CHAPTER FIVE

 

“Ivy,” a voice was saying. “Ivy wake up.”

I didn’t know who was talking to me, but I was pretty sure it was way too damned early to wake up. I tried to pull the covers up over my head, and that was when I realized that I wasn’t in my own bed, because the sheets didn’t feel right.

I opened my eyes.

Brigit was glaring down at me. She looked awful. Her hair was messy. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her clothes were rumpled and slept in.

I, on the other hand, was naked and lying next to naked Ryder on his narrow bed. The only thing between Brigit and my nudity was a thin sheet.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Shh!” I said. “You’ll wake Ryder.”

“You have got to be kidding—”

“Wait outside,” I said. “I’ll get dressed, and we’ll get out of here.”

She turned on her heel and stalked out.

Miraculously, Ryder didn’t wake up as I was finding all of my clothing, and he was lying on top of my bra. I got dressed as quickly as I could.

Then I met Brigit in the hallway.

Ugh. I hated the way she was looking at me. I felt sick to my stomach, awash in shame. Sleeping with that kid? It had been nice. I had enjoyed it. He was energetic and a good kisser and he made me come at least three times. But I knew that it wasn’t appropriate. And I knew I shouldn’t need to sleep with him.

Brigit threw a disgusted look at me, and then she started walking out of the dorm ahead of me. I followed her, feeling dejected.

Once we got to the sidewalk outside the building, she turned to look at me. I expected her to yell, but her voice was soft. “And you think you don’t have a problem with drinking?”

“Drinking?” I said. “You’re the one who passed out on the couch. If anyone needs to understand her limits with alcohol, it’s you.” Then I hung my head. “Sorry, Brigit. I shouldn’t lash out. The thing is, I never wanted you to see me like that.”

“I’ve seen you drunk a zillion times, Ivy.”

“Not drunk,” I said.

“Then what?”

I rubbed my face. “Let’s walk, okay? We’ll walk, and I’ll tell you everything, and then I’ll buy you breakfast.”

She nodded.

I started to walk.

She fell into step with me.

“The reason I got kicked off the police force was not that I was drinking too much. I don’t have a problem with drinking.”

“You keep saying that, but after what I just witnessed this morning, I can’t believe you would say that. That guy was like half your age. How drunk do you have to be—”

“Half my age? How old do you think I am?”

“Okay, fine,” she said. “Whatever. He was too young for you. And besides, with everything going on with you and Miles, why would you do something to screw that up?”

“They kicked me off the force for ‘conduct unbecoming an officer’ or more specifically, having an affair with a married man during work hours, using my work cell phone. Thing is, it wasn’t so much an affair as it was a fling. He just wanted it to go on, so he kept calling and harassing me.”

“So, they fired you because of that? That doesn’t seem fair. Did they fire him?”

“Well, they couldn’t,” I said. “He didn’t work for the police department. He was a lawyer in town.”

“Oh.”

“And it wasn’t really that incident that was the whole reason they fired me. It was just the incident that provided some evidence they could use to get rid of me. See, the whole time that I worked for the department, I had this sort of… reputation.”

“Oh,” said Brigit in a different voice.

I walked faster.

She picked up the pace.

“They referred me to a psychologist at one point. They said they thought I had a sex addiction. In fact, everyone said that. When I got fired, there was a story in a newspaper that had the headline, ‘Sex Addict Kicked Off Force.’ People just threw that word around. I guess it was nicer than calling me a whore or a nymphomaniac or something, but only slightly.”

“And are you?” said Brigit. “Are you a sex addict?”

“No,” I said.

We were quiet.

The only sound was our footsteps on the sidewalk. We were walking around the tennis courts on campus. In a few minutes, we’d cross the lawn in front of Sorrel Hall and then we’d be able to cross to the main street of Keene and go to the Sunshine Skillet for breakfast. My stomach rumbled.

“Maybe,” I said. “Sort of. Only in the sense that I don’t seem to be able to stop doing it, and I don’t really always like the fact that I do.”

“I think that’s a textbook definition of an addiction, Ivy,” she said quietly.

“Yeah?” I said. “Well… maybe I don’t want to stop, okay? I mean, maybe sometimes it’s bad. Maybe sometimes I do things like sleep with serial killers—”

“You slept with Ralph the Hatchet?”

“Maybe,” I muttered.

“Ivy, that’s awful.”

“Yeah, a little bit awful.”

“You are a sex addict.”

I sighed.

We walked.

I didn’t contradict her.

* * *

I hadn’t forgotten the fact that I was supposed to be looking into Kent Mercer, the very-probably-married guy that Brigit was into. But after the disastrous night on campus, it seemed even more important. After breakfast, I sent Brigit home and told her to take the day off. She looked pretty rough, anyway, and she was more than a little hungover. I, however, was used to working after a night of debauchery, so I came in to the office.

