Pieces of Ivy (9 page)

“It’s because they claim it runs with blood,” Hank said.

She changed her mind.

“The woman calls herself
Sky
, but it’s not her bloody name.” All professional posturing waned. “I’m certain she’s the old Kilroy girl—from the ’84 murders. Maybe even intimate with the Pieces of Eight killer.” He drew a heavy rattled breath, leveling his voice. “I have patients waiting.”

Vicki turned to Hank as they met the street. “How the hell does this town even function?”

Hank threw up his hands playfully. “Hey, I warned you before we went in.”

“If Ivy did see Dr. Voxel, then I’d like to talk to her next.”

“Agreed.” He pulled the passenger door open then stopped. “Are you noticing a theme here?”

“Theme?”

“The witch.”

“You serious? You just wrote her off as an old nut.” She slid into her seat. “I bet the town’s scapegoating the strange woman because it’s easier than coming to grips with the fact that it could be one of their neighbors.” She turned the ignition. “Well, I don’t follow
easy
.”

“So you don’t suspect her?”

“I didn’t say that.” She recalled Rose’s caution. “But their bias isn’t going to draw me away from the evidence.”

Good luck,
he thought. Objectivity was a fallacy—only experience would prove that to her. She wasn’t going to listen to him.

† †
†

A soft chime welcomed them as they stepped into the peaceful oasis. The small shop was thick with thriving vegetation and the happy song of a trickling pond. The air was warm and soothing, scented with the serene aroma of jasmine. To the left, large wicker chairs were nestled between lush palms. Straight ahead sat an antique reception desk beside a wide threshold into a quaint health boutique. A happy cluster of ferns thrived together; flourishing in fern heaven, saved from the impoverished sentence imposed upon their wilted brother in Dr. Collins’s office.

A woman turned from the shelf where she was organizing an extensive selection of books on health, wellness and spirituality. “May I help you?”

“Are you Dr. Voxel?”

“I am.” She approached them both with a pleasant smile. She was a bookish but fit woman with sprite hair, vital for her midforties, wearing slim tan slacks and a red cashmere sweater.

“I’m Agent Starr, and this is Agent Dashel. Could we have a few words with you, Doctor?”

“Absolutely—and, please, call me Allison.” She motioned for them to take a seat in the wicker chairs. She pulled a chair around to join them rather than sit across her desk. Before she sat, she poured them each a cup of herbal tea.

“No thanks,” Hank said too late.

“It’s good for you,” she replied and finished pouring. “Is this about Ivy?”

Vicki nodded. “Dr. Collins said that she was a patient of yours.”

Her face soured as she sat, lifting the steaming cup to her lips. “Did he?”

“Are you saying she wasn’t?”

“No, she was—I’m just sure that’s not all he had to say.” She looked at them. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“He … has his opinions of you, yes,” Hank said.

“If he knew half as much as I do about how the body truly works, he might actually be a decent doctor. If he also did something about his looks, hygiene and personality, that is.”

Vicki smiled and handed her a photo of Ivy.

Allison nodded with a sad smile. “That’s her. She came to a few of my workshops. Ivy was extremely disciplined when it came to her health—physically, emotionally and spiritually.”

Hank asked, “When you say
spiritually
, do you mean that she was religious, or that she was … into
other
practices?”

She laughed. “She was no witch, if that’s what you mean. We already have one of those.” Her speech lacked the suspicion-laden undertones held by the others.

Vicki’s turn. “Since you mentioned the witch—”

“Sky,” Allison corrected.

“Right, although others say that Sky is not her real name. They claim she’s
the old Kilroy girl
—if that means anything—and that she had a relationship with the Pieces of Eight killer.”

This offended the agreeable woman. “That’s just wanton vitriol people throw around because they despise Sky so much.” Allison hung her head. “It’s actually a sad story. Tanya Kilroy was the prettiest girl in school—even outshining
his
infamous precious pieces, if people were honest. Those girls were like a divine blessing from the heavens—each encapsulating extraordinary beauty. You rarely see a clutch of so many absolutely stunning young women.”

The doctor appeared quite taken with the long-ago victims.

“A year after that monster was killed, rumors started that he did covet Tanya Kilroy—a ninth—but that he couldn’t bring himself to kill her too. He had his eight and wanted Tanya … for life.”

Hank nodded, remembering the same rumors.

“Thankfully he was robbed of that life. I can’t imagine the terror. My cousin Jane had been abducted once, by a madman—her neighbor no less. The ordeal was devastating.”

“So Sky
is
Tanya Kilroy?” Vicki asked.

“No. I know Sky Veil—and knew plenty about Tanya—it’s not her. Besides, the ages don’t add up. To say otherwise is outrageous.” She leaned toward them. “Listen. It’s a small town—I love it here—but it has its quirks. The ever-grinding rumor mill is one—especially regarding either the Pieces of Eight murders or Sky. And believe me those are only two of a multitude of
rumorous delights
that churn around this town.”

