Shadowing Ivy

by Janelle Taylor

  “I’m serious, though, Griffin,” she said. “Sex, whatever it means, will complicate things here. And things are complicated enough.”

  “Agreed,” he said, pulling on a black T-shirt over that incredible chest. “How about I make us some coffee?”

  “Great idea,” she said. “And then we can discuss what we’ll do next.”

  “We?” he asked on the way to the kitchen.

  “We,” she repeated. “Are we going to see Laura Frozier?”

  “Ivy, I am going to investigate the murder of Jennifer Lexington. I have an appointment to question Laura later today at five o’clock. I’m not sure if your presence will get Laura talking or enrage her. We don’t know how she’s going to react.”

  She followed him into the kitchen. “But you allowed me to accompany you to question Mara Lexington.”

  “This is different. Laura is romantically involved with Declan. She may not take kindly to meeting you. Mara Lexington was a murder victim’s sister. To her you represent someone who can help find Declan.”

  “I know, but—”

  “But we want Laura to talk, not clam up, Ivy. And, you’re here in the first place because I want to keep you safe. Not because you’re a New York City homicide detective. You’re not on the job here, Ivy.”

  “Well, I’m not on my honeymoon, either,” Ivy retorted, watching as he calmly set about brewing a pot of coffee. He was infuriating. “Griffin, I’m not about to sit around when I can be of service. Remember, I know Declan.”

  He turned and stared at her for a moment. “No, Ivy. You don’t.”

  Bastard. But it was true. Who was she kidding? She didn’t know Declan McLean. Not at all.

  “Look, I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did, Griffin. You did mean to make me face up to the truth. Never a bad thing. A hard thing, though.” Idiot, idiot, idiot, she berated herself. “Anyway, what I really think is that I need to get dressed. I’m sort of at a disadvantage with a throw wrapped around me.”

  He nodded, and she escaped into the guest room. She shut the door and locked it and leaned against the back of the door, taking a long, deep breath. Her mind was whirling in so many different directions that she sat down on the bed and forced herself to think of anything but Griffin, anything but Declan. Anything but multiple fiancées. And murder.

  She glanced around the room, which was nicely furnished. The bed was covered in a sage down comforter that looked remarkably inviting. There was a wood bureau with a round mirror and a bookcase full of hardcover and paperbacks, from classics to best-sellers.

  Ivy stood and walked to the window, which faced the row of brownstones across the street. She twisted the wooden blinds and looked out at the glittering city. People strolled on the sidewalk, despite the cold weather. A woman walked a beagle. A couple stood kissing under an awning. Everything seemed so normal out there. But it wasn’t.

  Declan, where are you hiding? she wondered. And what are you trying to do? She still couldn’t figure it out. He had been moments away from marrying her, when it was ninety-nine percent certain that she would inherit nothing. And how had he been planning to juggle so many wives, anyway?

  Perhaps the same way he’d juggled fiancées and girlfriends. She hadn’t suspected a thing.

  “Ivy?” Griffin called from the other side of the door.

  She wasn’t quite ready to face him. She wasn’t even dressed.

  She walked back over to the bed and opened her suitcase, removing a pair of comfortable jeans and a cream-colored sweater. Considering that her underwear and bra were buried somewhere in Griffin’s couch, she grabbed fresh undergarments and got dressed.

  What she needed right now was her best friend. She was desperate to talk to Alanna, tell her everything, get her perspective. Tonight, she’d ask Alanna to meet her in Manhattan for coffee. If Griffin gave her a hard time about her safety, she’d remind him that Alanna had a gun and knew how to use it.

  Ivy glanced in the mirror and again was struck by how ... alive she looked. She brought her fingers to her lips, tracing the imprint of Griffin’s lips. A tingly heat warmed every inch of her body.

  “Ivy? Are you all right?”

  Even his voice did strange things to her nerve endings.

  She hurried to the door and opened it, and there he stood, all six feet plus of him, his thick, dark hair tousled by her own fingers.

  “Your coffee awaits,” he said.

  She followed him into the dining room, where two mugs of coffee, milk, and sugar rested on the table.

