“You know, a compliment or two wouldn’t hurt,” she admonished as she added some dry kiblets and a forkful of bargain brand canned food into his dish. The concoction smelled as bad as it looked but Jennings, verging on obese, relished it and ate noisily.
Nikki packed her laptop and purse, then wrapped a scarf around her neck. “No time to waste,” she muttered to the cat. “Opportunity knocks once at one man’s, or woman’s, door.” Hiking the strap of her computer over her shoulder, she said, “That’s another little pearl of wisdom my dad used to say all the time.”
The cat ignored her.
“Well, I believe it. Tom Fink isn’t known for his patience. If I can nail this story, then watch out. I’ll be up for a raise and you and I will tell old Fink to shove it. We’ll be moving to a big city with a major market.” She reached down and patted Jennings’s tawny head. “How would you like
to move to New York? No? Dallas? Hmmm, what about L.A.? You know, I can see you on Sunset Boulevard. We’ll get a convertible and expensive shades and…” She glanced at her watch and realized she was stalling. “…and I gotta go.”
She was out the door and stepping into the wet morning before she could second-guess what she was about to do. It was still dark outside, but the moon, thankfully, was obscured, so she didn’t have to rearrange her body clock and remind herself it really was morning. The steps were slippery as she hurried down two flights to the fenced yard. No other windows in the apartment house showed any hint of illumination through their pulled shades. The other tenants seemed to realize that five-thirty in the morning was really the dead of night.
But then, the other tenants weren’t chasing Pierce Reed.
Probably because they’re sane.
She was tired, had been up half the night searching for information on Reed, including checking all public records. She’d discovered that he wasn’t married and never had been, and she knew about his trouble during his tenure at the SFPD. He’d had a steady girlfriend, but she’d ended up marrying someone else after the botched case.
Reed had returned to Savannah, the city where he’d started with the police force nearly fifteen years earlier.
Nikki hadn’t learned much more, but she’d only started scratching the surface. Sooner or later she’d figure out what made the elusive detective tick. She unlocked her hatchback and slid inside.
Her little car coughed and rattled before starting, but finally fired. Nikki sped out of the parking lot and drove the few blocks to Reed’s apartment building, another ancient home cut into smaller living units.
His El Dorado, a Cadillac nearly old enough to be considered a classic and beat up enough to ensure it never would be, was sitting in its usual space. Good. Nikki had been by before. During the Montgomery case when she was chasing the story, she’d cruised by. She’d even gone so far as to figure out which unit was Reed’s, though she’d never had the guts to knock on his door. Until today.
Sure enough, there was a light glowing through what she’d surmised was Reed’s frosted-glass bathroom window. Either he slept with a nightlight, or the detective was up and about, soon to start his day.
Circling the block, she found a parking space across an alley and pulled in. Her heart hammered at her own boldness—she’d never accosted a police officer in his home before. She had little doubt of Reed’s reaction—he’d be furious, probably. So what good would that do? Her fingers tapped nervously on the steering wheel as she waited, listening to the radio and the police band, her ears pricked for any information about the grave found in northern Georgia. She didn’t want to piss Reed off; she just needed information. A few other lights snapped on in the apartment building and within twenty minutes Reed appeared, his dark hair wet and pushed away from his face, a white shirt crisp beneath a sport coat as he crossed the small parking lot. Tall and lanky, with a jaw square enough to befit a Hollywood stunt man, he tossed a briefcase into the backseat of his boat of a car, slipped behind the wheel and eased the El Dorado out of its spot.
Nikki didn’t even start her hatchback’s engine until his big car passed and turned the corner two blocks down. Then she followed. As she wheeled around the turn she saw his car make a left a quarter of a mile up the street. She felt a moment’s satisfaction. He was headed to his favorite morning haunt, a deli not far from the I-16 entrance.
She’d give him time to sit down and order, then show up while he was trapped waiting for his meal. If he didn’t want to be interrupted he’d let her know.
Pulling into the lot of a nearby bank, she gave him five minutes. That should be plenty. With her notepad and recorder tucked into her purse, she dashed across the wet pavement and thought she saw something move in the thicket of live oaks near the back door. She paused, looked again, but saw nothing. Yet the smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the air. Her gaze searched the shadows, then she told herself she was being silly. So a cook from the diner stepped outside for a smoke. So what? She hurried toward the entrance. Two men already leaving held the door for her and she slipped quietly inside.
The diner was warm. At six in the morning, a gaggle of locals were already huddled around the counter that surrounded the kitchen. Farmers, delivery men, truckers and the like swapped stories and jokes, sipped java and plowed into massive breakfasts of ham, grits, fried eggs and toast. Paddle fans pushed the smoke-laden air around while bacon sizzled on a grill, and pies, freshly baked and already on display, rotated slowly in a refrigerated case.
She glanced around the tables.
Reed was in a back booth, nursing a cup of coffee and eyeing a newspaper.
It’s now or never, she thought, girding herself for the inevitable brush-off. Anytime she had tried to get information out of him, he’d become an impenetrable granite wall, offering little, his responses oftentimes bordering on rude. Well, at least, tough.
She had to write this story. Especially now that Tom Fink had given her his blessing. Who knew when that would change?
Ignoring the Please Wait To Be Seated sign, she walked up to Reed’s booth and slid across from him. He didn’t even look up. “Detective Reed?”
His gaze climbed from the open newspaper to her face. His expression didn’t change. Light brown eyes assessed her. “I don’t remember asking you to sit down.”
“I know. I tried to reach you at the station and you didn’t call me back.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Of course. But I just want to ask you some questions.” She was reaching into her purse, fumbling for her recorder and notepad. She pushed the record button half expecting him to reach across the table and click the machine off.
He raised a dark eyebrow. “You always want to ask questions.”
She ignored the remark and plowed on. “You went up to Dahlonega.”