Shadowing Ivy

by Janelle Taylor

  “Why was she skulking around outside?” Griffin asked. “Trying the doorknob? Why not just ring the bell?”

  Ivy shook her head. “She explained that. She’s been worried sick about me. And don’t forget, she’s not just a girlfriend, she’s a cop. This is all her territory, Griffin.” He apparently didn’t look convinced, because she added, “Griffin, don’t waste your time going down alleys that’ll lead you away from the suspect.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” he said, smiling. “But I prefer to rule out all possibilities.”

  “Wow, so you do smile,” Ivy said, lying back down. “I wasn’t sure.”

  Griffin groaned inwardly, shut off the lights, and lay back down next to her.

  In the morning, when Ivy woke up, there was one wonderful moment of total brain fog. And then it all came flooding back. Mostly because of the smell of bacon and eggs wafting into the living room from the kitchen, and the sounds of plates and utensils clattering gently. A man was cooking in her kitchen, and if there was one thing Declan hadn’t ever done, it was cook.

  “Scrambled okay?” Griffin asked, setting down two plates full of food. He’d even made English muffins and poured orange juice. And made coffee.

  Ivy stood and cinched her robe tighter. “Scrambled is more than okay. I’m impressed.”

  “I’m not a great cook by any means, but I’ve never managed to screw up a big breakfast.” He sat and wolfed down a piece of bacon.

  Ivy watched him for a moment. The early morning light coming through the dining room window behind him lit his dark, thick, shiny hair. And those dark, intense, intelligent eyes were alert as always, taking in everything. Her, she noticed suddenly. She’d been staring, and he caught her.

  She ate, surprised she had an appetite. “You can cook breakfast,” she told him. “And thanks, by the way.”

  He nodded and sipped his coffee, then opened up his notebook and began reading his notes. “We’ll leave for the city in an hour?” he asked, glancing up at her.

  “That’s fine,” she said. “I’ll just need to drop off my dress at the diner in town first.”

  He nodded again and returned to his notes. She was now grateful for the reprieve. She needed to figure out what she was going to say to Laura when the woman asked how the wedding went.

  But of course the phone rang, and Ivy wished she hadn’t plugged it back in before going to bed last night. Griffin thought it was a good idea, in case Declan tried to call. He hadn’t left any messages last night. Not that she wanted to hear from him, but she wouldn’t mind something. Just an: Ivy, I’m really, really sorry.

  Right. A con artist murderer apologizing!

  She appreciated all the support she’d gotten last night, the phone calls from her family and friends, and her fellow officers at the Applewood PD. But what she needed were answers. Did Declan kill Jennifer Lexington? Why? And why was he going to marry Ivy when it was clear that she would inherit nothing from her father? Had he loved her? Or did he think he could eventually get his hands on the money?

  Why had he taken the envelope from her father? And why did he steal the five hundred bucks even before he knew New York City Homicide was an unexpected guest at their wedding? Had he seen Griffin arrive? Or was he just preparing in case the cops did catch up with him at the church?

  So many questions and no answers. She wished she could call Alanna and tell her everything. Alanna could provide the relationship—or lack thereof, actually—analysis that Ivy was embarrassed to admit she wanted and needed, plus Alanna could do all that from a cop’s perspective. But Griffin had asked her to keep his investigation confidential. Which was all well and good anyway. Ivy had no business dumping a debacle of this magnitude on her best friend just because said best friend was a cop. Alanna had enough to contend with right now. She was only twenty-seven, but was the sole support of an elderly aunt, the only family she had left, and was busy planning her own wedding and working her tail off. Ivy would let the detective work his own butt off on his own case. She wouldn’t dump her problems on Alanna. She didn’t want to take away from Alanna’s joy at getting married just because Ivy’s own wedding had turned into the wedding from hell. An understatement.

  Ivy finished her breakfast, then cleared the table and washed the dishes as Griffin sat, reading, writing, and tapping that notebook. She knew better than to make small talk when a detective clearly was thinking, so she let him think.

