Tell Me (22 page)

“I
need to show you something,” Nikki said as she padded into the kitchen from the bedroom where they’d taken their lovemaking. She was dressed only in her underwear and Reed’s dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up, the tails hanging over her rear end.

“I think you already did.”

“Very funny,” she called over her shoulder. It was all she could do not to demand to know everything he’d learned from Blondell, to try and convince him to spill the tiniest of details, but she was smart enough to know that wouldn’t get her very far. She had to be patient, and Lord knew that wasn’t her strong suit.

She also had to be careful not to let him know she’d been snooping around her uncle’s house or that she’d made copies of his computer files. Reed would be furious with her, and so, in the hours between taking the files and his return, she’d copied them onto her hard drive and read through as many of them as she could, skimming the text, her heart pounding for fear he would somehow come in and catch her, and jumping every time the phone rang, as she was certain it would be her aunt, who had either seen her or figured out what she’d done.

Thankfully, the only people who’d called were Trina, trying to set up a time they could go out for a drink—she was having boyfriend problems—and Nikki’s mother, with a dozen questions about the seating arrangements for the wedding reception.

She found the camera she’d discovered earlier in the day and carried it back to the bedroom.

“What the hell is this?” Reed asked as she dropped it into his open palm.

“I think someone may have been spying on us. I saw something glinting from the window, and there this was, the lens pointed upward at this apartment.”

“You’re sure?” He was still on the bed, lying naked on the rumpled sheets. The duvet had slid to the floor. As he studied the little spy camera, she hauled the downy coverlet onto the foot of the bed.

She told him the story of retrieving the camera, but left out any mention that she thought she was being followed because it was all just little pieces with no substance. The guy in the park hadn’t chased her down. The car that nearly hit her as she stepped from the curb was most likely just another idiot behind the wheel. She’d had no phone hang-ups, seen no one dogging her as she walked through town, detected no headlights boring down upon her as she drove.

“I don’t like this,” he said, turning the camera over.

“Me neither.”

“I’ll have the lab look it over, see what they can find,” Reed said and set it on the nightstand before walking to the window and peering into the night. “Good thing you found it or someone would have gotten a show tonight.”

“Maybe they’ve seen others.”

“Maybe.” He stared outside. “But the angle would be tough. From this window to the top of the fence is what? Twenty feet? You’re sure our apartment was the target? From where you said it was mounted, it seems to me it would have been set to view the first or maybe even the second floor.” He squinted. “Now if it was higher on that utility pole, then maybe. But I’d bet it was aimed at the Arbuckles or the Donnigans.”

“Let’s hope.”

His glance moved upward, along the utility pole. “You didn’t find any others.”

“Nothing that I saw.”

Raking his fingers through his hair, he said, “I’ll look into it.”

“Because you don’t have anything better to do.” She tried to lighten the mood a little as she saw the muscles tightening in his neck and back.

He glanced over his shoulder. She’d found his boxer shorts, which she now tossed to him. He caught them handily as she said, “Talking about putting on a show, better cover up. These days everyone and their dog has a cell phone or pocket camera and could be snapping us as we speak. I don’t think you want a picture of yourself in your birthday suit splashed all over the media.”

“And here I thought you wanted me to get dressed because the sight of me naked was driving you crazy.”

“The ego of men,” she said, but she did notice the dimples on his buttocks, little indentations she’d always found fascinating.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he agreed. “I don’t need to be dealing with all those women who might see my picture splashed all over the news throwing themselves at me.”

“Man, you’ve got a pretty damned high opinion of yourself, Detective Reed.”

“Just tellin’ it like it is. But don’t worry.” He stepped into his shorts and moved away from the window. “There’s only one woman for me.”

“Lucky me,” she said.

“Glad you know it. Now throw on some clothes and I’ll buy you dinner.”

Glancing at the clock, she said, “It’s nearly nine.”

“Murphy’s serves Irish stew all night.”

