The Third Grave (Savannah #4) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,30

the main doors, Reed noticed Bart Yelkis huddled with Morrisette’s two kids, both of whom were crying and crossing the parking area. Toby, a string bean with a Mohawk, was almost as tall as his spark plug of a father. He was sniffing and dashing away tears while trying to suck it up. Priscilla, as petite as her mother, was sobbing, hiding her head beneath a curtain of blond hair and refusing to be comforted by her father. Bart’s expression was dark, a mixture of anger and angst.

Reed’s stomach dropped. He felt the bad news. Knew, with sickening insight, what was to come.

Bart zeroed in on Reed and shepherded his kids into a jacked-up Dodge Ram, a black king cab with amber lights mounted on the roof of the cab. He slammed the door behind them, then whirled and, fists clenched, crossed the parking lot to square off with Reed.

“I’m suing your ass, Reed. You and that fucking department you work for. It’s your fault she’s dead.”

Dead? Morrisette is dead? Oh. Jesus. “No . . .” He didn’t want to believe it, though the truth was evident in the shorter man’s eyes. “But I thought she was . . .” His voice trailed off. Hoping against hope he was reading Morrisette’s ex all wrong, he wanted to deny what was becoming horribly evident, with a sinking sense of dread that Yelkis, for once, was telling the truth.

Sylvie Morrisette, his partner for over a decade, was gone.

“What? Wait. You didn’t know?” Yelkis stepped over a raised flower bed separating one area of the lot from the next. To drive the point home, he said, “She died, