“Yep.” Priscilla nodded. “Toby?”
Her brother gave a furtive glance at Reed. “Just wondered if I could crash here tonight.”
“At my apartment? Sure, but why …?” she started to ask, and then her gaze moved back to Reed as well. “Doesn’t matter. Yeah. For sure. We’re going over to a friend’s place now. You can come, I guess.”
The kid seemed to want to decline, but with one last glance at Reed, said, “Yeah, sure,” and as Priscilla waved at Reed, Toby, head down, hands deep in the pockets of his oversize shorts, stalked off.
As Reed walked the block to his Jeep, he chastised himself for almost letting the kid goad him into a physical confrontation.
He’d have to do better next time.
Because whether Toby liked it or not, Reed wasn’t giving up.
“So Archer Greenlee left the group early,” Nikki clarified, driving through town and talking on the Bluetooth connection in her Subaru. For most of the day, she’d been interviewing people who hadknown either Billy Huber or Mavis Greenlee, and she felt like a dog chasing its own tail. Getting nowhere and fast.
But maybe things would change now that she had Mac, the part-time bartender at the Stag and Boar, on the line and he was telling her that Archer Greenlee’s alibi wasn’t as rock-solid as she’d thought.
“He was here at the bar that night, like he said. With his usual group.”
She remembered that Archer had claimed to be at the Stag and Boar with some friends, including Otis Childers, as well as a couple of others, Knox Quinlan and Stoney Tripp, whom she had yet to interview.
“But he left early. I remember because he bragged about winning some kind of shooting contest with them the last time they’d been out to the rifle range, and the guys at the table complained that he should be paying for their drinks,” Mac said. “And anyway, it wasn’t like him to leave early when he had bragging rights.”
“And he left about what time?”
“Geez, I don’t know. I’d been on my shift for a couple of hours, so maybe seven? The guys usually hang out till ten at the earliest, sometimes midnight. I remember once they were even still here at closing.”
Mac didn’t have much more to offer, but it was enough to convince Nikki to turn around and find out for herself. She wanted to see Archer’s expression when she asked about it. Worry was more likely camouflaged on a phone conversation than it was in a face-to-face conversation. Nervous tics, beads of sweat, fidgety hands, and eye shifting couldn’t be so easily hidden,
At the next corner, she pulled into the parking lot of a mom-and-pop grocery, where two crows were fighting over a bit of garbage and one of the checkers, apparently on break, was leaning against the building and scrolling through her phone. Disgruntled, the crows cawed loudly and flapped out of the way, while the checker didn’t bother looking up.
Nikki barreled out of the other entrance to the lot, nearly cutting off an older Impala inching down the street, then turning onto Victory Drive, which was part of Highway 80, leading to the island.
Finally, with finding this chink in Archer’s alibi, she was getting somewhere.
At the city limits, she called her sister through the Subaru’s Bluetoothconnection. When Lily answered, Nikki explained that she had one more stop and then she’d be home.
“Sounds good.”
Nikki squinted against oncoming headlights and asked, “So everything’s okay?”
“Right as rain, whatever the hell that means,” Lily said, using one of their mother’s favorite phrases. “Phee’s doing homework, and Chloe has already had a bath and is in pajamas. We’re good.”
“I should be home in an hour, maybe an hour and a half. It all depends. If I’m any later, I’ll text or phone.”
“Okay.”
“And I don’t know about Pierce.”
“He called. On his way home. But don’t worry about anything. We’re good here. Phee cooked tonight. Boxed mac and cheese. Better than instant ramen, which was her first choice. I told her ‘no way.’ She can make that for herself and her roommate when she’s in college.”
Nikki laughed as she clicked off. She thought about calling her husband and at least letting him know where she was going, but decided against it. The less Pierce knew about her research, the better. And so far, the day had proved uneventful.
Earlier, she’d driven to the country club where Radley Bowers was the golf pro and where her own family had been members for generations. The grounds were manicured, lush azaleas in full bloom in shades of pink, purple, and orange. The fairways stretched away from a rambling, stone clubhouse flanked by blossoming magnolia trees.
She’d pocketed her keys and strode across the parking area to the pro shop and walked in as two women in skorts, sweaters, and visors were walking out. Radley was inside, arranging putters by size on a display rack.
He turned to face her when the door shut behind her. A broad smile was plastered across a narrow, tanned face, but before she could utter one word about Mavis, the welcoming grin faded as he recognized her. “Oh, Jesus,” he whispered under his breath, and the clubs he’d been arranging fell and scattered around his feet like the thin plastic sticks from a game of Pixy Pick-up Stix. “Nikki Gillette!” A tall, fit man in a yellow Izod shirt and knee-length shorts, hecrossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t tell me, you’re here because of Mavis.” To Nikki’s surprise, he kicked one of the putters, and it went sailing into a display of jackets, only to tumble to the plaid-carpeted floor. “I knew it. I just knew it!”
