“Questions?” Kay asked Yvette.
“Do you know what evidence the police have against Blue?”
Kay looked at me.
“No,” I answered.
“But Detective Cass Elliot was with you the night Sugar Murphy and William Garcia crashed a stolen pickup while chasing Bret Ivey. And she’s been working the murder case off the record with you for the last day or two, correct?”
“We were out together for the evening and just happened upon the wreck,” I said. Babby’s lips moved almost imperceptibly at that lie. “We brainstormed suspects and motive last night, before Blue hired Lost and Found to help in her defense. Cass was helping me satisfy my curiosity, nothing more.”
Yvette regarded me with heavily lidded eyes. “Elliot’s off limits, that’s what you’re telling me?”
“Yes, and she hasn’t shared any information the police have gathered about the murder cases.”
She jotted a note. “Have you talked to Blue about the murders?”
“She told me she’s innocent -”
Yvette waved a hand tipped with blood-red nails. “Everybody’s innocent.”
“I haven’t followed up regarding her whereabouts at the time Annie and Daphne were killed. I’m not even sure when they were killed. She has verbally given me a list of suspects.”
Yvette studied the timeline of Bret’s marriages and divorces I’d written on the white board, then snapped a photo with her phone. “This is a good start. What a busy, busy boy our Mr. Ivey was.” She reached into her Mulberry briefcase and placed a contract on the table, then slid it to me. “I’ll take her case. It sounds like her husband needed killing, and given his polygamous lifestyle, we have no shortage of suspects to look into. Sign the contract, give me a notarized copy of the power of attorney, and I’ll start on a bail hearing.”
“Who’s on the bench today?” Babby asked.
Yvette smiled. “Shackleford. My favorite.”
SHORT ONE HUSBAND
WITH THAT, THE OMINOUS Yvette Hardcastle was gone. Cindy returned to the conference room after showing her out, and glared daggers at us. “How could you let her,” she lifted her chin at me, “interact with someone like Hardcastle? She’s not even licensed.”
“But she’s the one of us that’s closest to this case, babycakes,” Babby said. “Besides, I thought Maxine did fine.”
“She busted Yvette’s balls,” Kay said. “That was a pleasure to watch. I hope you were taking notes, Cindy.”
My cousin fumed but stayed silent.
“Now what?” I asked.
“Now you go to Dallas and tell Nicole Ivy she’s short one husband,” Babby said. “Blue was right, she needs to know. And I want us there to watch her reaction.”
“I don’t have time to go with her today,” Cindy said.
“None of us do. Maxine could go alone, but it might be better if Cass went as a witness and for backup.”
“A witness to what?” I asked.
“Honey bun,” Babby said. “You’re about to tell a lawyer - an entertainment lawyer, granted - that her husband was married to multiple women at the same time, and he’s been murdered. She could be glad, mad, or sad. Or any combination. Having an officer with you can only help keep the woman calm. Who knows? The two of you might pull a confession out of her.”
Kay nodded. “Call Cass, kiddo. Tell her lunch is on the agency today.”
__________
THE LAW FIRM OF Ivy, McLellan and Brown was posh and I was glad to be in the Tahari suit and Louboutin heels. Cass was in jeans, boots, and a button down shirt and looked completely at ease in the rarefied space we occupied. When I’d asked her to come to Dallas with me this morning, she’d readily agreed, stating that it might help Chad the Psychopathic Physical Therapist move on his decision to let her return to work if she missed a session. On the three hour trip to Dallas, I’d called ahead and bullied my way onto Nicole Ivy’s schedule by mentioning the police. We got fifteen minutes at one forty-five.
While I was negotiating our meeting, Cass called one of her old colleagues in the Dallas police force to let them know she was coming to town on semi-official business. When asked if she needed assistance, she replied that she didn’t expect so, but she’d let them know if things got dicey. She then went into a delicate dance, gossiping about personnel changes and cases that had occurred since she left the Dallas department, gradually steering the conversation around to sexual assaults. Nothing her contact told her led Cass to believe that our rapist had been active in the Dallas area recently; however, neither of us had reported our attacks to the police, and it was logical to assume he was still threatening his targets if they reported him.
