Wicked Games (An Ivy Morgan Mystery Book 17)

by Lily Harper Hart

  Brian turned grim at the words. “That’s what I thought. I wanted to be sure, though.”

  Jack remained confused. “Who is Sasha Carmichael?”

  “Her father owns the furniture store,” Ivy volunteered. “That place where we were going to go next week to look for a new couch for the basement. I pointed it out to you because you mentioned we should try to shop local if we could.”

  “Ah.” Jack nodded, remembering. “Right. I know what place you’re talking about.” He switched his gaze to Brian. “Do you know the family?”

  “I do.” Brian was forlorn as he regarded the dead woman. “I was in a weekly poker game with her father for a few years. They’re a good family, tight. They participate in a lot of the festivals and give to local charities.”

  “What do we know about the daughter?” Jack asked. “I mean ... did she hang with a rough crowd?”

  Brian didn’t answer, so Ivy took it upon herself to fill the conversational gap.

  “She was pretty quiet,” Ivy volunteered. “She never got in any trouble. She was ... sweet. I don’t remember her running with a bad crowd.”

  “Well, that means figuring out what happened to her is going to be even more difficult,” Jack said. “We need to get the medical examiner out here ... and then we need to notify her parents. We don’t want word getting back to them before we can be the ones to break the news.”

  “Yeah.” Brian dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone. “I’ll call the medical examiner’s office.”

  “And we’ll go back to work,” Greg said, snapping his fingers to get Ivy’s attention. The move was enough to fire Jack’s fury a second time.

  “She’s not a dog,” Jack groused.

  “She’s working for the county, which puts her under my purview,” Greg countered. “That means I’m the boss in this particular situation. I allowed her to help you. Now she has work to get back to. She’s going to be out here an extra thirty minutes as it is tonight because she took a break to help you guys.”

  Jack balked. “She shouldn’t be punished for that.”

  “Well, she wasn’t working, was she?” Greg flashed a smug smile that made Jack’s blood boil. “Come along, Ms. Morgan. You have a shift to finish up.”

  Jack worked his jaw and Ivy was certain he would say something. She stopped him before he could.

  “It’s fine, Jack. You have work to do. So do I. I’ll be perfectly fine.”

  Jack wasn’t convinced. “I can try to make another call.”

  “No.” Ivy shook her head, firm. “I’m fine. Focus on your work. I’ll see you at home.”

  And just like that, she turned her back on him and disappeared through the trees. Jack could only stare at the spot where she used to be and lament his lot in life.

  “This is the worst.”

  Brian let loose a low chuckle. “You’ll survive.”

  Jack wasn’t sure that was true.

  3

  Three

  Jack was still fuming about Greg’s attitude two hours later when Brian parked his cruiser in front of a pretty two-story colonial on one of Shadow Lake’s quieter streets.

  “I don’t know who he thinks he is,” he groused. “He’s not even a real cop.”

  Brian did his best to bite back a sigh, but it was a failed effort. “What do you want me to say?” The older detective was one complaint away from losing his temper. “He’s a jerk. That doesn’t change the fact that he has control over Ivy for the foreseeable future.”

  Jack’s expression was so dark even a full moon couldn’t brighten it. “Do you have to remind me of that? I want her transferred. She can’t stay working for him.”

  Brian planted his hands on top of the car and pinned his partner with a threatening look. “You can’t go in and ask for special favors for her. Do you have any idea how that will look?”

  “Maybe I don’t care how it looks.”

  “You care.” Brian made a face. “What’s worse is that Ivy cares. She’ll be mortified if you go out of your way to have her transferred. She’s only going to be part of that crew for a few weeks. It’s not as if it’s the end of the world.”

  It felt like the end of the world to Jack. He was frustrated that Ivy had done the right thing — she’d saved a woman’s life, for crying out loud — and she was being punished for it. “She should’ve been let off with a slap on the wrist.”

  “She was let off with a slap on the wrist,” Brian argued. “Anyone else under the same circumstances would’ve gotten jail time and you know it.”