  One hot shower and change of clothes later, and Ivy felt ready to meet the day. Which she knew would not be pretty. She made three very brief phone calls—to her sisters, who had both left town last night, and to her mother, letting them know she was fine and working with the detective and not to worry.

  Not to worry. Ivy was trying to convince herself of that.

  She came back into the living room to find Griffin on the sofa, writing away in his notebook. He glanced up, as if surprised to see her in something other than that robe.

  “I didn’t touch anything in my room other than to grab these clothes,” she told him. She wore black pants, a green wool turtleneck, and black, low-heeled boots. She sat back down at the table. “Griffin, I’d like to talk to Jennifer Lexington’s family.”

  He glanced up at her. “Why?”

  “They may feel that I might be able to shed some light about Declan. Or Dennis, as he was known to them. I might actually be of some comfort to them. And maybe something they say about him will trigger something in me, something that will lead to another alias or where he might be hiding.”

  He looked at her pointedly. “I’ve talked to her parents. The victim was something of a black sheep, and they weren’t close.”

  “Black sheep? You said the family was wealthy. I assume she wasn’t cut out of the will?”

  Griffin shook his head. “Why?”

  “I’m beginning to wonder if this is Declan’s MO,” Ivy said. “Romance women who don’t have much family connection. Women who feel alone, vulnerable. They’re easier targets. We’re easier targets. But women who stand to inherit a fortune.”

  “Sickening,” Griffin said. “Jennifer Lexington was close to her sister, who lives in Manhattan, too. She was too grief-stricken to talk yesterday morning, but she may be ready now. And being close to Jennifer’s age, she may be able to shed more light on the relationship between Jennifer and Declan.”

  “Dennis,” Ivy said, struggling to think of him that way.

  Griffin nodded. “I lead the investigation. I lead the interview. Clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, eyebrow raised. “I’m a cop, too, remember?”

  He stopped tapping his pen. “You’re out of your jurisdiction, Ivy. And we don’t know what we’re dealing with. If Declan will come after you to keep you quiet. Remember, we don’t know why he killed Jennifer. It’s my job to keep you safe. I’m asking you to follow my lead.”

  She would do that up to a point.

  “And pack a bag,” he added, “since you’ll be staying at my place for a while.”

  “How long?” she asked.

  “As long as it takes,” he said, looking at her pointedly.

  With sunglasses on and a fuzzy wool hat, Ivy entered the Applewood Diner. Griffin waited outside. The last thing she wanted was anyone to recognize her. She saw Laura busy with a large table, waved, and hung the dress bag on a hook by the kitchen entrance. Laura grinned back at Ivy, and Ivy was out of there before Laura come even come over.

  Good riddance, my beloved wedding gown, she thought. May you bring Laura a much better wedding!

  As she headed back outside into the chilly March morning air, Ivy tried not to think about what today might have been like had her wedding not been interrupted by Griffin. Well, interrupted by Declan’s lies catching up with him. And in the nick of time. Right now, she would have delivered the gown to Laura, as she’d just done, but she would have sat down in the diner, with Alanna, ordered a big breakfast to regain the strength she’d lost from making love to her new husband all night
long, and chatted with Laura about her wonderful wedding. About her family watching her walk down the aisle to the man she loved, about how wonderful it was to have her sisters attend her. How they were all married now, how they’d all found love.

  And Ivy and Alanna would have gossiped about the reception, a fancy affair at a ballroom full of miniature red roses, which Ivy loved. She would have danced all night, slow dances with her new husband, fast dances with her friends and coworkers. She would have celebrated her new life with everyone who cared about her. And then right now, she and Declan would be on a plane to the Bahamas for a week of fun in the sun.

  And it would have all been a terrible lie. Ivy tried to imagine what would have happened had her wedding not been stopped by Griffin’s sudden appearance. She would be married to a man who would marry another woman in two weeks.

