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Pescoli said, “This is official business.”
An arch of Joelle’s eyebrow called Pescoli’s situation with the department into question, the situation Sheriff Blackwater had so pointedly reminded her of.
“My niece, Ivy Wilde. She’s my sister’s daughter. Brindel Latham.”
The name Latham brought the receptionist up to speed and her shiny lips rounded into a silent O. She understood “official business” even though Pescoli hadn’t returned to duty.
“Well, bring him by when you can,” she said, and clipped off, high-heels clicking as she headed toward the break room.
Ivy, Sarina, and Pescoli walked outside where Pescoli could brood. She’d watched the interview and once again decided that Ivy was hiding something, that she was somehow involved. And the link was Troy Boxer. There was still something going on between those two, no matter what Ivy said, no matter that this morning she’d been all about Jeremy.
Outside the snow was starting again, falling in big white flakes that had begun covering the cleared pathways and plowed parking lot. “Does it ever quit?” Sarina wondered.
“For about six weeks in summer,” Pescoli said.
“Very funny. Ha. Ha.”
Pescoli backed the Jeep up, switched on the wipers, then drove out of the parking lot, leaving the station where she’d spent so many years.
“So I wasn’t kidding about an attorney,” Sarina said. “Watch out!” she ordered, seeing the traffic light turn red and the van in front of their car hit his brakes. Sarina, too, pressed her foot to the floor as if she were driving from the passenger seat.
Pescoli had plenty of time to stop, sparing a fender bender by some distance.
“Sorry. Automatic response,” Sarina said. “I spent the last year and a half teaching Ryan to drive. Not an easy trick in San Francisco, and now Zach’s about to turn fifteen and clamoring to get his permit. Guess who’ll have that task? Certainly not his fa . . . well, You-Know-Who, as he’s busy ‘finding himself ’ or off on his new adventure.” She snorted derisively and muttered, “Selfish ass.”
Pescoli eased off the brake as the light changed and followed the van through several intersections when Sarina got back to the point. “As I was saying before you nearly rear-ended that Econoline, I think Ivy needs a lawyer.”
“What about you, Ivy?” Pescoli asked, and checked the rear-view mirror to catch her niece’s eye.
“For what? I didn’t do anything!” Ivy said again, angry. Then, “Well, I did take Paul’s money, so I guess that counts as something, but that’s all.” She flopped back against the seat and said, “It wasn’t as if he was going to need it anyway.”
Sarina’s head whipped around. “That’s a bad attitude,” she said. “Have some respect.”
“I didn’t like Paul. I’m not going to lie about it just because he’s dead.”
“But your mother?”
Ivy didn’t answer, but her demeanor changed and sadness chased across her eyes. Sadness, grief, and just a hint of guilt. What the hell did the girl know? And why was she hiding it? Pescoli gripped the wheel a little tighter as they headed out of town, the road winding through the foothills and rising sharply. From the backseat she thought she heard a soft whisper. “I loved my mom.”
Pescoli’s heart twisted. She was so conflicted when it came to her niece. Yes, Ivy was manipulative and had secrets, but she was still a child. “She doesn’t need an attorney. Not yet. She was just making a statement.”
“In one of those interrogation rooms,” Sarina said.
“Interview rooms.”
“I’m just sayin’.” Then, turning in her seat again, Sarina added, “And we need to discuss you coming home. I think you should live with us. Get back in school, you know, try to get back into your routine with your friends and—”
“I know!” Ivy glared at Pescoli in the rearview. “You’re not going to make me, are you?” Her phone buzzed and she looked at the text. “God, it’s Macon. Again. Can’t he just leave me alone? Can’t everyone?” Her fingers danced over the tiny keyboard and Pescoli inwardly cringed at
what she imagined the text might be. She could find out, of course. Chilcoate was still on the clock, still monitoring all the phones and computers associated with Brindel’s family, and now that Ivy was using her phone again, maybe Pescoli would finally find out what was in her niece’s head. Whatever it was, she was pretty certain she wasn’t going to like it. The more she knew Brindel’s daughter, the more of a mystery and a worry the girl was.
Sarina frowned as Pescoli turned into the lane leading to the house. “You want her to stay here?” she asked.
“I think it’s too early to make any permanent plans.”
“But she lives in San Francisco. She’s only seventeen.”
“Almost eighteen!” Ivy spouted from the backseat. “And then I can do what I want.”
