Chapter 13
“You’re kidding!” Lily said the next morning as she was filling the coffeemaker with water. Her hair, piled on her head, was a mess, and she was still in a robe and slippers, while Nikki, carrying Chloe, was dressed for the day. “Mavis Greenlee is dead? Someone killed her?”
“It’s all over the news. Pierce took off over an hour ago.”
“Really?” Lily said around a yawn. “Didn’t hear him leave. Guess I was dead to the world.”
“He couldn’t sleep. Too wound up over the case.”
Nikki and Pierce had turned on the television in their room when the first newscasts were being aired before dawn this morning, and sure enough, the murder of Mavis Greenlee, one of Savannah’s socialites, had been on every local station.
They’d discussed the homicide before falling asleep.
Though Pierce hadn’t come right out and said so, she was almost certain that the killer had left his calling card at the scene, an etched rock.
So, the two murders were related. And it was shocking, stunning, really, that someone in her mother’s social circle was one of the victims, killed by the same person who had attacked and murdered Billy Huber, a man who was far removed from the Greenlees in about every way possible.
“What’s the connection?” she’d asked her husband, but he’d simply shaken his head. She took that to mean the police hadn’t figured it out yet … although Pierce was also growing a little tired of her questions by that point.
But they had a serial killer.
In Savannah.
“Wow, I missed it all.” Lily was shaking her head as she measured ground coffee into the basket of the brewer.
“Hard to believe that awful woman is gone, that someone killed her, though, Lord knows, she made more than her share of enemies.” When she caught Nikki’s surprised expression, Lily pulled a face.
“Come on, you know what she was like.” As she pressed a button on the coffeemaker, she added, “I’m not one of those people who creates saints out of sinners just because they’re dead. ”
“I guess not.”
“Making them martyrs just because they’re dead is pure crap.” Lily opened a cupboard, found her favorite mug, and, realizing Nikki hadn’t agreed with her, said, “What?”
“I don’t know,” Nikki replied. “I guess I’m just surprised at your attitude.” She set a wriggling Chloe onto the floor, and the girl dashed to her aunt.
“You’re a Mavis Greenlee fan?”
“No, but—”
“Oh, come on, Nikki. You know what I mean. It’s a shame Mavis is dead, and it’s really, really awful that someone killed her, but again … truth. Okay? Mavis Greenlee was pretty dreadful.”
Nikki couldn’t deny it. Although Mavis had been involved in all kinds of charitable events within the city, she had a reputation of being self-involved and cold, even with her own family.
“Up!” Chloe demanded, tugging on her aunt’s robe, raising her chubby little arms.
“Just a sec, sweetie.” Lily found the creamer and sugar and set it next to the cups as the coffeemaker gurgled to life, coffee drizzling into the glass carafe. “Okay, come on, you.” She picked up her niece and burrowed her nose in Chloe’s soft cheek.
Chloe giggled. “Stop!”
Lily grinned at her. “So, how’re you this morning, Little Miss Sunshine?” she asked, giving her cheek another buzz.
Laughing, Chloe ordered, “Dance!”
“You got it. Hey, Alexa, play some … dance music from … uh …” She looked at Nikki for help. “… oh, I know. Alexa, play Beyoncé!”
“Shuffling songs by Beyonce,” the virtual assistant announced, as the coffeemaker hissed, filling the air with the scent of warm java.
Soon the distinctive beat and intro to “Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)” filled the room.
“Ooh, I love this song,” Lily said, swinging Chloe around as the little girl squealed in delight.
“You’re dating yourself,” Nikki observed.
“You like it, too.”
“So you’re dating us both.” Nikki spied the dogs on the patio and walked to the French doors. “Come on in, guys.” Arlo sped inside with Mikado, tail slowly wagging, following at a more leisurely pace.
As the song ended, Lily, breathing hard, set Chloe onto the floor. “Go wake up Phee,” she suggested, “And when you get back, we’ll make pancakes.”
“Mickeys?” Chloe said.
“Sure. Mouse pancakes.” Lily was already reaching for the filled coffeepot as Chloe, bare feet flying, sprinted toward the stairs.
“Phee’s not gonna want to get up,” Nikki predicted.
“I know, but tough. She has to get up for school. I mean, we’ll probably be late as it is.” As she heard Chloe clambering up the steps, then the rapid footsteps streaking down the hallway overhead, Lily lowered her voice and said, “So what happened? To Mavis, I mean. Like how and where?”
Nikki filled her in on what few details she had gleaned from Pierce and the early news reporting, leaving out her own deductions.
At least this time someone else had broken the story.
