“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.”
“Yes,” Bianca says. Like it’s totally normal.
Abigail nods and slips the key into her bag.
“So, I wanted to ask you something,” Bianca says. “Do you remember Joey Fisher?” Her voice almost catches on his name. She can’t remember the last time she said it out loud. “He was killed in a hit-and-run about seven years ago.”
“No. I probably wouldn’t have heard about it, though. I grew up in San Francisco.”
“That makes sense. It wasn’t a national case or anything,” Bianca says. She picks up her tablet and wakes up the screen. “Anyway, there’s something else I need to talk to you about. Starting with your Instagram account.”
53
Karen stands across the street, where she has a decent view. The bar called Crisis is one of those overpriced places she has never stepped foot in, but Ivy looks comfortable there.
She is with a group of women from work, and they all have martini glasses in their hands. Ivy smiles and laughs, giving no indication of how miserable she really is. But Karen knows. It’s honestly difficult for her to watch. Between Wes and her new lawyer, Ivy is under so much pressure.
It’s the only explanation for why she turned down the request for an interview. Ivy wants to talk; she just can’t.
Karen can’t stand out on the street all evening. She moves her car into a place that gives her a view of the front door. For the past couple of days, she has been trying to “run into” Ivy in a public setting. Preferably in a place that doesn’t make Karen look like she’s following or waiting for her. Not as easy as it first sounded. Ivy doesn’t go to the grocery store nearly enough.
She does go to Wes’s house, though. That’s where she went last night after work, and two nights ago they met at a restaurant before going back to her place. No surprise that they both declined to be interviewed. He is keeping her close. Abusers always do.
Karen checks her phone and finds a text from her son, a response to one she sent hours ago.
Everything’s good, just working a lot. Call you this weekend.
He is such a good boy. No, he’s a man. And her biggest fear is for Jack to end up in a relationship like her own. Or like Ivy’s.
She puts the phone down and stares at the entrance of Crisis. It’s never easy to figure out the best way to help someone.
Sometimes, all it takes is a threat to the abuser. Other times, it’s something more elaborate. A sting operation to catch them doing something wrong, like cheating, which tends to make them remorseful instead of angry. That makes it easier for their partner to leave. Or disappear, if necessary.
When Karen gets lucky, the abuser has broken the law and she can put them behind bars.
Like Wes.
* * *
—
One hour and twenty minutes after Ivy enters the bar, Karen watches her leave. Ivy’s friends are with her; they laugh and talk while walking to their cars. No opportunity to get her alone on the street.
Karen shouldn’t talk to Ivy at all. She knows this. Once someone has a lawyer, she can’t talk to them without counsel present.
But sometimes you just run into a person. Unavoidable, really. Fair Valley isn’t tiny, but it isn’t a huge city, either. And it would be rude if Karen didn’t say hello.
Ivy may not know it, but all she needs is an outlet. Someone to reach out to, someone to confide in. She obviously has no one. Girlfriends and coworkers, yes, but they’re clearly not that close. Any decent friend would have helped her get away from Wes years ago.
When Ivy pulls into a shopping center and parks in front of a drugstore, Karen pinches herself.
Finally.
She parks on the other side of the lot and enters the store after Ivy. After spending a couple of hours sitting in her dark car, Karen finds the light in the store almost blinding. It takes a second for her eyes to adjust. She makes her way to the center aisle and walks through it.