First things first: Kent Mercer.

I started by calling my friend Eden Foxcroft. Eden had been my roommate in college, and she was probably my best friend, even though we didn’t talk all that often. Eden was a computer hermit. She had an active social life, but most of it was online, so she didn’t leave her house much. She was also a data genius. She conducted some kind of business from her home. I didn’t know exactly what it was, but it seemed to be paying her bills.

When I called her, it was usually so that she could do her computer wizardry and get me information for whatever case I was working on. But since there weren’t a lot of other local private investigators, I really didn’t think the bulk of her work came from private eyes. I didn’t know how she made ends meet, and I didn’t really care. She was my friend, and she was always there when I needed her.

“Hi Ivy,” she said. “What’s up?”

“I need you to find out everything you can find out about a Kent Mercer.”

“Missing persons case?”

“Actually, I’m looking into some guy that Brigit might want to date,” I said. “It’s kind of a favor for her, but don’t worry, I’ll pay you your standard rate for helping me out.”

“Yes, Ivy,” said Eden sarcastically, “I’m very worried about the money. You know me.”

“I’m only saying,” I said. “I wouldn’t take advantage of you like that.”

“We’re friends,” she said. “You’re not taking advantage. So, what’s up with this guy? Why are you looking into him?”

“He might be married.”

“I can check that pretty quick,” she said. “Let me call you back.”

I hung up the phone and looked around the office. It seemed awfully quiet without Brigit around. Fluffy wasn’t even making noise upstairs.

Damn it, I had promised myself not to call that damned dog Fluffy. It was an insulting name. If that dog were my dog, I would call her…

I thought about it.

Regan, I decided. It meant queen, and if she were my dog, I would treat her like royalty. Because dogs were meant to be respected. After all, we’d bred the wild out of them. Thousands of years of selective breeding had turned them into an animal that could have fended for itself into something that needed our protection. We owed dogs. We’d screwed them up, and only for our own pleasure.

Not that I was really a bleeding heart for animals or anything.

Anyway, Regan was not upstairs making any noise.

And then I went into a panic that the ASPCA had come and taken her away already, and that she was in some pound somewhere, practically on the chopping block.

I reached for my phone to call and ask if they’d taken her away.

And the phone rang.

I picked it up. “Hello?’

“You okay?” said Eden’s voice. “You sound a little breathless? You running laps up there or something?”

“I’m fine,” I said.

“He’s not married,” she said. “At least, he files his taxes as single, and you’d have to be an idiot not to claim that tax break, right?”

“Not married,” I mused. “Then why did he have a tan line where a wedding ring would go?”

“Don’t know that,” said Eden.

“Do you have an address for him?”

“Sure do.” She rattled it off.

“Thanks.” I scribbled it down. “Listen, Eden, you’ve known me for a long time.”

“Yeah,” she said. “What’s up? That sounded like the opening to a particularly penetrating discussion.”

“No, it’s nothing important. It’s just, would you say I had a, you know, problem with, uh, men?”

“You mean do I think you’re a sex addict?”

Eden knew me so well.

“Yeah, I guess that about covers it.”

“Well, sweetie, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with sleeping with lots of men. If you like it, and you’re happy, no big deal. At one point in time, when we were in college, I thought you were happy about your choices.”

“I am happy.”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” I said, but I could hear the waver in my voice.

“I think that you… I don’t know… feel like you have to sleep with men. I used to think you had something to prove, that you were doing it to level the gender playing field or something, but the longer I’ve known you, the more that I realize you don’t know why you have to do it. But you do have to, don’t you?”

I let that sit for a second, trying to figure out how to answer her. Then I muttered, “On second thought, let’s not talk about this.”

“Oh come on, Ivy, you never talk about this stuff. You keep it all inside—”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I don’t have to do anything. I sleep with guys because I like it. End of discussion.”

She sighed. “Okay, fine. But if you decide you want to talk—”

“I’ve got to go check out Mr. Mercer for Brigit right now.”

“Sure you do.”

We got off the phone pleasantly enough, but I could sense that I’d disappointed her, and that made me feel like crap. That was the worst thing about having so much sex. The way everyone seemed to look at me like I was soiled and damaged. Eden usually didn’t do that, and she wasn’t doing that now. But I now knew that she thought something was wrong with me.

Great.

Did everyone think something was wrong with me?

No. Crane didn’t. Crane Drakely, my drinking buddy, fuck buddy, and confidante. He thought I was just fine the way I was. Of course, that could easily be because Crane was just as screwed up as I was.