It bothered her that she hadn’t been the first on the scene, so to speak, but at least it put off her eventual head-butting with her husband over her reporting.
“Is this killing related to the other one, with Billy What’s-His-Name?”
Nikki shrugged. She wasn’t going to go there with Lily.
She found a travel mug and poured coffee into it just as her phone buzzed.
Pulling it from her pocket, she saw that the caller was Fink and didn’t answer.
Again. He’d called once already. She’d sent that call to voice mail and ignored the three subsequent texts—all about the Greenlee homicide.
As she capped her cup, she said to Lily, “Look, I’ve got to run …
You’ve got everything, right? With the girls, I mean. ”
“Yeah, yeah.” Lily, leaning against the island, sipped from her cup and nodded as she eyed the clock. “No doubt about it, we’re gonna be late.” She walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Ophelia?” She waited a beat. “Come on! Get up. Now! Hurry up! Rise and shine like you’ve never shined before.”
“That should do it,” Nikki drawled.
“It better.”
Chloe was taking the steps deliberately, one at a time, as she descended. “She told me to ‘Go way,’” she complained, pouting as Nikki reached the staircase.
“Did she, now?” Lily said. “I guess it’s time for Drill Sergeant Mom to take over. You can come with me, Private Chloe.”
“Wait a sec.” Nikki picked up her daughter and kissed her curls. “Look, honey, Mommy’s got to go to work. I’ll see you later.”
“You’re with me,” Lily said, taking the girl from Nikki. “Let’s go slay the dragon.”
“What dragon?” Chloe asked.
“Phee.”
“I heard that,” Ophelia yelled from their shared bedroom.
“Ah,” Lily said, “Sleeping Beauty awakens.”
“You’re mixing up your fairy tales,” Nikki pointed out.
“Am I? Does it matter?” Lily said, then to Chloe: “It’s really late. Let’s forget pancakes, okay? Mickeys maybe tomorrow. Today we’re gonna make waffles.”
When Chloe squirmed and seemed about to protest, Lily added, “I’ll let you press the button on the toaster.
” And as she carried her niece back to the kitchen, where she retrieved a box of frozen waffles from the freezer, she threw over her shoulder to Nikki, “Looks like another Eggo morning. Now, you, go.”
“Okay. Later.” Nikki scooped up her oversize bag and laptop from the table, then heard Lily say, “Oh, wait a sec. Who’s going to tell Mom about Mavis?”
Nikki had her hand on the door handle. “I was hoping that you—?”
“Nuh-uh-uh. Not me. I already did my duty this week. And she’s probably heard the news already, but someone’s going to have to deal with the fallout, and it ain’t gonna be me.”
“I have to—” Nikki started to argue, but saw Lily’s warning look. “Okay. Fine.”
“Good. Now, go!” Lily insisted. “I’ve got this.” She headed for the base of the stairs again. “Phee!!! I’m not kidding! Get up. Now!”
Nikki’s phone buzzed, and Arlo, speeding in from the family room, caught up with her. “Not now,” she told the dog, watching his head droop a bit. “Later.”
In her car, she eyed the screen, hoping the caller was Pierce with more news, but it was just Tom Fink again. She let the call go to voice mail, then listened to the message. He was just asking for more information, so she figured she’d call him later.
Maybe.
“Let Metzger fill you in,” she said to the empty car. “He’s your damned crime reporter.” She had a lot to do today, interviews to conduct.
But first she had to visit her mother.
“Brace yourself,” she warned, because dealing with Charlene Gillette was never easy.
“Aside from the numbers, the stones are nearly identical,” Sol said over the noise from the outer hallway, where the buzz of conversation, punctuated with laughter, drifted in over the click of computer keys.
“But they’re being tested in the lab, along with the blood coloring them.
They’re also matching the shell casing retrieved off the stairs to the bullet found in the ceiling, checking Mavis Greenlee’s DNA, along with all the rest.”
Reed leaned back in his desk chair. He’d figured as much, and he was still trying to find some connection between Billy Huber and Mavis Greenlee.
The homicides were linked by the etched rocks, but that was all he had so far.
The two victims were as socially distant as they were geographically, and on first glance, they’d never met nor had any mutual acquaintances; nor, for that matter, had they known each other even existed.
But they had both been murdered by the same killer.
Why?
Reed drummed his fingers on his desk as he glanced again at the data on Mavis’s background, all visible on his computer.
She’d been born Mavis Crawford, had attended private schools, married right out of college, was divorced twelve years later, then married again within the year.
That union had crumbled after seven years.
And then there was her latest husband, Archer.
“Have you checked with the Tybee Island police?” he asked.