The Fixer (The Fixer #1)(53)

Six months ago or less, the president and William Keyes had been there, too.

“It might not mean anything.” I wanted to be the voice of reason, but I didn’t feel reasonable. I felt like we were standing on the verge of something cavernous and unthinkable and real. “The picture. The guest list for that party. It might not mean anything,” I continued, grappling for objectivity like a climber trying to hold on to the edge of a cliff. “We don’t know for sure that someone poisoned your grandfather at the gala that night, let alone if it was someone in that picture. The fact that the president and William Keyes were the only ones in both places could be a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences, Tess. Sometime in the last six months, the man who killed my grandfather and the one who paid him to do it had a little sit-down. I’ve looked for another connection between Bharani and Pierce. I skipped my morning classes to look, Tess, and I couldn’t find anything. The only connection is this photo. This meeting, whatever it was.”

I was surprised that Henry Marquette had skipped class. I wasn’t surprised that his next move had been the same as mine: to look for connections, to figure out what—besides the murder—tied the judge and Vivvie’s father together.

“There was another number on that disposable phone.” Henry was implacable. “That means there is at least one other person involved.”

Someone with access to the justice. Someone who could get close enough to poison him. Someone who could make sure Pierce was positioned to be nominated in his place.

“We don’t know a lot of things, Tess.” Henry’s voice was curt. I was starting to recognize that tone as an indication that he was clamping down on his emotions, refusing to let them gain control. “We don’t know if Pierce approached Vivvie’s dad or the other way around. We don’t know who masterminded this whole thing.” He paused. “We don’t know who your sister is working for now.”

That took me off guard.

“We don’t know what her endgame is,” Henry continued forcefully.

My mouth felt like it had been filled with sawdust. “What are you saying, Henry?”

“Your sister solves problems. Professionally. Whoever the other number on that phone belonged to, I’d say they have a pretty big problem right now, wouldn’t you?”

I’d underestimated just how much Henry mistrusted my sister. It had never occurred to me that he might believe that instead of working to uncover this conspiracy, Ivy might be working to cover it up.

“Your grandfather and Ivy were friends. She would never—”

“What do you think fixers do, Tess?” Henry’s voice was maddeningly calm. “They cover things up. Even if there’s a cost. Even if they have to break a few laws to do it.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said fiercely.

“Vivvie’s father’s suicide didn’t make the papers,” Henry continued. He was like a train chugging its way toward a tunnel at a steady pace. Never slowing down. Never stopping. “Someone kept that away from the press.”

I thought of Ivy, wrangling the press outside Justice Marquette’s wake. If my sister wanted to keep something like that out of the papers, could she?

Yes.

“Everyone knows your sister works for Georgia Nolan,” Henry said. “Can you honestly tell me she doesn’t troubleshoot for the president, too?” He didn’t give me a chance to answer. “And William Keyes? He’s rich. Rich enough to pay her whatever it takes for her to protect him and his image.”

“She’s not working for Keyes.” It took everything I had not to raise my voice. “They don’t even get along.”

“Then why did his son pick you up from school last week?” Henry arched an eyebrow at me. “Word travels fast at Hardwicke, Tess. Whether you like it or not, you have to accept that there’s at least a possibility that your sister may have a conflict of interest here. And the side she comes down on may not be the right one.”

Ivy had told me not to tell anyone. To protect me, I thought desperately. She did it to protect me. And Vivvie.

“Tallyho, friends of Asher!” Asher had impeccable timing. He waltzed into the room and hopped up on the computer table, his legs dangling down, like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Like the tension in the room wasn’t thick enough that you could have cut it with a knife.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked blithely.

Just Henry telling me he thinks my sister might be working to cover up his grandfather’s murder. Henry must have read something in my expression, because a hint of remorse flashed across his features.

“You’re not interrupting anything.” Henry pulled his gaze from mine and turned to Asher. “Tess and I were just having a bit of a debate.” His green eyes found their way to mine again. “I may have pushed my case a little too hard.”

“You?” Asher said, feigning shock. “Never.”

As Asher launched into a story that seemed to involve a cupcake and a remote-controlled airplane—clearly meant to dissolve the tension—I had to fight the urge to stare at Henry until I knew exactly what he was thinking.

What had Ivy done to convince him she was capable of something like this?