The Borrowed and Blue Murders (The Zoe Hayes Mysteries) (10 page)

Finally, I put him down beside me, his hand firmly grabbing my pinkie. I lay back on the bed, feeling depleted and stressed. But Luke was there with me, keeping me company. My troubles seemed faraway and petty; in his presence, it was difficult to wallow.

M
ONDAY MORNING,
I
VY CAME
back to work, albeit with attitude, arriving in an insurance company rental.

“Loaner’s a piece of shit.” She hung her coat on the rack near the front door and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Thing smells like cigarette smoke and air freshener.”

“What’d they give you?” Sam eyed her openly, head to heels and back again. Ivy had an ample figure, and she arched her back, posing.

“A damned Ford Taurus. Can you believe it? A neon blue Taurus? What the hell is that?”

Sam sympathized, but I only half-listened, busy fastening Oliver’s leash onto his collar while he yipped and strained, eager to go outside for a walk even though he’d already peed in the house. Besides, Molly was running late. Her school bus would arrive any second.

“Molly?” I heard her racing around her bedroom.

“Mom.” She sounded panicked. “I can’t find my book bag.”

“It’s down here. By the steps.”

More frantic footsteps. “But where’s my project?”

“In your book bag. So is your lunch.” I held out her coat. “Come on—you’re late.”

She thundered down the steps, Nick behind her. “Hey, Molly? No kiss?”

She pulled her coat on, blowing him one up the stairs.

“Wait.” Sam broke off his talk with Ivy. “What’s that? That’s not a kiss. It’s a poof of air.”

The bus pulled up and honked.

I opened the door to wave at the driver, and Oliver scampered outside, barking. Molly ran around the kitchen, dispersing kisses, leaving an extra one for Tony, who was busy on his laptop in my office.

“What? You haven’t seen me in a week, and don’t even say hello?” Ivy tugged at Molly’s jacket. “I thought you were my little girl.”

Clowning, basking in attention, Molly ran over and gave Ivy a hug. “Hello, Ivy.”

The driver beeped again. Molly sped to the door as Ivy took Luke from his rocker, holding him as she resumed her chat with Sam.

“Ivy,” I interrupted. “I’ll be out for a little while. Luke’s clothes are laid out on his changing table.”

She didn’t even look at me. The only indication that she was listening was that she stopped talking until I finished. When my voice stopped, immediately she continued where she’d left off. The woman knew how to bear a grudge. But I’d hired her, had no one to blame for her presence there but myself. In fact, I’d interviewed nine women before hiring Ivy. Ivy had seemed to care about the children more than the others, so even with her superior, often abrasive attitude toward me, I’d chosen her. Now, she acted as if she outranked me in my own home, and I’d have to deal with it. But not now.

“Zoe?” Nick stood at the door, waiting for a kiss. He’d been sleeping when I got up. “Morning.” His eyes were still puffy.

I pecked at him, following Molly down the front steps. “I’ll be back soon.”

“But we’ll be gone. We’re leaving as soon as Tony’s ready.”

I glanced back at Nick, wondering where he was going. But Oliver was pulling me down the steps, chasing Molly, so I waved, “Call me later,” and ran after them, stopping Molly on the steps of the bus, yanking her hood. “Wait. You forgot something.” I leaned forward, pointing to my cheek.

“Mom.” It was a gasp. Molly looked mortified. “Not here.” And she ran into the bus, leaving me without a kiss, without even a poof of air.

O
LIVER WAS IN RARE
form. I practiced the commands we’d learned in puppy obedience school.

“Sit.” I imitated the teacher, speaking with authority, but Oliver wasn’t impressed. Remaining on all fours, he pulled at the leash until he couldn’t breathe. Gasping, he pulled me down the street; I heard his rattled breathing as the collar choked him.

“Oliver.” Hearing his name, he glanced at me, and I held up a Cheerio, one of his favorite treats. “Sit.”

He seemed to consider sitting, because he slowed down for a few steps.

“Sit.” I pulled on his leash, standing still, resisting his tugs.

He turned his head, grinning, eyeing the treat. And, incredibly, he sat.

“Good boy!” I felt like dancing. He’d obeyed. I fed him the treat and, before it was off my finger, he was racing ahead again, choking himself, oblivious to anything I had to say.

