a calm day at the station, yet he felt exhausted. Maybe it was all that worrying about Eva Rae and what she was up to now. Was she with that Liam character?

  He shrugged and took the cap off. “She didn’t say. She just left a message on my voicemail and said she was so sorry, but she had to go. She hoped she’d be back before the weekend. She told me she’d explain everything to me later but that it was very urgent.”

  Her mother wrinkled her forehead. “She did the same to me. Told me she had to go for a couple of days, then asked me to take care of the children while she was gone, then she gave me the whole I am so sorry you know I am, and I wouldn’t do this to you if it weren’t important speech, and then she hung up before I could protest. She’s got some nerve, that daughter of mine.”

  Matt shrugged again. “I guess it must be important. She’s working on some case. She hasn’t told me the details of it, but I’m sure she will later.”

  Elizabeth tilted her head. “Poor you. She’s not exactly making things smooth for you, is she? The way she’s always rushing off to something. You have, after all, just moved in, and she barely takes any time to be with you.”

  Matt sipped his beer then nodded. “My guess is she needs it.”

  “How so?”

  “I think she has a strong need to save people. It feels more urgent than ever in her. Maybe because she couldn’t save Chad.”

  Elizabeth sent him a smile while blending cauliflower and carrots. Once she stopped the blender, she gave him another look.

  “You know, you could just tell him that he has to do it.”

  “Now, what are we talking about?”

  She looked toward the ceiling. “Elijah. You’re his dad. He’s nine years old. You can give him orders, you know. It’s your right and actually your duty to tell him what to do. It just might be what he needs.”

  “But he doesn’t want to come down here,” Matt said. “He just wants to play on that computer up there.”

  “Because no one tells him otherwise. You can’t keep asking him for permission to be his father, Matt. You gotta just own up to it. Yes, he’ll be upset with you, but isn’t that better than being ignored? Plus, he’ll get over it eventually. He’ll make your life miserable for a little while, but then again, he’s already doing that, so what do you have to lose? My guess is that he wants a family just as much as you do. He just doesn’t know how to tell you. He’s waiting for you to make a move. It might not be pleasant to have to do it, but it can hardly get worse from here, am I right?”

  Matt drank from his beer again while Elizabeth put beets into the blender and turned it back on. While staring at her, pondering about what she had just told him and whether she could be right or not, he finished his beer. He put the empty bottle down and hurried upstairs, taking two steps at a time. He opened the door to Elijah’s room without knocking, then walked straight to the boy and pulled off his headset. Elijah let out a whining sound, then turned to face Matt.

  “Hey! I was using those.”

  Matt’s eyes grew wide. That was the most the boy had spoken to him in all the time they had lived together. And he was actually looking at him, not ignoring him.

  It was a start.

  “That’s right,” Matt said. “You were using them. Now, you’re not. Now, you’re coming downstairs with me and hanging out with the rest of us. We can play cards or a board game if you want to, but no more computer or iPad. From now on, you have one hour of screen time each day after school. The rest, you spend downstairs with the rest of us.”

  Before the boy could answer or even protest, Matt walked to the wall and pulled out the plug.

  “But…?” Elijah tried.

  Matt shook his head. “Nope. I’m your dad, and I’m telling you to get downstairs now.”

  Elijah’s eyes flickered back and forth, and there was obviously some struggle going on inside of him.

  “That’s not fair,” he yelled, then stood to his feet and walked through the door. “You can’t do this to me. You have no right.”

  “Oh, I have every right. Just you watch me.”

  Matt stood for a few seconds and stared at the cord in his hand, heart beating rapidly in his chest. Elizabeth had been right, much to his surprise. He wasn’t winning any popularity contests due to this, and Elijah hated him more than ever, but he realized he hadn’t felt this good in a very long time.

  “I’m sorry to have to bother you both at a time like this,” I said.

  I looked at Peter James’s parents as they sat in front of me. We had come to them in their house outside of New Orleans in a small charming neighborhood called Elmwood. The house was a typical Victorian-style house with wrought-iron balconies and stained glass in the doorways and windows. It was beautiful on the outside, but inside, the air was thick with grief, and it saddened me deeply. Their son had been dead for more than a year, but time in here had stood still. It was December, and yet they had put no decorations up for Christmas.

  “I’m just not sure how we can be of help?” His dad, Greg James, said.

  His mother, Viviane, couldn’t hold back her tears.

  “I really don’t like ripping up these old wounds,” she said.

  “We understand,” Liam said. “But as we told you, it happened to my boy too. And we believe someone is doing this, is causing these episodes to happen.”

  “But…why?” Viviane asked. “Why would anyone do something like this?”

  I swallowed and shook my head. “We don’t know that yet. We have no motive so far for these attacks. But we do know that he’s not going to stop anytime soon. We came here straight from a meeting with another young boy whom we believe might be his next victim, had we not warned him.”

  “Oh, dear God,” Viviane said and cupped her mouth.

  “At least you could warn him,” Greg said. “You said he lived around here?”