  Jack cringed at the pointed look his partner shot him. It was only because of Brian that Ivy hadn’t gotten at least a weekend in jail. He knew the judge and called in a favor — although they weren’t exactly spreading that information around — and that resulted in Ivy getting community service and a chance for her record to be expunged in five years. In the grand scheme of things, she’d gotten off with a light sentence.

  That didn’t mean Jack wasn’t still wound up. “Do you think he’s hitting on her?”

  The swift conversational shift threw Brian for a loop. “I don’t know. Did she say something? Did she let something slip when I wasn’t looking?”

  “I couldn’t talk to her. He wouldn’t let me.”

  “That’s probably because none of his other charges are allowed to talk to their significant others on the job. Ivy is going to have it hard enough with those folks now that they know she’s engaged to a cop as it is.”

  Jack stilled halfway up the sidewalk that led to the house. “I ... you ... what do you mean?”

  He looked legitimately bamboozled, to the point where Brian took pity on him. “You heard that woman when we arrived. She said Ivy left something out of the story when she told them about being engaged. That something was the fact that you’re a cop.”

  “But ... it’s a noble profession.”

  “Not to people who are serving time ... or picking up trash along the highway.” Brian folded his arms across his chest and pinned his partner with a pointed look. “You can’t fix this for her. I know you want to. You want to be her savior. This is out of your hands, though. And, for once, no good can come of Ivy bragging you up. She’s better if she keeps your relationship on the down low.”

  Jack was officially horrified, and only partially because he recognized his partner was right. “Oh, man. I’ve made things worse for her.”

  “You have.”

  “Ugh.” Briefly, Jack pressed his eyes shut and tilted his chin to the sky, as if asking a higher power to rain hellfire and damnation down upon him. “Maybe I should pick up a nice dinner and bring it home to make her feel better.”

  That nudged a smile out of Brian. “You were going to do that anyway. You know she’s going to be exhausted after a day spent out in the sun picking up garbage.”

  “My poor Ivy.” Jack was morose. “This just doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Life isn’t fair.” Brian resumed his walk to the front door. “I’m sure you’ll both realize that again when she comes home smelling like sweat and garbage.”

  Jack groaned. “You just paint such a rosy picture of life sometimes.”

  “You’ll get over it.” Brian briskly rapped on the door and waited. This was his least favorite part of the job. It had to be done, though.

  The man who opened the door was a familiar face. Brian had been friendly with Stanley Carmichael for years. Now, standing on the man’s front porch, about to tell him the worst news ever, Brian realized that every memory Stanley had of him would now be tainted because he was bringing news of Sasha’s death.

  “Brian?” Stanley’s eyebrows, which were more gray now than black, knit together. “This is a surprise. I ... were you just in the neighborhood?”

  “No, Stanley.” Jack braced himself for the emotional onslaught he knew was to come. “I need to talk to you and Maryann. Is she here?”

  “I ... Maryann.” Confusion was etched across Stanley’s face. “You’re not here because you
suspect she did anything, are you? I can guarantee that whatever you think she did ... .” He switched gears almost instantaneously. “It was Phyllis Dorchester down at the community center, wasn’t it? She’s convinced Maryann stole her knitting needles, but I swear she didn’t.”

  Pity overwhelmed Brian. At his heart, he knew Stanley recognized that two detectives weren’t darkening his doorstep over misplaced knitting needles. The man was hoping for something — anything really — to ease the pounding of his heart, and the fear encroaching on his brain.

  “We’re not here about knitting needles,” Brian reassured him. “We’re not here about Phyllis either. We’re here about Sasha.”

  Stanley’s face contorted, but he managed to recover. “She doesn’t live here any longer. I mean, her mother kept her room for her, but she has an apartment. She hangs out with friends. We only see her once or twice a week.”

  “I know that.” Brian’s voice was soft. “Stan, I have some bad news for you.”