  He sat and flipped open his pad, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’d like to ask you some questions about the people in your life, peripheral and otherwise, who might have been seduced by Declan.”

  She froze, her own cup of coffee midway to her mouth. “Seduced by Declan? What?”

  “Ivy, I think we should explore the possibility that Declan may have been romancing someone you know. A friend, even one of your sisters.”

  She shot up. “How dare you? Are you telling me I don’t know my own friends?”

  “I’m just saying that Declan may have gotten to someone in your life—even an acquaintance. Like the receptionist at the Applewood precinct.”

  Mary Beal flashed into Ivy’s mind. Barely twenty-one, Mary was a part-time student at a local community college. She was on the plain side, shy, and wasn’t dating anyone, as far as Ivy knew.

  “And Declan is romancing Mary because?”

  “Access,” Griffin said. “Passwords into the computer system, for example.”

  “So, every day when I walked into the precinct for work, I said a cheery hello to the woman who was having an affair with my fiancé. Is that what you’re suggesting? That Declan and Mary made a complete fool of me without my knowledge?”

  He laid his hand over hers. “It’s possible, Ivy. That’s what I’m suggesting. Someone left you that threatening message on your bedroom mirror. Maybe Declan. Maybe a partner of his. Maybe someone close to you.”

  Tears came to Ivy’s eyes and she blinked them back hard. “I hate this. I hate all of this. Damn it, I’m supposed to be the smart one, you know? The Sedgwick sister who didn’t get the gorgeous looks like Olivia or the amazing body like Amanda. I got the brains. And a good heart. And what was the damn point?”

  “Ivy,” Griffin said, “you were conned by the best.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel better. I should have known. I should have sensed something was off. God, was I that desperate for love? For—” She stopped, aware that she was actually speaking out loud, actually telling Griffin all this. The man she’d just made love to. No, correction: the man with whom she’d had sex.

  “I’ve said this before, Ivy. Declan may well have loved you. If your father was disinheriting you, Declan wasn’t marrying you for your money.”

  “Great. A lying, cheating, murdering con man loved me.” Ivy buried her face in her hands.

  “We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Griffin said. “I promise you that.”

  Ivy uncovered her face. “You said we. We.”

  “We,” he repeated. “You’re a cop and you’re in this deep. I need your help to find Declan.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  “But it’s going to mean accepting some things you don’t like. Such as the receptionist being a double-crosser. Or someone else in your life.”

  “Like?”

  “Like your friend and fellow officer, Alanna Moore. Like any of the female officers at the Applewood PD. Con men have their worker bees all over the place, Ivy. They do favors for people and call them in. Or, if they’re very good-looking and even better liars, they romance their helpers.”

  “I’m planning to meet Alanna, my best friend and a good cop, for coffee later,” she said. “I’m going to talk to her like the best friend that she is.”

  Griffin shook his head. “That’s a mistake. You should talk to her like a cop, Ivy. She could have fallen prey to Declan.”

  Ivy rolle
d her eyes. “Alanna is engaged to be married,” she reminded Griffin. “She’s madly in love. And she’s a terrific, honest person. She would never betray me.”

  “I don’t think you can honestly say that, Ivy. About anyone.”

  “So there’s no such thing as trust. As faith?”

  He glanced away for a moment. “There is, of course. But with the ability to accept that people aren’t perfect.”

  “That’s just cynicism, Griffin.”

  “It’s reality.”

  Ivy shrugged. “I know about reality. I was raised by reality. And apparently so were you.”

  He nodded. “Fair enough. But do you think you’ll be able to keep an open mind when you see Alanna—when you speak to anyone in your life?”

  An open mind about her best friend or the kind, Applewood PD receptionist being her ex-fiancé’s evil lover? Ivy doubted she could be that open-minded. But she would be more careful from now on. Of everyone and everything. Especially Griffin Fargo.

