Chapter 8 #2
I kept the thought to myself. I was here to earn her trust, and voicing every little thought that crossed my mind wouldn’t help.
Maybe this was what Bastian had meant with his warning. But still, I wanted answers. And only Ivet could give them to me.
Why had she gone against Mr. Larousse’s wishes and told his daughter the truth? What was the point of revealing the secret? But instead of pressing her, I cleared my throat and shifted the conversation to safer topics. It wasn’t my place to dig deeper—or at least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
“I’m glad things are getting cleared up here,” I looked the woman in the eye, “but we need confirmation you won’t tell anyone else about the divorce.”
“I haven’t spoken to anyone else about it so far, and I won’t now, I give you my word.”
Good enough for me. My job here was done, and the dust in the house was starting to claw at my throat. I reached for my phone and stopped the recording. Bastian thanked her for her time with that smooth, practiced smile of his, and she turned to lead us to the door.
But something in the way she moved felt… off. Her steps were too slow, her shoulders too tight. She kept glancing back at us, like she was weighing a decision. When she finally turned to let us pass, I pretended to fumble in my bag and hit the record button again.
“It’s been a pleasure, Ivet,” I said, my voice light, my smile tighter than ever. “Will we see you at the trial?”
Her eyes flicked to my bag, her lips twitching as if caught between words. She’d been waiting for the recorder to stop, her guard just starting to slip…
“Yes, of course.”
She pushed the door open, and Bastian was already stepping out, his back to us. For a second, I wondered if I’d blown it, if I’d played my hand too soon. I followed him out, and just as I crossed the threshold, Ivet’s voice sliced through the still air, sharp enough to make me stop.
“Everyone thinks Tim was the one wearing the pants in that house,” she said, a bitter edge in her tone, “which is why they’ve all turned against him.
But he lived with three women, if I may count myself among them.
My Tim was nothing more than a lamb among wolves.
” She paused, her breath heavy, eyes burning with something wild. “I only ask you, please, do justice.”
Bastian shot me a glance, the kind that said everything without saying a word. I could feel her words lingering in the stillness, heavy and jagged and somehow more confusing than anything else.
A lamb among wolves. That wasn’t just a metaphor, I was certain. No, it was a hand reaching out from deep water, clawing for any chance to change the current, to rewrite the narrative in her favour… and in Larousse’s favour.
I opened my mouth to reply, maybe to ask her what she meant by that, maybe to inquire about the fact that she had considered herself one of the wolves.
But before I could say a word, she slammed the door in our faces.
The drive back to the office was… fun. I don’t want to give Bastian that satisfaction, but we both had a lot to say about Mrs. Britwistle.
We replayed the recording from my phone, and this time, I didn’t hold back.
I shouted like a madwoman, “Lies, dirty lies!” when I had previously stayed silent.
Bastian mimicked the woman’s gestures, putting his hand to his head, chest, and neck like an actress in a historical drama.
I burst into laughter, barely noticing the van until its blaring horn jolted me. My heart skipped as I swerved back into my lane, the shock snapping my focus to the road.
“Okay, one last thing,” Bastian said, once the recording had finished, repeating Ivet Britwistle’s words. “We agree that they had something going on, right?”
“She and Mr. Larousse?”
“Yeah!” he couldn’t hide his smile any longer. “Did you see how her face contracted whenever she talked about Antonia?”
Damn it. Of course! Ivet Britwistle wanted Timotheo and Antonia to get a divorce. I hit the steering wheel when I realised why Ivet hadn’t answered my questions, and earned another honk from the car behind.
I’ve never been a great driver. Bastian’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, his brow slightly raised.
“I’d like to return alive to the office, Virus.”
“Listen. Ivet wanted them to divorce, that’s why she told Elo?se what her parents were hiding!”
“If they separated and she ended up with Mr. Larousse…” Bastian raised both hands in the air in a thoughtful gesture.
“That would make her Elo?se’s stepmother, yes.”
He let out a long, low whistle.
“The truth is, Ivet would be the perfect evil Disney stepmother,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Yeah,” I laughed. “All she needs to become the villain is to have been the one who killed Antonia.”
A silence fell. I looked at Bastian out of the corner of my eye.
Had I gone too far?
“It couldn’t have been her,” he concluded. “She was with Mr. Larousse at the time of the murder. Unless…”
Unless both had wanted Antonia dead.
Now I was the one who didn’t know what to say.
He hadn’t been serious; he couldn’t have been, but I couldn’t shake the unease.
I didn’t believe Ivet had killed anyone, but the case remained unsolved.
If André won Mr. Larousse’s case, the only suspect would be cleared.
And Ivet was Timotheo Larousse’s sole alibi.
I didn’t care. It wasn’t my problem. But…
“What if Larousse is lying? What if they’re both lying?”
Bastian raised an eyebrow.
“Do you think Ivet lied to cover for him? Larousse is the only suspect. Why would she do that?”
I shrugged.
“You’ve heard what she said about the house being a house of wolves,” I said, swallowing. “If the alibi is a lie, I don’t think she’s protecting him.”
“You think,” Bastian interrupted, “that she’s protecting herself.”
We pulled into the office parking lot in silence. Almost two o’clock. I’d have to move fast if I didn’t want to be late for my appointment.
I had a romantic evening planned: a date with a guy, a nice restaurant, the whole Friday night package. A little fun wouldn’t hurt. And after the conversation with Ivet, my mind had been wiped clean of everything else: the threatening letter I’d gotten earlier, Julian’s looming trial.
The money. Shit. I felt like I was in a race against time, and I had all the losing bets.
Bastian held the door open for me, but a thought struck.
Dinner plans were already set for somewhere fancy, but why not kick it up a notch?
What if I took my date to the most outrageously expensive place I could dig up?
Sarah had been repeating the name and number of the place for weeks. It was burned into my memory.
“You go in first,” I told Bastian. “I need to make a call.”
I pressed the green button. He nodded.
“You know? There were security cameras on the road. The police saw Larousse enter Ivet’s house.
” A curl fell over his forehead as he held the door with his elbow, bouncing and blending with the rest of his short hair.
“But still, it wouldn’t be the first time André defends a murderer, whoever the murderer turns out to be. ”
Maybe it wasn’t new to André. But for me, even if I was nothing more than André’s assistant for the case, it was.
I still didn’t know how to feel about it.
Before I could say anything, Bastian was already gone. I shifted my focus to the lady on the other end of the line.
“Good morning, what can I do for you?” she asked.
“Hello, I know it’s a bit late, but I’d like to make a reservation for two. Can it be today? In the most expensive area, please. I’ll pay extra for any inconvenience this may cause.”