I didn’t want to keep thinking about this, but, of course, I knew the thoughts would linger as long as I wasn’t actively driving them out. I needed to get busy, to occupy my brain with something besides my own stupid life and problems.

So, I left the office, got in my car, and went to the address that Eden gave me for Kent Mercer.

Kent lived in a house that had been carved up into apartments. His was on the first floor. There was a car in the driveway, but I didn’t know if that belonged to him or not, since there were two apartments upstairs. So, I watched the place for about ten minutes. There were no obvious signs of activity, so I moved in closer.

I checked the windows, looking inside.

Didn’t seem like anyone was home.

I picked the lock on the front door and let myself inside.

The apartment was only two rooms. Well, three, counting the bathroom, which was barely big enough to be counted as a room. It held a stand-up shower, a tiny sink, and a toilet. The shower was stained in what looked like twenty years of soap scum and lime scale. That stuff wouldn’t be coming off easily.

The kitchen was pretty large, but not in any usable way. All of the appliances were along the far wall, the refrigerator and stove flanking the sink. On either side, there was a tiny bit of counter space. Then the rest of the room was an empty expanse of space. The walls were bare and so was the floor, except for a rickety table smack dab in the middle. The table only had one chair, and it didn’t match. It was one of those fold-up-able camping chairs. The kind that has mesh drink holders in the arms.

One chair. Didn’t seem like this guy was coming home to anyone.

I opened up the refrigerator.

Didn’t seem like anyone was cooking in this utterly terribly designed kitchen anyway. It was glutted with takeout containers. Pizza. Chinese. Indian.

The other room was both the living room and the bedroom. It had a couch and chair across from a television set and then a bed in the far corner.

A single bed.

In between was a mass of canvases. One was even set up on an easel, half finished. The paintings were of nuts and bolts and machinery. One was a very close up of a rusty screwdriver. Weird.

Yup. If Kent Mercer had ever been married, he wasn’t now. I couldn’t see a woman living in this place with him. It was a total bachelor pad, and not the fun kind.

I wasn’t sure about the ring on Kent’s finger. Maybe he’d been married, and now, in the throes of divorce, he had settled in this sad little apartment until he got himself on his feet. Maybe the ring hadn’t been a wedding ring but something else. Whatever the case, he was clearly the starving artist type, and I wasn’t sure if he was good enough for Brigit.

Well, he obviously wasn’t starving, not with all that takeout in the fridge.

Anyway, he wasn’t rolling in dough.

But he didn’t seem to be married.

I’d keep digging, but maybe he wasn’t the jerk that I’d originally thought.

* * *

When I got back to the office, Kitty Richards was waiting by the door.

“You!” she said. “You’re the only one who could possibly be responsible for this.”

I gave her wide innocent eyes. “Hi there, Kitty. What seems to be the problem? I haven’t broken into your apartment recently, no matter what it is you say. There’s no way I could have found a way around that alarm.”

That wasn’t strictly true. I had actually contemplated if it was worth the trouble to try to figure out a way to disarm the alarm. I decided it wasn’t.

She folded her arms over her chest. Kitty was not exactly a small woman. She was older and, well, fat, so her arms were like enormous sausages bulging out of her sleeves.

Generally, I don’t like to look disparagingly on people who are overweight or obese. I watched this documentary about how our bodies fight tooth and nail to regain weight once we’ve lost it. It’s like a survival thing, something coded into our DNA from the days when we were hunters and gatherers. Basically, it’s much harder to become a thin person after you’ve been a fat person than it is to simply remain a thin person. I wasn’t a super thin person, but I wasn’t overweight or anything either. I figured that it wasn’t fair to make fun of people, considering I had no idea what it might be like to be an obese person.

But Kitty Richards was horrible in every way, and so I would pick apart anything about her that I could. So, she was fat. She was disgustingly fat. She was a blimp, an ogre, a whale.

“You know what the problem is,” said Kitty. “You called the ASPCA to investigate my little Fluffy.”

“The ASPCA?” I tried to look surprised.

“Don’t give me that,” she growled. “You’re horrible. A completely terrible person. Why you want to make my life so difficult—”

“Why do you want to make your dog’s life so difficult?” I said.

“I’m good to Fluffy.”

“Sure,” I said. “I guess you won’t be anymore, though, will you? Since they took her away.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. They saw that the living environment for Fluffy was just fine, and they left. They apologized for the trouble they’d caused me.”

“They didn’t take the dog?” Regan, I thought in my head.

“No, they didn’t,” said Kitty. “And you knew they wouldn’t. You couldn’t possibly think that I was actually being cruel to little Fluffy. You did it to get at me, because you’re vindictive and awful.”