It went that way for the next half hour. If I held out a treat, Oliver would obey me long enough to get it. But no treat, no deal. The dog clearly understood what I wanted. He knew how to heel, sit, lie down, stay. But clearly, he saw no reason to respond to my commands. Mere praise would not do it; he required bribes. And I was beginning to wonder how I would convince him that of the two of us, I was the dominant one, since I wasn’t quite convinced of it myself.

I couldn’t keep it up for a full half hour. After maybe ten minutes, I’d had enough. The walk was over. As we rounded Third Street and turned onto Monroe, I saw Sam and Tony pile into Nick’s Volvo and pull away. I’d forgotten to ask where they were going. No matter. At least the house would be quiet. Ivy would watch Luke and Oliver, and I’d be able to grab some time for myself.

As we came inside, though, the house seemed oddly quiet. Ivy wasn’t in the kitchen, but her half-f coffee cup sat beside the sink, complete with lipstick stains. In fact, all the cups were there, along with an empty box from an Entemann’s coffee cake. I continued into the living room; Luke was there, lying in his playpen, kicking air and pawing at a mobile, but there was no sign of Ivy.

I took off Oliver’s leash, and he raced upstairs. Ivy must be up there, maybe straightening Molly’s room. But that wasn’t right. Ivy shouldn’t have left Luke out of earshot. And she could have put her cup, if not all of them, into the dishwasher. Lately, but especially since her car had been stolen, she had been difficult. It was time to talk about it. I stood at the foot of the stairs, listening for her, hearing nothing.

“Ivy?”

No answer. I climbed the stairs and stood in the hall, heard a faint whoosh in my bedroom. Someone was in there. But if it was Ivy, why wasn’t she answering? Was she all right? A pulse of fear jolted through me, along with visions of entrails.

“Ivy?” Again, that whoosh. What was it? It sounded like rustling. Like fabric? “Ivy? Is that you?” I called again as I headed to my room, throwing the door open, ready to pounce on an intruder.

“Ivy?” It was all I could think of to say.

There was no intruder, but Ivy was in there. Alone. And she looked splendid. Ravishing, even. But then, why wouldn’t she? She was wearing my wedding dress.

“W
HAT ARE YOU DOING?”
I finally managed.

Her eyes bulged and the pale white of her face and throat instantly splotched with pink. She took a step back, away from my mirror. But she didn’t answer. For a long awkward moment, we stood gaping at each other.

“You said you were going out,” she snapped. “What are you doing back so soon?” Apparently, from Ivy’s point of view, it was my fault I’d walked in on her.

“So, while I was gone, you thought you’d try on my wedding dress?”

She shrugged, making light of it. “I wanted to see how I’d look—I might be getting married soon myself.”

Was she serious? My fists tightened. I wanted to throttle her. “Take it off. Now. And hang it exactly the way you found it.”

Our eyes locked. Her chin rose; a smug smile spread across her face. But she made no move to take off the dress.

“Ivy. I mean it.” Okay. Now, I was mad. Furious. The woman had crossed an un-crossable line. She was fired. Not only fired. Banned from the property. For life. Still, she stared at me defiant and unapologetic, not removing my gown. Where did she get the nerve? What was wrong with her? “Now. This minute.”

“Or what?” She tossed her head back, scoffing. “You’ll rip it off me? You think you’re better than me, don’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“You with your upscale brownstone house, your cute little kids, your big strong handsome man, your fancy education and your degrees in—whatever. You think you’re better than me.” What was she talking about? “No, Ivy. I don’t. But—”

“Bullshit.”

We talked over each other, voices rising.

“Oh yes, you do. You look down on me. You look down on everybody—”

“—How I look at you isn’t the issue. The issue is—”

“—like me. You know what? You’re just plain spoiled. You don’t even know how good you have it. You take it for granted—”

“—that you’re wearing my gown—”

“—that your life is perfect. You don’t even have to work. Your man takes care of you. And you have all this nice stuff—”

“—and you need to take it off.”

But still, she didn’t take it off. She continued ranting, gesturing, twisting her body. Oh God, was she going to burst a seam? I needed to calm her down, to figure out what was going on.

“—Do you appreciate it? No, you think you have it coming. But you know what? You’re nothing special. In fact, you’re pitiful, trying to pretend you’re not getting old, having a baby so late. When Luke’s a teenager, you know what? You’ll be in the Old Folks Home, drooling into a cup. You don’t deserve to have him.”

