Chapter 64
They were wrong. It wasn’t Zeke. Zeke couldn’t complete a polynomial equation to save his life, let alone know the math behind any of the gas setups.
It wasn’t him who had orchestrated this.
Then who the fuck was it? Who was doing this? And why the hell did they single me out?
Abby called again.
“Bitch, where the hell are you?”
“I’m sorry. Abs, this is so messed up. Dr. Moorehead is dead.”
“What? Your boss?”
“Yeah.”
“What the hell happened?”
“It’s a long story.” Ivy choked up. “Can you come get me? I need my car again.”
“Where are you?”
“Thomas Clarke Historical House.”
“The what?”
“Just put it in the GPS. Please—hurry.”
Vaughn approached. The detective had just finished an intense conversation—though “conversation” was probably too soft a word for the tongue-lashing he’d received—and looked spent.
“I’m going to need that note,” he said. Ivy gladly handed over the letter she’d found on Dr. Moorehead’s desk. “And the captain wants you to come back in and give another statement.”
“Another?” Ivy’s voice had degenerated into a whine.
“I’m sorry. I tried to convince the captain to let you give that statement tomorrow, but he’s insisting.”
“Now? My friend is on her way to pick me up.”
Vaughn looked up. Squinted at her.
“The one from the bar?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s good . . . that’s good.” He nodded to himself. “She can give a statement, too.”
“Vaughn, am I going to be okay?”
A loaded question.
Okay after all the fucked-up shit that had happened to her over the past two days? Or okay after the ‘statement?’ If it was anything like that last ‘statement’ she’d given, Ivy was beginning to consider the word a euphemism for interrogation.
“Yes.”
Unsure.
For a moment, it appeared as if Vaughn wanted to hug her—which Ivy would have leaned into—but he pulled back. Probably for the best. She couldn’t get involved with a cop, not in that way. Not in any way.
“Okay,” Ivy said, mostly to herself.
“Just . . .” Vaughn trailed off.
“Just what?”
“Just tell them what happened. Keep it short, simple.”
“I will.”
Ivy was so tired that even offering a conciliatory smile proved impossible.
Captain Daniels, who had been speaking with a man in a black jacket bearing the letters “CSU,” trampled over.
He was harder than she remembered.
Years ago at the hospital, Daniels had been curt, but he’d had at least a hint of compassion to him. That was long gone now.
“Press conference set up for half an hour from now back at PPD.” The captain deliberately avoided looking at her. “You really think Zeke has a partner?”
The question was directed at Vaughn, but Ivy took it upon herself to answer.
“He doesn’t know the math.”
Daniels had no choice but to address her now.
“Who does?”
Ivy hesitated. Then said, “I do. Dr. Moorehead does—did, I mean. Shit. Anyone else in the math department, I guess.”
Did—Jesus Christ, I can’t believe he’s dead.
Ivy stayed strong.
“What about another student? One of Zeke’s friends?”
Ivy thought back to that night at the bar. She didn’t recognize either of Zeke’s buddies from her stats class, but they hadn’t been the only ones there. Blake had been there, too. Blake, the handsome man in finance. Blake, who knew the obscure Penney’s game but had let her win anyway.
Blake, who had come to her rescue when Zeke had confronted her.
“Dr. Reeves?” Daniels prompted.
Ivy shook her head, dismissing thoughts of Blake.
“I don’t know everyone he hung out with. But if I had to guess? No, probably not.”
Daniels frowned.
“I need your statement,” he said to Ivy.
“I already told her, I—”
The captain interrupted Vaughn.
“Keep it short.”
“I said that, too.”
Daniels’s frown became a scowl as he turned his attention to Vaughn.
“I’ll do the interview with Darnell.”
“I’ll do it,” Vaughn countered.
“No, you won’t.”
Vaughn squirmed. Daniels appeared to be tempting the detective to argue, and he fought hard against the urge.
“It’s okay,” Ivy said. “I’ll be fine.”
Probably the wrong thing to say. They’d gone for one drink, and everyone was acting as if they’d been married for fifteen years. Daniels even went as far as to shake his head in disapproval.
“Ten minutes,” Daniels said, then walked off.
“Sorry about that,” Vaughn said quietly. “He’s a hard-ass.”
“I know. I—”
There was a commotion behind them, and they both turned.
Abby had arrived. She’d parked at the end of the dirt road and was trying to get to them, but some dickhead cop was giving her trouble.
“Hey!” Vaughn shouted, realizing who Abby was. “Let her through.”
The cop did, and Ivy met her halfway. Got the embrace she so desperately needed.
“You look like shit,” Abby whispered in her ear. “Smell like shit, too.”
“I feel like shit. Abs, they want us to give a statement.”
Abby scrunched her nose as they disengaged.
“About what?”
“The kid at the bar.”
A far-off look. CSU had thankfully covered the body, but Ivy had already told Abby that Dr. Moorehead was dead.
“That asshole? He did this?”
“Sort of.”
“Fucking hell.” Sigh. “Okay, let’s go, then.”
Ivy gave Vaughn a wistful look, to which he responded with a nod.
When they were alone in the car, Ivy said, “Abs, this is about Zeke. That’s it.”
Abby sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. Let it out with an audible pop.
“I’ll just tell them what I saw. Nothing about—”
“No,” Ivy cut her off. “Just about the kid at the bar.”
“Got it. Let’s go, bitch. Let’s get this over with. Then we’re heading back to my house for wine. Copious amounts of wine. Holy fuck, I can’t believe this is happening.”
Ivy couldn’t either.