The receptionist unfurled from her desk at precisely one forty-four and beckoned for us to follow her. We traipsed down a hall carpeted in a shimmering golden shag so deep you could lose a shoe in it; I curled my toes into the tips of my pumps and held on for dear life. The conference room’s centerpiece was a slab of maple polished to a gleam and surrounded by chairs in shiny chrome with black leather seats. She brought us Perrier, a bucket of perfectly formed ice cubes, and a plate of lime slices, then slipped silently from the room. I’d just cracked the lid on a bottle when a panel in the wall slid open and a white ball of fluff bounded in. Then the big bottomed bimbo from Saturday joined us. I was shocked at her transformation and tried not to goggle.
The big haired overly made up woman I’d followed through the mall had transformed into a slick professional. The hair was pulled back in a bun and her makeup was so flattering it was barely noticeable. I wondered why in the world a woman this naturally attractive would hide her appearance under the heavy makeup she’d worn Saturday. The big bottom, tiny waist, and rack of boobs were encased in a beautiful suit by Dior that molded her figure perfectly. Intelligence sparked behind hazel eyes. She actually looked like a lawyer.
After the briefest of pauses, she stepped forward and offered her hand to both of us. “Nicole Ivy. I understand there’s a police matter you want to discuss?” Her voice had a nasal quality that was right on the edge of irritating. She sat and the ball of fluff jumped up in her lap. I recognized him as the dog in Marjorie’s purse on Saturday - his name was Ted. While he was cute as a button, I hated to think how much work it would take to get Ted’s little hairs off that Dior suit.
On the drive down, Cass and I agreed that I would lead the conversation and Cass would intervene in her official capacity only if needed. “I’m Maxine Leverman, Mrs. Ivy, from Lost and Found Investigations in Arcadia. This is Detective Cass Elliot with the Forney County Sheriff’s Department.”
A narrow line appeared between her brows. “Forney County? Where is that?”
“East of Dallas, near Louisiana.” I shut down the geography lesson. “Are you married to a Bretton Baxter Ivy?”
“What is this about?”
“Answer the question, please,” Cass said.
The line grew deeper. “Yes, I am. Now, what is this about?”
“I’m sorry to tell you that Mr. Ivy was found dead Sunday morning.”
Nicole’s eyes moved back and forth between us, her lips twitched, and at last she burst out laughing. Ted looked up at his mistress. “That’s a good one. How much is he paying you?”
Cass and I exchanged a glance.
“Mrs. Ivy, this isn’t a joke,” I said.
“Come on. Bax is always pulling crap like this. The man loves his practical jokes. Lost and Found. Forney County. Really? Wait. Are you recording this?” She swiveled and plucked a tissue from a box on a side table and dabbed at her eyes, then wiggled her fingers at us as if we were holding a camera. She snorted a laugh. “Ha! Gotcha Baxter. You can’t fool me.”
Cass slid her detective’s shield across the table. “I’m afraid this is a serious matter.”
Nicole hesitated, then pulled the gold badge closer. “This is real?”
“Yes, ma’am, it is.”
Her hazel eyes slid to me. “Lost and Foun
d is real?”
I laid a business card on the table. This one included the agency’s details.
That full lower lip trembled. “Bax is really dead?”
Cass and I nodded. Nicole swiveled in her chair and pushed a button on a phone, then said in a clear voice. “Trace?”
“Yes, ma’am,” came a brisk male voice.
“Cancel my appointments for the afternoon.”
A brief pause. “Even Mr. King?”
“Yes. And cancel tonight’s flight to LA.”
“Shall I reschedule?”
“Not yet.”
She ended the call, grabbed the box of tissues, and burst into tears.
THERE MUST BE A MISTAKE
IN THESE SITUATIONS, IT’S helpful to have someone as calm as Cass as your partner. I was all teared up and ready to have a good boo-hoo with Nicole when Cass tapped my arm. That simple touch reminded me that I might be face-to-face with Bret Ivey’s killer.