  Stanley was already shaking his head. He could tell where the conversation was going and he didn’t want any part of it. “No. She’s fine. She’s at work or something. I can call her cell phone.” He turned and walked back into the house, his gaze bouncing around as if he was searching for something specific. “I just need to find my phone so I can call her.”

  “Stan ... .” Brian was at a loss.

  “It’s weird, isn’t it?” Stanley continued as if he hadn’t heard Brian say his name. “Back when we were younger men, you had to memorize phone numbers if you wanted to call someone. Write them down or something. Now they’re programmed right into the phones so you don’t have to remember anything.”

  “Stanley, we just came from the woods by Twin Elms,” Brian started. “We were called there because a road crew found something in the woods.”

  “There would be no need for Sasha to be out by Twin Elms.” Stanley almost looked triumphant when he raised his head. “She never hung out there. She hated golf, and only people who golf hang out there.”

  “She wasn’t on the golf course, just in the general vicinity of the golf course,” Brian explained. “We’re not a hundred percent sure what happened at this point. She was about seventy feet from the main road. We think she might’ve been hit by a car.”

  “But ... no.” Stanley vehemently shook his head. “How would she get hit by a car out there?”

  “We don’t know. We’re trying to gather some information.” Sensing that Stanley wouldn’t be able to hold it together very long, Brian got right to the heart of matters. “Was she seeing anyone? Was she dating anyone specific?”

  “You think she was killed on purpose, don’t you?” Stanley was aghast.

  “We honestly don’t know,” Brian replied hurriedly. “It’s possible it was some sort of tragic accident. We need more information from the medical examiner. Anything you could tell us about what she might’ve been doing out there would be greatly appreciated, though.”

  “I already told you she had no reason to be out there,” Stanley choked out, his voice breaking. “She hated golf. I ... don’t understand any of this.” His hands flew up to cover his eyes. “Maryann is upstairs. How am I supposed to tell her this?”

  “I’ll tell her,” Brian automatically volunteered. “It’s my job. You don’t have to do it.”

  “No, it’s my job.” Stanley’s eyes were damp with tears when he raised them again. “My baby can’t be gone.”

  “I’m so sorry, Stan.”

  “I just ... this is wrong.” His legs were shaky as he moved toward the stairs. “I need to talk to Maryann. I ... we need to deal with this. Where is Sasha now?” He swallowed hard when he realized what he’d asked. “I mean … where is her body?”

  “She’s at the county medical examiner’s office,” Brian replied. “I can make arrangements so you can see her.”

  “Yeah. We need to see her.” Stanley’s knuckles were white as he gripped the railing. “You’re absolutely sure it’s her, right? There’s no room for a mistake, is there?”

  “I’m sorry, Stan. I’m sure it’s her.”

  “I guess that was too much to wish for.” He took two steps and then slowed. “She had a boyfriend. She never told us his name. She said Maryann was a busybody and she didn’t want her digging into her private business. I don’t know who it was, but they’d been dating for a few weeks. That’s all I can tell you.”

  “That’s okay,” Brian said. “We’ll let ourselves out. We’ll also be in touch with regular updates.”

  “Thanks for that. I guess.”

  JACK’S MUSCLES ACHED FROM A LONG day of work when he let himself into the cottage he and Ivy shared shortly after six o’clock. He’d texted to tell her he would bring home dinner, but he was a good twenty minutes later than he’d promised.

  “Ivy?” He cocked his head to listen for familiar sounds but came up empty. He dropped the food on the counter and headed down the hallway. He knew she was home because her car was in the driveway. So where did she go?

  Their bedroom was empty except for Nicodemus, the ridiculously spoiled cat Ivy had rescued from a dumpster years before. The cat loved Ivy to distraction, but Jack was convinced he was trying to smother him in his sleep, a notion Ivy laughed at while dismissing any suggestion that her fur baby was anything other than perfect.

  “Ivy?” He pushed open the bathroom door, which wasn’t latched, and found his beloved scrubbing herself in the bathtub. She didn’t even look up. “Are you okay?”

  “I smell like garbage.” She poured more body wash into her hand and rubbed it under her arms. “Like ... real garbage. You would think I was rolling around in a landfill all day or something.”