  Chapter Nine

  At three o’clock, Ivy sat along the counter at the large windows in a midtown Starbucks, aware that Griffin was somewhere nearby, watching. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d planted a bug on her to eavesdrop. If he truly thought that Alanna could be working with Declan, there was no way he’d leave Ivy alone with Alanna, even in a public place like Starbucks. There was such a thing as drugging someone’s latte and pretending to help them outside to a waiting car that would lead them to a lonely stretch of road in the woods.

  Ivy hadn’t come to that nugget of wisdom herself, of course. That was Griffin’s contribution. And so he was somewhere nearby. Watching. Maybe listening. Which meant she couldn’t exactly talk about him. Griffin. And what had unexpectedly happened earlier this afternoon in his living room. On his couch, for heaven’s sake.

  Then again, Griffin had also cautioned her to be natural. To be herself. To share what she’d always share with Alanna. Which at this point, was everything. She could even mention what Jennifer Lexington’s sister had shared. After all, it was nothing that Jennifer herself hadn’t shared with Declan. It wouldn’t be news. And if Alanna were in cahoots with Declan, and it were news, well then, it just might lead to some interesting developments.

  Ivy felt an incredible sense of relief as she saw Alanna walking up the street toward Starbucks. Alanna, her pace quick, her expression worried, hurriedly entered the café, and Ivy waved. Alanna rushed over and hugged Ivy, and all Ivy could think about for a moment was the first time Alanna had hugged Ivy, in eighth grade, when Alanna had moved to New Jersey from somewhere in Ohio. Alanna, who’d been so pretty at thirteen, but with thick glasses, and so thin and tall, towering above her male classmates, was a bit awkward and shy then, and she’d gravitated toward another awkward, shy girl in several of her classes, Ivy. During Alanna’s first week at school, in English class, before the teacher came in, a few popular girls were rating the girls in the class, and they loudly declared Ivy and the “Stringbean” a negative two. There’d been laughter. After class, Ivy had apologized to Alanna; if Ivy hadn’t befriended Alanna, Alanna might have a chance at popularity and an actual decent time in middle school. Alanna had hugged Ivy and insisted she’d rather have one good friend than a bunch of fake ones.

  That was the first of many instances in which Alanna had shown Ivy just what a good friend she was. How true-blue she was. After middle school, there’d been high school and then college and the police academy. Together. There was no way Alanna was remotely connected to Declan.

  “I’ve been so worried about you,” Alanna said. She took off her scarf and coat. “Are you all right? What’s going on?”

  Ivy offered a rueful smile. “I need a latte first. I’m okay, though. Really.”

  Alanna searched Ivy’s face. “You sure?”

  Ivy nodded, and the two friends headed to the counter to order lattes and one brownie to split.

  “What in the world is going on?” Alanna asked. “Was Declan in some kind of trouble?”

  “Apparently, Declan was leading a double life. Possibly a triple life. For all I know, a quadruple life. He had at least one other fiancée, with whom he lived, and she was found murdered the morning of our wedding. Detective Fargo is investigating the murder.” Oh, and I slept with him. And it was amazing.

  “Ah,” Alanna said. “But how did Declan recognize Fargo as a cop? Had Declan been in trouble with the law?”

  Huh? Am I not supposed to reveal the familial connection between Griffin and Declan? She supposed there was no reason not to. “Declan is Detective Fargo’s half brother,” Ivy said. “The minute Declan saw him in the pews, he knew that the police were on to him.”

  “Ivy, I’m so sorry,” Alanna said, taking Ivy’s hand. “I know how much you loved Declan.”

  Ivy wrapped her hands around her latte, the warmth warding off the chill that crept up her spine. “It’s as if someone—Declan, actually—poured a bucket of cold water on anything resembling emotion for him. The feeling is gone, for him, at least. How could I be in love with someone who didn’t exist? Declan McLean wasn’t real.”

  Alanna nodded, her expression hardening. “That bastard.”

  “You know what hurts the most, Alanna? That I’m not good at what I do, what I love: being a cop. How could I ever hope to make it as a detective when I couldn’t tell that my own fiancé was a con artist?”

  “Ivy, you can’t think that way. You had no reason to suspect Declan. My God, he was practically handpicked by your mother. He came with a seal of approval.”

