Jack Ryder Mystery Series: Vol 4-6 Page 8

  “I am sorry, what?”

  “I’m sorry, Rikki Rick.”

  The Doctor smiled and sighed. “That’s my girl.”

  The Doctor lifted the baby into the air like Simba was lifted up in the Lion King to meet his future subjects. The boy wasn’t happy and started to cry. The Doctor ignored the crying.

  “This is Rikki Rick, everyone. He will stay with us from now on. Be good to him and treat him like a king. Teach him everything he needs to know.”

  All the girls looked up, especially little Miss Muffit. But she didn’t look at him with excitement or joy as the others. She didn’t dance joyfully because they now had a brother among them. She didn’t partake in the welcoming party for the boy. Instead, she sat in a corner, tears pouring down her cheeks.

  Because she knew that since Betsy Sue didn’t seem to be coming back, the countdown to her own demise had begun.

  27

  November 1990

  Thanksgiving was Kimberly’s favorite time of year. It was the one holiday where people gathered just to be together, just to be thankful for each other and what they had, and not wonder what they were going to get.

  Plus, she loved turkey.

  Things had been calm in the old house for several months now, and she was getting to a point where she was as close to calling herself settled in as she could get in this place.

  She still woke up at night hearing strange scratching sounds and she still felt a chill run down her back when she walked into the living room. She had learned to live with the roaches in the toilet bowl from time to time and the strange smell in the kitchen from the garbage disposal. And she had accepted the ravens, as long as they stayed in the attic. She had also learned that there was a lamp in the hallway that had been here when they moved in that never turned off. Even when it didn’t have a bulb in it, it was simply always lit.

  She knew it and had come to terms with it. It was, as Joseph had said earlier, it was an old house and they never knew what to expect from it.

  “When are we eating?” Rosa said, when she came into the kitchen that was already encased in the sweet smell of roasted turkey.

  Kimberly laughed lightly at her daughter’s impatience. “There are still a couple of hours left.”

  “Aw. What am I to do while I wait?”

  “How about you go outside and play for a little bit?” Kimberly asked.

  Rosa hadn’t made any friends since they moved here, and that worried her. Maybe it was, after all, a bad idea to homeschool the girl, she often pondered.

  “There’s nothing to do out there,” Rosa said.

  “Don’t you think you can find something to do?”

  Rosa shook her head, grabbed a chair, and sat down. Kimberly found a coloring book from one of the cabinets and handed it to her, along with some crayons. Rosa started coloring.

  “What is your dad up to?” Kimberly asked, wondering if he was writing another song. He and Rosa had surprised Kimberly with one last year after their dinner, singing it together.

  “He’s in the basement,” Rosa said with a shrug.

  Joseph had spent a lot of time in the basement lately. Kimberly didn’t really know what he did down there for hours on end. Until now, she had let him have his own space down there, but she did worry that his instruments were all gathering dust in the music room upstairs. It had been ages since he last picked one up and played. In the ten years they had been married, she had never been able to pull him away from his instruments or make him stop singing all day long. Not a tune left his mouth these days. Not even humming or whistling did she hear from him.

  Kimberly threw the potatoes in the sink. This was the worst part of the dinner, she believed. The peeling of the potatoes. Kimberly sighed when she looked at the stack. They were just going to be the three of them this year, since all their relatives lived upstate and couldn’t afford to travel down there. Still, she thought it was a big job to peel all these potatoes. She needed to do the cranberry sauce and the gravy as well.

  Kimberly looked at her daughter, who was coloring, but didn’t seem to be enjoying it very much.

  “Rosa?”

  She looked up. “Yes?”

  “Would you mind peeling the potatoes for me?”

  “Sure.”

  Rosa stood up and approached the sink. Kimberly helped her put on an apron and roll up her sleeves. Rosa had peeled potatoes a few times before and was actually quite fast. Best of all, she actually liked it.

  “So, what do you think your dad does down in the basement?” Kimberly asked, when her daughter picked up the first potato.

  In the old times, what they now considered the basement was used to quarter the help. One of the rooms had since been made into a laundry room, but there were several other rooms that had been left unused, that they had just used as storage rooms when they moved in. Joseph had one day closed the door to the biggest one in the back and she had heard him rummaging around while doing her laundry, wondering what he was up to.

  “I don’t know,” Rosa said. “He never lets me in there.”

  “You think he might be building something? Maybe a new music room or a studio to record his music?” Kimberly asked.

  “He doesn’t play anymore, Mom,” Rosa said, and put the finished potato in the pot of water Kimberly had placed next to her.

  She knew the girl was right, but it still hurt to hear. Somewhere deep down inside, she had hoped that Joseph was still playing, that she just hadn’t heard him.

  “I know,” Kimberly said.

  “Doesn’t Dad like music anymore?” Rosa asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe he just needed a little break. He does teach it at the school, so maybe it became a little too much, you know?”

  “He never used to get tired of music,” Rosa said pensively, while looking out the window into the yard. It was beautiful how the sun fell on the brown leaves.

