Peppermint lowered her head contritely, until Suzanne turned to Ivy. Then her head popped up, and her tail wagged again.
"It's my fault," Ivy said. "I called Peppermint while she was swimming.
It's no big deal-all I need is a little soap."
"I'll get it for you," Suzanne said.
"No, it's okay," Ivy replied, smiling. "I know where it is." She stood up.
"If you want to throw your clothes in the wash," Suzanne told her, "wear something of mine. You know which is the clean stuff."
"Whatever isn't on the floor," they both said at the same time, and laughed.
Ivy started toward the house and heard Suzanne ask Will how he made that dog voice. She was still smiling to herself when she entered the house.
Then she hurried down the hall, glancing around for Gregory, hoping he didn't see her heading upstairs.
Ivy relaxed when she reached Suzanne's bedroom, a room she had spent countless hours in, gossiping, reading magazines, trying on makeup. The large, square room was furnished in dark polished wood and carpeted wall to wall in a pure, plush white. Suzanne and Ivy always joked mat the best way to keep the carpet clean was to walk on her clothes. But that day Ivy removed her shoes. The room was picked up, with the green silk coverlet pulled smooth on the bed and just one filmy blouse tossed aside. Ivy took off her stained shirt, slipped on the blouse without buttoning it, and headed for Suzanne's bathroom.
The soap worked well on her knit top. She squeezed the top out in a towel, then hung it on a hanger.
Having rigged up the hair dryer as she had seen Suzanne do, she turned it on to dry the knit while she worked on her skirt. Ivy was standing close to sink, pulling up her pale denim skirt and scrubbing it hard, when she felt the hot air on her back and her hair and blouse blow loose. She glanced up quickly.
In the mirror she saw Gregory, aiming the hair dryer at her and laughing.
Ivy wrapped the open blouse around her as if it were a coat. "It's the top that needs drying, not me," she said crisply.
Gregory laughed, flicked off the dryer and dropped it, letting it dangle from its electric cord.
"I'm losing patience," he said.
Ivy stared at him wide-eyed.
"I'm getting tired of chasing you," he said.
She bit her lip. "I don't know why you keep trying."
He tilted back his head, studying her as if he were making some kind of decision. He moved close to her.
She could smell the alcohol on his breath. "Liar," he whispered in her ear. "Every guy out there would be chasing you if they thought they had a chance."
Ivy's mind raced. How much had Gregory drunk? What kind of game was he playing?
His arms encircled her. Ivy fought the panic that was growing inside her.
She could not get away from him, so she put her arms around him lightly, trying to draw him out of the secluded bathroom. She had left the bedroom door open, and if she made it to where they could be seen and heard-He moved easily with her into the bedroom. Then she saw that the door to the hall had been closed. He started pushing her toward the bed.
He can't kill me, not here, she thought as she was pushed back. It'd be too easy to trace him. She stepped back again. His fingerprints are on the hair dryer and the door, she reminded herself, stepping back and back. And someone could walk in at any moment, she told herself. He moved with her, so close she couldn't see his face.
Ivy tumbled onto the bed and stared up at him. Gregory's eyes were like hot gray coals. Color crept high in his cheeks. He's too smart to pull a gun, she thought. He'll jam a capsule down my throat.
Then Gregory was on top of her. Ivy struggled against him. Gregory laughed at her efforts as she squirmed beneath him, then he groaned softly. "I love you," he said.
Ivy held still, and he lifted his head, staring down at her, his eyes burning with a strange light. "I want you.
I've wanted you for a long time."
Was this some kind of terrible joke?
"You know things about me," Gregory said softly, "but you're in love with me, aren't you, Ivy? You would never do anything to hurt me."
Was his ego that big? Was he that crazy? No, she thought, he's warning me.
He laid his hand on her neck. He stroked her throat with his thumb, then pressed it against her pulse. A smile spread across his face. "What did I tell you? Running hot and fast," he said. Then he removed his hand from her throat and slowly traced the edge of her unbuttoned shirt. Ivy's skin crawled.
