Lily added an emoji of a face rolling its eyes.
Nikki sent a text back, before heading downstairs and making herself a tuna sandwich with pickles. She ate quickly, popped the top of a can of Dr Pepper, then nearly sprinted up the spiral stairs to her office, where she scooted out her desk chair and speed-dialed her contact in the police department, a friend from high school.
Even though Nikki was still considered by some at the station to be persona non grata, there were a few deputies in the department who remained friendly and would, with prodding, give her guarded information. The rest of the force would probably never forgive her, would forever blame her for Sylvie Morrisette’s death.
Understandable.
Didn’t she blame herself?
She just refused to dwell on the guilt that could have consumed her. It’s not what Morrisette would have wanted, and it was definitely not what she wanted for herself.
Still, in the middle of some sleepless nights, there it lay. Waiting. Reminding her that, because of her reckless actions, a woman had died.
A mother.
It was in those restless evenings that Nikki would creep into the nursery and watch Chloe sleeping.
The accident that had taken Morrisette’s life had also resulted in Nikki miscarrying yet another baby, which had torn a hole in her heart, a hole she’d tried desperately to conceal from the world, and from her husband. She’d been far more careful during her subsequent pregnancy, and even so, it had been touch and go for a while, but eventually, Chloe Victoria Reed had arrived, red-faced and screaming, into the world. Chloe’s birth had been a jubilant event, but each time Nikki remembered the miscarriages, a lump would fill her throat, and a bit of sadness would steal through her heart.
“Nikki Gillette. I figured you’d call,” an annoyed female voice answered. Jill, Nikki’s longtime schoolmate, was very protective of the department.
“I was just looking for information on the Huber homicide.”
She scoffed. “You know I can’t tell you anything more than you could get from Viv. Remember her? She’s the PIO. Better yet, talk to your damned husband.”
“All I need to know is if Billy Huber’s next of kin have been notified.”
“Shit,” Jill said under her breath, then, “Yes. This morning.”
“Thanks.”
“Next time, call the PIO. Make it official. You hear me, Nikki? I’m serious. Just because we were in Brownies together, and and we took martial arts together in grade school, and you were my rock when Kurt Hendricks dumped me for Sara Tillis right before senior prom, or, or … that you put in a good word for me with your husband when I needed a job here at the department after Seth walked out on me and the kids …” She stopped for a second, as if counting up the favors and realizing Nikki had always had her back. “Well … well … Oh, it doesn’t matter! I know you’ve been a good friend. But that doesn’t give you the right to call me and try to weasel information from me.”
“You’re right. I do hear you.”
“Oh, sure,” Jill said, not bothering to hide her sarcasm.
“Thanks again,” Nikki said, but the line had already been disconnected.
No surprise there.
Since she’d already gotten Janelle McGowan’s phone number, she punched it into her cell. Five rings later, she heard a rough female voice answer. “Hello?”
She quickly introduced herself, saying she was a reporter with theSavannah Sentinel, which wasn’t a lie but definitely was a bit of a stretch, and offered her condolences about Janelle losing her father.
“Oh, God, a reporter. Already?” was the response. Nikki heard what sounded like the rush of wind and music, as if Janelle were driving. “I just heard from the cops a couple of hours ago. Y’all don’t waste much time, now, do ya?”
“I’m looking into your father’s death.”
She snorted. “Well, according to the cops that showed up on my door, he was murdered.” She said it matter-of-factly, without the grief, anger, or concern Nikki had expected. “‘A probable victim of homicide,’ that’s what they said. So somebody offed him. To tell you the truth, it doesn’t surprise me. Billy was weird as weird can be.”
“In what way?”
“Everyway. After Mom died, he just lost it. I mean, really lost it. He always was a hoarder, and if you ever saw his place, you’d know what I’m talking about. But once Mom passed, it just got worse and worse. He should have gotten help, but that wasn’t Billy’s way—hey, Al, could you turn down the radio, for God’s sake? Can’t you see I’m on the phone here? I don’t need to be competing with Brad Paisley while I’m tryin’ to talk to this reporter here. … Excuse me,” she said more loudly, and a male voice responded something unintelligible, then, “Listen, Ms. … what did you say your name was again?”
“Nikki Gillette.”
“Gillette?” she repeated, and Nikki wondered if Janelle had seen her name on a book and recognized it, could even be a fan. “Like the razor blades?”