  “I’m sure you’re exaggerating.” Jack leaned in to give her a kiss and made a face. “Or maybe not.” He pulled back before his lips could land. “Seriously, what is that smell?”

  “It’s me!” Ivy’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “I smell, Jack. Apparently that’s part of the package when you’re a criminal or something. Betsy told me I would smell halfway through our shift and I thought she was exaggerating. She was right, though.”

  Rather than give her privacy, or leave her to dark thoughts, Jack lowered himself to the floor. He rested his back against the sink cabinets and watched her scrub the body wash into her skin. “Who is Betsy?”

  “She’s the older woman who was there. She grew too many pot plants and got in trouble.”

  Jack’s eyebrows hopped. “How many pot plants is too many?”

  “Four. Well, four extra, so however many that is.”

  “Oh, well, that’s not as bad as I was imagining. Although ... I thought I told you not to ask what everybody was there for. You could get in trouble if you tick off the wrong person.”

  Ivy stopped what she was doing long enough to meet his gaze. Her eyes were blue, like a beautiful ocean, and there were times Jack wanted to lose himself in them. “I think that’s an old wives’ tale or something. Everybody there was pretty open about what they did.”

  “Oh, yeah? What did they do?”

  “You’re not asking because you’re going to worry, are you?”

  “I’m asking because we’re making conversation after a long, hard day. People who are married share the mundane details of their lives with one another. I plan to tell you about my day, too.”

  “Sasha?”

  “Finish telling me about your day first,” he instructed. “I want to hear all of it.”

  Because she knew he was telling the truth, Ivy laid it all out for him. Once she was finished washing the stench from her hair, she hit the drain. Jack was already standing and had a towel open for her when she stepped out of the tub.

  “I think they’re basically a good group of people who made a few mistakes,” Ivy said as Jack grabbed a second towel to rub over her hair. “I kind of like them. Well, most of them.”

  “I’m glad.” He leaned in and gave her a soft kiss. “I still wish you didn’t have to go through th
is.”

  “We both wish that, but whining about it is going to do neither of us any good. I just need to get through it now. Honestly, things could be a lot worse.”

  “That Greg guy is a douche,” Jack argued, his eyes flashing with distaste. “I don’t like the way he treated you.”

  “Honestly, he only did that in front of you.” Ivy moved into the bedroom and surveyed her closet. “I’m thinking I might just eat in my robe. Are you okay with that?”

  “Am I okay with you being comfortable for dinner? Um, yeah, I think I can manage.”

  “Good. My feet hurt.” Ivy sent him a rueful smile as she shrugged into her plush robe. “I’m thinking I might make you rub them before bed.”

  “Absolutely.” He slung his arm around her shoulders as they walked toward the kitchen. “Honey, I really am sorry about this.” He knew he shouldn’t feel guilty, but he couldn’t stop himself. He was supposed to protect her and there wasn’t a single thing he could do to get her out of this.

  “Jack, it’s not your fault,” she said on a sigh. “I should’ve called you and told you what I saw instead of breaking into Lucy Thompson’s house. Once that happened, things were out of your hands if you wanted to keep your case clean. Honestly, it’s not that bad.”

  Jack didn’t believe her. She was trying to protect him, something he both loved and hated. “You’re hanging out with a pot maven.”

  Ivy snorted as she got settled at the table and Jack retrieved their food. He doled it out — he’d made sure to get extra servings of cake and pie for dessert so she could indulge — and then got comfortable next to her. “She’s hardly a pot maven, although I think she likes to smoke quite a bit. It’s not as if she was selling it ... at least I don’t think. It was all for personal use.”

  “I’m not sure that makes me feel better.”

  “It’s fine.” Ivy waved off his concern and happily inhaled the scent of her favorite stir fry. “Oh, you had them add the tomatoes,” she enthused, grinning.

  “My girl only gets the best,” he said, digging into his own burger. “I also got an extra order of onion rings in case you wanted comfort food.”