Wicked Winter (An Ivy Morgan Mystery Book 8)

by Lily Harper Hart

  Jack’s cheeks burned as he averted his gaze. “Yes, well, I accidentally snapped at her when I saw she was about to look and she accused me of having another girlfriend on the side.”

  Brian’s laugh was so guttural it made Jack uncomfortable. “When would you have time for that?”

  “That’s what I said,” Jack admitted. “She didn’t find it funny.”

  “I can see that. How did you smooth things over?”

  “I told her the truth, that we should stay out of each other’s stuff until after Christmas,” Jack replied. “She still thought it was funny, but she was instantly better.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “No,” Jack agreed. “I have to be more careful about keeping this a secret, though. Christmas is close. It won’t be long now.”

  Brian liked messing with Jack but the fearful expression on his partner’s face was enough to give him pause. “Are you afraid?”

  “You have no idea. My stomach is in knots.”

  “If it’s any consolation, she’s going to say yes.”

  Jack mostly believed that, but a small pocket of doubt had taken up residence in his heart and it often made him sick to his stomach. “I certainly hope so. I want to move forward and … I love her.”

  Brian chuckled. “She loves you, too. There’s no reason to get worked up, drama queen. She’s going to say yes.”

  Jack smiled despite himself. “She is, isn’t she?”

  “I’VE DECIDED that men are complete and total morons.”

  After completing her shower, Ivy changed into simple yoga pants and a T-shirt and returned to the kitchen, intent on working on a batch of clove-scented lotions for the bulk of the day. Instead she found her brother and a chocolate cake so she allowed herself to be distracted for the better part of the morning.

  Max shoveled a huge forkful of cake into his mouth and arched an eyebrow as he watched Ivy fret from her chair. He waited until he swallowed to speak. “Present company excluded, right?”

  Ivy was blasé. “Not so much.”

  “Oh, you’re my least favorite sister in the world right now,” Max shot back. “I went out of my way to get you chocolate cake and this is the way I’m repaid?”

  “The cake was a nice touch,” Ivy conceded, licking her thumb. “It’s just … Jack yelled at me this morning.”

  Max widened his eyes. He was used to Jack and Ivy yelling at each other, but he couldn’t imagine any circumstances where Jack would yell at Ivy after she could’ve been killed the day before. “Why?”

  “He caught me going through his stuff when he came out of the bathroom.”

  Max was understandably confused. “Why were you going through his stuff?”

  “I accidentally dropped files out of his laptop bag when I was moving it. I didn’t realize it was open.”

  Understanding coursed through Max as he worked to hide his smile. He remembered where Jack stuffed the folders he delivered the previous evening. Jack overreacted and yelled because he was trying to keep his Christmas gift surprise under wraps. “I see. Well … what did he say?”

  “He said that it was close to Christmas and he didn’t want me poking around,” Ivy replied. “I thought maybe my gift was in there but … now I’m starting to wonder if it’s something else.”

  “Like what?”

  Ivy shrugged. “I don’t know. Most men don’t keep Christmas gifts in file folders, though. I can’t think of one gift Dad ever gave Mom throughout the years that involved a file folder.”

  Max wanted to laugh but recognized this was not the appropriate time. “Do you want to know what I think?”

  “Not really.”

  Max barreled forward all the same. “I think things are going so well between you and Jack that you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. Things are so good … and the love is so all-encompassing … that you think it can’t possibly last.”

  Ivy opened her mouth to argue and then snapped it shut. Max honestly wasn’t that far off. He wasn’t completely right either, though. “Jack is hiding something from me.”

  “It’s almost Christmas, Ivy,” Max prodded. “Everyone is hiding something from one another right before Christmas. Heck, I’m hiding something from you.”

  Ivy narrowed her eyes. “What did you get me?”

  “A great big kick in the pants.”

  Ivy rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah? I got you a wedgie for Christmas.”

  Max snorted, amused. “I got you an atomic wedgie.”

  “What did you get Mom?”

