by Parker Paige
Praise for The Ghost of Blue Ivy
* * *
“An enjoyable read with nonstop suspense.”
─Romance and More Blogspot
“Blue Ivy is such an intriguing character, I just wanted the story to go on forever.”
─Chicago Public Library
“If you’re looking for a fast-pace whodunnit, this is it.”
─Literary, etc. Reviews
“The last quarter is nonstop action and suspense.”
─Svetlana’s Reads and Views
“First-rate mystery that will keep you guessing.”
─Chicago Book Review
“Classic murder mystery with a blend of chick lit and psychological thrill.”
─Devoted Mommy of 3 Blogspot
The Ghost of Blue Ivy
Parker Paige
The Ghost of Blue Ivy
Copyright © 2014 by Parker Paige
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No part of this book may be uses or reproduces by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodies in critical articles and reviews.
[email protected]
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is “entirely coincidental.”
To Maxwell Bloomberg, oh,
the fun times we had at Skadden, Arps
To every woman who,
at one time or another,
wanted a new life
Episode 1
NOVEMBER 25
It was strange how much had changed since Blue Ivy Rose turned thirty, and not for the best, but for the absolute worst. At eight o’clock, Friday morning, the end of the workweek, or perhaps the end of the saga, Blue Ivy sat on the crowded 135 Bus as she headed to work. She reminisced about how her good intentions had brought her to this place, this place of melancholy, embarrassment and shame. So much she would have liked to turn back the hands of time, but how could she? What was done, was simply just that. Done.
Blue Ivy peered through the fogged window and could barely tell how much longer before she reached the office building where she worked. She quickly returned her attention to the paperback she was reading, which seemed to speak to her as she flipped to the chapter, Surrender to the Fact That Life Isn’t Fair.
Truer words were never more poignant in black and white.
Life was not fair.
In just a three-week period, so much had happened, and so many people were involved, and Blue Ivy was the sole cause of it all.
As the bus traveled across the LaSalle Street Bridge, an eerie police siren rang in her ears, which always sent a frost through her. Even as a little girl, loud noises, such as sirens, horns and whistles, startled her. In preparing to exit the bus, she finished reading the last sentence of the chapter, closed the book and returned it to her worn out cotton bag, inscribed with her firm’s initials, W&A, which stood for Whitley & Austin.
Her exit was approaching, but the bus stopped moving in the midst of a monstrous traffic jam, bringing morning drivers to a halt. On the corner of LaSalle and Lake Street, a clump of people surrounded the office building where she worked. She studied the female traffic cop as she rerouted and directed vehicles onto Wacker Drive. Blue Ivy had not seen this many police cars since the last action movie she viewed on cable. The bright blue and white flashing lights seemed almost hypnotic.
In awe, Blue Ivy absorbed the chaos on LaSalle Street, as two police officers carried a body bag from the office building. She could only imagine the identity of the unfortunate soul. She dreaded the possibility that it could be someone from her office, or worse yet, someone she knew personally.
Finally, in motion again, the bus made it to the corner and made an abrupt stop. She squeezed past the two overweight women who stood near the rear door and exited along with four other passengers. Upon reaching the street, a disturbing sensation came over her as the autumn air brushed against her face.
Could this turmoil have anything to do with her?
Paranoia set in.
Although many companies, corporations, and firms occupied her office building of more than sixty floors, she couldn’t help but worry that her firm was the target of this disorder. Blue Ivy raised the collar of her unbuttoned wool coat and stuffed her hands into her pockets as she waited at the corner for the light to turn green. Normally, autumn was her favorite season. It was one of the things she loved about Chicago, its changing seasons. But today was frigid and dismal, more like a reflection of what she felt inside.
With her hair pulled back into a ponytail away from her pale skin, Blue Ivy stood just under six-feet tall, and her long slender legs made her appear much taller and much thinner. She had been a redhead for all of three weeks and enjoyed every minute of its glory until last night.
As she reached the other side of the street, she glimpsed inside the paramedic vehicle, but there was nothing to see. Her imagination was in disarray as she whisked past the curious spectators. All she could think about was the night before, how she had made a fool of herself. She had left things in an uproar, and that same uproar seemed to have come to haunt her this morning. She tried to pause the disturbing thoughts, at least until she gathered more information. This, after all, could have nothing to do with her. She inhaled a deep breath and hurried inside. Just as she came through the revolving doors, a police officer stopped her. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said.
Blue Ivy felt her dimpled cheeks bruising fast.
“Do you work in this building?”
Her heart raced as she wondered why he singled her out. Then it dawned on her that he was probably questioning everyone who entered the building.
“Yes,” she said softly.
“And your name?”
“Blue Ivy.”
“Last name?”
“Rose.”
Her eyes followed his pen as he jotted down her name on his tiny note pad. “What company are you with?” he asked her.