"Goose bumps." He seemed pleased. "If a month from now I can't give you goose bumps with my touch, if you don't get hot when we kiss, I'll know you don't feel the same way you do now." He really believed it!
"And that would be too bad," he said, still tracing her shirt with his finger. "I'd have to figure out what to do with you then." He leaned on her heavily and pressed his mouth against hers.
Play along, Ivy thought. Play to stay alive. Angels, where are you? She kissed him back, though everything inside her rose up in protest. She kissed him again. Oh, angels, help me! Gregory's kisses grew more passionate, more insistent.
She pushed against him, catching him by surprise. Shoving him away, she rolled off the bed. She could not hold it back-Ivy threw up on the rug.
When she stopped retching, she turned to look at Gregory, wiping her mouth with one hand, steadying herself against a chair with the other.
She saw an entirely different expression on his face. He knew now. The curtain had been lifted, and there was no more pretending. He had seen exactly what she thought of him. His eyes showed what he now thought about her.
Before either of them could say anything, the bedroom door swung open.
Suzanne stood in the doorway. "I noticed both of you were missing," she began, and gazed past them at the rumpled bed. Then she looked at the mess on the floor. "Oh, God!"
Gregory was ready for her. "Ivy's had too much to drink," he said.
"I haven't. I haven't had a thing!" Ivy said quickly.
"She can't tolerate alcohol," Gregory said, walking toward Suzanne, reaching out toward her.
Ivy moved with him. "Suzanne, please, listen to me."
"I was worried about her and-" "I just talked to you," Ivy reminded Suzanne. "I just talked to you-did I seem drunk?"
But Suzanne looked at her blankly.
"Answer me!" Ivy demanded. The faraway look in Suzanne's eyes scared her.
Her friend's mind had already been poisoned by what she saw.
"Nice blouse," Suzanne remarked. "Couldn't find the buttons?"
Ivy pulled it closed.
"I came up to see if she was all right," Gregory continued, "and she, you know-" He paused as if he were embarrassed. "She came on to me. I guess that doesn't really surprise you."
"It doesn't," Suzanne replied in a cool, distant voice.
"Suzanne," Ivy pleaded, "listen to me. We've been friends all this time and you trusted me-" "This time she came on strong," Gregory said. He frowned. "I guess it was the booze."
This time? Ivy thought. "I swear to you, Suzanne, he's lying!"
"Did you kiss him?" Suzanne asked, her voice shaking. "Did you?" She looked again at the rumpled bed.
"He kissed me!"
"What kind of friend are you?" Suzanne cried. "You and I both know that you've been after Gregory since Tristan died."
"But he's been after me since-" Ivy saw Gregory glance at her out of the corner of his eye, and she broke off her sentence.
She knew she had lost the battle.
Suzanne was trembling so, she could hardly get the words out. "Leave," she said in a low, husky voice.
"Get out of here, Ivy. Don't ever come back."
"I'll clean up-" "Leave! Just leave!" Suzanne shouted.
There was nothing she could do. Ivy left her friend crying and clinging to Gregory.
Chapter 11
Ivy didn't think about how she was getting home. She ducked into a bathroom farther down the hall and washed her
mouth out with toothpaste.
After buttoning and tucking in the blouse, she raced downstairs, snatched up her purse, and hurried out of the house.
She struggled to hold back the tears. She didn't want Gregory to hear stories later on about how upset she was. Philip's words came back to her once more. "He can smell it if you're afraid."
Now Ivy was terrified-for both herself and her friends. At any point they could stumble upon one of Gregory's secrets. And his ego was big enough, he was crazy enough to assume that he could get away with silencing not just her, but Suzanne, Will, and Beth, too.
Ivy walked briskly along the side of Lantern Road. The houses in Suzanne's neighborhood were far apart, and there were no sidewalks. It was another dark mile to the intersection and two more miles into the town itself. The only light was a soft yellow moon.
"Angels, stay with me," Ivy prayed.