  “Passes for that place in Florida that allows people to swim with dolphins.”

  Ivy stilled. “Oh, that’s a great idea. I wish I would’ve thought of that.”

  “Yes, but we’re brother and sister and only one of us got the brains in this particular operation,” Max teased. “That’s me. Sadly for you, I got the brains and the looks. You simply cannot compete.”

  Ivy reached across the table and pinched the tender skin at Max’s wrist. “You’re a terrible brother.”

  “Yes, but I’m going to be the favored child this Christmas. Ow!” Max jerked back his arm. “You’re a vicious thing when you’re out-gifted. You know that, right?”

  Ivy ignored the dig. “So … you don’t think I have anything to worry about? You don’t think Jack is keeping something else from me, right?”

  “No.” Max opted for honesty. “I guarantee, if Jack is keeping anything from you, it has everything to do with Christmas and nothing to do with anything else that you’ve concocted in that busy brain of yours. I mean … good grief. Jack is clearly devoted to you. Why would you think otherwise?”

  Ivy shrugged, a momentary flash of helplessness washing over her. “Because I don’t think I could bear to lose him.”

  Max’s expression softened. “You’re not going to lose him. Jack loves you.”

  Ivy forced a smile for her brother’s benefit, hating the niggling worry barking at her from the corner of her brain. She wanted to believe Max more than anything, but she couldn’t cut off the warning whisper.

  What if love isn’t enough?

  Six

  Jack and Brian made an afternoon of cleaning up old files, both looking forward to leaving early as long as a call didn’t come in. Brian filled the empty conversational space with stories about Shadow Lake’s Christmas pageant – which made Jack laugh because the stories involved Brian’s kids as well as Max and Ivy – and the partners slipped into an easy repertoire.

  That all ended when Max walked into the department.

  “Hey, Max.” Brian greeted the visitor with a wide smile. “Is it snowing out? I see you have a bit of a dusting in your hair.”

  “It’s just a light snow,” Max replied, running his hand through his dark hair. “It’s not bad and the roads are fine.”

  “That’s one of the things that’s so different about Shadow Lake,” Jack mused. “In Detroit, when you get light snow the city practically slows to a crawl because we don’t get enough of it for people to remember how to drive when it’s slippery out. Up here, people never forget.”

  “What do you mean?” Brian asked, legitimately interested.

  “Motorists panic down south,” Jack explained. “When snow hits – even if it’s unbelievably light and fluffy – people start driving ten miles an hour on the freeways and what used to be a thirty-minute commute turns into a two-hour extravaganza.”

  “That sounds hellish,” Max said. “Why would anyone possibly want to live in the city?”

  Jack shrugged, noncommittal. “You’re preaching to the reformed. I never want to return to the city for more than a visit if I can help it. I did have a nice time – for the most part – when I took Ivy to my old place a few months ago. That was mostly because she was excited about the restaurants I took her to, though. There aren’t a lot of vegetarian options in Shadow Lake. There’s only so much Italian I can pour into the girl … and then she smells like garlic for twenty-four hours. I guess it’
s good that I love the smell of garlic.”

  “I think you just love my sister,” Max pointed out.

  Jack’s smile was easy. “That could be part of it, too. Speaking of your sister, how is she? Did you get to spend some time with her like you promised?”

  “Oh, that’s why you haven’t been freaking out all day,” Brian intoned. “You got Ivy a babysitter. I wondered. I thought for sure you would be checking up on her every five minutes otherwise.”

  “I didn’t get her a babysitter,” Jack clarified, wagging a warning finger. “Don’t ever say anything of the sort in front of Ivy. She won’t like it.”

  “Yes, and we all walk around on eggshells worrying about what’s going to set off Ivy,” Max teased as he sat in the chair across from Jack’s desk. “I did visit her, though. I took a chocolate cake.”

  Jack smiled. “Well, it sounds as if we’ll have something good for dessert.”

  “We ate like a third of the cake ourselves,” Max warned. “There’s still some left for you, though.”

