“We’ve got nothing from Beauregard.”
“But we have both his sons, now, don’t we?” she said, “Should be enough of a match to prove if Amity was their half-sister.”
“Okay.”
“Deacon Beauregard gave us twelve hours to figure out this case,” she said. “I just want to make sure he gets what he deserves.”
“You do that,” he said. “Meanwhile, I’m going to talk to a guy about a snake.”
“And who would that be?”
“The good reverend Ezekiel Byrd.”
“You think he put a copperhead in your fiancée’s car?”
“I think he might know who would be a likely candidate. Either Byrd catches his own pit vipers or he buys them. One way or another, he’s as close as anyone to the reptile trade.”
Fired up from her confrontation with Leon, Nikki was laser-focused on having it out with Effie. By rote she fed the animals and ate a slice of cold, leftover pizza that she washed down with the remains of a half-drunk bottle of diet soda she’d found in the fridge, then headed for the Sentinel’s records and Effie’s address. It turned out to be less than half a mile away from Nikki’s house, on the far side of Forsyth Park.
Close enough that Effie could have walked the distance. So near, in fact, that Effie could easily have been the person Nikki had felt was watching and following her.
But why?
She was afraid she might not like the answer to that question, but was determined to learn what it was anyway. Grabbing her purse, her uncle’s set of keys, and her cell phone, she was nearly out the door when her phone jangled.
She didn’t recognize the number and almost didn’t answer, but thought better of it. “Hello?” Holding the phone to her ear, she shouldered her bag, walking outside and locking the door behind her.
“Is this Nikki Gillette?” a woman’s voice asked tenuously. “I got a call from her. I’m Nola-Mae Pitman.”
“Ah, yes, Ms. Pitman.” Finally Alfred Necarney’s sister had returned her phone call. “Thank you for getting back to me,” she said as she hurried down the stairs, where the scent of Leon’s latest smoke still lingered. “I’m glad you called. I’m a reporter with
the Savannah Sentinel.”
“I know. I googled you. I figured this was probably about my brother, Alfred.”
“Yes. And I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Oh, my.” Her voice cracked a little. “Losing Alfred was a blow,” she admitted, sniffing loudly. “Thank you. But you didn’t call me to offer your condolences.”
Nikki unlocked the gate and shut it behind her as she made her way to her car. “No, that’s true.” After unlocking her Honda with her remote, she quickly slid into the car’s interior; she opened the console, found her notepad and a pen, and was ready to take some notes. “I’m doing a series of articles about Blondell O’Henry’s release and double-checking some facts.”
“Well, I don’t know anything about that, except what I read in the papers. As for Alfred, I’m certain he never met her. He was a solitary man. Lived alone. Liked it that way. He rarely went into town, and I’d be surprised if he’d ever been to Savannah.”
“But he did sell snakes. For quite a while.”
“We never discussed it, but yes . . . he did.”
“How long was that?”
“I’m not sure. A while, I suppose.”
“Years? Ten? Twenty? Maybe more?”
“Probably started soon after he got out of the service, I suppose. He’d always liked those kind of things, but after the war, he well, he was different, and snakes held a new fascination for him, but as I said, we never discussed it.”
“At least twenty years, then.” Nikki was scribbling on her notepad.
“I’d say so. I don’t really know, but . . . Oh. Are you trying to connect Alfred with the O’Henry murder?” She sucked in her breath. “There was a snake . . .”