This abrupt manner of questioning evoked mild sensations of guilt, which shifted through her at an increasing pace. She swallowed hard, shifted her eyes left, then right, to see who was watching, then returned her attention to the police officer and answered his question. “Whitley & Austin.”
As Blue Ivy observed him writing down the information, her coworkers, Bruce Colby and Camina Givens, came to mind. They were the last two people she saw before she left the night before.
Something had happened to one of them. She knew it, just as surely as the breath exhaled from her mouth.
Blue Ivy gazed at the police officer, expecting him to ask her another question, then. “You can go,” he said.
“It’s okay?” Blue Ivy asked with a sense of relief.
“You can go on up.”
Tempted to ask about the commotion, her fear of looking suspicious prevented her from doing so. As she headed towards the bank of elevators that serviced the forty-fourth floor, she glanced back and saw the police officer studying her. It was as if he suspected her of something. Their eyes met and her bag slipped from her shoulder, but quickly, she caught it in time.
Blue Ivy began working with Whitley & Austin, one of Chicago’s most prestigious law firms, two years ago. For the most part, she enjoyed her legal secretary position, being part of a team. But as she stood on the elevator, she sensed that her days with the firm were numbered. This morning’s disturbance seemed to symbolize the end of something, and the beginning of something as well.
November 3
It was time to let go and move on.
Late Saturday afternoon, Blue Ivy stood over three tombstones, holding three bunches of red tulips in her hand at St. Lucas Cemetery. Several months passed since Blue Ivy lost her family, and this was the first time she visited her family’s gravesite since the funeral. It was tough going there knowing what her family had suffered. Within a matter of days of each other, she lost her mother, father and only sibling. Blue Ivy believed it would destroy her. And it almost did. Her sleep patterns were thrown into a flux. She wasn’t painting as much as she used to, and she closed herself off to everyone but a select few. Every day she walked around with a dark ghost that hovered over her, reminding her of ruin and just how risky life was.
After the tragedy, she distanced herself from work and sought counseling from her psychologist. Since then, things improved some, but not much. She returned to work, returned to her art class, and even met a few new friends. But still she was immobilized from moving past her anguish, which haunted her.
After she brushed aside the colorful dead leaves from her family’s adjacent tombstones, her eyes panned over to the words, Sandy Rose and Terri Rose. Gently she laid the tulips on her mother and sister’s tombstones, but she could not bring herself to place anything on her father’s grave. Her eyes locked in with his name. Maxwell Rose.
How could someone she loved so much have brought her so much pain? But he did. She hesitated, pushed her animosity aside, and then laid the flowers on his grave. Already having forgiven him, now was not the time to rehash old resentments. The tombstones brought back useless memories, memories that chartered her to an ugly place of despair, a place she had gone many times before. She loved her parents like any normal person would, but she was most affected by the death of her sister, Sandy. Blue Ivy was only a few years younger than her sister, and they looked almost exactly alike, except for the difference in hair color.
Her sister was a redhead.
Daylight savings time brought in the night sky earlier this time of year. At five o’clock, darkness had already fallen when Blue Ivy arrived home. It would have helped to open her mini-blinds once in a while. Instead, they remained closed while she enjoyed the sense of freedom it induced, freedom to do whatever, without being watched.
Her visit to her family’s gravesite seemed to have worsened her mental state. She believed that maybe, just maybe, if she traveled there a second time, she might finally move past her anguish. She wanted to move forward, but at that point, all she wanted to do was go to sleep and never wake up.
Her once semi-contented spirit was now replaced with a somber one, and she considered taking a nap in the early evening. After she thawed out from the cold, she poured herself a glass of Chardonnay in her rose-colored champagne glass. She didn’t even bother to remove her coat as she stood at the kitchen counter. She began drinking after the death of her family, probably because her sister used to drink wine with her dinner all the time. Somehow Blue Ivy adopted that habit as her own. Only in Blue Ivy’s case, more times than not, no dinner accompanied this new practice. Though not a permanent solution, it served its purpose for now.
Blue Ivy hung up her coat and after two long sips of Chardonnay, she found herself standing in the center of the living room. Her eyes panned across several eclectic hand-painted pictures of flowing water, which lay on the floor against the sofa.
With the temperature outside reaching almost freezing, winter made its presence to the city early, but she found great comfort from the intense heat that circled her apartment. Her eyes perused the mantle of the framed family portrait. She couldn’t help but focus on her sister. The picture seemed to stare back at her as she remembered how her sister Sandy always cared for her, looked out for her and encouraged her to value herself for her own unique abilities and talents. Now Sandy was gone, all because of the secret life she chose to live, a secret life which led to her demise.
Encouraging, compassionate, adventurous and free-spirited were the words that best described her sister, Sandy, which explained Blue Ivy’s private wish to be like her. Blue Ivy felt her eyes well up with tears; so much that she could barely see the picture in front of her. She then headed into the bathroom and stood in front of the bathroom mirror. She stared at the bun in her hair, which gave her the appearance of an astute and very plain-Jane librarian. When she removed the large hairpin, her dark brown hair splashed against her shoulders. A few grey strands patterned the sides of her head, and it could only be stress because she was only a few days shy of her thirtieth birthday. With a somber expression on her face, Blue Ivy stared at her reflection in the mirror, the tears trailing down her face.