  “I think my night is set.” Jack’s smile was smug. “I was thinking of picking up dinner and taking it back so Ivy doesn’t have to cook. Do you think that’s what she wants, or would she prefer cooking?”

  Max held his hands palms up. “I don’t know. She likes cooking. It clears her head. When I left she was making clove-scented lotion, though, so the rest of her afternoon sounded booked. She would probably be fine with you picking up dinner.”

  “Okay.” Jack studied Max for a long moment, his face conflicted. “What aren’t you saying?”

  “What do you mean?” Brian asked, confused. “I’ve never known Max to have a thought he didn’t utter.”

  “Ha, ha.” Max rolled his eyes. “Jack is very in tune with Ivy’s emotions. I guess that means he thinks he’s in tune with my emotions, too.”

  “I can simply tell you have something on your mind,” Jack corrected. “What is it? Is something wrong with Ivy? She seemed okay when I left, but I’ve been waiting for her to freak out about what happened yesterday. Does she need me to go home?”

  Max widened his eyes as words tumbled out of Jack’s mouth. “Oh, geez. She’s fine on that front. At least I think she is. She didn’t want to talk about it much but said she was trying not to dwell on it. I took that as a good sign.”

  Jack relaxed, although only marginally. “Oh, that’s good. So … what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong, per se, but Ivy is a little keyed up about what happened this morning,” Max replied. “She thinks you’re hiding something from her.”

  “No, we talked about that.” Jack shifted on his chair, irritation bubbling up. “I didn’t mean to yell at her the way I did, but I apologized. Ivy said she was fine not snooping until after Christmas.”

  Max snorted. “And you believed that?”

  “I … .” Jack broke off, frustrated. “She seemed fine. Technically it was the truth.”

  “I know.” Max held his hands up in a placating manner. “There’s no reason to shoot the messenger. I just thought you would want to know.”

  “Know what? How can she possibly think I’m keeping things from her? We’ve been through so much crap that I have no secrets left to share. She even knows about my weird need to sit on the toilet when I shave in the morning instead of staring at myself in the mirror because I’m convinced that if I stare in the mirror I’ll nick myself.”

  Max made an exaggerated face as he shook his head. “That was an overshare.”

  “Which is exactly my point,” Jack said. “I don’t understand why she’s turning this into a thing. I’m trying to do right by her for Christmas, for crying out loud.”

  “Calm down, drama llama,” Max teased, amusement lighting his eyes.

  “I hate it when you call me that,” Jack grumbled.

  Max ignored him. “I don’t think Ivy really thinks you’re keeping something from her. That’s simply easier for her to focus on than the man who died in her lap yesterday. She doesn’t want the trauma to ruin the holiday season so she’s fixating on something else. You freaking out about the files just happens to be the easiest thing to focus on.”

  “That honestly doesn’t make me feel better.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s going to be the death of me. You know that, right?”

  Brian grinned. “What a way to go, though, huh?”

  “There are definitely worse ways,” Jack said. “It’s just … that woman drives me crazy. If she ruins my surprise I’m going to be the one melting down.”

  “Maybe that’s what she really wants,” Max suggested. “If you melt down, she won’t be the only one stirring up drama around the holidays. You know that saying about misery loving company? Maybe she’s simply attempting to drag you along for the ride.”

  Jack hadn’t considered that possibility, but it made sense in a weird way. “Well, I’m going to nip that in the bud … and soon. I love the woman and her wild whims, but we are going to have a special Christmas this year. If I have to gag her to do it … well … so be it.”

  Max met Brian’s gaze with a smile. “And a merry Christmas to us all, and to all a good night.”

  Brian choked out a laugh. “Ah, I do love the drama with you guys even when I think I don’t. It keeps me young.”

  Jack ignored the jocularity. “I’m definitely picking up dinner. We’re going to have a very long talk, whether she likes it or not.”