  “Well, people change,” Kimberly said, while secretly hoping Joseph hadn’t. She missed him the way he used to be. Now he was all about reading business magazines and he wore a shirt and tie even when they were just at home on the weekends. Where he used to annoy her by strumming his guitar from morning to nighttime or playing the drums late at night, now he was so quiet, she hardly felt he was there anymore. And he was constantly talking about bourbon. Oh, the bourbon. He would buy some bottle with a name Kimberly never had heard of and talk about it for so long, how it was made, on what type of wood, and it gave it this character and that color and whatnot. She would let her thoughts drift off just to stay awake.

  “I think he likes to play cards now,” Rosa said.

  “He does what?”

  “He plays card games.”

  Drinking bourbon and playing card games? What was that? Joseph never used to like any of those things. Joseph was a beer-man and he hated playing any type of games, whether it was board games or card games, because he always lost.

  “Who does he play with?” Kimberly asked, slightly nervously.

  Their daughter shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Kimberly shook her head, wondering if she even knew her husband at all. This side of him, she didn’t recognize at all.

  “I’m done,” Rosa said.

  “Good job,” Kimberly said. She leaned over the sink, wiped some flies away, picked up most of the peelings, and let the rest fall into the garbage disposal.

  “Cover your nose,” she said to Rosa.

  The disposal smelled the worst when they ran it.

  “Here comes the smell.”

  Kimberly squeezed her own nose and pushed the button. The disposal grinded and roared, then ran smoothly before it started making a very strange noise.

  KRA-KUNK! KRA-KUNK! KRA-KUNK!

  Kimberly sighed, annoyed. She was so sick and tired of this disposal and this kitchen in general. Now it was acting up again and the smell was worse than ever.

  “Eeeewww,” Rosa exclaimed.

  Kimberly leaned over to stop it. Her finger hadn�
�t reached the button before the disposal made a new loud sound—SPLUSH!—and she was covered in something wet. It went in her hair, in her face and, worst of all, in her mouth. It also covered all of Rosa’s face, and when she finally stopped the disposal and looked at her, Kimberly realized they were both covered in blood.

  28

  May 2016

  “Tell me we’ll find him.”

  It was late at night back at the house. Shannon was sitting in the darkness, looking out at the square lit up by the streetlamps. We had looked all night in the parking lot and the restaurant. The kids and Shannon had been sent home first, before the police came, because we couldn’t risk her being seen once the reporters arrived when they heard of the missing baby. Meanwhile, an Amber Alert had been sent out.

  I walked into the bedroom looking for her at one a.m. I was exhausted. We still hadn’t seen any trace of Tyler anywhere. Leaving the place was the hardest thing I’d had to do, but Bellini told me to go home and take care of my family, that she and her colleagues would keep looking all night.

  I sat next to her on the wide windowsill. I felt awful. I rubbed my eyes. “We’ll find him,” I said, my voice hoarse from calling the boy’s name, even though I knew he wouldn’t answer.

  “Why do these things keep happening to me?” Shannon asked. “First it was Angela, now Tyler?”

  The burden of guilt fell heavy on my shoulders. “I’m afraid it has to do with me,” I said, heavyhearted. This was exactly why so many people in my line of work got divorced. “Remember last year what happened to Austin? It’s my work. I’m an easy target. I’m so sorry, Shannon. It’s my fault.”

  Shannon finally looked at me. “You think Tyler was kidnapped?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know how else to explain his sudden disappearance.”

  She crept closer, leaned over, and kissed me. The kiss startled me. I thought she would be upset with me. That she would be ready to leave me.

  “I can’t believe you never even once asked me if I had been drinking,” she said. “Most men would have asked that as the first thing, given my story.”

  “It never occurred to me,” I said.

  “That’s why I’m marrying you. You always think the best of people. You bring out the best in me.”

  I swallowed hard. Could this really be? Could she really love me despite my work? “We will find him,” I said, this time more convincingly than the first.

  Shannon nodded, tears springing to her eyes. “You think this is related to Betsy Sue, don’t you?”

  “It’s a very strange coincidence if it isn’t.”

  “True,” Shannon said. She paused. We sat in silence for a little while before she spoke again.

  “So, you think it was kind of a way of punishing us for taking Betsy Sue back to her real parents? Tit for tat or an eye for an eye?”

  I sighed. “Something like that, I’m not quite sure. Is it too crazy? I’m too tired to think. You wanna lay down with me for a little while?”

  Shannon nodded. We both walked to the bed and lay our heads on our pillows. I held her in my arms while she cried.

  “I miss him so much,” she whispered through tears.

  “Me too. Try and get some sleep. Tomorrow is a new day,” I said.

  Shannon closed her eyes, but she didn’t fall asleep. Neither did I. I stared out the window at the streetlamp outside, making my plan for how to get our boy back.

  29

  May 2016

  They had placed two officers from the Savannah Police Department to guard the gate. The mansion behind them seemed to be twice the size of the house I was building back home in Cocoa Beach for me and my family. Maybe even bigger than that, I thought, as I approached it. It was located in the historic downtown and in walking distance to the place we were renting for the week.

