A Twisted Love Story(58)

He’s back in town, saying God knows what to Ivy. Telling her to ignore him, to stay away. To leave in the middle of the night. Heath tries to get into her head, and sometimes it works.

In the beginning, Wes got along with him. Heath seemed okay, like he just wanted the best for Ivy. That was when they were still in college and lived several hours away from each other, and neither Wes nor Ivy saw him very often. Things changed when Heath moved to Fair Valley.

The first thing Wes noticed is that they never did anything together. Not dinner or drinks or even a movie. Ivy saw Heath. Wes and Ivy did not.

It was weird, and it got weirder when Wes ran into him one night. At a bowling alley, of all places.

Wes and Ivy had broken up, again, and they had been apart for about a month. Wes wasn’t bowling with a date, though. He was with his colleagues, attending what Tanner had called a team-building event.

Heath had been on a date. A gorgeous woman with long dark hair and the body of a swimsuit model. The kind of woman Wes normally went out of his way to avoid. Heath brought her over and introduced her. The three of them talked for a minute about the usual things—where they worked, who they knew—before Heath’s date excused herself to go to the restroom.

Heath did not leave. He stayed right by Wes’s side.

“So,” Heath said, “Ivy told me you two broke up.”

“Yeah. We did.”

Heath nodded, pausing to watch someone bowl in front of them. Gutter ball. “She said it’s for good this time.”

Wes said nothing. Maybe Ivy did say that. But only out of anger, because it wasn’t true. At least, he didn’t believe it.

He also knew better than to argue with Ivy’s best friend. One-way ticket to trouble.

Instead, he tried to change the subject, motioning in the direction Heath’s date had gone. “And what about you? Are things getting serious with her?”

Heath ignored the question. “Leave Ivy alone.”

Now Wes had to say something. No choice, not even a question. “What happens between me and Ivy is our business,” he said. “Not anyone else’s. Including you.”

“I’m looking out for her,” Heath said. “You aren’t good for Ivy.”

“She can decide for herself who’s good for her.” In Wes’s mind, Heath was definitely not. “She makes her own decisions.”

Heath’s date returned, ending the conversation. Wes never told Ivy about it, because he wasn’t about to get in the middle of their lifelong friendship. But he also never forgot it.



* * *



—

When Karen gets the call, she pinches herself. Literally.

She started doing it long ago, in the early days of her relationship, when it was so good it felt like a dream. A couple of years later, she did it again, trying to wake herself up from the nightmare.

Now she pinches herself as a reminder of how far she has come. That, yes, this is her life, she is doing the right thing, and she is helping others.

Because Karen has been assigned to the Fisher case. Officially.

She can finally spend her days doing what she has spent so many nights doing: solving a case that’s crying for justice.

And getting Wes Harmon away from Ivy.

She starts by pulling up her lists, adding everything that needs to be done now that she’s authorized to access police resources. She makes a flurry of calls. One of them is someone Karen has been targeting for a while: Coral St. James.

She gets lucky when Coral picks up the phone. That’s the kind of day Karen is having. A lucky one.

“I’m investigating a case from several years ago. Perhaps you remember Joey Fisher?” she says. “The young man killed while sleeping in his—”

“I remember.” Coral’s voice is softer than Karen expected. She almost sounds sad.

“I’m looking into a possible connection to the Fine Line gentlemen’s club. Do you mind if I come by and ask you a few questions? Given your position at the club, I thought you might have a unique insight into some of the employees.” Karen is careful not to call them girls. Coral was the backstage manager, according to the bankruptcy filing. The Fine Line had owed her a good deal of money.

After a long pause, Coral agrees.

Another pinch. Karen can’t help it.





48




Coral St. James lives in a quiet neighborhood, the kind with basketball hoops above garage doors, well-kept lawns, and CAUTION: CHILD-AT-PLAY signs on the sidewalk. A Ring camera lets Coral know Karen has arrived.

She looks about forty, wearing leggings and a big T-shirt with a small stain on the front. No makeup, and her hair is no longer red, it’s black and slicked into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. A small boy peeks out from behind her long legs. Coral looks exactly like what she is: a woman who has two young children and is married to a dentist.

But for five years, she worked as the backstage manager at the Fine Line. Before that, she had been a dancer at a club in Sacramento.

“Come on in,” Coral says, opening the door wider.

Karen follows her down a hallway and into the kitchen. The child, a boy of about four, stays by his mother’s side but looks back at Karen as they walk.

“Have a seat.” Coral points to the table. “I’m making coffee.”