Page 52 of Wild Idol
Her face wrinkled. “No. Why would it be here?”
“He claims you took it.”
She looked at me like the notion was absurd. “Why would I take it?”
I shrugged.
“Can he prove any of his claims?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Didn’t think so.” She paused, the irritation building inside of her, bubbling up. “Let me just tell you something about my father. I know you think you’re probably doing the right thing. I know he’s probably painted me as some young, impressionable girl who doesn’t know what she’s doing and is somehow getting taken advantage of. But I know exactly what I’m doing, and I choose to be here of my own free will. I believe in the mission. I believe in what we’re doing. We’re making real change. It may be small. But big movements start with a single action.”
“What big movement?”
Her jaw tightened, and her cheeks flushed. “This!” she said, motioning to her surroundings. “This is a better way to live. A sense of community. A connection to nature. A sustainable existence. There is no violence here. There is no crime.”
I laughed. “What about the guys that stormed into my room with AK-47s? Was that not violent?”
Her mouth tensed again. She didn’t exactly have a response for that.
“Strathmore Worthington is not a good man.” She paused for a moment, and her eyes filled. Her lips quivered. “He’s a monster that abused me from the time I was a small child. He abused my mother. She took me and my sister and left when we were young. She suffered unbearable hardships to make ends meet and keep us safe. My father constantly hired people to track us down. Used his money and influence to shift the courts in his favor. He did everything he could to get us back into his custody. But my mother would not submit. She refused to give us back to that despicable man. Because of that, we could never stay in the same place for long. She had to constantly change jobs, change identities. The system is broken. No one should have to endure what we endured.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I said.
She glared at me. “You’re not sorry. You don’t care. You’re just doing a job. Your boss is a fucking asshole. And if you don’t have the discernment to realize that, then you’re probably an asshole, too.”
She spun around and stormed toward the door. She called back over her shoulder and said, “and my name is Star, not Ivy. Ivy’s dead.”
I didn’t recall addressing her by name, but maybe she could see it in my eyes. Maybe she was projecting.
I had to admit I was a little stunned by the revelation. If what she said was true, I didn’t blame her for not wanting to go back. And I wouldn’t force her. I had lived up to my obligation. I talked to her. She seemed clearheaded and cogent—not under any kind of duress. The emotions she expressed were genuine.
The question that remained was what to do about the stolen property. Do we continue to look for the idol, repossess it, and bring it back? Or had this whole adventure been a bust?
I liked clear mission objectives with a defined purpose. But that sense of purpose was now muddied by shades of gray. That was not my cup of tea, and I was beginning to regret agreeing to this.
I left the bungalow and walked across the path to JD’s. I climbed the steps to the porch and knocked on the door.
Jack answered a moment later with a towel wrapped around his waist, a satisfied grin on his face. “That was a hell of a massage. How did you like yours?”
Jack had obviously had a good time with Whisper, oblivious to my trials and tribulations.
“I talked to Ivy,” I said.
His eyes rounded with surprise. “And…?”
I told him the details.
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“So, what do we do now?”
“I’m trying to figure that part out.”
With a slight grin, he said, “You know, we could just hang out for a few days, live the good life, indulge in a few moresensory delights, then head back. We did our job. End of story.”