She had walked about a third of a mile when the headlights of a car bore down on her. She stepped quickly off the road and ducked into some bushes. The car drove ten feet more, then screeched to a halt.
Ivy scrambled to get deeper into the brush. The driver suddenly extinguished his bright lights, and she could see the shape of the car in the moonlight: a Honda. Will's car.
He climbed out and looked around. "Ivy?"
She wanted to rush out of the bushes and into his arms, but she held back.
"Ivy, if you're here, tell me. Tell me you're okay."
Her mind raced, trying to think what she could tell him without spilling the whole and dangerous truth.
"Answer me. Are you okay? Lacey said you were in trouble. Tell me if there is some way I can help."
Even in the pale light, the look of worry on his face was visible. She longed to reach out to him and tell him everything. She wanted to run to him and feel his arms wrap around her, keeping her safe for a moment. But for his sake she couldn't-she knew that. Her eyes burned. She blinked several times to clear them, then emerged onto the road.
"Ivy." He breathed her name.
"I–I was going home," she said.
His glance flicked to the bushes behind her. 'Taking a shortcut?"
"Maybe you could give me a ride," she said softly.
He studied her face a moment, then silently opened the door for her. When he had locked and closed it again, Ivy leaned against the door, feeling safe. She would be safe till she got to the house on the ridge.
Will got in on the driver's side. "Do you really want to go home?" he asked.
In the end, she'd have to. She nodded, but he didn't start the car.
"Ivy, who are you afraid of?"
She shrugged and looked down at her hands. "I don't know." Will reached over and laid his hand on top of hers. She turned it over and examined the small flecks of oil paint that the turpentine rag had missed. Ivy could picture Will's hands with her eyes closed. The way his fingers felt now entwined with hers made her feel strong.
"I want to help you," he said, "but I can't if I don't know what's going on."
Ivy turned her face away from him.
"You have to tell me what's going on," he insisted.
"I can't, Will."
"What happened that night at the train station?" he asked.
She didn't answer him.
"You must remember something now. You must have some idea about what you saw. Was someone else there? What made you try to cross the tracks?"
She shook her head and said nothing.
"All right," he said in a resigned voice. "Then I've got just one more question for you. Are you in love with Gregory?"
Ivy was caught off guard, and her head spun toward him. Will looked into her eyes. He studied her whole face. "That's what I needed to know," he said quietly.
What had she given away? Ivy wondered. What had her eyes revealed? That she hated Gregory? Or that she was falling in love with Will?
She let go of his hand. "Please take me home," she said, and he did.
"And now," said a voice quivering with emotion, "we return to today's program…$ For Love of Ivy." A soap opera tune was hummed loudly-and pretty badly, Tristan thought.
Will heard it, too. He glanced around the school darkroom, where he had been working alone, and saw Lacey's purple shimmer. "You again," he muttered.
As always, Tristan found it remarkably easy to match thoughts with Will.
He slipped quickly inside him, so he could communicate with both Will and Lacey.
Will blinked. "Tristan?" he said aloud.
"Yeah," he replied. The soap opera music continued in the background.
"You're off key, Lacey," Tristan told her.
The humming stopped, and the purple shimmer moved closer to him and Will.
Will quickly put a roll of film behind him. "Could you step back a little, Lacey? You might expose my film."
"Well, excuse me!" she replied. "I guess you two heroes don't need me around. I'll be on my way." She paused to give them time to protest When neither of them did, she added, "But before I go, let me ask you lover boys a few questions. Who got Rip van Winkle here out of the darkness before the next hundred years had passed? Who directed him to this darkroom?"
"I've been calling for you, Tristan," Will explained. "I need your help."
"Who played guardian angel at Suzanne's party?" Lacey continued. "Who told you when Ivy was in big trouble?"
"Ivy was in trouble? What happened?" Tristan asked.
"Who, tell me, who'sb playing secretary to this pitiful Ivy fan club?"
"Tell me what happened," Tristan demanded. "Is Ivy okay?"