Her mouth watered at the thought. “Come to think of it, I missed breakfast, and lunch was a cup of yogurt.”

“Then we’ll get you an extra-large bowl. Get a move on.” He’d been picking up his T-shirt and snapped it at her butt.

“Aye, aye, sir!” she mocked. “
You
get a move on.”

Twenty minutes and a brisk walk later, they were settled into a booth in their favorite Irish bar near the riverfront. Murphy’s, a long-standing fixture in the historic district of Savannah, had a somewhat murky past, a dark history that the current owners exploited. There had been rumors of shanghaied patrons in days long past; a network of tunnels that ran beneath the city added to the notoriety, and some of the drinks on the menu were named after pirates of long ago.

They settled into one of the booths that had been built along the wall opposite the long bar, its tall mirror flanked in stained glass.

Paddle fans swirled from a tin ceiling, and the two-hundred-year-old planks of the floor were worn. A waiter in a long, white apron quickly navigated a gamut of tables in the dining room to take their drink orders and drop off menus and a basket of warm biscuits.

Once the waiter had wended his way through the swinging door to the kitchen on the other side of the bar, Nikki couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer. “How did Blondell look?”

“Older.”

“And mentally?”

“We
are
off the record here,” he said.

She held up two hands in surrender. “Absolutely.”

He nodded. “So I might have a deal for you.”

“What kind of deal?”

He waited, allowed the waiter to deposit two frosty mugs of ale onto the table. They placed their meal orders as a shout went up from the back of the establishment, where a dart game was in progress.

Once the waiter was gone, they automatically clinked their glass mugs and each took a swallow. “I repeat, ‘what kind of deal?’ ” Nikki asked.

“One where we join forces.”

“On the O’Henry case?” She couldn’t believe her ears. This was a complete one-eighty from his position earlier.

“Okano wants us to pull out all the stops, so we could use your help. Or if that doesn’t work, someone else from the media, I suppose—”

“Whoa, whoa. Slow down. If you’re talking to anyone, it has to be me.” She’d almost come off the bench on her side of the table.

“I’ve worked with Lynnetta Ricci at WKAM before.”

“Cute,” she said. “You’ve also worked with me. A lot. And you said we might have a deal. Well, I’m in. You know it. This is mine, Reed. Don’t even joke with me about it.”

His lips twitched as another couple came in and took a table next to theirs. “Figured that’s what you’d say,” he said and finished his beer just as the waiter arrived with two steaming bowls. “Let’s eat and discuss this once we’re home again.” He glanced pointedly at the two new patrons, twenty-somethings, both in business suits, she in heels, he in wingtips, close enough to overhear their conversation.

Even though Nikki wanted nothing more than to talk more about the case, she turned her attention to the meal, which, as usual, was fabulous. The stew was made with beef and root vegetables simmered in a rich broth flavored with beer and spices. Served piping hot, with a dollop of mashed potatoes spooned on top, Murphy’s stew was, in Nikki’s opinion, the best in town.

They ate without interruption, and all the while the gears in Nikki’s mind were turning rapidly, questions about the case whirling through her brain. She knew the relationship would be symbiotic, and she would have to give as well as get information, but she knew this was a major step toward driving into the heart of the story and finding out what really happened.

“I would still like to interview Blondell,” she said to Reed as they were walking home.

“We’ll see.”

“Is it up to you?” She glanced over at him as they crossed a street where the traffic was slow, headlights and taillights illuminating the cobblestones. All the way back, Nikki thought about the computer files she’d “borrowed” from her Uncle Alex’s den. She couldn’t mention them to him. She was walking a thin line between the prosecution and the defense, even though she was just a private citizen. In order for justice to prevail, she had to uncover the truth without sabotaging either side.

“Just so we’re clear,” she said as they reached the back door of the house. “As soon as this is over and Blondell’s fate is determined, I can publish the book.”

“I don’t care what you do once the case is closed,” he said.