  “I’m sorry, sir. No visitors today,” the officer told me, as I parked the car and walked up to the gate.

  “I know them,” I said. “I want to talk to them.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but the family has requested peace and quiet.”

  “I understand that, but could you just press that buzzer and tell them I’m here? My name is Jack Ryder,” I said.

  “Sorry, sir. I can’t do that.”

  I pulled out my badge and showed it to him. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Detective, but I have my orders.”

  I groaned. I was so tired after not sleeping all night. As I was about to turn around and leave, a car drove up to the gate. Mr. Hawthorne poked his head out. “Detective Ryder?”

  I turned around.

  “You can let this man in,” Mr. Hawthorne said to the officers.

  He pushed the buttons and opened the gate. He drove in and I followed him on foot. He approached me as I reached the front door.

  “Hello again, Detective Ryder,” he said and shook my hand. “I’m so sorry about the guards at the gate, but the press has been all over us since Adelaide…since Betsy Sue came home, and I can’t be too careful. They still haven’t caught the guy and you never know if he’s lurking out there, trying to steal her back. Come on in. I’m sure Heather will be very excited to see you again. We feel like we owe you everything.”

  I was quite baffled to be greeted like this. I followed Mr. Hawthorne inside where his wife, Heather, was waiting in the living room.

  “Oh, Ron. I’m glad you’re home,” she said.

  When she saw my face, she seemed everything but as excited as her husband had said she would be.

  “Hello, there…Detective,” she said, cautiously approaching me.

  “Ryder,” I said. “You can call me Jack.”

  “All right…Jack.” She looked nervously at her husband and rubbed her hands together. “Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?”

  “You don’t have to trouble yourself on my behalf,” I said. “Mr. Hawthorne was so kind to let me inside.”

  “Call me Ron,” he said from the other end of the living room, where he was already pouring bourbon into two glasses. It was barely ten in the morning and way too early for me to be drinking that kind of strong alcohol.

  “Forget the water and coffee,” he said and handed me the bourbon. “The boys need something stronger, don’t they?” He laughed and lifted his glass for me to salute him. I did and barely sipped my bourbon while he emptied his. Heather stood behind him, rubbing her hands together anxiously.

  “So, what brings you here, Detective…Jack.”

  I cleared my throat. “I wanted to check in on Betsy Sue. See how she was doing. Has she been talking?”

  Heather drew in a deep breath, then shook her head, her eyes hitting the floor as she spoke. “No. We can’t get her to speak at all.”

  I nodded and looked at the glass in my hand, wondering if it would be impolite to put it down now. I held on to it for a little longer. “I thought so,” I said.

  I stared at them, wondering if I should tell them about Tyler, but something told me not to. I don’t exactly know why, but I decided to not do it, at least not yet. They wouldn’t be able to help me anyway. I hoped their daughter could.

  “Could I see her?”

  Heather shook her head. “No. Today is not good.”

  Ron poured himself another bourbon and let his wife answer for them. “Why not?” I asked. “Is she not feeling well?”

  “No. No. She’s fine. It’s just…well, we’re trying to get her to forget everything from her past, and you play a big part of it. Seeing you might rip up some memories that…” Heather stopped talking and I sensed something behind me. As I turned, I saw Betsy Sue. She was standing right behind me, her blue eyes staring up at me from her still very pale face.

  “My God, you scared me,” I said and put a hand to my chest. My heart was pounding behind it.

  “I’ve told her to not sneak up on people like that,” Heather said. “ She does it all the time. Scares me half to death every time.”

  I knelt in front of her and wiped a lock of hair away from her face. �
�How have you been, pretty girl?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer.

  “It’s no use,” Heather said. “She refuses to talk to anyone. The police, the psychiatrist, us, anyone.”

  “Except she did talk to me,” I said.

  Heather paused. I could tell she was curious as to how I got the girl to talk to me. I needed that curiosity. I needed them to want me to talk to her.

  “She told me a lot of things when I was alone with her. Could I get some time alone with her today? I think I could get her to talk again. Maybe I would be able to get her to open up a little.”

  I looked up at Heather, who seemed very uncomfortable with the situation. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea. Right now she needs peace and quiet. She needs to forget everything that has happened…”

  “I don’t see any harm in him talking to her,” Ron said, and put a hand on his wife’s shoulder.

  It made her back off. I got the feeling that he was used to having the last word around here.

  Heather nodded. “Well then…go ahead.”

  “Thank you,” I said, heartfelt.

  Right now Betsy Sue was my only connection to the man who might have taken my son. I had to get her to tell me more about this strange doctor and where she had been held the past five years in order to find him, and hopefully my son as well. I knew it was a long shot; I knew it was going to take a lot of effort, given how little she had talked about her time in captivity so far. But it was worth a try. It was all I had right now. And time was not on my side.

  I turned and looked at Betsy Sue again. “So…could you maybe show me your room? I would love to see it.”

  30

  May 2016

  The room was sparsely decorated and not at all for a child. A bed, a dresser, a walk-in closet, a row of shelves with many books, all thrillers and mysteries or biographies. None of them for children. On the bed lay a deck of cards.