Page 93 of Barre Fight
“Fine then, just pretend you’re going to write it. Make him think you’re going to.”
“Justin, I know you don’t have the highest opinion of journalism, and I know that’s partly because of me, but no. I’m notgoing to lie about that. You’re basically saying we should blackmail him.”
He opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. “Oh.”
“Yes,oh,” she said.
“Sorry,” he said quietly. “What do you think we should do?”
Ivy looked at him for a moment, thinking hard. “Here are some things that are technically true,” she said carefully, after a long moment. “Youcould write a book. In fact, you could even technically say that you are interested in writing a book. Right?”
“Right,” he said, stretching the word as if he didn’t quite know where she was going but he thought it might be good.
“And as your friend, and a former journalist, I would want that book to be as accurate as possible. Dates, places, descriptions. Right?”
“Right,” he said, with a slow nod. “That is all technically true.”
“And even if you didn’t name names, anyone in Hillstone who read it would know exactly who you were talking about. It’s a small town. Right?”
“Right.”
Ivy let out a long breath, not entirely sure she was doing the right thing, but confident at least that she had stopped Justin from doing the wrong thing. “Alright then. Let’s go.”
Fifteen minutes later, Ivy pushed her glasses up her nose, knowing that they’d slide down her sweat-slick nose in just a few seconds. As she looked up at the sign for Kavanaugh Conveyancing, Pty. Ltd, they did just that. Sighing, she let them sit low on her nose as she took in the sign. Under the thick layer of soot and ash that lay over the sign and the front window beneath it, the big black block letters looked sinister and foreboding.
She looked at Justin. “Ready?”
He nodded, jaw clenched, but said nothing. Good enough.
Ivy stepped forward and pulled the front door open, and they were greeted by a gust of slightly cooler air that smelled faintly of smoke. They stepped inside and found themselves in a small reception room that was empty but for the high front desk, behind which hung another Kavanaugh Conveyancing sign. Ivy presumed that the room had once contained furniture, and that art had once hung on the walls, but today there was nothing. There was no indication that the building had burned, but the scent of smoke seemed to rise up from the carpet, and if she had to guess, the furniture had been taken away to be cleaned or replaced entirely.
She and Justin stood a meter inside the door, saying nothing. There was no one behind the desk, but Ivy could hear rustling sounds of movement from some other room behind the open door to its right. After another moment of waiting, Ivy spotted the bell on the far end of the desk. She raised her eyebrows at Justin in question, and he shrugged in assent.
Ivy stepped forward and tapped the top of the bell with her fingers in one crisp, decisive movement, and the answeringdingseemed to bounce around the almost empty room.
“Be right with you,” a man’s voice called from somewhere beyond the door.
Ivy felt Justin bristle, and she turned to look at him. She gave him a small conspiratorial nod, and after a beat he returned it. He was not alone in this, and he knew it.
“Sorry about that,” came a friendly voice, “it’s a shambles back there, and I’m up to my ears in boxes.” A tall, broad-shouldered man who could only be Kyle Kavanaugh appeared in the door frame, wearing a warm but sheepish smile. He looked like Kieran in almost every conceivable way but for his slightly shorter hair, and Ivy understood now why Justin had reacted the way he did to the sight of the boy. Kieran must look now exactly like his father back when he’d bullied Justin.
“Are Kyle Kavanaugh?” Ivy asked, even though she knew exactly who he was. And she knew exactly what he’d done to the man she loved.
“Yeah, that’s me, how can I—” Kavanaugh stopped talking when his eyes moved from Ivy to Justin. Ivy watched as the friendly smile slid from his face. She planted her feet, ready to play along with the warning Justin was going to deliver to his childhood tormentor.
She was about to inform Kavanaugh—pointedly, ominously—that she and Justin needed to have a word with him, when he hurried forward, wiping his hands hastily on his T-shirt.
“Winters, mate, I heard you were back in town,” Kavanaugh said, approaching.
Ivy felt Justin take a step back, and instinctively, took one forward, then immediately thought better of it. Perhaps this whole plan had been a bad idea. She’d thought it best to speak with Kavanaugh in private, but now it occurred to her that if he physically threatened Justin, there would be no one but her to witness it, let alone stop it.
“Justin and I would like a word with you, Mr. Kavanaugh,” she managed to croak out, sounding about as brave as she felt. Her palms were sweating at her sides.
“I was planning to come find you,” Kavanaugh said to Justin, then he gestured vaguely behind him at the door he’d emerged from. “But I got caught up trying to get things organized and cleaned out back there.”
Ivy looked at Justin, whose shoulders were square and set, like he had steeled himself for a fight that might be coming. “You were going to come find me, were you?” he asked darkly.
“Yeah, I wanted to thank you,” Kavanaugh said, almost eagerly.