"Yes and no," Will replied, then told Tristan about the incident at the party, including Gregory's account of it. "I don't know what really happened," he said. "I caught up with Ivy afterward on the road. She was upset and wouldn't tell me anything. On Sunday she worked, then went straight to Beth's. At school today she'd talk only to Beth but wouldn't tell even her what really happened."
"Lacey, did you see anything?" Tristan asked.
"Sorry, I was, uh, socializing at the time."
"What do you think she was doing?" Tristan asked.
"Throwing the shoes of ungrateful movie fans into the pond," Will told him.
"I'm talking about Ivy!" Tristan snapped, but he was more upset with himself than Will. Twice now Will had been there for Ivy when Tristan had not.
"I've been calling you-" Will began.
"And calling and calling," Lacey said. "I told him you were in the darkness. I knew love was blind, but I guess it's deaf too. I guess-" "You've got to tell me some things, Tristan," Will interrupted her.
"You've got to tell me now. How can I help Ivy if I don't know what's going on?"
"But you know enough," Tristan challenged him. "More than you've admitted to Ivy." He began to probe Will's mind, but was swiftly pushed aside. "I know you looked in the envelope, Will," Tristan said. "I was watching when you pulled out the key."
Will didn't seem surprised or apologetic. He slipped the film into a canister. "What does the key go to?"
he asked.
"I thought you might have figured it out," Tristan baited him.
"No."
Tristan tried again to probe Will's thoughts, completely silencing his own, moving slowly and carefully. He got slammed like a hockey player against the wall of Will's mind.
"Okay, okay, you two, what's going on?" Lacey asked. "I can see your face, Will. You've got the same pigheaded expression that Tristan gets."
"He's blocking me out," Tristan charged.
"Like you haven't done the same thing to me," Will replied heatedly.
"First you send me racing up the ridge to save Ivy's life. I let you take over. I go along with you and do just what you say, and I find Ivy with a bag over her head. Gregory's mere with a strange excuse, but you won't tell me a thing about what's going on."
Will set down the canister and walked up and down the narrow room, picking up and putting down filters, markers, boxes of paper. "You get me to
speak for you. You get me to dance with her and warn her and tell her you love her." Will's voice trembled a little. "But you don't tell me anything to explain why this is happening."
Ivy won't let me, Tristan thought, but he knew that wasn't the only reason. He resented the fact that he needed Will, and he didn't like the way Will was calling some of the shots now.
"I don't like this mind-control stuff," Will went on angrily. "I don't like your trying to read my mind. If there's something you want to know, ask it."
"What I want to know," Tristan said, "is how I'm supposed to trust you.
You're Gregory's friend-" "Oh, grow up, you two!" Lacey interrupted. "I don't like mind control.
How can I trust you?" she mimicked. "Puh-lease, don't bore me with the rest of your excuses. You're both in love with Ivy, and you're jealous of each other, and that's why you're keeping your little secrets and squabbling like two kindergarten kids."
"Are you in love with her, Will?" Tristan asked quickly.
He felt Will thinking, he felt Will dodging him.
Will picked up the film canister again and shifted it from hand to hand.
"I'm trying to do what's best for her," he said at last.
"You didn't answer my question."
"I don't see why it matters," Will argued. "You were there when I danced with her. You heard what Ivy said. We both know she'll never love anyone the way she loves you."
"We both know you hope it's not true," Tristan replied.
†Will slammed the canister down on the table. "I've got work to do."
"So do I," Tristan said, and slipped out of Will before he could be thrown out.
He knew that Ivy would love someone else someday and that that person might be Will. Well, if he had to leave her in Will's hands, he was going to check him out thoroughly first.
As Tristan left the darkroom he heard Lacey's soap opera voice. "And so our two heroes part," she said, "blinded by love, neither of them listening to the wise and beautiful Lacey"-she hummed a little-"who, by the way, is getting a broken heart of her own. But who cares about Lacey?" she asked sadly. "Who cares about Lacey?"
Chapter 12
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