We gave Nicole a few minutes to weep and then I asked a question, even though I thought I knew its answer. “When did you last see your husband, Mrs. Ivy?”
“Saturday.” She composed herself, running her fingers absently through Ted’s lush fur. “How do you know it’s him?”
“We have a positive ID.”
“From who? Who does Baxter know in this place, this Forney County? He’s never mentioned it.”
I ignored her questions, as Cass had told me to do. “What kind of work did your husband do?”
She slapped the table and Ted jumped. “No. No more questions until you tell me exactly what is going on. How do you know my husband is dead? What happened?”
It seemed there was a lawyer in that head.
I glanced at Cass and she nodded. I hated to do this, but Nicole was forcing my hand. On our way out of town, Cass and I had met Mitch at The Golden Gate Café where we’d picked up coffee to go. He and Cass had previously discussed asking the Dallas police to do the notification, but he agreed having Cass there to watch Nicole Ivy’s reaction to news of her husband’s death was useful. He’d given us a headshot of Bret Ivey’s face after Grey had cleaned all the goo from the body. He looked perfectly normal except for the waxy complexion. I reached into my briefcase and slid a manila folder across the table.
Nicole opened it and the color drained from her face. She swayed in her chair. Ted jumped to the floor and scurried into a corner.
Cass poured a glass of Perrier and pressed it into Nicole’s hand. “Drink,” she said, and then looked at me. “Find something stronger.”
One of the matching maple cabinets housed an impressive collection of liquor, and I poured three fingers of Jack Daniels’ Tennessee Honey. Cass swapped the water for whiskey and helped Nicole raise the drink to her lips. Once Cass was satisfied Nicole could hold the glass on her own, she sat.
Nicole’s eyes were glazed when she looked at me. “What happened?”
“He was murdered, Mrs. Ivy.”
“Why? Who did it?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
Her vision slowly cleared. “But you’re a private investigator, correct?”
“I am,” I lied. But only a little.
“Why are you asking the questions? Why isn’t Detective Elliot doing the talking?”
I’d dreaded this question. “I’ve been hired to look into his death. Detective Elliot came along as a courtesy and to ensure the Dallas police know we’re speaking with someone in their jurisdiction.”
“Who hired you?” The lawyer was returning.
“Blue Ivey.”
“Is that a man or a woman?”
“A woman.”
“I’ve never heard of her. Is she one of Baxter’s relatives?”
I answered slowly. “Your husband married her in 2007, using the name Baxter Bretton Ivey.” I spelled it for her.
“That’s wrong. That’s not my husband’s name. It is very close, I’ll give you that, but that’s not his name.”
I gestured to the photo, which was still on the table.
She looked down again and touched his face. When she looked up, her eyes sparked with anger. “I’d like for you both to leave. Now.”
FREEDOM
BLUE STEPPED THROUGH THE jail door and into the bright afternoon. She smiled with relief at Kay Wooten. “The air really does smell different out here. And not because the jail isn’t clean. Thanks for the clothes. My others are ruined.”
“My pleasure. Blue Ivey, I’d like to introduce your lawyer, Yvette Hardcastle.”
Blue smiled at Yvette. “Thanks for getting that bail hearing taken care of so quickly. But why don’t I have to pay anything?”
“Judge Shackleford loves Cedar Bend,” Yvette answered. “And he seemed convinced you weren’t a flight risk, thanks to the winery and the fact that you’re going through harvest.”
“What happens now?”
“Now,” Yvette said, motioning to the parking lot, “we start on your defense. Kay and her agency have shuffled a few things so they can focus exclusively on you.”
The three women got into Yvette’s Mercedes, Kay riding in back. She leaned forward to speak to Blue. “We’ve set up a war room and we’ll coordinate your defense from there. Yvette has questions for you. We thought it would be more efficient for you to come to the agency for a few hours before heading back to the winery.”
“Of course. Where’s Maxine?”
