The Girl Who Would Live Forever by Rebecca Cantrell

Author:Rebecca Cantrell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Psychological Thriller, suspense fiction, urban thriller, mystery thrillers and suspense best sellers, strong women, strong female protaganist, female sleuth
Publisher: Rebecca Cantrell
Published: 2023-01-03T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Ivy’s ringtone woke her up. The room was pitch black and she had no idea where she was. Her phone rang again and she groped blindly for the sound.

“Tristan?” she said.

“It’s Stephen at the front desk.”

She sat and rubbed her eyes. She remembered where she was. Grief, jetlag, despair, hope. It was all wearing her down. “What time is it?”

“It’s 9:15 at night,” he said.

She’d slept the day away. She wondered what time it was in Tallinn, but couldn’t bring herself to even try the math. Her stomach rumbled.

“Why did you call?” she asked.

“I know it’s a little late,” Stephen said. “But a man here says you’d like to talk to him. He said you’d want to be disturbed.”

Ivy yawned and tried to wake up. “Mr. Tristan Walsh? Send him up.”

Stephen cleared his throat. “He says his name is Jacko, and I think it’s best if you meet him down here.”

She stumbled into her clothes, fingers clumsy on the buttons and zippers. She was so tired that she felt nauseous. But if she didn’t go talk to Jacko right now, he might disappear forever. Maybe he’d have answers about Shelby that she liked. Maybe he’d seen a softer side to her. She’d helped him look for a job, after all, and Margie spoke highly of her. Shelby was more than the dark pieces Ivy had been given. Light and kind pieces existed too.

When she got to the lobby, Stephen stood behind the front desk in his uniform. She was glad he got time off from standing outside. It looked cold and miserable out there. Rain sheeted down onto the street.

“He’s outside.” Stephen pointed toward the front door. His expression made it clear he’d never allow Jacko to wait inside the lobby, even on a miserable night like this. Before she judged him, she reminded herself that he’d probably lose his job if he did.

When she got outside, Jacko puffed on a Marlboro three steps from the door. He cupped his hand over it to keep it dry and rain ran down his knuckles. He looked even more gaunt than he had at the funeral. His shoulders were soaked dark from the rain.

“I’m a friend of Shelby Linton.” She stood under the overhang by the front door, a space Stephen had probably chased him from, and held out her hand. “Ivy.”

When he shook her hand, his was cold and wet.

“Jacko,” he said and the tang of alcohol accompanied his words. “Saw you at the funeral. You looked rough.”

“We were friends a long time.”

He blew out a cloud of smoke. “I heard you were doing an article.”

“From Margie?” she asked.

“Doesn’t matter where I heard it from. Are you?”

“I am,” she said. “About the people Shelby worked with at the shelter.”

“What’s it worth to you?”

Ordinarily, she wouldn’t pay a source for information, but she paused before giving her standard answer. It wasn’t going to be a real journalistic piece. She wanted to know, had to know, that someone remembered her friend fondly. “Twenty bucks.

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