  “Yes, but we’ve told him to go away for a little while,” Liam said. “Just to make sure that he isn’t at his house when the call comes in. Just in case.”

  “The thing is,” I said, “that even if we warn them, the police have to go if they get a call. They have to take it seriously no matter what. We thought it was better that the boy got away.”

  “Good,” Greg said, nodding. “Very good. Now, what can we do to help you find this guy?”

  “I was wondering if we might be able to take a look at Peter’s computer?” I asked.

  Greg looked puzzled. “His computer? But…why?”

  “There might be clues as to who this person might be. Peter is the first victim that I’ve found, so maybe the Swatter wrote something to him, or maybe he made a mistake of some sort that can guide us. Anything at this point would be a great help. We don’t really have much the way it is.”

  “Do you still have his computer here in the house?” Liam asked.

  Viviane nodded. “In his room. We haven’t changed anything.”

  “Viviane hasn’t been able to go in there yet,” Greg said.

  That was exactly what I had hoped when Liam had suggested we talk to this family; he had done so because he wanted them to know their son’s death was no accident, that they deserved to know the truth. For me, it was just as much because I had a feeling his computer might have been left untouched. I remembered how it was in my home when my sister Sydney was kidnapped. My mom didn’t dare to go into her room, and the door was simply closed like she was still in there sleeping or maybe playing peacefully. We just went on with our lives like she was still living there. I had a feeling the James family might have done the same thing. It was only natural when losing a child. There was no right time to remove his things, and it felt like removing the memory of him completely.

  Just like you haven’t gotten rid of Chad’s things. They’re still gathered in t
he garage in boxes. You haven’t even looked inside of them.

  I rose to my feet with an exhale, shaking the thought and reminding myself to call Matt before I went to bed at the hotel, then looked at the mother.

  “Could you be so kind and show us the way?”

  Chapter 30

  “They got on a late flight,” Liam said and sat down in the bar of the hotel.

  Liam had told me he’d pay for the entire trip since I had no money—at least none to spare—so he had booked us in at the Waldorf Astoria in New Orleans. It was a gorgeous old hotel, unlike anywhere I had ever stayed. The amount of marble and the huge chandeliers were enough to leave me breathless. We had rooms on the same floor and agreed to meet up for drinks downstairs. It had been a long day, going through Peter James’ computer. Unfortunately, we hadn’t found anything that could help us. His parents didn’t know his passwords to any of his gaming profiles, so we couldn’t get access to them. I then called my dad and asked for his help, and he gained access from his computer, but couldn’t find anything extraordinary. All the chats were gone, and it would take months to go through all his private messages and comments on all the social media platforms. We concentrated our search around the days before he was killed and went through his emails but didn’t find anything to help us.

  It was a long shot anyway.

  “To Montreal. Jamal called me as they arrived at the airport.”

  I ordered a glass of Chardonnay.

  “I won’t feel safe till I know he has landed in safety,” I said. “I keep thinking of what happened to Amal Bukhari.”

  Liam placed a hand on my shoulder. The gesture felt a little awkward, and, realizing this, he pulled it away.

  “He’s going to be fine. As long as they haven’t told anyone they’re leaving and where they’re going, they can’t get to him.”

  I took a deep breath. “I still don’t feel good about this.”

  My glass of white wine landed in front of me, and I sipped it. Liam had a whiskey that he turned a couple of times before tasting it. It looked almost like he washed his mouth with it.

  “I don’t understand you housewives,” he said and looked at my Chardonnay. “Why you all drink that stuff. There are so many wonderful white wines out there that are way better than Chardonnay.”

  I stared at my glass, then drank some more. “I drink it because I like it. And please don’t refer to me as a housewife again. I don’t think I deserve that title, being as I’m never home in my house with my family.”

  That made him smile slyly. “Touché.”

  “You know what? You’re actually a nice guy,” I said. “Why do you act the way you do on your show?”

  He smiled again. “Don’t let my act fool you. I am not a nice guy. Believe me. I am anything but.”

  “So, you’re telling me that you’re acting now with me and not when you’re on TV? That’s your real personality? I don’t buy it. You’ve been nice to me ever since you came to my house that day.”

  He shrugged and took a sip that was used as mouthwash once again. There was a point when I feared he’d spit it all out afterward like a fine wine tasting. But he didn’t.

  “Who’s to tell, huh?”

  I scoffed. “I, for one, think you should drop the act and just be you. People might like that even better.”

  “What? And no yelling at people anymore? No telling them what to do? No scolding them for the excessive use of garlic in their food? Are you crazy? I like that part. No, I love it. It makes me feel alive. Without it, I’d be more bored than your little friends out in suburbia drinking their Chardonnay, never doing anything with their lives. Look here. I’ll send this whiskey back. It’s only suited for use on your Christmas pudding if you ask me.”

  “Please, don’t,” I said, cringing. “Please, don’t make a scene.”

  He sat up like he was suddenly filled with a new surge of energy.