“But let’s just say she’s innocent, for the sake of argument, and the real killer isn’t located, that would still be okay?”

“Yeah. As long as you don’t do anything stupid and break the law, by, let’s say . . . going through my files, or using police information that you get your hands on that isn’t for the public. Then, I’d say, all bets would be off.” He unlocked the door to an area that had once been the foyer and that still opened up to wide, curving interior stairs. Originally there had been several hallways and doors off the main area, but they’d all been sealed with fire barriers, and now the only doors opening off the former foyer were one to a storage area to the right of the stairs and, to the left, the entrance to the Donnigans’ apartment. Behind the staircase were French doors that opened to the veranda and the fenced garden area, and beneath the stairs was a locked door that led to a narrow staircase and basement that Nikki never used. It too had a separate entrance and egress windows, so there was a chance the rooms below could be renovated into two more apartments, but so far she hadn’t had the time, money, or energy to tackle what promised to be a huge project.

Once inside her apartment, Nikki flipped on a few more lights and picked up a dancing Mikado, letting him lick her face. “Okay, so how are we going to do this?” she asked Reed as she placed the dog on the floor again. She was eager to start the investigation.

“It’s pretty simple and one-sided for now,” he admitted as he left his wallet and keys on a table near the front door. “Since I know you’re going to investigate the hell out of the Blondell case, whether I tell you to or not, you’re going to share what you learn with me.”

She didn’t like where this was going. “And you?”

“I’ll give up what I can to you, and you can work with me, not just the public information officer, but you can’t report on anything that isn’t approved by her. Not until this is over. You’re trying to find the truth, as we are, but the difference is the state thinks we’ve got the murderess behind bars, and we want to keep her there. If she gets out, she can’t be retried. You don’t really care about that.”

“True, but dealing with Abbey Marlow isn’t going to be that easy; she’s not exactly known for being forthcoming.” Nikki conjured up a mental image of the new police department spokesperson, an ex-newswoman with a keen mind, thoughtful demeanor, and flaming red hair. She’d kept all her press conferences on point and brief, a professional to the nth degree. No way would she ever give Nikki an advantage. Unless she was instructed to do just that. “So Abbey will know that I’m on the inside.”

“Maybe. Eventually. I’ll run it by Okano.”

From the studio overhead, Jennings appeared, trotting down the spiral staircase and meowing loudly.

“Sorry,” Reed said, but it didn’t sound at all like he was. “Those are the rules.”

“I don’t do well with rules.”

“I know.” He walked to the window, peered out, then shut the blinds. “But take the deal or leave it.”

“You know you can be infuriating, don’t you?”

“Good thing you
never
are. Right now, I’m calling all the witnesses at the original trial to see if they remember anything they didn’t testify to. I’ve spoken to Niall and Blythe, the victims, as, I gather, you have.”

“And Blondell,” she reminded him as she found Mikado’s leash. “You know, I haven’t had that privilege yet.”

“I haven’t forgotten. But next up for me: Roland Camp and Calvin O’Henry.”

She nodded. “And I plan to check with the men in Amity’s life. Someone got her pregnant.”

Mikado barked impatiently near the outside door, and Reed said, “Give me that,” indicating the leash. “I’ll take him.” As he scrounged for a plastic bag in the junk drawer tucked under the eating bar separating the kitchen from the living area, he added, “You knew her better than anyone other than her family. Who do you think was the father of her child?”

“I don’t know,” Nikki admitted, “but I intend to find out.” What she didn’t add was that the first person on her list was Holt Beauregard. There was no reason to let Reed know that she suspected the lead detective’s son of being involved, not until she knew a little more, so for the first time since she’d heard the news that Blondell O’Henry might be released, Nikki changed the subject.

“Here we go, boy.” Reed snapped Mikado’s retractable leash onto his collar.

“We have some other really important things to talk over, too,” she said.

“Such as?”

“Seating arrangements for the reception. Mom wants to know if you want your family to sit together or mix them up with some of your cop friends.”