  Ivy settled back into Griffin’s car and stared out the window for the twenty-minute drive into Manhattan. Griffin was quiet; she could tell he was thinking, as earlier, and she let him. She wondered if he was thinking about her. About what kind of cop could be so easily fooled by a typical con artist, the type of con artist he must see a lot as a Manhattan homicide detective. In Applewood, New Jersey, Ivy’s collars were pretty much the wedding gown–thieving types. There were some burglaries, rowdy teenagers who went too far, traffic lights that went out in the few intersections. It wasn’t exactly high crime territory.

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Griffin suddenly said, glancing at her.

  She stared at him, so surprised that he’d read her mind. He was either a very good detective, terrific at reading people, their silences, their body language, or he’d gotten to know her a bit. She figured it was a combination. She wouldn’t be able to hide much from him.

  She took in his profile, the strong nose, the sculpted chin with the slight cleft. “Have you ever been in love?” she asked. Where did that question even come from?

  “I thought I was supposed to be asking the questions.”

  “Didn’t mean to get personal,” she said, her attention back out the window. Ostensibly, anyway.

  “Not really,” he responded after a moment. “Been in love, I mean. I’ve been infatuated, yes. But I’ve never felt what you feel when you ask a woman to marry you.”

  “Declan was my first,” she said. “Love,” she rushed to say, her cheeks turning pink.

  He turned and smiled, and she relaxed a bit.

  “Though it’s strangely gone now,” she said. “Because there really is no Declan, is there? My heart is broken, don’t get me wrong. But it’s broken because I miss what I thought I had. There was no reality there. Declan was a lie, our life was a lie. There’s nothing tangible to still be in love with.” She shook her head. “I’m not making a lick of sense, am I?”

  “You’re making total sense,” he said, capturing her gaze for a moment.

  There was so much understanding in those eyes, those intense, intelligent eyes. Again, she felt that spark of safety, that she was all right in his company. It was so hard to lean on him, to rely on him, to trust him. To trust anyone. Especially when she knew she was a means to an end to Griffin. He needed her to lead him to Declan. End of story.

  After a couple of hours at Griffin’s precinct to take her official statement and sign paperwork, they headed to Mara Lexington’s apartment. Ivy had no idea what to expect. Griffin had told Mara that he and a female officer would like to talk to her, and his plan was to tell Mara about Ivy’s relationship with Declan—with Dennis—when they arrived. Griffin felt that Mara would be less shocked by the news, and more comfortable, once she saw Ivy in person. Once Ivy wasn’t some femme fatale left up to Mara’s imagination.

  Because it’ll be clear that Declan was only interested in me because I’m a Sedgwick? She wondered if that was what Griffin thought. If that was the truth. If everything between her and Declan was a lie, then his interest was clearly a lie, too. Fury lit through her when she remembered the way Declan would look at her sometimes, the way he’d caress her face and just look into her eyes as though he thought she were the most beautiful woman alive.

  Jerk. Liar.

  Ivy was glad to be shaken out of her thoughts by their arrival at Mara Lexington’s apartment building. Though only in her late twenties, Mara lived in a luxury apartment building near Central Park on the Upper West Side. Expensive, like Jennifer’s. The kind of building that twenty-somethings could rarely afford on their own.

  “Does her father own the apartment?” Ivy asked as they headed toward the front door, which a doorman, dressed in a blue and gold uniform, rushed to open.

  Griffin nodded. “He also owns Jennifer’s.”

  Jennifer and Declan’s, Ivy amended silently.

  The doorman used the intercom phone to let Mara know her guests had arrived, then gestured to the bank of elevators in the marble lobby. Mara lived on the twenty-eighth floor. Ivy had once been visiting a friend in a skyscraper apartment during a blackout and had had to walk up twenty-two flights of stairs. Not fun.

  When they arrived at Apartment 28C, an attractive woman opened the door, her tear-streaked face angry. Mara looked a lot like the woman in the photos in Jennifer Lexington’s apartment. They had the same curly light brown hair. “That jerk killed her, didn’t he?” she asked, wiping at her eyes. “She found out about the other woman and they got into an argument and he bashed her head against—” She broke down in tears.

  Griffin glanced at Ivy, and she nodded slightly to let him know she was fine, to go ahead. I’m the other woman, Ivy thought, nausea churning in her stomach.

