Chapter 19
“Who are you?” the woman demanded, her voice loud but trembling slightly, her two-handed grip on the pistol less than steady. “And what the fu—What’re you doing in my backyard?”
“Your backyard?” Nikki repeated, her eyes trained on the gun, every muscle in her body tense.
“Yeah. You’re—you’re, like, trespassing!”
But she didn’t sound convincing, her voice high-pitched to the point of squeaking. Just how old was she?
“I thought this was Archer Greenlee’s house.”
“It is.”
“And you are?”
“I asked you first,” the woman said childishly, and Nikki knew then she was even younger than Nikki had guessed.
Archer had a daughter, she knew that much, but Caroline Greenlee was in her thirties, and this woman—this girl wasn’t far past her teens, if that. With a sinking heart, Nikki had the feeling that she knew her.
“I’m Nikki Gillette, and I’m looking for Archer Greenlee. I’m—”
“Oh! Oh, my God! You’re Ophelia’s aunt? You’re that reporter!” The gun lowered as the girl stepped closer, her face suddenly illuminated by the glow from the hot tub. “And you wrote those books about murders around Savannah! I know. I read the last one about those three girls who went missing!”
“Yes, that’s right.” Oh, Lord. Nikki did know her. She was sure of it. But why couldn’t she place her? And how was the gun-toting woman-girl connected to Phee?
“It was really, fu—I mean really, really creepy,” she said enthusiastically.
“I read all kinds of books like yours, and I’m a major fan of Ann Rule.
And, oh, Erik Larson. And even though most of his books are fiction, I adore Stephen King!
I mean talk about creepy. Like, to the max!
They scare the living shi—daylights out of me!
” She was smiling broadly by this time, babbling wildly, and though her features were still shadowed, Nikki was starting to place her.
“I watch Dateline and Forty-Eight Hours and all that true-crime stuff, too. I know it’s kind of weird.
None of my friends are into it, but I can’t help myself.
I love scary stuff! You know, they say truth is stranger than fiction, and I believe it. I really do!”
“Right.” It was rare that Nikki met a fan, even though she lived in the city where the crimes took place. And it was stranger still that it was while she was investigating a crime.
“Could I—could I get your autograph? Like on one of your books? I mean, I asked Ophelia for a signed copy of one, but I guess she never asked you. Or maybe you don’t do that?”
Again Ophelia’s name. And this is what they were discussing? Nikki’s books? After the girl had threatened to blow her away?
And then as the girl tilted her head, her profile catching in the shifting light from the hot tub, her long, black braid reflecting the watery illumination, Nikki finally put a name to the face.
“You’re Annabelle.” Ophelia’s riding instructor.
And a girl Nikki had seen fleetingly at Lara Kittle’s sweet-sixteen party a few weeks earlier. On the night Billy Huber was murdered.
“Yes! Annabelle Van Camp. But mostly I go by Annie. I’m a couple of years older, but, yeah, Lara and I took group riding lessons together back in grade school, like a long time before I became an instructor.
Lara and some of the others dropped out, but I just adore horses, I love working with them, so I kept at it.
Now I get paid to do what I love! It’s so cool!
Kinda like you must love what you do, right? ”
“Right,” Nikki said, noting the girl’s enthusiasm and the disturbing fact that she was still holding the pistol, though now she was gesturing with her hands.
The gun was no longer leveled at Nikki, but Annabelle still held one finger on the trigger.
And she was so excited, who knew if she might accidently fire it.
“So, Annie, why don’t you put that gun down and we can talk? ”
“Oh! God! Yeah!” As if she hadn’t realized she was still holding the heavy pistol, Annabelle quickly set it on the table, knocking over one of the wineglasses as she did.
“I don’t even really know how to use it.
Really. I’ve never shot a thing in my life.
I mean I’m a vegan. I don’t eat animals.
Not even fish! Ugh! Like nev-ver! And I certainly don’t shoot them!
” She righted the glass again. “Anyway, Archer, he thinks I—we—need a gun. For protection. He’s been super freaked out ever since someone, you know, killed his wife. ”
Nikki finally set the wine bottle next to the pistol and asked, “Where is Archer?”
“Oh. He just went out to get some takeout. There’s this incredible sushi place here, and they have, like, the most incredible avocado rolls and vegan California rolls. To die for.”
