Chapter 18 #3
“Four of the elders. Knox Quinlan and Otis Childers, Norm Metzger and me. And, of course, Reverend Stark.”
“Norm Metzger is an elder?” Nikki couldn’t believe the miserable grump of a man she had worked with for years was an elder in any church, Christian or otherwise. For all the years she’d worked with him, she’d never heard him mention any kind of faith.
“That’s right. Now I need to get back to work.” He started to turn away.
“Did you know Billy Huber?”
“Uh … The guy who was killed a week or so ago? I read about it. Your story. But no. Never heard of him until I saw it in the paper and later on the news,” he said, then, “Why? Are the murders connected?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” she said as the phone to the pro shop rang.
Radley looked in its direction. “I gotta get to work.”
Nikki nodded. She’d gotten what she’d come for, even if it did appear to be a big, fat nothing.
As she exited the shop, she heard the phone keep ringing and looked over her shoulder to see Radley on his cell, the incoming call and the pile of strewn putters ignored.
As she climbed into the warm interior of her Subaru, she couldn’t help but wonder if after dismissing Nikki, Radley had put a call into his wife, just to secure his alibi.
She’d started the engine, seeing a gray-haired man park his golf cart near the glass door and head into the pro shop. Through the window, she saw Radley hold up a hand in greeting, quickly ending his call, never bothering to answer the pro shop’s phone.
Not exactly taking care of business.
“One more stop,” she told herself, pushing thoughts of that earlier meeting aside as she drove across the Bull River Bridge to Tybee Island.
She caught a glimpse of the lighthouse, with its beacon, as she rounded the north end, winding through streets until she found the oceanfront Greenlee property.
The sprawling house was painted a fanciful aqua, trimmed in white and rising three full stories, the lowest of which, at sea level, was a triple garage, its doors firmly closed.
Tall palms flanked the house and were illuminated by garden lanterns, light washing upward to the shifting fronds high overhead.
No car was parked in the driveway, and only a faint, wispy light glowed from windows whose shades were drawn.
She climbed up the wide staircase to the main level with a wraparound porch and rang the bell near the double doors. Though she heard the chimes ringing inside, no footsteps followed. Undeterred, she knocked firmly on the wide front door, but wasn’t surprised that, again, no one answered.
So where was Archer?
Had he left town, after telling the police that he would be out here? As far as she knew, he hadn’t returned to the house in Savannah and he was retired, but he could be anywhere, having dinner with friends or by himself, or out of town, or anywhere.
She may have just missed him.
She began walking along the wide porch, her footsteps resounding on the planks. She stopped at each window, trying to peer in, but wasn’t able to see past the shades.
It was a little eerie walking around in the dark, with only some of the landscape lights illuminating the night.
She heard the dull roar of the ocean beyond the chirp of crickets and hum of mosquitoes, but no sounds of life came from within the house.
Since the porch seemed to encircle it, she kept moving and told herself she wasn’t really trespassing. She’d knocked, after all.
As she reached the back of the house, where a wide staircase led down to a large swimming pool, shimmering in the moonlight, she felt more than a little nervous and told herself she was being silly.
But the thought of two murders having been committed in the area did tend to put her on edge. The pool at the base of the stairs was dark, but a nearby hot tub glowed a shimmering aquamarine, and farther to the east, beyond a band of white sand, the inky Atlantic was ever-moving.
Usually, the scent of the sea and the restless waves rolling to shore calmed her.
But not tonight.
With one last glance at the house, she made her way down the back stairs to the pool and walked along its rim to the hot tub.
A couple of towels hung from hooks mounted on the trellis surrounding an exterior shower, and a pair of glittery flip-flops poked out from beneath a chaise with striped pillows.
A bottle of wine and two stemmed glasses had been left on a nearby table.
One of the stemmed glasses had a smudge of lipstick on its brim.
A woman?
But not Mavis, Nikki surmised, as there was no dust on the glasses, whereas the tabletop was covered with a thick, filmy layer.
She felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise slightly and felt as if unseen eyes might be watching her.
Was there a disturbance in the air?
Was that new noise the swoosh of a sliding door opening? Quickly, she studied the house again.
Nothing.
Was there another light on? Dim, like a night-light?
Her pulse ticked up, but she ignored it. Told herself she was imagining things. Still, she was on edge.
She picked up the wine bottle.
Empty.
Had Archer been entertaining? Some unknown woman. Who—?
This time she definitely heard a noise, like the soft pad of a footstep.
Nikki froze.
She’d been certain she was alone.
But—
More footsteps.
Nikki spun.
Raised the bottle.
And found herself staring at a slim, athletic woman in a short robe and sandals. Her face was in shadow, but she saw that her dark hair shined as if wet.
In her clasped hands was a large pistol.
Aimed straight at Nikki.