  IVY’S KITCHEN smelled delightful as she sat at the end of the table and prepared to close dozens of lotion bottles. She printed her own labels – a design her father helped think up – and they touted Ivy’s Apothecary. Ivy found the name of the business somehow humorous given the fact that she’d been sharing dreams with Jack for months, had a conversation or two with a ghost before summer fled, and saw through the eyes of a killer only weeks before. She’d never identified as a “witch” – in fact arguing strenuously against the label while growing up in a town where people thought she was weird – but now she was running her own apothecary. The irony wasn’t lost on her.

  Ivy was so lost in her task – she loved the scent of cloves, after all – she almost overlooked the knock on her front door. When it happened a second time, she flicked her eyes to the resting black cat on her couch and raised an eyebrow. “Do you think Uncle Max is back with more cake?”

  For his part, Nicodemus didn’t look impressed with the suggestion. He merely swished his tail, boredom apparent.

  “Of course, Uncle Max doesn’t knock.” Ivy wiped her hands on the towel resting over the back of one of the chairs and walked to the door. She plastered a welcoming smile on her face – mostly because she expected to find a family member with good intentions stopping for a chat at Jack’s behest – but the expression slipped a bit when instead she found a morose-looking woman waiting on the other side of the door.

  “I … can I help you?”

  The woman, her dirty blond hair pulled back in a severe bun, wrung her hands together as she stared at Ivy’s bare face. “You’re Ivy Morgan?”

  Ivy was taken aback. “I am. I … can I help you?” Ivy was on edge. She wasn’t used to people simply stopping at her door. She lived out in the country, her house well set back from the road. She didn’t get solicitors – political or otherwise – and almost never greeted drop-ins.

  “My name is Mary Jackson.” The woman licked her lips, clearly nervous. “I believe you were with my husband yesterday when he died.”

  Ivy froze, every nerve ending in her body standing at attention. She was dumbfounded. “W-what?”

  Mary must’ve recognized the shock on Ivy’s face because she immediately held her hands up to signify she wasn’t a threat. “I don’t want to hurt you. I swear it. That’s not why I’m here.”

  Ivy shifted from one foot to the other, resting her hip against the doorjamb. Good manners would seem to insist that she invite the woman inside. She had no intention of doing that, though. She wouldn’t open herself up to attack like that.
Not only because Jack would be livid if he found out, but also because she had no intention of being the idiot female in a horror movie who invites her killer in rather than running through the back door.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I just wanted to see you.” Mary didn’t make a move to enter the house. “I talked to the police for a long time yesterday and they said a woman was with Dorian when he died. I found out who when they asked me if I knew you. I’d never heard your name before and got the distinct impression they wanted to know if you and my husband were working together.”

  Ivy’s stomach twisted. “Before yesterday, I’m fairly certain I never saw your husband. I’m fairly good with faces and I didn’t recognize him when I lifted the mask.”

  “I know that.” Mary waved off Ivy’s explanation as she paced around the small front porch. “I Googled your name when the police asked me about Dorian’s relationship with you. There are a number of stories about your nursery – and some really weird police investigations you’ve apparently been involved with – and I knew the second I saw you that you weren’t involved with Dorian.”

  Despite the surreal situation, Ivy was almost positive she should be offended. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re bohemian,” Mary answered, not missing a beat. “Dorian was a diehard Republican. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a beautiful woman, but your pink hair would’ve driven Dorian crazy.”

  Ivy nodded as if she understood, but she wasn’t entirely sure she did. “I see. So you came to see me because the police mentioned my name?”

  “I figured you were the woman who was with Dorian when he died,” Mary explained. “Witnesses said the woman in question had pink hair. This was after I saw photos of you, of course. It simply made sense.”

  “I see.” Ivy licked her lips, her nervous energy refusing to abate. “I don’t mean to be rude but … what do you want?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Mary shook her head. “You must think I’m a nut. I don’t blame you. It’s just … the police detective who questioned me said that my husband spoke to you before he died. He wouldn’t tell me what that conversation entailed and I swear I’m going to go insane if I don’t know.”