A Twisted Love Story(64)

When she sees his name on her phone, her heart jumps a little. She hasn’t had a lawyer long enough to know if calls from him are a good thing or a bad thing, but she does know it will cost her a chunk of money.

She pauses her Chinese lesson, closes her office door, and takes the call.

“Ivy Banks,” she says.

“Ms. Banks, this is Stan Mitchell. How are you today?”

“I’m doing well, thank you. And, please, call me Ivy.”

“Yes. Thank you. I called because I received a request from Detective Karen Colglazier. She would like to interview you about an incident that occurred at the Fine Line gentlemen’s club. It happened the same night Joey Fisher was killed.”

Bad. A call from the lawyer is definitely bad. “Interview me,” Ivy repeats.

“That’s correct.”

“What do you think?” she asks.

He responds with a whole paragraph of words she doesn’t understand. Someone needs to make an app that translates lawyerspeak.

Stan doesn’t know what really happened, nor does he want to know. The first thing he told her when they met: Don’t tell me anything unless I ask. She has stuck to his rule and therefore doesn’t say much of anything to him. But she does ask questions.

“What do you suggest?” Ivy asks.

“Well, she says this is just an informal conversation and she’s trying to gather more information. You are not officially a person of interest in the case.”

“Do you believe her?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know her well enough to answer that. This could just be a fishing expedition, or she might have something specific to ask you about,” Stan says. “Difficult to say until we know what she has.”

Ivy wants to know what the evidence is. She doesn’t want to be interviewed.

“My advice is to do the interview,” Stan says. “Let’s hear the questions and see if she really does have new evidence.”

“Do I have to answer all her questions?”

“You don’t have to answer any of them,” he says. “You don’t have to do the interview at all.”

“I don’t have to talk to the police?”

“No. The only time you have to show up is when you get a subpoena. This isn’t one. It’s a request.”

Ivy thinks about this. When Ivy told Karen she’d hired a lawyer, and all communication had to go through him, Karen didn’t sound happy. In fact, she’d sounded pissed off.

Stan said that was normal. Police hate dealing with lawyers.

At the same time, Ivy wants to know what Karen has discovered. Not just for her, but also for Wes.

She weighs the pros and cons of both decisions as her lawyer’s billable time continues to rack up. What she fears more than anything is being blindsided. If Karen asks something Ivy isn’t prepared for, she might say exactly the wrong thing. Or worse, she might get angry.

“I want to decline the interview,” she finally says. “I don’t have anything to say.”



* * *



—

Wes puts the phone down on his desk, faceup. Still waiting for a text from Ivy. Always from Ivy. He knows better than to think she’ll be consistent or reliable, but that doesn’t stop him from hoping.

Self-awareness is such a double-edged sword.

For the past week, they’ve seen each other every night. Together again, just like they’d said. They just don’t talk about the case—not one word—and now Karen wants to interview him. The call from his lawyer came in this morning, a voicemail Wes hasn’t answered yet. He wants to talk to Ivy first.

Finally, in the afternoon, she responds. A phone call, not a text.

“Karen requested an interview,” Ivy says.

“Same.”

“I declined. You?”

“Haven’t answered yet,” he says. “But I’ll do the same.”

“Good. See you later?”

“Of course.”

As Wes ends the call, it occurs to him that he and Ivy are exactly on the same page. For once.



* * *



—

Abigail is perched at the edge of a shabby chair, wearing an outfit the color of a Creamsicle. She seems out of place in Bianca’s apartment. Abigail looks like she should be sitting on a satin chaise. Which is weird, since they’re both assistants. Or they both used to be.

At least Abigail is here. Bianca wasn’t sure she would come at all.

“We’ve all been worried about you,” Abigail says. “But I didn’t know if you wanted to hear from anyone at Siphon.”

“I didn’t expect anyone to come running.”

“Still. No one has any hard feelings,” Abigail says. “Especially not the women.”

Bianca clears her throat, not wanting to discuss all that. “Before I forget,” she says, “there’s something I have to give you.” She jumps up and goes to the shelf that holds her Russian dolls. The key is sitting on it, already taken out. “This belongs to Siphon.”

“A key?”

“I never had a chance to return it.”

Abigail turns the key over in her hand, inspecting it. Her nails are a peachy color that match the suit, with pomegranate-colored tips. “This is a master key.”