  “May we come—”

  Mara headed inside the apartment toward the living room, and Griffin and Ivy followed. “She saw him with her, saw him kissing the slut with her own eyes, and he still denied it, tried to tell her she was being paranoid, crazy.”

  Ivy recoiled for a moment, then quickly regained her composure. Kissing the slut? Had Jennifer seen Declan kissing her somewhere? Where? How? Ivy rarely spent any time in Manhattan with Declan. If anything, he came out to New Jersey on a weekend night.

  “Platinum-blond slut,” Mara continued angrily. “Jennifer recognized her from some party. Laura Frozier. She’s not on the deb circuit or anything, but she comes from a really wealthy family in Pennsylvania. Dennis tried to tell Jennifer that if Jennifer saw him kissing her, it was because he’d leaned over to kiss her hello on the cheek, and Laura was drunk and grabbed him and started throwing herself at him. Do you believe that?”

  Ivy now believed Declan capable of anything. So there was a third woman. Ivy wondered if Declan was engaged to Laura Frozier, too.

  “Miss Lexington, do you know exactly when your sister saw this occur?” Griffin asked.

  “It was the night before she was found murdered,” Mara said. “She confronted him, but he talked a good game, I guess. She came here and cried on my shoulder about it.”

  “Where did she see Dennis and Laura Frozier?” Griffin asked, his pad flipped open for notes.

  “At the bar of Devini’s, the new hot spot on the Upper West Side,” Mara said. “At first she didn’t even realize it was Dennis, because he was wearing glasses and dressed entirely differently. I mean, Dennis was always in scrubs and then dressed pretty casually, but he was all decked out in Dolce and Gabbana. But all of a sudden he laughed, Dennis’s distinct laugh, and she knew.”

  “Did she confront him right then and there?” Griffin asked.

  Mara shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “She was too shocked and the place was so crowded that she just walked out, like in a daze. She called me and came over. I told her she should wait a few hours and call Laura and ask her straight out, but Jennifer wanted to give Dennis the benefit of the doubt. So she went back home.” Mara broke down, dabbing at her eyes with another tissue that Ivy handed her. “And that was the last time I saw my sister alive.”

  Ivy’s heart squeezed for both Jennifer and Mara. “Miss Lexington, I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said
gently, taking the woman’s hand and holding it. “My name is Ivy Sedgwick, and I’m a police officer in New Jersey. I knew Dennis under a different name. We were engaged to be married, and Detective Fargo actually interrupted our wedding. In the nick of time. He was quite the con artist.”

  The woman’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, my God.” She shook her head. “But how—I mean, how could he not have been caught in a lie somewhere along the line?”

  “Because he was very good at what he did,” Griffin said gently.

  “I can attest to that,” Ivy added. “He had me completely fooled. I was about to marry him. Without knowing that he actually lived with another woman.”

  Mara took a deep breath. “My sister was living a lie. Everything about her life was a lie. And now she’s dead,” Mara said. “I want that bastard caught. Promise me you’ll do everything to find him and prosecute him.”

  Griffin nodded. “I do promise you that we’ll do everything to find him.” He jotted notes on his pad. “Miss Lexington, your parents said that they weren’t very close to Jennifer but they didn’t elaborate. Would you happen to know if Jennifer was still in your parents’ wills?”

  “She absolutely was,” Mara said. “My parents objected to her career choice, which was bartend-ing and taking acting lessons. Jennifer was something of a rebel. And she and my parents never saw eye to eye, but they wouldn’t have cut her from the will. They loved her. And I think my mother secretly admired Jennifer and how she followed her own heart.”

  “They must have been pleased that she was engaged to a doctor,” Griffin said.

  Mara nodded. “Oh, they were thrilled. But that made Jennifer upset. She wasn’t good enough as she was, but because she was marrying a resident who planned to be a very rich plastic surgeon, she was more acceptable to my father.”

  And the very sad irony was that Dennis was a fake.

  “Oh, my God,” Mara said suddenly, looking from Griffin to Ivy. “Was Dennis even a doctor? Or was that a lie, too?”