How could she go on without her family?
How could she go on without her sister Sandy? She just wanted the pain to stop, all the suffering and all the heartache. As she contemplated putting an end to her emotional pain, she removed the belt from her corduroy pants, then gently placed the belt around her neck. With a determined gesture, she buckled the belt around her neck. She pulled it snug, tighter and tighter until she could hardly breathe and a wonderful thought came to mind.
This could end it all. Right here. And right now. All the suffering and all the heartache could be a thing of the past, and she would not have to live another day. Blue Ivy continued to stare at the reflection of hopelessness on her face and surprisingly, out of nowhere, she heard a female voice ring out from the other room, calling her name.
“Blue Ivyeeee? Blue Ivyeeeeee?”
It startled her, and she thought she must be hearing things, but as quickly as she dispelled the voice, it rang out again. This time louder and longer.
“Blue Ivyeeee? Blue Ivyeeeeee?”
The voice sounded so familiar, too familiar. It was the voice of her sister, Sandy. Blue Ivy released the belt from her neck and hurried into the front room. But the voice mysteriously stopped. Blue Ivy stood there motionless, wiping the tears from her eyes, wondering if she was losing her mind when she heard the voice again.
“Blue Ivyeeee? Blue Ivyeeeeee?”
This time it came directly from the full-length hall mirror, framed with dark red trimming. Blue Ivy approached the mirror fast, and to her amazement, in her own reflection was an image of her sister Sandy. She was as beautiful as always, long curly red hair, flawless makeup and a smile that could light up any room. She was draped with expensive shiny earrings and necklaces to match. She was the elegant side of Blue Ivy, if Blue Ivy possessed red hair and were not so plain looking. If this was how you look once you die, then Blue Ivy could not wait until it was her turn.
But this didn’t make any sense. How could her sister be in her reflection when her sister was dead? In shock, Blue Ivy turned her eyes away from the mirror for a moment before returning her focus to it, but, still, an image of her smiling sister remained.
“Is that you, Sandy?” Blue Ivy asked.
“How are you, Blue Ivy?”
“It is you,” Blue Ivy uttered in amazement. She was stumped for words. Here she was having a conversation with her dead sister. “I don’t understand. I thought you were─”
“Dead,” Sandy said, finishing Blue Ivy’s sentence. “I’ve been so worried about you, Blue Ivy. I thought you might need someone to talk to.”
“You did?” Blue Ivy asked, as a tear made its way down her face.
Her sister’s words brought back many memories, memories of times when her sister stepped in to comfort her in times of great need. And now was definitely one of those times. Sandy seemed to have a flair for sensing when Blue Ivy was in need of her assistance.
Blue Ivy touched the mirror, hoping to connect with Sandy, but Sandy was just an image.
“I saw what you were about to do in there,” Sandy said. “I’m disappointed that you allowed yourself to become so hopeless.”
Blue Ivy was speechless. Not just because her sister was right, but because she was curious how her sister always seemed to kn
ow these things.
“It’s certainly not the answer,” Sandy continued. “And I think you know that.”
“You’re right. I do know better. Of course I wasn’t really going to do it. I just needed to toy with the idea for a moment and exorcise my demons, if only to realize my foolishness.”
“Are you feeling any better now?”
“Only because you’re here with me. I miss you so much, Sandy. I don’t think I can make it without you.”
“Of course you can. You’re stronger than you think.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Do you remember who loves you no matter what?”
Blue Ivy didn’t even think about it before she blurted out, “Sandy loves me.”
“That’s right and don’t you ever forget it. I have to go now, but we’ll talk again soon.”
“Don’t go, Sandy. Please don’t go.”
Blue Ivy didn’t move her eyes from the mirror, hoping that if she didn’t blink, Sandy might not disappear. But it was no use.
Sandy was gone.
Blue Ivy met with Dr. Kenneth Kern during her lunch hour on Mondays. For forty-five minutes, she exposed her intimate feelings, concerns and private thoughts to him. She found him easy to talk to because he seldom displayed any kind of emotion despite her words. Though she was not convinced that her visits with him were helping her, her sessions with him were a much-welcomed comfort because he was there to listen.
The small size of his office, the massive books on the shelves, and hypnotic paintings on the walls gave Blue Ivy a jumbled feeling inside. It was almost claustrophobic, but the daylight, which shone in from the lake relaxed her. Blue Ivy lay on the sofa across from Dr. Kern, consuming the silence as she stared at the ceiling. She reflected on the disorientation of her life with a long and drawn out sigh. The only thing that seemed clear was that she wanted to run from her troubles, her answer to life’s discomfort.
