The Third Grave (Savannah #4) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,117

was hung up on Tyson Beaumont.”

“Yeah, I mean, I expected that they’d end up getting married one day. But then I hear that she’s marrying some guy she met in college or something. A computer software guy worth a fortune. Kind of blew me out of the water, you know. I didn’t even know she and Tyson weren’t a thing.”

“How did Tyson take it?”

He shrugged. “How does he take anything? How would I know?” “You were friends.”

“Past tense. Remember?”

“But he got over it?”

“Sure. I mean, I guess.” He glanced at his watch again. “Hey, I’ve really got to go.” He finished his drink. “I guess you didn’t like yours?” he accused, and swiped her glass from the bar.

“No, no. I just don’t drink much of anything when I’m driving.”

He gave her the oh-sure look but didn’t ask if she was pregnant, though she saw the question in his eyes. She didn’t explain and hiked her purse strap a little higher over her shoulder.

“He’s never married,” she observed as she climbed off her stool.

“Who? Tyson?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not exactly a crime,” he said. “Look at me. I got close a couple of times, but it didn’t work out.”

“What about Tyson? Has he ever gotten close?”

“Again, you’re asking the wrong guy. But I’ve never heard that he has. As I said, I thought Ashley was the one he’d end up with.” He ushered her out and locked the door. “Good thing I’m not a betting man.”

He jogged to his sports car and she climbed into her Honda. She wasn’t certain he was telling her the truth, or at least not all of it.

Thoughts of their conversation still lingering, she drove down the long lane and out the gates, noting that the BMW was right behind her. She turned toward town and right before the bridge, Jacob blew by her, the sports car roaring past and practically flying over the river. “Idiot,” she said, though of course he couldn’t hear her. He was flashy. Flashier than Owen Duval or Tyson Beaumont.

But they’d all dated Ashley McDonnell.

And now one of them was dead. The one for whom Ashley had given an alibi.

She wondered about that and headed to Tybee Island again.

Maybe, now that Owen was dead, Ashley McDonnell Jefferson’s story might change.

Owen Duval no longer needed her as an alibi.

There was a chance she could finally tell the truth.

If Nikki could find a way to pry it out of her glossy, tight lips.

CHAPTER 29

The crowd had grown in the two hours since Reed and Delacroix had arrived at Owen Duval’s place. Reporters and neighbors clogged the street, making it nearly impossible for the crime scene unit and the ambulance to lumber through. Night was less than an hour away, dusk threatening, the sky showing a few stars as the rain clouds earlier had disappeared. Already the strobing of red and blue emergency lights reflected on the windows of the neighboring houses and pulsed on the boles of the trees lining the street. Reed, standing on the lawn and surveying the front yard where the hastily constructed barricade and several uniformed officers kept the crowd at bay, checked his phone. Three voice mails from Margaret Duval.

“Great.” He slid the phone into his pocket. From the tone of her messages, she was nearly hysterical.

“My son?” she’d screamed. “My son is dead? You didn’t protect him? I thought you were investigating the case and now he’s dead?” She’d begun sobbing and Reed had heard the soft, placating voice of her husband asking her to hang up and go to bed.

Reed raked his hand through his hair. He needed to see Margaret face-to-face to ask her about a possible affair and Nikki’s wild assumption that Rose, who was still missing and most likely already deceased, was Baxter Beaumont’s child. He agreed the timeline worked, he’d double-checked Margaret’s work records against Rose’s birth date, but still, it was quite a leap. The thought of accusing her of having a child from an affair, then passing that kid off as her husband’s, then losing all of her daughters, the child in question still missing while her son just appeared to have taken his own life seemed like it would be awkward and tasteless and extremely painful.

Then again, this was his job: finding out the truth and serving justice, no matter what.

But right now, he was stuck at the crime scene as Nikki had driven his Jeep home. Delacroix wasn’t an option. She was already on her way to interview Duval’s attorney, Austin