“Nice wordplay,” Vicki offered.

“I read a lot.”

Hank couldn’t resist. “Do you also like the pic—”

Vicki elbowed him in the ribs.

Allison looked on, confused, as Vicki chose a more acceptable question. “What about friends?”

“Ivy’s best friend was Kyla—Kyla More. I believe a few people from work—the school. And she played ball.”

† †
†

“Let’s check out that girl Tasha who Allison mentioned,” Hank said as he got into Vicki’s car. “The ballplayer.”

“She works at a place called Scooper’s, right?”

“Yes, that’s what she said.”

Vicki caught his salacious grin. “
Scooper’s
?” She envisioned the strip club behind his smile.

“Best ice cream in town,” he confirmed.

She looked at him, shaking her head in surprise, before drawing her attention back to the road.

“Hello, handsome. What’ll it be?” The young woman behind the counter, who playfully jiggled the blond ponytail pulled to the top of her head, mischievously turned her chest side to side as she stood beaming up at the much-older stranger.

Vicki interrupted, “I’ll have a single scoop of mint chocolate chip—in a cup.”

Smiling, Hank stole a quick glance at the server’s swaying bosom. “I’ll have a double scoop of tiger.”

“Raarrr,” she growled and then spied Vicki’s expression. “Relax, lady—you’re not his wife.”

“How so?”

Hank grinned at Vicki’s reaction.

“You’re too old for him.” She shot Hank an inviting wink.

“Too—” Vicki bit her lip, loathing the satisfaction painted across Hank’s face. The girl was maybe twenty. Technically Dashel could be her father. “He’s not my husband.” She flashed her badge, raising an eyebrow. “He’s my partner.”

The ice cream girl looked from the badge to Hank. “That is so hot.”

Vicki rolled her eyes. “Can we get our ice cream?”

“And a few minutes of your time?” Hank added.

“Totally,” she said, delighted—her topknot ponytail bobbing happily.

The sprite girl brought their ice cream, licking one of her own—tiger of course—and joined them at their table. She was smiling at Hank when suddenly her face changed. She looked at Vicki. “Is this about Ivy?”

Vicki nodded.

“Oh.” Anguish erased all the play from the young woman’s face.

“We understand you played ball with Ivy,” Hank said, selfishly wishing for another glimpse of her flirtatious energy. Gone.

She nodded her head and wept.

Vicki felt a sudden sorrow for the girl who had slighted Vicki. Like a burst balloon, the bright young woman’s flirty-kitten shell—shallow though it may be—was crushed by her insides.

Vicki placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Tasha seized it, holding it in place as she wept.

Vicki whispered, “Have you spoken to anyone about this?”

Her ponytail bobbed. “Sheriff Roscoe—and his wife, Rose.” Sucking back her tears, she looked at them both, pleading stretched across her face. “Why would anyone do this? She never hurt anybody.”

Ignoring the gawking patrons, Vicki squeezed her hand. “You’ve played together since last year, correct?”

She nodded.

“Did she seem any different lately? Worried?”

“No, that’s the strange part—even when Sheriff Roscoe asked the same question, I honestly couldn’t come up with anything. We weren’t superclose, but, on the field, we were so in sync. Saturday’s game was the last time—” She broke.

“We can request his notes,” Vicki offered. “But is there anything that came to you after you spoke to Sheriff Roscoe?”

“Well, I mean, I don’t know how many notes he took—his hands were kind of busy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sheriff Roscoe was just being
Sheriff Roscoe
—but still it was kind of creepy.”

Vicki motioned to continue.

“We stepped outside for a smoke—Rose doesn’t smoke—and he was totally hitting on me, as usual. I’m used to it—everybody is. It just felt awkward because Rose was in the building and—” Tasha struggled but continued with a whisper, “Ivy had just been murdered by a sexual sadist.” She looked up. “Time and place, right?”

Vicki couldn’t agree more. “How far did he take it?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, he was harmless—if inappropriate. It’s just … you know, the situation and all … I’m all for play, but sometimes you gotta park it.”

“Can you tell us who else was on your team?”

“I can do you one better—they’re all at Lee-Lee’s Pub. I was supposed to go but had to pull this shift.”

† †
†

The dark lounge was riddled with plush chairs and sofas among scattered tables seating only the solitary, sullen types you’d expect to be drinking alone in the middle of a weekday afternoon. However, a group of young adults lounged in the far corner around a square table littered with empty glasses and spent chicken wings. Two slouched in soft chairs while the other five spread themselves across two large sofas.

A young man glanced up with a half-sauced grin. “Hey, you look like obvious fans.” He pointed his beer bottle at the agents as they approached their table. “Let me ask you, would it be in poor taste to rename our league
Ivy’s League
? In honor of Ivy Turner?”

Another man piped up, slurring—his eyelids too heavy for the midafternoon. “I think it’s clever.”

