It was one of the few truly honest things I’d said to my family in a while. Not that I lied to them. I just tried to keep certain facts quiet—facts that might worry them.
Like the fact that somebody was trying to kill me. That my father might have been murdered. That his killer might possibly be watching me now. That my father was a spy.
So many things.
I figured that my mom and sister had enough on their shoulders without me adding to their concerns.
But I knew right now that there was no getting around the truth about why I looked like I’d been wrapped around a tree twice and then slung back again.
“Let me fix you a cup of tea.” My mom rose and started toward the kettle on the stove. “Then you can tell us about your day.”
I smiled. I needed to open up to Mama more than I did. We’d been so close while I was growing up. But then I’d hit my teenage years. That was followed by hiding my engagement from her. After that ended, my family had escaped halfway across the world to this new home.
Put all those events together, and walls had been erected that hadn’t been there before.
I hadn’t even realized it until lately, but those barriers were definitely there. My mom was reaching out, and I seemed to keep pushing her away.
Was I becoming like Hunter?
As my mom fixed my tea, Ruth stared at me from across the table. She was in high school, and she had adjusted to American life a little too easily it seemed sometimes. She had street smarts that I’d never had, and she could read me like a book. The problem was, I didn’t want to be read.
“What’s going on?” Ruth still eyed me with a bit of skepticism.
“I’ll just wait for Mama before I say anything.”
Finally, my mom sat back down across from us, and I took a sip of lavender tea. It was the perfect drink before bedtime.
My mom and sister silently waited for me to start.
I cleared my throat before saying, “My coworker disappeared.”
My mom gasped. “Disappeared?”
I nodded, but my head felt like it weighed two hundred pounds as I did so. “They think it may have been . . . the Beltway Killer.”
My sister’s hand fell from where it had been resting near her neck and hit the table. “What?”
“It’s true,” I said. “We’ve spent all day trying to track her down.”
Mama stood, her nostrils flaring. “Elliot Maria Ransom, I forbid you.”
That had not been the response that I had been expecting. Had I heard her correctly? Maybe I was too tired to interpret her tone.
“What?” I finally asked when she didn’t explain.
Her finger went into the air—a sure sign she was dead serious about this. “The last thing I need is for you to be chasing some serial killer.”
“I’m hardly chasing a serial killer,” I explained, trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice. “I’m simply looking for my friend.”
“You can’t get wrapped up in that. What if something happens to you?”
“It’s not like I’m chasing him down alone. Michael is with me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, Michael. Let’s talk about Michael.”
More tension built in my chest until I felt like I wanted to explode. I reminded myself to stay cool, though. High emotions wouldn’t help this situation. “What about Michael?”
“What’s going on between the two of you?” Mama continued. Though she wasn’t Hispanic, I almost thought I heard an accent in her voice now. “And what about that Hunter guy? I thought the two of you were starting to date. Now all I hear about is Michael. You get that dopey smile on your face when you talk about him.”
I let out a long breath, and, like uncountable times today, I just wanted to disappear. Too bad that wasn’t an option right now.
“I’m just trying to figure things out.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “Michael and I are friends. Maybe more.”
“And Hunter?” She continued to stare at me like only a mother could do—hand on hip and foot tapping the floor.
I shrugged and looked at my sister, pleading for her to cause some type of interruption or something.
She didn’t. Instead, she stared at me, waiting for me to respond.
I cringed, feeling like I’d been tied to a pole in front of interrogators holding their bows and arrows.
“It’s all confusing,” I finally said. “But my love life is the least of my worries right now. Finding Velma is my top priority.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your friend,” Mama continued. “But you have no business sticking your nose into this investigation. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
The way she looked at me with such stubborn determination in her eyes made me wonder if she and my father had conversations like this in the past. What if she’d known Papa was a spy? I’d just assumed she’d been in the dark and that, like me, she’d believed my father simply worked for the government.
But what if that wasn’t the case at all?
“Elliot, you’ve got to promise me that you are not going to get involved in this.” My mom stared me in the eye, waiting for my response.
My lungs tightened. This was not a position I wanted to be in. I didn’t want to lie to my mom. But I couldn’t let my friend die at the hands of a serial killer either.
“I can’t promise you that, Mama.”
“Elliot . . .” Warning strained her voice.
“I’m sorry, Mama. You know I want nothing more than to please you. But this is my friend we’re talking about.”
“And this is my family I’m talking about!” Her voice rose with each syllable, and her cheeks reddened.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard my mom raise her voice before. It sent a shock through me and made me feel like I couldn’t breathe.
And I didn’t like it.
I stood, my chair screeching across the floor. “You know what? I don’t really think I want this tea after all. I think I’m just going to go to bed.”
“Elliot . . .” Mama’s voice trailed with admonition.
But there was nothing else I could say to her. There was no way I could convince her that investigating was the right thing.
Instead, I escaped into my bedroom and found the journal my father had left me. I prayed that he had some words of wisdom for me there, that he could reach me even beyond the grave and give me some guidance on how I should proceed with my life.
Because I felt lost right now.
Chapter Eleven
When I came into the office the next morning and saw Velma’s empty desk, reminders of what had happened hit me again and again.
I just couldn’t believe that she was gone. That the Beltway Killer might have taken her.
On top of that, I had no idea what had transpired last night between Michael and Roxy.
The unknowns set me on edge—had me jumping at sounds and snapping at people. I didn’t even feel like rhyming about anything, which never happened.
You know why that was? Because I felt like life had no rhyme or reason right now. All the awful poetry I could mentally write wouldn’t change that.
However, I had found some advice in my father’s journal last night. He’d written, Do the right thing, even when it feels wrong.