Icing Ivy by Evan Marshall Page A

“but not very likely, in my opinion.”
    She shrugged. “Could the medical examiner tell from the wound whether the killer was right-or left-handed?”
    He gave her an appraising look, lifting one brow. “Quite the detective, aren’t you? Actually, I was going to tell you about that next. Unfortunately, in this case he wasn’t able to tell.”
    She let out a sigh of discouragement. “Then I don’t see why you’re so confident about having answers soon. It looks as if this case may never be solved.”
    â€œOf course you’re feeling negative about everything now. . . .”
    â€œSomeone needs to,” she cried. “Poor Ivy, without a friend in the world.”
    â€œYou were her friend,” he pointed out softly.
    â€œNot a very good friend. After Marlene died, I was happy to let the friendship be over. I should have gotten back in touch with her, tried to patch things up. It shouldn’t have had to be Ivy who put our friendship back together. I feel so guilty about it all.”
    He sat silently for a moment, sipping his cocoa.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said, smiling at him. “I don’t mean to dump all this on you. What else can you tell me?”
    â€œThe footprints were pretty quickly washed away by the rain, but we did ascertain that there were five sets of prints, not four as we originally thought.”
    â€œFive?”
    â€œMm. Here’s how we think it went down. Two people—presumably Johnny and his pursuer, the man with the gun—ran through the woods, onto the path for a short distance, then back into the woods. Three people, not two, followed the path from the lodge to the pond. Only two of these people, obviously, came back: the murderer and . . . someone else.”
    â€œWho could this other person have been?”
    â€œUnfortunately, the prints were obliterated enough that trying to match them with the shoes of the people staying at the lodge was impossible.” He set down his cup. “In the meantime, I’ve got some men searching the woods for signs of Johnny and the gunman.”
    Jane set down her cocoa and sat staring into the middle distance, contemplating this information. At this moment she felt that Johnny was the likeliest suspect in Ivy’s murder, yet he himself had been another’s quarry. Why had that man wanted Johnny? Where was Johnny now?
    Aware of Stanley rising from his chair, she came out of her reverie.
    â€œI should go,” he said.
    â€œI’m sorry, I haven’t been very good company.”
    He bent and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry about it. Try to get some rest. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
    She saw him to the door and watched him back out of the driveway and head down Lilac Way.

Chapter Twelve
    A fter seeing Stanley off, Jane had returned to her study and tried to get through a stack of book proposals that had been submitted to the agency before Christmas. But it was hopeless. She couldn’t concentrate. Letting a handful of pages drop to her lap, she gazed aimlessly out the window, which looked out on the left side of her smallish front yard, the high holly hedge that enclosed it, and Lilac Way beyond.
    As she watched, a car pulled slowly up the street and slowed when it reached Jane’s house. The car was white, with familiar lettering on the side. It pulled into Jane’s driveway, and she realized it was a Shady Hills Taxi.
    Frowning in bewilderment, she went to the front door, opened it, and looked out. Behind the wheel of the cab, eighty-something Erol, who had been driving for Shady Hills Taxi for more than thirty years, saw Jane, grinned, and saluted. She smiled and waved back, then squinted, straining to see who his passenger was. All she could make out were moving shadows as whoever it was in the back paid Erol, he handed back change, and the passenger handed back some money, presumably a tip. Erol looked at the bills