“I did it because there’s no reason to keep a dog in a tiny bathroom like that! It is abuse, even if the ASPCA doesn’t agree, and you should be ashamed of yourself for doing something so cruel to a little, helpless animal.”

“I don’t abuse her. I love Fluffy.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

“You don’t care about my dog. You just want her to shut up. It’s about noise for you.”

“Maybe it started out that way,” I said, “but it’s more than that now. That little dog deserves better than you.”

Kitty sneered at me, taking a breath to say something else. But before she could, she was overcome by a fit of coughing.

I waited for it to pass.

It didn’t.

She kept coughing for an agonizingly long time. Long enough that I actually started patting her on the back, because I was beginning to think she was never going to stop, and it seemed like the thing to do.

Eventually, the coughs began to subside. She backed away, gasping for breath.

“Kitty, are you okay?” I said.

But she didn’t say anything. She just toddled down the hallway, still emitting the occasional cough. Then she disappeared into the stairwell.

I furrowed my brow. Huh. Weird.

* * *

The candlelight vigil for the victims of the shooting was being held on campus at twilight. There were separate little areas for each of the five victims. Noticeably missing, of course, was any area for Gilbert. As the killer, he didn’t warrant any remembrance.

If Gilbert was really innocent, I’d set that all right. If he’d been just as much a victim as everyone else, then he would get the respect he deserved in death. It was important to find out what we could, to do our best to clear his name.

That was one of the reasons we’d come to the candlelight vigil. We wanted to talk to the friends of these kids and try to figure out what they were like. We wanted to gather evidence of their possible drug habits, how likely it was that the dealer would have been twitchy around them, things like that.

But neither Brigit nor I had started talking to anyone yet, because we weren’t entirely sure how to talk to people about those sorts of things at a memorial.

“Maybe,” I was saying, “we can just sort of take note of who we want to talk to now and run them all down later.”

“Yeah,” said Brigit. “That sounds good.”

“Of course,” I said, “that’s a lot of running around, and they’re all right here now, so if we could just figure out a way to approach them…”

Brigit shrugged at me helplessly. “I got nothing.”

“Come on, there’s got to be a way. I wouldn’t have suggested we come here if there wasn’t a way.”

“I assumed you had a plan. You are the detective, you know.”

“Right,” I muttered.

We stood toward the back and watched. At each little area, the close friends and family members stood in front of heaps of flowers and candles and pictures. Other people milled about, holding candles, depositing keepsakes in the heaps.

“So,” I said, “we’ll watch for someone who visits all five and then talk to that person,” I said. “Because they’ll know if all of them were druggies.”

“Every single person here is going to all five,” said Brigit.

“That can’t be true,” I said. “Is that true?” The more I watched, the more I realized that she was right. Well, I didn’t think talking to family members made much sense. College students often hid their proclivities from their parents. Best friends might know, sure. But how to separate the friends from the parents? “Maybe,” I said, “we can pose as counselors, employed by the college, and then ask the friends to come with us while we ask them a few questions. You think that would work?”

Brigit brightened. “Actually, that’s great. But do you think I look too young to be a counselor? Don’t psychiatrists have to go to four more years of school?”

“You could be a psychologist,” I said. “Stop overthinking this. If you say you’re official, and you act official, people believe you. Easy as that.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Good, we’ll start with Charlene Jarrett, over there.” I pointed. And then I squinted. Holy shit, was that who I thought it was? Was that Derek O’Shaunessy standing behind the heap of flowers along with Charlene’s family?

“Ivy,” said Brigit. “Is that…?”

Derek wasn’t the only O’Shaunessy over there, now that I was looking. The area was practically an O’Shaunessy family reunion.

The O’Shaunessys were the Irish mob family in Renmawr. Derek and I had a bit of a history, considering he’d beaten me up. Twice. He was always trying to send a message to me, tell me not to get involved in the workings of his family. And no matter what he did to me, I was determined to take the O’Shaunessys down. I’d had a grudge against them ever since they ruined one of our best murder cases by infiltrating the department and killing the witness we had in custody. The O’Shaunessys were the biggest reason that Renmawr wasn’t a nice place to live. I wanted to stop them, and I would.

“That’s Derek O’Shaunessy,” said Brigit. “And he’s crying.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t realize this before,” I said. “Jarrett. Charlene Jarrett.”

“Realize what?”

“Seamus O’Shaunessy, head of the family? His sister Catherine married a guy named Michael Jarrett, a lawyer. Jarrett went to work for the family right away, and all his sons and grandsons did as well.”

“So, Charlene is probably like his granddaughter or something? The granddaughter of the big boss?”

“Oh, she definitely is,” I said. I furrowed my brow. Maybe we’d been going about this case all wrong.