“She’s in Dallas, notifying Nicole Ivy that her husband is dead, and is also your husband.”
Blue snorted. “That should be interesting. I almost wish I was a fly on the wall for that one.”
BOOTED
WE WERE HUSTLED FROM the posh law firm in record time and stood on the building’s steps, squinting in the blazing afternoon sun. I looked at Cass. “What do we do?”
“We go home and let Mitch know we’ve notified Bret Ivey’s other wife that he’s dead and she refused to talk. He’ll go through official channels to check her alibi for Bret’s death.”
“And maybe for the other two girls?”
“That’s a good idea,” Cass said.
We started for the car. “Do you mind if we make a detour through the mall?”
“What for?”
“I need to return something.”
__________
I HAD FINISHED RETURNING the blue pajama set and we were in Nordstrom’s when my phone rang. The call was from an unfamiliar number. I jostled the driving moccasins I was holding and answered. “Maxine Leverman.”
“This is Nicole Ivy. We need to meet. Are you still in Dallas?”
I beckoned Cass over and tilted the phone between us. “We’re at Northpark.”
“There’s a Chinese restaurant located on the south side of the mall. Do you know it?”
“I do.”
“I’ll see you there in half an hour.”
Nicole hung up and I looked at Cass. “What’s that about?” I asked.
“She talked to a criminal lawyer and he told her she’s a suspect.”
“Ah.”
Cass put the pair of sling-back pumps she’d been examining on a shelf.
“You don’t like them?” I asked.
“They’re gorgeous.” She ran a finger over the shoe. “But when would I wear them?”
“On a date, Cass.”
“In Arcadia?”
“You could wear them to the winery, or over to that steakhouse in Shreveport. Or to bed with Kado.”
“Maxine,” Cass whispered, checking for eavesdroppers.
“Are these your size?”
She nodded. “But what do I wear them with? I don’t own any girl clothes and I don’t have time to shop today.”
It was terribly true that her wardrobe consisted of Dockers and button downs, and I considered this an opening. I waved for a salesman and checked the time on my phone. “Oh ye of little faith. We’ve got twenty-eight minutes. Come on.”
HEADPHONES REQUIRED
“BRET IVEY
’S PHONE IS a treasure chest. It’s loaded with women’s names,” Truman told Mitch and Kado. They were in the forensics room and the young officer’s face was flushed. “He must’ve been terrified one of his wives would find it.”
“Password?” Mitch asked, settling into a chair at the evidence table.
“WINE0.”
“That’s not very smart,” Kado said.
Truman shrugged. “Being married to more than one woman at a time isn’t very smart, either.”
“What’s on it?” Mitch asked.
“Phone numbers and addresses. Some for legitimate businesses, some overseas, others for people. First names only. One’s an international number with ‘Shitbird’ as the contact name.”
Mitch frowned. “Country?”
“Mexico.”
“What about his call history?” Kado asked.
“He’s called several women in the past few weeks. He’s made some international calls but most are domestic.”
“International to where?” Kado asked.
“All over. Europe, Asia, Canada, Mexico, South America.”
“Are those numbers regular contacts on his phone?”
“Most of them are business numbers and he stores them under the correct business name. I looked them up and they’re either wine, music, or finance businesses.”
“Finance? Like who?” Mitch asked.
“Big banks. Maybe he was looking for credit.”
“Maybe he owed somebody money. That would be motive.”
“It would be,” Truman agreed. “But most of these calls are outgoing. If he were in debt trouble, the banks would be calling him.”
“Good point. Any files?” Kado asked.
“Loads of .wav and .mp3 files.”
“Music?”
“They’re all labeled music -,” Truman began.
“But you won’t know for sure until you listen,” Kado finished for him.
Truman’s face fell. “I hoped Mitch could do that part since he likes Poison Ivy and the Dismembered Bunnies.”
“I’d love to,” Mitch said. “But you’re the forensic understudy. I’ve got great headphones you can borrow.”
A Case of Sour Grapes Page 22
