“Stalking can get out of hand very quickly. I always take it seriously.”
Ivy nods, keeping her face blank.
“I spoke to Wes Harmon last week,” Karen says. “He denied leaving you any gifts or notes. But I assume, since I haven’t heard from you, that you haven’t received anything new?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“And have you heard from Wes?” Karen looks at her hard, like she’s daring Ivy to lie.
“I did,” Ivy says. “Wes contacted me after you spoke to him. He wanted to make it clear that he wasn’t stalking me.”
“Do you believe him?”
Ivy pauses for a beat, like she has to think about it. Which she does. “I’m just glad it’s stopped. And I can get back to living my life without being afraid all the time.”
She smiles. Karen does not.
14
Bianca hovers by the break room on the fourth floor, one above where she should be. This is the second time today she’s been up here but, so far, still no sign of Abigail Wright.
In theory, Bianca could just call her. They work at the same company, and Abigail had Bianca’s job before being promoted to the CEO’s executive assistant, so Bianca could come up with a good reason to contact her.
Amateur move.
That is not how you get information. That’s how you get caught trying to snoop.
Today she spends all of her breaks up on the fourth floor, hoping to spontaneously bump into Abigail. When it doesn’t work, again, she goes back down to her desk. There’s always another way.
After work, Bianca moves her car as close to the front door as she can get. Easier now that the day is over. She sits in the driver’s seat, scrolling through her phone while she waits. It gives her a chance to review what she’s learned.
Ivy Banks, thirty years old, lives at 2212 Parkhaven, Apt. 1F. She’s a graduate of UC Davis and employed at Amalgamated Services, Inc.
That isn’t all she knows about Ivy Banks. She knows who Ivy’s friends are, what kind of car she drives, who she follows online, and whose posts she likes. Social media makes this too easy.
A few things stand out. First, not a single connection to Joey Fisher.
Second, Ivy is fairly active on Instagram, posting at least once a week and sometimes twice. Wes follows her. But even though he spent the night at her place and forgot his phone in the morning, Ivy doesn’t follow him.
Curious. Bordering on weird. Especially considering they’re a couple. Or were a couple. Hard to tell, actually. Ivy’s posts aren’t exactly clear about their status these days, but they’ve known each other a long time. At least seven years.
Information. To make sense of all this, Bianca needs a lot more of it.
She glances up at her rearview mirror. Abigail Wright is a hard woman to miss. Very tall, very thin, with red hair and a perfectly symmetrical face. A lot of men tell her she should be a model. She responds by walking away from them.
When Abigail exits the building, Bianca gets out of her car, goes around to the back, and opens the trunk. She waves to Abigail while pretending to look for something.
Abigail, always polite, calls out to her. “How are you these days?”
“Doing well, thanks. How’s life on the executive floor?”
“Busy.” Abigail stops beside her. “Is your car okay?”
“Oh, it’s fine. I thought I threw my gym bag in here this morning, but it looks like I forgot.” Bianca turns away from the trunk and faces Abigail. She has to look up, that’s how tall Abigail is. Especially in heels, which she always wears. “Hey, I’m glad I ran into you. I have a question.”
Abigail pauses before answering. “About Tanner?”
“No, one of the reps. Wes Harmon.”
“Wes? What about him?”
“I’m just wondering if there’s anything I should be aware of.” Bianca leaves her question as open as possible, giving Abigail an opportunity to say just about anything.
“Hard worker, handles his business,” she says. “He was one of the easier reps when I was there.”
Bianca keeps quiet, waiting to see if Abigail will say more. She does not.
“Why?” Abigail says. She stands perfectly still, like she’s posing for a picture. “Did something happen?”
“Not really.” Bianca shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Well, his personal life—not that I know anything about it—but it sort of came up in the office. Seemed a little . . . odd, I suppose.”
“Ah.” Abigail glances back at the office, smiling at someone walking to their car. “Wes never said too much about it. He was always very professional.” Her lips contract, pursing into a tight bow. “The only thing I remember is Ivy.”
“Ivy?”
“She’s a problem.”
* * *
—
I’ve got a client thing tonight, but I’m free tomorrow. Dinner?
Maxwell’s?
Perfect.
Ivy smiles as she makes a reservation online. Maxwell’s has always been one of their favorites, a place that holds a lot of good memories and not a single bad one.
It also distracts her from thinking about the detective for a minute. Fair Valley obviously doesn’t have enough crime, because Karen is spending entirely too much time on Ivy and Wes. Ridiculous, because Ivy hears about crime every day in the news. Karen has no business looking into a situation that’s already over.
And the longer their conversation at the office had continued, the more Ivy realized she had made a huge mistake by going to the police.
“After meeting with Wes,” Karen had said, “I did a little digging into your relationship.”
“Digging?” Ivy said.
“Eight years ago, Wes called 911. He accused you of vandalizing his car.” Karen scrolled through her phone, reading the details out loud. “Broken windshield, slashed tires, and the rearview mirror was destroyed.”
“Then you also must have seen that no charges were ever filed. A number of cars were vandalized in our neighborhood,” Ivy said.
“I did see that. I just thought it was odd Wes immediately named you as the one who did it. He believed you were capable of that kind of violence.”
“Wrongly believed,” Ivy said. “We had been fighting at the time. I guess that’s why he thought it was me.”
Or maybe because he had watched her do it.
Ivy had thought of this possibility—that Karen would find that report. Ivy knew there was a record of it somewhere in their system. But she also knew it would be easy to dismiss it as a mistake.
“Wes recanted his statement,” Ivy said. “He was angry at me for something else, and he made a mistake.”
“Yes, I saw that, as well,” Karen said.
Ivy assumed this would be the end of their conversation about the past. It was not.
15
Ivy heads into the dressing room with at least a dozen outfits. She has to split them up—only six allowed at a time!—but she is a firm believer in trying things on. Even if you don’t love it on the hanger, you might love it on your body. Fact.
Not that she needs a new dress for dinner at Maxwell’s. She has a least a dozen that Wes hasn’t seen, all bought over the past year, but there’s nothing like a new dress to make a date special.