“Actually Miss Turner’s the reason we’re here,” Vicki said. “I’m Agent Starr, and this is Agent Dashel.”

This struck dumb silence around the table.

“Move yer fat butt over!” the spokesman blurted, shoving another and then thumping the open space beside him. “Have a seat. I’m Todd. This is Max, Paul, Ugly Pete, Nick and Chuck. The one with the nice boobs is Sam.”

“Pig.”

“Hey, you’re the one who married me,” he countered.

Sam rolled her eyes.

“How can we help you?” Todd asked.

“Is this your entire team?”

“Yeah—’cept for Ivy.” He paused. “Some of our better-halves sub in from time to time. Oh, and Tasha.”

“We met her,” Vicki said.

All eyes shifted to Hank, expecting the grin that forced its way onto his face.

Vicki posed the question to the group. “Was there anything you can think of that might have been considered strange behavior for Ivy in the past few weeks?”

There was bewildered consideration among the silent faces.

Hank watched an unsettled look grow across Nick’s face. “You have something to say?”

Nick hesitated, disliking this sudden barrage of eyes turned on him. He swallowed hard. “I saw her going into Cherrybrook Forest sometimes”—his eyes shifted between the agents and his crew—“over the past few weeks.”

“Someone said she liked to read in the quiet of Old Burnt Church,” Max offered. “Readin’ Stephen King, huddled against the warm gravestones.”

“As if,” Sam countered. “I heard she was seeing the witch.”

Hank and Vicki exchanged glances.

Max shuddered. “That’s just as creepy.”

“You’re both nuts.” This time it was Paul who spoke. “Ivy was too straight in the head to do either one of those.” He turned sideways, squaring up with the agents. “Ivy was as cool as they come—the girl had no issues.” He paused. “She was flawless.”

Pete raised a wavering hand in agreement and slurred, “Man, can she wear a pair of shorts.”

“You’re a tool,” Todd said. “Don’t let lowlifes like Pete fool you. Yeah, maybe initial reactions are … were, to her looks, but she honestly had a heart of gold—and she was smart.”

Paul nodded. “She was the full package. Trifecta. Beauty, brains and funny as hell.”

Everyone agreed and Max added, “He’s right, and she could play with the best of us. She was a true athlete.”

Sam spoke up again. “Subbed as a coach or something. Even got us school field access on weeknights—which was sweet.”

Pete stirred, his left eyelid drooping to the floor. “Hey, will we lose that?”

Todd punched him in the tit. “You really are an asshole, aren’t you?” He scowled at him. “Like it even matters—Ivy’s dead … idiot.”

Pete looked only half wounded, speaking to the space between Todd and Sam. “Hate me if you all want, but she should never have gone into that dead forest. Told her—didn’t I tell her?” he asked, as he focused just past Todd’s shoulder.

Todd snapped back, “This again? Why would Ivy go into the forest? Tell me, Pete, why? She may be new, but she heard the stories.”

“Let it be,” Max said. “Pete’s drunk, and he knows damn well she didn’t—”

Pete insisted on interrupting. “Seriously, I heard”—he caught a burp—“Ol’ Jack say he saw her go into the woods alone a few times—just like Nicky said.” A salacious grin spread across his lips. “Once she didn’t come out till mornin’.”

He overdid his knowing double-wink—everyone but him aware that the side of his absentminded fist was kneading his crotch. “The witch, right?” He caught the reproachful look from his friends. “What? Evil witch sex—that’s fucking hot!” He realized he was being made a fool of in front of the sexy agent sitting across from him. Blushing, he came to his own drunken defense. “Yeah, like you didn’t think it, you fuckin’ fags.”

The group ignored his unfixed glares.

“What stories?” Vicki asked.

Sam answered, “Rumors about Cherrybrook being haunted—that the witch raised the corpses. There’s an abandoned graveyard next to Old Burnt Church.” She looked to her team for consensus. “It’s why everyone calls it the
Dead Forest
, right?”

While others nodded, Todd turned to his wife and said, “Not everyone calls it that.”

“You do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes.

Paul agreed with Todd. “It doesn’t matter what people call it—I don’t see what it has to do with Ivy’s murder. She was found in a barn, not the woods.”

“Maybe
she
did it,” Chuck offered. “The witch.”

“Please,” Todd and Paul said in unison.

Chuck shut up, taking a long, distracting pull off his Coors Light.

Hank spoke up. “Can any of you account for your whereabouts between Sunday night and Tuesday morning?”

“Gotta pee!” Pete announced as he launched to his wavering feet. He walked his shins straight into the low table in front of him and crashed down hard, scattering bottles, glasses and tiny chicken bones.

† †
†

“Even Stinky Pete has an alibi.”

“
Ugly Pete
,” Hank corrected.

Vicki steered the Corvette, rounded the corner. “And his is the most solid. But I’ll follow up with Roscoe to be sure Pete was in the tank on both Sunday and Monday night.”

“I’d be more surprised if he wasn’t.”