“So he’ll be back.”
“Yeah. Any time now. In fact, I thought you were him. I was in the shower and thought I saw someone out of the window. Then I realized it wasn’t him, so I grabbed the gun and came out.”
“You should be careful about that. Pointing a gun at people, you know.”
“But you were out here prowling around.”
“You could wait for the police,” Nikki suggested, though she cringed inside at the thought of someone from the department coming by and Pierce finding out that she’d been here.
Worse yet, she might be arrested and he’d find out that way.
Maybe it was better to change the subject, find out what she could, hopefully talk to Archer and leave.
“You said you live here?” Nikki clarified. “You called this place your house.”
“Uh-huh.”
“With Archer?” Just to be sure.
“We’ve been kinda seeing each other,” she admitted with a little shrug. “And before you get all he’s-old-enough-to-be-your-father on me, I already know that.” She folded her arms under her breasts a little defensively. “I’ve already heard that enough,” she said under her breath.
“So people know about the two of you?” How long had this been going on?”
“I guess. Maybe some people Archer knows.” Another shrug and Nikki felt the wind pick up.
The stars overhead were beginning to be shielded by gauzy clouds.
“And my parents. My dad is pretty butt-hurt about it, and Mom, geez, she’s always pointing out that Archie is older than Daddy, but”—she sighed wistfully and looked past the pool to the beach and inky ocean beyond—“we love each other.”
“You do?” Nikki said and withheld judgment. Annabelle was more likely to give her information if Nikki went along with the girl’s perspective, even though she couldn’t imagine this young, vibrant woman with Mavis Greenlee’s widower. “So, how long have you two been seeing each other?”
“Three months!” Annabelle announced proudly. “We’ve been together three months and eleven days … well, not really together-together, you know, because he was married and all.”
So she did understand.
“Hey, wanna go for dip in the tub?” Annabelle asked, as if the conversation had grown a little too uncomfortable.
She padded quickly over to the hot tub, where she pressed a button for the jets and the water started bubbling and swirling, frothy waves appearing on the surface.
“It’s so cool at night. We come out here all the time. Archie and I love it.”
Nikki eyed the wine bottle and glasses, evidence of a private party, and one of the participants was underage. “I’ll pass.”
Annabelle was already stepping into the tub.
“You can borrow one of my suits or, you know, we can skinny-dip.” To prove it, she dropped her robe, displaying a young, supple body with smooth muscles, taut skin, and full breasts between which a small cross nestled.
It hung from a tiny gold chain, catching in the light from the pool and glittering against her tanned skin as she settled into the water.
“Oooh, I’d better warn you, it’s pretty hot in here. Yikes!” She sucked in her breath.
“I can see that.” Steam was rising from the water’s shimmering surface.
“But, seriously, it’s incredible. I love to come out here after a long day of riding or working at the horse barns and just soak, you know.”
Surreal, Nikki thought. But she stepped closer to the tub so she could continue the conversation over the noise of the Jacuzzi’s motor and the churning water from the jets.
Balancing on the tub’s rim, where the scent of chlorine wafted from the water, she asked, “How did you and Archer get together?”
“It was fate!” Annabelle vowed, twirling in the water.
“I swear! He, um, dropped his granddaughter off for riding lessons when school started last September, and we just like started talking, you know, about the girl and her riding skills and what horse would be best for her, stuff like that.” She floated to the middle of the tub, her braid snaking out behind her.
“We really didn’t hook up until after Christmas.
Because, you know”—she wrinkled her nose and wobbled her head from side to side like a silly little girl caught in a naughty act—“he was married and all.”
“That was a problem?” Nikki asked, though, of course, she knew the answer.
“Yeah. Kinda. For me, but not for him. But he was really unhappy, so they were divorcing.”
“Ah.”
“And it just happened. We fell in love.” She chased around some of the bubbles and tried to capture them.
” It doesn’t matter how old you are,” she went on.
“Love isn’t like that.” Submerging her chin, she blew some of the frothy bubbles out of the way just as, over the rumble of the Jacuzzi’s jets, Nikki caught the sound of a car’s engine.
A quick wash of illumination splashed across the front of the house and down the side yard. A car turned into the drive.