  Alanna was right. Ivy had almost forgotten that. Her mother would be thinking about that. Ivy would call her later, reassure her that she was okay. And that she should pay Madame Elena double.

  “Ivy, I also wanted to let you know that if the idea of being in a wedding or having anything to do with a wedding makes you want to throw up, I understand. I’ll postpone the date.”

  “Oh, Alanna,” Ivy said, throwing her arms around her friend. The woman was willing to postpone her own wedding to make Ivy feel better. That was friendship.

  “You will do no such thing,” Ivy said. “I can’t wait to be your maid of honor. And I can’t wait for my dress fitting and your shower and the wedding itself. Weddings are about love, and it’ll make me very happy to celebrate yours.”

  “If you’re sure,” Alanna said, tears in her brown eyes. “I mean, I was so upset when I thought that fortune teller was talking about my wedding. But I never wanted it to be your wedding that wasn’t going to happen.”

  Ivy smiled. “Then again, thank God it didn’t. Can you imagine if Griffin had come fifteen minutes later? I would have married Declan.”

  “Maybe you should pay Madame Fortune Teller a visit,” Alanna suggested. “Who knows what else she may be able to tell you?”

  “She said she could only see into the past, though,” Ivy pointed out.

  “Whatever that means,” Alanna said. “Whose past? Whose past did she see when she looked at all of us? How could she see Declan’s past?”

  “Maybe she felt his womanizing, lying, cheating spirit or something,” Ivy said.

  On that somewhat lighter note, the two friends parted. Alanna had to hurry back to Applewood to meet her fiancé’s parents to choose between salmon or swordfish for the fish entrée at the reception. And Ivy had a girlfriend of Declan’s to meet.

  She waited for a moment for Griffin to jump out from behind a ficus tree, but he didn’t. When Ivy left Starbucks, however, he appeared at the door.

  At least Ivy knew she’d been right about another thing: Griffin would always be watching. It was both comforting and discomforting.

  Laura Frozier lived on the Upper East Side in her parents’ town house. The Froziers were on safari at the moment, yet a household staff attended to Miss Frozier’s every desire and whim. There was a butler and a housekeeper. And the personal assistant, who met Griffin and Ivy in a formal sitting room. Miss Frozier would be with them shortly, they were assured.


  “Shortly” was practically twenty minutes. Griffin did not like to be kept waiting.

  “I am so very sorry!” trilled an attractive young woman as she entered the room. She was flashier than she was truly attractive. “I was getting a massage in our spa room. I am so stressed!”

  “Oh?” Griffin asked. “Is there something in particular that’s causing you stress?”

  “Try my fiancé was totally cheating on me,” Laura said, flipping her long blond hair behind her shoulders.

  Meet fiancé number three, Griffin thought, mentally shaking his head.

  “I was taking a little catnap when all of a sudden, my phone rings, and it’s some crazy woman screeching in my ear that her sister caught her fiancé kissing me in a bar and now her sister is dead. I mean, I didn’t even know what the hell she was talking about! And then I get a text from Devin—that’s my fiancé—telling me that ‘it’s all lies and not to worry,’ and I have no idea what he’s talking about, either.”

  “Is this your fiancé?” Griffin asked, holding up a picture of Declan.

  “Yes, that’s Devin.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Griffin and Ivy had gotten an earful from Laura about her wonderful fiancé, Devin McDoren, an investment banker on Wall Street. Right. They’d been engaged for two weeks. They’d been dating for four weeks. Laura had kept the engagement a secret from her parents, since they’d surely “freak” about the short period of time she’d known him. That had been Devin’s suggestion. He wanted time for her parents to get to know him and love him.

  Right again.

  Another fifteen minutes later, and Laura Frozier got an earful about how not wonderful her fiancé was. She was sobbing uncontrollably, except to mention that she had to call her guru for an immediate meditation session. And her therapist.

  “Laura, may I ask you a personal question?” Ivy said as she and Griffin began putting on their coats. At Laura’s tearful nod, Ivy asked, “What made you fall in love with Devin so quickly? What was it about him that made you accept a marriage proposal after knowing him only four weeks?”