It really was time for Nikki herself to move on and away from theSentinel, she thought, peering out the window to the lot, where she spied Celeste loading the boxes into her hatchback. Then, without even looking up at the third story of the old building where she’d spent so many years, Celeste drove off and maybe, this time, away from Tom Fink for good.
Nikki wasn’t betting on it, though.
Old habits died way too hard, she thought while scanning the parking lot and noting that her rented Nissan was still safely parked in the glow of the solitary security lamp. With that reassurance, she walked into the warren of empty cubicles.
The only person inside was Effie, stationed in front of her computer, sipping from a massive drink cup as she stared at the screen. As Nikki passed, she didn’t even look up, but said, “Still making friends and influencing people, I see.”
Why did Nikki even come here?
Yes, the newspaper’s resources were far better than her own, but did she really need the grief? “No,” she said aloud, but sat down in her favorite chair and looked up anything she could find on Naomi Kittle, Knox Quinlan, Stanley “Stoney” Tripp, and Westin Stark. The one connection she found was that Westin Stark had been the minister for the corrections facility where Knox Quinlan had spent six months of a reduced sentence for stealing livestock—actually, what was once called cattle rustling. Upon further research, it seemed there was a dispute between Knox and Duke Wheelan when Quinlan’s prize bull had broken through the fence and impregnated two of Wheelan’s cows, and Quinlan had wanted payment. When he didn’t get it, he stole one of the calves.
Duke Wheelan again, she thought.
Wheelan wasn’t one of the men who met at the Stag and Boar. But that made sense, as the neighbors were far from neighborly.
But Wheelan was an elder of the church, as were some of the regulars of the Friday-night group.
Nikki sat back and thought about that, then brought up the map of the area again, noting that Knox Quinlan’s property abuttedWheelan’s ranch on the opposite side from Otis Childers. And the parcels were all close to Jeanne LaRoux’s small acreage, all close to the swamp.
But far from Mavis Greenlee’s home in the city. Or even the beach house on Tybee.
Was there some other land connection with the Greenlees? she wondered. She pored through county records, but neither Mavis nor Archer, nor the Crawford family or any of Mavis’s ex-husbands owned property out there.
But they all had a link, thin though it may be, to the All Christian Church. She checked all their names against social-media accounts but found nothing of interest. Nothing that would blow the case wide open. And as she went through information on the All Christian Church, she didn’t discover anything out of the ordinary, just the mention of the usual church activities like fundraisers, obituaries, bake sales, and meeting times. Reverend Stark was forming a grief support group, and the Birds of Paradise were holding a prayer vigil for Naomi Kittle. The funeral service for Mavis Greenlee was listed, with the time and date. In lieu of flowers, donations should be sent to the parish.
Nikki wondered how many people would show up to the funeral.
Then she mentally berated herself.
There was no connection, no serious connection between these people who attended All Christian and the murders. She could be completely barking up the wrong tree. For that matter, she could be in the wrong damned forest.
She studied the map of the area again, zeroing in on the location of Billy Huber’s patch of ground. So close to the LaRoux property, and yet Granger claimed he really didn’t know Huber all that well. Even though he’d grown up next to him.
Nikki wondered. She dug through news stories and old police reports that had been covered by the paper. At first glance, there was nothing, but when she probed a little deeper, she found a story that connected Billy Huber to Granger LaRoux, who had been accused of poaching black bears from a nature reserve. “Really?” she said aloud, taking notice and trying to locate more information.
There was none.
No charges had ever been filed.
It had all happened years before, when Granger had been barely out of his teens, and she could find no other mention of it. Still … there might be something there, something Granger LaRoux had lied about.
She leaned back in her desk chair. Billy Huber’s daughter might know about it, she thought. On a whim, she dialed Janelle McGowan in Florida. The phone rang two times, then three. “Come on, come on,” Nikki whispered, and before a monotone voice could finish telling her that the person she was calling was unavailable, Janelle picked up the phone.
“Hello?” she answered cautiously.
“Hi, this is Nikki—”
“I know who you are. I took down your number.”
Just as sweet as ever.
“And if you want to go back onto the property, the answer is no. I’ve finally found a company that’ll come and clean it up. I’m just waiting for the cops to give me the green light. Hey—I checked; you’re married to a cop, aren’t you? Maybe you could put in a good word, let them know they’re holding me up!”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Nikki lied. The police worked on their own schedule. “The reason I’m calling is about an article I read about your dad and Granger LaRoux.”
“That little hoodlum? What’s he got to do with anything? Sheeit, that little bugger was always comin’ over to Dad’s place, lookin’ through his stuff, and Billy, he let him, kinda acted like the kid was the grandson he never had—well, more likely it was because of Caleb, a replacement son or whatever somepsychologistwould call him,” she said acidly, then a little more softly, “Billy, well, he never did get over losing him.” She cleared her throat, coughed, then, her voice growing dimmer, as if she’d turned away from the phone, yelled, “Hey! Al, bring me a fresh pack, would ya? I got that reporter from Savannah on the phone and I could use a—what?” There was a muffled reply. “Yeah, the girl reporter, well, hell, she’s a woman, and yeah, she has more questions … oh, for the love of Saint Pete, just toss me a pack.” Her voice became louder as she said, “Excuse me a sec.” Then Nikki heard some muffled conversation, and she imagined Janelle’s big partner lumbering off to do his wife’s bidding.
“There ya go, hon,” a male voice said. “Got one out for ya.”