Chapter 35
The person who steps out of the police car parts the sea of people who are blinking into the flashing police lights angling for a better look.
She’s wrapped in a gray police-issued blanket like she was plucked straight out of a survival documentary.
Her hair is tangled, her cheek is cut, and she is wearing the exact same clothes she wore the day she went missing.
My knees nearly buckle.
“Ivory?” I breathe.
Her head lifts. Her eyes—wide, stunned, haunted—lock on mine. And then she cries out, “Shari?”
Everything inside me erupts. I bolt toward her, nearly tripping over someone’s foot and slamming into a shoulder or two on my way through the pressed-in bodies.
“You’re alive!” I throw my arms around her, and I don’t care if it’s too hard or if I’m technically hugging evidence.
She folds into me with a choked sob that vibrates through both of us. She’s shivering and filthy, but she hugs me back, gripping me like she’s terrified someone might pull her away again.
“I can’t believe you’re okay,” I choke out. “Thank God. I thought you were dead.”
Her voice cracks. “I thought so too.”
When I pull back, tears drip down my cheeks and she offers me a weak smile of comfort.
Of course Ivory would try to comfort me when she’s the one who just went through unspeakable trauma.
Detective Yankovic stands near us holding a leash as the Bernese mountain dog strains against it, eager to greet every single person individually.
There are so many questions, I don’t know where to start. “So, what happened?”
Ivory swallows before she answers, and I can only imagine how hard it must be for her to relive it. “I left that night after we spoke to get away from Fred. I needed space. Time to clear my head. That’s when I texted you from the beach.”
So it was actually her. Ivory clasps my hand, and I squeeze it gently. I’m almost afraid to let go.
“But then Fred tracked me down,” she continues, voice shaking. “He… he found me and took me to a cabin near Doomwood Falls. That old hunter cabin we used to hike up to. He bound my wrists up with zip ties and nearly starved me.”
I want to hug her again, but I’m afraid she might crumble. How had I not seen her there? “But I went to the cabin to look for you yesterday. No one was there.”
“You did?” She cocks her head curiously. “How did you even know to look there?”
“Someone left me a clue. Well, I guess it was Fred. So I hiked up there and checked it out and it was empty.”
“Fred left you a clue? Why would he do that?” she murmurs, sounding as confused as I am.
Then she takes a shuddering breath. “Well, it doesn’t matter.
I managed to break through the zip ties and escape.
After that I ran through the woods, but it was so cold and I was weak from the hunger…
I didn’t think I would make it out of the woods.
That’s when Marshall found me and took me straight to the hospital. ”
What an interesting coincidence. Of all people, Marshall found her—also known as Fred’s close friend. And on the same day he found Janet Vick. That means I must have just missed finding Ivory in the cabin. She had probably escaped right before I got there.
But something about the details pokes a hole that I can’t reconcile.
How had Ivory broken out of the cabin, then locked the door and sealed the windows behind her?
Because the place was sealed tight. I swallow the questions down, because it’s not important.
What’s important is that Ivory is alive.
Besides, I have a more pressing question begging to come out.
“Do you know if Fred killed Janet Vick?”
Ivory’s hand tenses within mine, slowly constricting so hard it actually hurts. I attempt to pull away, but she won’t let go.
“Ivory…” I whisper. “You’re hurting me.”
I lift our conjoined hands, and that’s when I see a long, bloody gash across her wrist. Picking up her other arm, I find another indented slash of split skin where she had been bound. My heart breaks for her, seeing a glimpse of the trauma she went through.
Her hands slip out of mine and her mouth drops open. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” I quickly say.
“The police asked me the same thing about Janet Vick, but I know nothing about that. I assumed that she was Fred’s mistress and he killed her to hide what he’d done.”
Other than Janet and Fred being seen in public together, nothing points to them having an affair. Besides, she was hired to track Gillian, not start a side romance.
“No, I don’t think that’s it. Janet was working here as a private investigator.”
Curiosity hazes over Ivory’s eyes. “Who was she investigating?”
“A woman named Gillian. She’s the girlfriend of my former boss Ramsey Shenk.”
“Did you say Ramsey Shenk?”
“Yeah, you probably recognize the name from the news. He owned In the Margins Media and died in a boat fire last year.”
Ivory lets out a contemplative “ohhh” and wraps the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
The crowd is closing in, and I can tell it’s making her anxious.
I follow her toward the curb where Freida sits on the ground, creating distance between us and the neighbors.
Freida gives us a brief glance before turning her attention to a news van that approaches.
I gather a strange awkwardness between mother and daughter.
Freida has yet to acknowledge that her mom is home safe.
I would have expected a much more enthusiastic reunion.
“Why would someone be investigating Gillian Szabo?” Ivory asks.
Szabo? Why does that sound familiar? I hadn’t mentioned Gillian’s last name, because I never knew it before now. “How do you know about Gillian—or her last name?”
Ivory stares at me dumbly, and I can’t tell if she’s forcing a memory or creating a lie. “The police told me when they asked me about her.”
“And you’re sure they said Gillian Szabo?” I reiterate.
Why does that last name slam into me like a brick? I heard it recently. Multiple times. I even read it, and I can almost drudge up the visual imprint of it on the tip of my mind… And there it is, on Luca’s assault record.
Marshall Szabo.
That’s too unique of a name for him not to be related to Gillian. He looks too young to be her brother, but he’s about the right age to be her son. And his steel-gray eyes are all Ramsey Shenk’s. Marshall must be the son of Gillian and Ramsey.
All at once, a nasty tangle of questions and answers knots itself in my head. But before I can start mentally unraveling them, Detective Yankovic steps between me and Ivory, a human blockage separating us. It feels strangely metaphoric for what’s happening.
“It’s time,” he states. “Mrs. Cobb, we’re going to need to head inside so we can get a formal statement from you.”
As he ushers her toward her house, Ivory glances back at me. For barely a moment, her eyes look like someone carrying a dangerous secret.
An officer lingers next to the back door of the cruiser where Fred is yelling something at Ivory about being framed, and how he “didn’t do anything,” which is exactly what guilty people say right before the handcuffs click.
I would know because I lived with those same types of people for three years.
When a second news van rounds the corner, I recognize what’s about to happen.
Hemlock Drive is about to witness a media frenzy.
I twist around looking for Luca and my mother, skimming the outskirts of the crowd.
Spotting them across the street, I start to head over when a whisper floats above the chatter:
“Gianna…”
No one in Doomwood Falls knows me as Gianna. That name belongs to my past life.
“I know what you’re hiding.” It’s a he who says this, and he sounds just like my husband’s killer.
I glance at the faces surrounding me, but everyone’s focus is directed elsewhere.
At the officer standing by Fred in the cruiser.
At Ivory being escorted into her house. At the reporter and her cameraman prepping to film.
But not me. I’m focused on my whispered name pulling me back, but I’m too short and the horde is too big for me to find him.
When I lift myself up on tiptoes, I think I spot him, a ballcapped man shoving and angling away through the mass of people. The crowd is so dense that bodies are jockeying for position behind the news crews, making it difficult to navigate. By time I break through the wall of people he’s gone.
Only one thought breaks through the screams inside my head:
I have to kill him before he kills me.