A Twisted Love Story(50)

Late in the afternoon, when her brain is tired and she can’t learn any more new words, she gets a DM from a woman named Clarissa.

    Look, I’m not trying to be a stalker, but that guy in your post is my fiancée. Can I ask what happened between you two?



How Ivy got pulled into this drama just by posting a photo is beyond her.

But if it were her, and she had reached out to someone for information about Wes, she would hope the woman would answer. If she was polite. So far, Clarissa hasn’t done anything offensive.

Clarissa is quite active on IG. She has posted a lot of pictures of herself and Milo. Including the engagement ring.

    We met at Liver, spent an hour or so talking and having a drink. He asked if we could exchange numbers, and I agreed. He didn’t mention having a fiancée. He never called me, and I never called him.



Clarissa’s response is instantaneous: Thank you.

With that, Ivy is done for the day. She logs out of her computer, puts her earbuds back in the case, and gathers her things. On the way to her car, she receives yet another DM from Clarissa.

Do you mind if I ask why you posted the picture? I’m just curious, since you barely know each other?

Because she wanted to make Wes jealous. That was it. Nothing deeper than that. And it’s not something she is willing to tell Clarissa.

I thought his podcast sounded interesting, so I was just spreading the word about him.

It sounds lame, but it’s all Ivy has. Now she is really done, because this relationship is not her problem. The only upside of this day is that she hasn’t heard from Karen.





42




Karen’s entire body aches as she crawls out of bed. Up early again, though not to search for the voyeur. Every extra minute is focused on Wes.

As much as she wants to sleep a little longer, thinking about her son makes her get up. She imagines what Jack would be like if he had grown up with his father in his life. How different he would be now.

And the likelihood that he would have also ended up in an abusive relationship. The statistics on that are astounding.

She thinks about all the children going through the same thing, stuck in abusive households, growing up watching their parents fight. Maybe they try to defend one parent against the other, or maybe they hide in the corner. No good options for a child stuck in that cycle.

Another reason risking her career is worth it. Another reason to get out of bed.

If Karen’s car wasn’t in such bad shape, she would drive to Sacramento. But she isn’t sure it will make it. Back to the bus. This adds an additional thirty minutes to the trip, so it’s almost lunchtime when she arrives at 327 Bluebell Court.

Nice little house with a well-kept lawn and a welcome mat in front of the door. It opens before she has a chance to knock.

Hugo Garrison is at least seventy, maybe older. Hard to tell. He has a little bit of hair left and a smile as big as his belly.

“Karen?” he says.

“Yes, I apologize for being a little late.”

He opens the door wide, motioning for her to enter. “Not a problem. When you’re retired, time is just a number.”

“I supposed that’s true.”

Karen steps into the house, which immediately feels stuffy. Hugo leads her down a hall lined with boxes and into a living room, where there are more boxes and plastic containers. A space with two chairs and a table has been cleared off for them to sit. “I’m not a hoarder, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he says.

She smiles. “I wasn’t thinking anything.”

Hugo offers no further explanation for all the stuff lying around. “So you said you needed some help with a case?”

“Yes, my old partner gave me your name. He said you were the best he had ever seen at crash reconstruction.”

Hugo’s smile gets even bigger. It fills up the only empty space in the room. “Percy used to say a lot of things.”

He’s right about that. Percy had been Karen’s first partner after she made detective. He taught her a lot she needed to know and a lot she didn’t. Now retired and living down near San Diego, he had been happy to keep her on the phone for an hour before giving her Hugo’s name.

Karen takes out photographs of Joey Fisher’s car. His case file had a lot of them, and she made copies of everything.

“This is the car that was hit,” she says.

The next photos she takes out of her bag are of Ivy’s car. Two years after it was reported stolen, a child had gone missing near Oxhill Lake. When it was dredged, they didn’t find the child but they did find Ivy’s car. It’s long gone now; all Karen has is the pictures from when they pulled it out of the lake.

“This car was found a couple years later,” she says. “See the damage on the front end?”

“I do.”

Hugo puts on a pair of glasses and leans in close to examine both cars. Suddenly, he stands up and walks out of the room, muttering to himself as he goes. Karen hears a bit of banging as he opens and shuts a few drawers and cabinets.

When Hugo returns, he has a magnifying glass in his hand and he’s smiling again. “This is a real doozy you brought,” he says.

“I know it may not be possible to tell—”

“I didn’t say that. I just need to see these in more detail.”