Trust. That one word was enough to put a mile of distance between us. I stiffened, and Ivy stood. I didn’t realize until she’d taken a step away that I’d been leaning lightly against her.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” I told Ivy, standing up myself and walking over to the mirror. With my hair tied back, I could see the similarity in our features. Part of me wanted to tear out the braid. “You don’t know what it’s like,” I said again, “to be told over and over to just sit back, while other people make decisions that affect you. Vivvie is my friend. She came to me. And whatever you’re doing, it’s not helping her! Keeping her in the dark, keeping me in the dark—it’s not helping, Ivy.” I lowered my voice. “It just makes us helpless.”
Ivy came to stand behind me. I turned to face her so that I didn’t have to look at our reflections side by side in the mirror.
“I know what it’s like to feel helpless,” Ivy told me quietly. “I know what it’s like to have other people making your decisions. I do, Tess.” There was emotion in her voice—but I couldn’t pinpoint it any more specifically than that. She was feeling something. About me? About this case?
“I never want you to feel like that, Tessie. I don’t. But you truly don’t need to know what I’m doing. This job?” Ivy never raised her voice, but each word was delivered more intensely than the last. “I get to make a difference. I get to help people, but that comes at a cost.”
My father killed himself. I could see Henry’s face, as clear as if he were standing here in front of me. She covered it up.
“I don’t want that for you,” Ivy said. “Can you understand that? I have to keep you separate, Tess. I won’t let you be part of the cost.”
“The First Lady is making social calls,” I retorted. “Vivvie is dying inside. I’m not separate, Ivy.” I didn’t give her a chance to respond. “I know there’s a third person involved—someone other than Vivvie’s father and Judge Pierce. If Pierce supplied the money and Vivvie’s dad made sure the justice didn’t leave the hospital alive, then what was the third person’s job?” I cut Ivy off before she’d gotten a word out. “I’m guessing that person either slipped the justice something to get him to the hospital, or they were in charge of making sure Pierce got the nomination. Either way, the two individuals you ‘cleared’ first seem like pretty good suspects.”
“There were cameras on the president,” Ivy said curtly. “Practically the whole evening.” That Ivy was volunteering information at all should have been comforting. But it wasn’t.
“Practically,” I repeated.
Ivy was starting to look like she was losing her patience. “Tess,” she bit out.
“And Keyes?” I plowed on before she could say more. “How did you clear him?”
There was a long pause. “I collect information,” Ivy said finally. “Details that might prove useful down the road. Given that William does the same, it is always in my best interest to have something on him. And right now, what I have on him tells me that Theodore Marquette is the last person he would have wanted to see removed from the Supreme Court.”
Like that wasn’t cryptic.
“Keyes is working to get Pierce nominated,” I insisted. “The president is the one who actually does the nominating. They were both there the night before Justice Marquette’s heart attack. They were both in that picture I gave you—”
“Let me worry about this,” Ivy interrupted.
“The picture was taken at Camp David,” I continued. Maybe, if I kept pelting her with information, I could get something—anything—out of her in return. “A retreat. I think that’s where Vivvie’s dad and Pierce met. We know there’s a third party involved. And the president and Keyes were the only ones there who were also at the gala that night.”
“No,” Ivy said sharply. “They weren’t.”
I frowned, an argument on the tip of my tongue.
“I know where that picture was taken, Tess. I knew before you did. This is my job. It’s what I do. I trade in secrets and information. I solve problems. You brought this one to me, and so help me God, you are going to let me fix it.”
“What do you mean the president and Adam’s father weren’t the only people in both places?” I asked.
Ivy threw her hands up in frustration. “Did you ever wonder who took the picture? Who might be standing right outside the frame? You have a fraction of the story, Tess. Don’t confuse that with the truth.”
Who took the picture? Ivy was right. I hadn’t wondered that.
“You said that you already knew the picture was taken at Camp David.” The words almost got stuck in my throat. “How?”
Ivy stared at me for a few seconds, then answered. “Because I was there.”
When I’d given her the photograph, she hadn’t said anything about recognizing it. She hadn’t allowed so much as a flash of recognition to cross her face.