The Price of Knowing

“I take it your visit went as planned?”

Fredrick stood near his SUV smoking a cigarette, eyeballing my ruffled shirt and messy hair when I returned.

I felt a little embarrassed that I was figured out. But I owned it.

“It went fine,” I said as he opened the door for me to get inside. “Do you feel like being my chauffeur for one more stop?”

He extended his hand with a mischievous grin on his face and said, “Where to Mrs. Thomas?”

I had never envisioned myself as a wife. Especially not to a man who wasn’t even my boyfriend.

Yet, the name had a nice ring to it. Mrs. Thomas. But it was much too soon for marriage talk. Although I did picture Bentley and me standing at an alter, ready to say our I-do's, and got butterflies.

“Just drive the car," I laughed. "I’ll tell you where to go.”

I put my sunglasses on and rode my chariot all the way to Silvia’s place.

I wanted to talk to her alone, without Rodger, and see if she’d elaborate more on what she said about him.

He had a very distinctive look.

Very broad shoulders and he was almost abnormally tall. So if he was the last person she saw Ivy with that night, I was inclined to believe her.

“Do you know any of the girls who work at Bentley’s club?”

My question broke Fredrick’s concentration on the road, and he looked at me through the rearview mirror.

“Not personally,” he said. “I don’t get too involved with anyone. I like to keep a low profile. Why?”

“Well,” I sighed. “I’m not just any regular old gal. I’m an investigative journalist, and I'm looking into the murder that happened there nights ago. Ivy Smith was a friend of mine.”

He nodded and put his focus back on the road.

I took the hint and didn’t ask him any more questions about Ivy or what happened that night. But I did make a note to circle back to him again.

When we got to Silvia’s place, there were three cars in her driveway.

One of them looked like an undercover cop car, and I had no idea what to make of the other two.

I was hesitant to disturb whatever was going on inside, but when I saw Detective Simmons exit the front door, I made it my duty to get out and see what was going on.

“Detective Simmons. Hi. What’s going on here?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” he frowned.

“Oh, sorry,” I laughed nervously. “My name is Justine Sky. I’m a journalist at Westlake News. I’m covering the Ivy Smith murder case, and Silvia is someone I interviewed."

Simmons looked me up and down for a moment. Caution and confusion controlled his expression. It wasn’t news that cops didn’t like interacting with journalists unless they needed our help with something, so I wasn't disturbed by his demeanor.

But he was the newcomer in Westlake. Not me.

“Justine Sky, huh?” he grunted. "Well, Justine, you might wanna have a talk with Silvia’s family. They can break the news to you themselves. Have a nice day.”

Worry washed over me as he got into his car and drove away.

My body felt heavy with dread and regret, and I didn't know why. My world suddenly got dark, and my feet grew heavier with every step I took closer to the door.

When I got ready to ring the doorbell, my finger sat there. Refusing to go any further.

I knew something was wrong. I felt it in my gut.

However, before I got my nerve to finally give the bell a ring, the door creaked open, and a blonde man with the most beautiful blue eyes stood before me.

“Hi,” I muttered softly. “I’m here for Silvia. Is she…around?”

The man stared at me with a blank expression.

His beer belly hung low over his jeans, and the redness in his eyes gave away that he’d been crying. When I mentioned Silvia, his eyes swelled with tears before he managed to step aside and allow me to come in.

When I did, I saw a room full of people that I assumed were her family. They were in a state of mourning and devastation. Which confirmed my fear of the worst.

“Who are you?” a woman asked. “One of Silvia’s friends? Can you tell us anything about what happened to her?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” I shook my head. “I’m not sure what happened. My name is Justine Sky. I’m a journalist with Westlake News. I talked to Silvia the other day and wanted to ask her a few more questions. What’s going on?”

They all glanced around at each other.

The woman, whom I learned was Silvia’s mother, and the man, her father, glared at me. Hard. Wickedly.

She even blamed me for what happened to her daughter.

“This is your fault!” she spat. “If you hadn’t gotten her involved with what happened at that stupid nightclub, my daughter would be alive right now! I warned her about you people! I told her to stay away from that place! That man!”

Her sobs hurt my heart. I knew she was only lashing out because she was hurt, so I didn't take offense. Besides, I felt like it was my fault and her life was the price of knowing.

“I think you should go,” her father said. “We’ve got a lot to unpack here, and we don't need any more of your reporter friends coming around tainting our daughter’s name before we figure out who did this.”

I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to ask them what they knew. But I respected their wishes. Her family deserved to mourn in peace.

"Yes, sir,” I said. "But, please, if you have any questions or can tell me anything about what happened, will you give me a call?" If Silvia’s death is related to the case I'm investigating now, I'll be able to help you figure out what happened.”

I handed him my card, and he was hesitant to accept. Her mother surely didn’t want him to accept it, and she was very vocal about it.

However, if Silvia’s death was directly tied to Ivy’s case, I was their best bet at getting down to the bottom of it.

“I will,” he said. “But you tell Bentley, her boss, that we’re coming for him. And we’re not letting up. Not this time.”