Pieces of Ivy by Dean Covin Page A

idiot.”
    She grinned, knowing her man. “You think they’ll have sex before the murder’s solved?”
    “Hell no!” he said a little too loud. “Why would she?” As usual people ignored his verbal slips—including the mayor, who approached the podium.
    She whispered, “Don’t you go gettin’ jealous now, John Roscoe. She’s way outta your league.”
    “Ouch, baby. That hurts.”
    “Not as much as if I have to stuff that drooling tongue back down your throat.” She straightened with pride and added, “Besides, I’m way outta your league too, and you get to do me every night.”
    He smiled, leaning into his wife. “I love you, sweetheart.”
    She squeezed his hand and patted his thigh. “I know, baby. Now shut the fuck up and pay attention.”

Ten
    Vicki looked up at the stage from their front-row seats. The hall bustled with loud murmurs and crowds shuffling to find an empty seat among the crammed-together chairs. Obviously Ivy’s murder had made an impact. The details of her death had not been released yet, but that didn’t mean the men who had discovered her didn’t talk. The pressure to share stories, especially horrific ones, was always immense.
    The energy in the room shifted. Vicki saw crowds of heads turn as four families entered together—all dressed way too well for a small-town assembly. The women escorted their daughters, knowing all eyes were on them, gracing the crowd with their presence. The men walked together, laughing as if they were stepping into their domain rather than an assembly held for a heinous murder.
    They rolled past the parting crowds, and the women glared at the front row. The people stood up and left to stand in the back. In the surprise commotion, Vicki and Hank also stood, and, though they sat back down, still in the front row, they had inexplicably moved farther to the right.
    Vicki leaned over to one of the people seated behind her. “Who are they?”
    “Oh, those are the town royalty,” the woman said in a mock-snooty tone.
    “No, those are the town bitches ,” the woman next to her corrected.
    Vicki caught Rose rolling her eyes at the latecomers, who returned scalding stares.
    Two of the women appraised Vicki. When she nodded in acknowledgment, they turned to each other, whispering.
    “Who are they really?” Vicki murmured to the closest lady behind her.
    The woman craned her neck and then leaned in between the agents. “The McQueens are at the far end. Malcolm McQueen is a city surgeon. He’s sitting with his wife, Brenda, and their daughter, Brianna. Next to them are Roy and Jennifer Boss—that’s their daughter, Jasmine. He’s some big-shot defense attorney.”
    Roy Boss. Vicki had heard the name—nothing good was attached to it.
    “Then you have the Luthers. He’s a businessman and political heavyweight.”
    The agents’ eyebrows rose. They had both heard of Leon Luther.
    “He’s Leon and that’s his wife, Angela, with their daughter, Alexis. And finally you have Jason and Michelle Oliver with their daughter, Morgan. Jason owns a big engineering firm in the city. He also has the contract for the town’s civil planning.”
    “What do the wives do?”
    The woman soured. “They look pretty and fuck their husbands.”
    Her friend nodded. “Believing their own press like a religion, they consider themselves untouchable and above the great unwashed.”
    The four wives were striking, but Vicki could tell by the flawless features of their daughters that the ghost of their past picturesque splendor haunted them.
    The mayor tapped the microphone. “Good evening, everyone. We come together this night under the gravest of circumstances. A shining light within our community has been cruelly snuffed out”—a hitch caught in his throat—“and believe me when I tell you, I feel your pain—and I share your fears. My daughter, Amy, goes to New Brighton High. She loved her teacher. We all loved her teacher. Yes, I can confirm that it was indeed Ivy