Ivy paused for a breath. Her face was covered with angry red blotches and she was out of breath, nostrils flaring. Good Lord, I’d known she blamed me for the theft of her car, but other than that, I’d thought we got along. I’d trusted her with Luke and Molly; I’d had no idea Ivy harbored such hateful feelings. I was flabbergasted. Her outburst reminded me of patients at the Institute, and so, automatically, I shifted into professional mode, standing my ground, repeating what I’d said before, but even more firmly. “Take the dress off, Ivy.”

With a wail, she started forward, her hands tightened into fists. I braced myself, ready to fight, wondering if I could deck her without damaging the gown. I’d start with her hair—didn’t want to draw blood. But she stopped short of punching me, stood facing me, nose-to-nose.

“If not for you, I’d be fine.” Her voice was a hiss. “It’s safe in my neighborhood. I’d still have my car. I saved three years for that car. I paid for it myself, with money I worked for. If not for you, I wouldn’t have had to park it outside and it would never have been stolen. If not for you, I’d be working someplace with less crime, not in a house where somebody got murdered—”

“Fine.” I was about to say she wouldn’t have to worry about working there anymore, but I checked myself. I needed to remain in therapist mode, treating Ivy as a patient.

That was ridiculous, though. If Ivy had been a patient, the orderlies would have taken her away instantly. And she’d never have had access to my gown. Nonetheless, Ivy’s behavior was bizarre, her thinking inconsistent and irrational. In one breath she called my house upscale; in the next, a tawdry robbery and murder scene. First my life was perfect; then it was too dangerous to be around. Ivy was in some kind of crisis state, and it would be unwise to provoke her. I needed to sound understanding, even sympathetic, but definitely in control.

“I had no idea you felt that way, Ivy. But I can see that you’ve been under a lot of stress.” Now, would you please take off my damned dress before you stretch it out? Ivy was about twenty pounds heavier, about three bra sizes larger than me.

“You bet I have—”

“Maybe you should take some time off.”

“And how am I supposed to afford that—”

“I’ll give you two weeks’ pay.” Severance pay, I thought. “You rest. Do what you need to. At the end of two weeks, we’ll see how you feel.”

She frowned, suspicious. “You think you’re cool, don’t you. Throwing a few weeks’ pay my way like you won’t even notice it.”

“Ivy, think about yourself. You need the time.”

“You’d pay me for time off? Why? Why would you do that?”

Because I want you to take off my dress, you maniac. “Because from what you’ve just said, you need a break. You’ve helped me. Now it’s my turn to help you.”

She sniffed, wiped her nose with her fingers. “For real?”

“For real.” Don’t touch my dress with those fingers.

She watched me a little longer; then, as if it were no big deal, she reached around to unzip the dress. “I just wanted to see how I looked—it’s a little small on me.”

“Here, let me get that.” I rushed to her side, lowering the zipper carefully, peeling pearl-adorned, hand-embroidered layers of form-fitting lace and silk off her ample torso, lifting it over her head and laying it gently on the bed. I wasn’t a fashion hound, but that dress was a one-of-a kind work of art, and I positioned it delicately on the hanger while Ivy reached for her sweater and pulled on her jeans.

“When you’re dressed, Ivy, just go. Take off.”

She stepped into her sneakers. “Wait; what about the check?”

Oh, right. The check. “Come on downstairs.”

I made her go first, so I could be sure she was leaving. And in single file, we headed to my office, where I made out a check for two weeks’ salary.

Ivy snapped it up, hesitating as if about to speak. But she didn’t speak. Silently, wearing a secretive grin, she sashayed out the office door. I waited in the hall as Oliver chased after her, listening for the front door to close. And suddenly, I remembered: her key. Damn. I didn’t want her to keep the key.

“—Ivy?” I ran after her, hoping she hadn’t gone yet. “Ivy—wait. Leave your key—”

Down the hall, the front door slammed shut. I followed her, opening it, only to see her climbing into a blue Taurus up the street. I shouted her name again, but she didn’t look around. By the time I got down the stairs, she’d probably have pulled away.

And then it occurred to me: Ivy didn’t realize that she’d been fired. She believed she’d be coming back, so she’d probably followed her usual routine. I went outside and looked at a cluster of decorative stones surrounding the planters on the front stoop, and sure enough, Ivy’s key was where it belonged, just like always, hidden in a big fake rock.