overworked, smart-ass kid doing a stint for the D.A. He was living off of his daddy’s fat wad of money and didn’t give a rat’s ass about whether or not I was innocent or guilty. All he wanted to do was finish his assignment, work for his old man and buy a Mercedes.” Matt sighed. “Besides, I was pretty stupid. Instead of going home and telling my mother what I’d witnessed so she could have backed me in court and provided me with an alibi, I tried to find A.J.”
“And?”
“And he wasn’t home. In fact, nobody was at his house. So I hid out in the junkyard all night.”
Ivy rubbed a hand over her forehead. “All night. You mean in one of the cars?”
He nodded, but stared at his boots. “In that old Impala near where I left you.”
Her throat ached so badly she couldn’t swallow. “You came back to check on me?”
“I…figured you might have seen your mama’s killer.” He rammed a hand through his hair, leaving the shaggy ends in a mess. “I thought the killer might come looking for you, too.”
Emotions fluttered through Ivy. He had returned to protect her. To make sure she was safe. And when he’d needed her, she’d retreated into her own silent world of denial.
She started to reach out to offer him a comforting hand, but he stiffened, his shoulders rigid. “I don’t want your sympathy or pity, Ivy. I was a stupid kid then. If I hadn’t been up to no good, stealing hubcaps that night, I wouldn’t have been in the junkyard at all.”
“And you wouldn’t have saved me. Then you wouldn’t have gotten in trouble.”
“I didn’t mean to imply you were at fault.”
“It’s the truth, Matt. You must have hated me all these years.”
He hesitated, his voice rattling with emotions when he finally spoke. “I don’t hate you.”
Ivy’s heart splintered. Her cowardice had hurt him so much. God. She couldn’t ever go back to running.
“Neither one of us was at fault,” he said, “but someone did kill your parents and they’ve gone free all this time.”
“Someone who knows why we both returned to Kudzu Hollow.” Which explained the message to her. It also meant Matt would be in danger.
Her mind ticked over possible reasons why someone would have wanted to kill her parents. They hadn’t had money. In fact, they’d fought about it all the time….
If her father had killed her mother and she’d witnessed it, it made sense that Ivy had been traumatized enough to repress the memory.
But if her father stabbed her mother, then who had killed him? Someone who cared for her mom?
But whom? From what Ivy remembered, her mother hadn’t had many friends. She had worked at the local pub for a short time as a waitress, but her father had put an end to that. Ivy recalled that bitter argument because it had turned into a physical fight. Her mother had cried and cried, claiming that she wanted the tips, that it was the best money in town, the only way she could afford to save a penny.
And she had wanted to save money, Ivy remembered. At night, she’d tell Ivy stories of faraway places. Show her pictures of cities she wanted them to visit. Of big fancy houses and shopping centers, and schools. Even colleges that she dreamed of Ivy attending. Tall massive stone structures with architecture that resembled castles from a fairyland.
“See those pretty green vines growing on that building?” she had said.
Ivy had stared in awe at the photos. “It looks like a castle, Mommy. Like something a queen would live in.”
“It’s not a house,” her mother had explained. “It’s an Ivy League university.” She had hugged Ivy into the circle of her arms then and traced her finger over the beautiful green vines crawling up the stone structures. “That’s the reason I named you Ivy. Because one day I want you to attend an Ivy League school. Then you can make something of yourself, be important. Not like your mama and daddy.”
Tears pressed against Ivy’s eyelids as she recalled her
“And?”
“And he wasn’t home. In fact, nobody was at his house. So I hid out in the junkyard all night.”
Ivy rubbed a hand over her forehead. “All night. You mean in one of the cars?”
He nodded, but stared at his boots. “In that old Impala near where I left you.”
Her throat ached so badly she couldn’t swallow. “You came back to check on me?”
“I…figured you might have seen your mama’s killer.” He rammed a hand through his hair, leaving the shaggy ends in a mess. “I thought the killer might come looking for you, too.”
Emotions fluttered through Ivy. He had returned to protect her. To make sure she was safe. And when he’d needed her, she’d retreated into her own silent world of denial.
She started to reach out to offer him a comforting hand, but he stiffened, his shoulders rigid. “I don’t want your sympathy or pity, Ivy. I was a stupid kid then. If I hadn’t been up to no good, stealing hubcaps that night, I wouldn’t have been in the junkyard at all.”
“And you wouldn’t have saved me. Then you wouldn’t have gotten in trouble.”
“I didn’t mean to imply you were at fault.”
“It’s the truth, Matt. You must have hated me all these years.”
He hesitated, his voice rattling with emotions when he finally spoke. “I don’t hate you.”
Ivy’s heart splintered. Her cowardice had hurt him so much. God. She couldn’t ever go back to running.
“Neither one of us was at fault,” he said, “but someone did kill your parents and they’ve gone free all this time.”
“Someone who knows why we both returned to Kudzu Hollow.” Which explained the message to her. It also meant Matt would be in danger.
Her mind ticked over possible reasons why someone would have wanted to kill her parents. They hadn’t had money. In fact, they’d fought about it all the time….
If her father had killed her mother and she’d witnessed it, it made sense that Ivy had been traumatized enough to repress the memory.
But if her father stabbed her mother, then who had killed him? Someone who cared for her mom?
But whom? From what Ivy remembered, her mother hadn’t had many friends. She had worked at the local pub for a short time as a waitress, but her father had put an end to that. Ivy recalled that bitter argument because it had turned into a physical fight. Her mother had cried and cried, claiming that she wanted the tips, that it was the best money in town, the only way she could afford to save a penny.
And she had wanted to save money, Ivy remembered. At night, she’d tell Ivy stories of faraway places. Show her pictures of cities she wanted them to visit. Of big fancy houses and shopping centers, and schools. Even colleges that she dreamed of Ivy attending. Tall massive stone structures with architecture that resembled castles from a fairyland.
“See those pretty green vines growing on that building?” she had said.
Ivy had stared in awe at the photos. “It looks like a castle, Mommy. Like something a queen would live in.”
“It’s not a house,” her mother had explained. “It’s an Ivy League university.” She had hugged Ivy into the circle of her arms then and traced her finger over the beautiful green vines crawling up the stone structures. “That’s the reason I named you Ivy. Because one day I want you to attend an Ivy League school. Then you can make something of yourself, be important. Not like your mama and daddy.”
Tears pressed against Ivy’s eyelids as she recalled her
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