“Effie Savoy?” she asked, stunned.
He shrugged. “Yeah, that’s her, I think.”
“She was here? At my house?”
“That’s what I just said,” he pointed out, as if she were thick as a brick.
“I’ll check on that,” Nikki assured him.
Smoke filtered out of his nostrils, and as he tossed the remainder of his cigarette onto the patio, crushing it beneath the heel of his boot, he asked, “Has anyone ever told you you’re a bitch?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she snapped. “Pick up your trash. This is my patio, not a garbage dump, and I’m tired of cleaning up after you.”
“It’s just a butt, for crissakes!”
“Just do it.” She whistled to Mikado and made her way up the stairs as the dog bolted up in front of her. When she reached the third floor, she heard Leon’s voice rising upward from the patio as he reconnected with his call.
“Yeah, sorry about that . . . just my bitch of a landlady . . . who knows? Probably on the fuckin’ rag or somethin’. ’Cept she’s always like that.” He chuckled deep in his throat, and his skin-crawling snigger filtered up through the branches of the magnolia tree. Then she heard his lighter click as he lit up again.
Nice, she thought. If she didn’t have so much to do, she’d take up his attitude and actions with Dorothy. If not for his mother, Nikki would evict him on the spot. But not tonight.
Tonight, it seemed, she was going to deal with Effie Savoy.
“What the hell was all that about Flint Beauregard?” Reed demanded as they walked to an all-night diner a few blocks away. Night had fallen, the streetlights were glowing, and only a few other pedestrians were walking along Oglethorpe, the traffic remarkably thin.
“Something went on with Beauregard,” Morrisette said. “I found out he knew Blondell before she was married. They went to the same high school, though he was a few years older.”
“This isn’t exactly a newsflash. He’s lived in Savannah all his life.”
“And Flora didn’t like it much when I brought it up. Practically came unglued when I mentioned Blondell and her husband in the same breath.” She glanced up at him as they walked past Colonial Park Cemetery, where gray headstones stood out starkly against the night.
“So what’re you getting at?” Reed asked.
“I was just wondering who Amity O’Henry’s biological father was. Blondell has never said, not once, even when asked. It didn’t come out in the trial, probably wasn’t considered relevant, and no name was listed on her birth certificate. I double-checked. So I figure most likely it wasn’t Calvin, as he adopted her and wasn’t around when Amity was conceived.”
“And you think Flint Beauregard knew,” Reed said, though he was beginning to understand where Morrisette was heading with all of this. “Or that he was Amity’s father?”
“I’m saying it’s a possibility. He sure was pissed at Blondell. Did everything he could to convict her,” Morrisette said.
“Why would he do that?” Reed asked, trying to understand her logic. “If Amity was his kid?”
“Who knows? He probably thought Blondell was behind Amity’s homicide, or at the very least should have protected her.”
“Kind of a big leap, isn’t it?” he asked as they crossed the street. Rain was just beginning to fall.
“Maybe. But I’m checking. I even have a call in to Jada Hill, because the easiest thing would be for Blondell to tell the truth, especially now that Flint’s dead.”
“Why hasn’t she?” Reed asked as they reached the diner and he held the door for her.
“She must have her reasons. Enough people have asked—at least they did during the trial—and she wouldn’t say. It’s funny, you know.”
“What?”
“For the past twenty years, I’ve thought Blondell O’Henry pulled the trigger and that justice was served. I went into this investigation hell-bent to prove just that, but now I’m not so sure. That twelve-hour ultimatum Deacon just delivered? I think it might just blow up in his face.”
“We have DNA from Amity.”
“Which wasn’t available twenty years ago.”