Um, what? “Nothing has changed. Mercy is done. We’re not friends. I’m going home.”
“I could eat,” Remy states as Luca ignores him.
“Ivy,” Luca begins, but I don’t want to hear it.
“Not interested, but I’m sure you can find someone to tag along who won’t get your precious car dirty.”
“What the hell was that?” Hannah yells as Matthew chases after her. Apparently, their partnership isn’t going well either, but it looks like all four teams completed the challenge. Yet I feel no closer to the end of Mercy than I did yesterday.
Remy doesn’t live too far out of the way, so I drop him off and get home soon after. I leave my shoes and socks outside, then rinse my feet with the water hose before I enter the house. Even if someone else would clean up the mess, I don’t want to leave one for them.
It’s Anthony who I see when I step into the foyer. He does a quick scan of my appearance before he asks, “Is everything all right, Ms. Walker?”
“No, Anthony, because you still won’t call me Ivy.”
His mouth remains in a hard line as he views me. He has mentioned that he’s not a father, but he has the you’re-pushing-your-luck look down. I’ve never gotten it from my own, but Uncle Shawn would give me and Zachary that when he knew we weren’t telling the truth. So, I add, “Yes sir. All good.”
He still doesn’t look happy with the answer but doesn’t press. “I’ll schedule to have your vehicle detailed also.”
“How’d you know it was dirty?” I ask, confused as he gives me the same expression back.
“I just assumed considering you’re covered in muck that the car interior would be too.”
“Good assumption.” Particularly since Remy got the passenger side caked in mud. “Thanks, Anthony.”
I head upstairs and take the best shower I think I’ve ever had. Stepping out, I feel refreshed and relaxed, the previous night’s hassle washed away.
Then I glance at the mirror on my makeup vanity. Every fiber in my beings comes to a halt as I stare at the photograph. Even from a few feet away, I know what the picture is. Because it’s played out in my nightmares for the last two months—the accident scene. And it’s not just an image of the crash site. It’s the actual event. My mom’s smashed up car and a white pickup truck in the background.
My stomach tightens even more with every step I take closer, scared the image is going to pull me inside it. Slowly, I reach out to take the Polaroid from where it was tucked on side of the mirror. The longer I stare at the photo, the more I feel the tears forming in my eyes. I can’t see my mom or myself. But I know we’re there just out of sight of the photographer. Who would want to take such a horrific photograph and who would leave it here for me to see?
Nothing in my room looks out of place. The bedroom door is still closed, the French doors to the balcony are still locked. None of the windows are open or look disturbed.
Hurrying downstairs, I find Anthony in the kitchen with the chef and as soon as I enter, they both stop talking, “Who was in my room?”
Anthony seems puzzled so I specify, “Just now, who was in my bedroom? There was a photograph on my mirror when I got out of the shower, and it wasn’t there when I got in.”
When Anthony looks to Pattie, she shakes her head then he turns back to me. “No one else is in the house, Ms. Walker. Are you sure it wasn’t there beforehand?”
“Stop calling me that.” I say it more forcefully than intended because it’s the only thing I can latch onto right now. “Where’s the security camera footage? I want to see who was here.”
“This way.” He motions for me to follow as he grabs an iPad off the nearby counter. “You can access them all from here. I put the app on your phone also.”
That’s right. He did say that, but I never had a reason to check. I click around and watch video after video, but there’s nothing there. “Someone messed with the footage. Who else can log in?”
“Your father and brother, but I don’t think either would erase footage. What was the photograph of?”
“Nothing,” I reply automatically as he looks to me, still waiting for the truth. I don’t want to lie again. “The accident scene from my mother’s death.”
There’s a shift in his stance as he tenses. “The system may have been accessed from an unauthorized user.” He clicks around on the screen and remains silent for a few seconds. “It shows a device logging in earlier this morning. I’ll get the password changed. I don’t understand why anyone would do this.”
“Me either.” Unless it’s purely to torment me. My attention snaps to the back door. No way. He wouldn’t. How would he? Luca doesn’t even know. Or maybe he does, because he followed me to the accident site the other night and I made him mad this morning by taking Remy home and refusing to go eat a damn meal with him. Could something so trivial really rile up the foulness in him? Yes, yes, I believe it could because he’s that much of a petty, vile bitch.
Walking out of the house, I make my way along the sidewalk and follow it around to the Montclair residence. By the time I walk up the front door, I’m fuming. I don’t put anything past the asshole, but this is a new low for even him.
Pounding on the door, I wait a few seconds before I lift my fist to knock again as it opens. A lady appears in the doorway with a warm smile. “How may I help you?”
“I need to see Luca now,” I tell her before I hear a deep voice in the background announce, “Let her in.”