  “Why not? Does causing trouble make you uncomfortable, huh? Are you that self-effacing that all you want to do is run around and help people, save the world, save lives here and there, but lo and behold you should demand anything for yourself or cause any ruckus in life?”

  “Excuse me?” I said, beginning to feel a little offended.

  “What is so wrong with demanding the best or standing up for yourself?” he asked, getting agitated and gesticulating. “In my opinion, people let restaurants get away with way too much. No one should eat bad food or drink horrible white wine. You need to grab life by the horns, Eva Rae. Don’t fear people getting upset or causing a scene. Demand the best. Stop letting life toss you around.”

  I wrinkled my forehead. “No one is tossing me anywhere. I am perfectly capable of taking…”

  “Then tell me this. When’s the last time you sent back an undercooked steak or one that was cooked too much? When did you last tell someone that they didn’t do their work good enough? When did you last ask to speak to the manager, huh? When did you last make a lot of trouble for nothing? When did you last even complain about something?”

  I stared at the man, getting agitated. Who the heck did he think he was? Just when I was beginning to think I actually liked him and felt sorry for him, he pulled something like this. Insulting me on so many levels, I could hardly speak.

  “You’ve never done that, am I right?” he answered his own question. “You’ve never complained about any food or drinks in a restaurant. You’re too…nice for that. Too busy making sure everyone is happy. Just like you let that guy move in with you even though you didn’t want him to, just because you don’t like to make people angry with you. You can’t stand making people sad. But the thing is, Eva Rae, in life, you’re bound to hurt people at some point. No one can go through life without hurting someone. Not even you. And once you finally realize that letting him move in with you was a mistake, that’s when you’ll hurt him even worse than if you had just told him it was too early from the beginning.”

  I stared at the man in front of me, wanting desperately to punch him in the face. He grinned and emptied his glass while I could swear that smoke was emerging from both my ears. It felt like it, at least.

  I rose to my feet and grabbed my purse.

  “You don’t know anything about me,” I said, steaming. “And I take my words back. You’re not a nice guy. You’re a sick bastard, and I don’t know which is worse. The fact that you are one, or the fact that you’re proud of it.”

  Chapter 31

  Jamal Robinson took a bite of the juicy burger. His momma and sister were sitting across the table from him, eating in silence. His mother suddenly burst into a huge grin.

  “Canada, son? I can’t believe we’re really here. How did you keep it a secret, huh?” she asked.

  The colder air had felt so wonderful on their skin, but now he was happy to be inside while the snow fell on the windows. The city of Montreal’s lights danced in the darkness. In the distance, he could see a cruise ship as it was docking, bathed in bright lights. They had found a burger joint that was called something French by the harbor in the old town. People around them were mostly American or European. Their cab driver, M&M, as he called himself (not like the rapper, but the candy), had been beyond cool, and Jamal couldn’t stop himself. He had to record him and live stream it to his YouTube channel. He believed it would be okay as long as he didn’t use Twitch like that FBI woman had told him. M&M had been quite spectacular on the video, telling Jamal’s viewers all about the town.

  “I want to go to that market we passed on our way here,” his sister Asia said. “Tomorrow. I want to get myself a hoodie or maybe a cap. And a snow globe. I love snow globes.”

  “We can do that,” Jamal said happily, trying to let go of the gnawing anxiousness he was feeling inside his stomach. He was thrilled to be able to give his family this treat, but he wasn’t very happy that it was under these circumstances. He knew he was far from home, yet he couldn’t help feeling nervous.

  “How’s your burger, Jamal. You like it?�
� His momma asked, chewing on a french fry. No one had been prouder than Momma Robinson when Jamal had taken the World Championship home six months ago. She had always scolded him for being on his computer too much, but as he brought home the check for three million dollars along with so many sponsors that she never had to work a day in her life again, there would be no more complaining. His momma had bad knees from working as a cleaning lady for years and years. It had always been Jamal’s dream to support her, so she never had to clean up white people’s dirt again. And now he had.

  “It’s good,” he said and took another bite. “Juicy.”

  “I can’t wait to see the town,” Asia said. “It’s supposed to be gorgeous.”

  Jamal had rented them a small apartment downtown for two weeks. After that, it should be safe to go back home again. At least he hoped it would. He couldn’t really stay away forever. Plus, he had to keep giving his viewers updates and new material, or they’d unsubscribe, and he’d lose his sponsors. He was used to making live stream videos nonstop all day, of everything he did and especially of his gaming, of course. The past twenty-four hours, he had been unusually quiet, except for the small driving video from the taxi, and the viewers would begin to wonder.

  Jamal drank his Coke and looked at his family when out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the waitress came to the table next to them, and a second later, the people sitting there got up and left. Normally, it wouldn’t be a cause for concern if he hadn’t seen her continuing to the next table and the exact same thing happening. The couple sitting there got up and left, leaving their food and their bill unpaid. When he looked around, he soon realized they were all alone in the restaurant.

  Every customer had left, and he couldn’t see any of the waitresses either.