“Hi, there. Just me.” It was Bobbi herself.
Reed nearly jumped out of his skin. “Bet you didn’t expect this, did you?” Christ, what was she talking about? “I’m off to meet him but I forgot to pick up deodorant and the dry-cleaning, and I wanted to test this new cell phone out, so this is just a reminder. Cool, huh?” She laughed, amused with herself, and Reed’s skin crawled as he remembered that husky giggle. It was as if she were still alive.
Had she been calling someone who was staying here, or was she leaving the message for herself? And who was the him she was talking about? Jerome Marx? A new boyfriend?
There were no other messages.
Reed reset the machine so that the hang ups and Bobbi’s call were “new,” then he let himself out. Just as he had a dozen times before.
Pierce Reed was the key.
Nikki knew it and reminded herself of the fact as her clock radio blasted the next morning. She’d spent a useless day and night in Dahlonega, digging into Reed’s past, trying to find a link between him and the grave discovered up at Blood Mountain, and had come up empty handed before finally giving up last night. What a waste of time and energy. She slapped the damned alarm quiet and groaned as she rolled out of bed. She’d tumbled between the sheets barely three hours earlier after driving for hours. Her eyes felt as if they had sand in them, her head ached and she twisted her neck only to hear it pop. Not a good sign. Reaching for the remote, she clicked on the local news just as Jennings, her yellow tabby, and the laziest creature on earth, raised his head. From the pillow next to hers, he stretched and yawned, showing off needle-sharp teeth and his pink scratchy tongue. Nikki petted his fluffy head without thinking about it as she stared at the television.
The grave with two unidentified bodies still topped the news. On every channel.
So, why was Reed involved?
A Savannah cop wasn’t helicoptered over three hundred miles to the north Georgian woods just because he’d had his name splashed all over the newspapers during the Montgomery case. No. There had to be a reason, had to be more to Reed’s involvement than met the eye. Nikki just had to figure out what it was. She slogged her way to the kitchen, measured Italian roast and water into the coffeemaker, then headed for the bathroom where she twisted on the shower spray. As the pipes in the old house creaked and the water heated, she edged back to the bedroom and checked with the national news. CNN had picked up the story but it was buried beneath trouble in the Middle East and the President’s holiday travel schedule. She tried the local news again and determined no more information had been released by the Lumpkin County Sheriff?
??s Department.
Good.
She wanted this story.
So bad she could taste it.
With a sense of urgency, she hurried through the shower, hoping the hot spray would wash away the cobwebs in her head and the aches in her muscles. But the water pressure on the top floor of this old house was less than invigorating. She spent less than ten minutes with her makeup and hair, moussing her wild strawberry blond curls into no particular style and inwardly groaning when she noticed the dark smudges beneath her eyes that no amount of cover-up could conceal.
No big deal.
“Who cares?” she said to Jennings, who’d managed to hop onto the edge of the pedestal sink and was watching her perform her morning routine. “Hungry?”
He jumped off the rim of the sink and ambled toward the kitchen.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ Be there in a sec.”
She stepped into black slacks, pulled on a long-sleeved tee and threw on a jacket. As she slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder, she was already considering the right angle for her story and figuring out how she’d get to Reed. Of course, she’d try the direct approach, not that it had worked in the past. Her small bedroom was only steps from the kitchen/living area of her apartment, which itself was the turret of a once-grand Victorian home. Now, the hardwood floors needed refinishing, the walls and molding could use a fresh coat of paint and the countertops needed to be replaced. But it was home. Her home. And she loved it.
In the kitchen, she quickly fed the cat, then poured a cup of coffee and sipped it as she watched more of the news on her ancient twelve-inch set, the one she’d splurged on in college. The televison and Jennings were roughly the same age, acquired her senior year when Nikki had decided she could make some decisions for herself. Decisions that had included a string of all the wrong boys to get involved with.
“It’s only natural,” her shrink had advised. “You’ve suffered a major loss. Not only you but your whole family. You’re searching for someone to fill that void.”
Nikki had thought the guy was a quack and had only endured one uncomfortable session. Sure, she missed her older brother. And yeah, Mom and Dad and her other brother and sister were all in mourning. But she doubted that because Andrew had died, she’d felt some need to date every loser she’d encountered at the University of Georgia. In retrospect, the television and Jennings had been two of her better decisions.
Images flashed on the screen and she turned her attention, again, to the news.
No more reports from Dahlonega.
Nor did she see any interviews with Pierce Reed—not even on the local channels. All the better.
It made things easier for her, she thought, pouring herself a second cup of coffee in a travel mug. The way she figured it, all she had to do was keep track of Reed, follow him, check with her contact on the force, find out why he went charging up north and she’d be able to piece together the mystery of the dead bodies. One way or another, she’d get her exclusive.
She was already punching out Cliff Siebert’s cell number as she walked outside and paused on the upper landing. From this vantage point, she could look down the street and see over the rooftops and treetops of Forsyth Park. The city was already awake, traffic rolling down the old streets of the historic district. Not far away was the police department.
Cliff didn’t pick up.
“Big surprise,” Nikki muttered and figured he was still dodging her. She left a message as she hurried down the steps and felt a cool winter breeze against her wet hair. Her car was parked in her small spot and she tossed her notebook, computer and bag into the backseat and wedged her coffee cup into the holder. She slid her key into the ignition and heard the hatchback’s old engine grind. “Yeah, yeah, come on, I’m tired, too,” she muttered, and on the fifth try, the engine fired and caught. “See, I knew you could do it,” she said as she backed up, then eased into the alley where vine-covered garages and old carriage houses lined the narrow street.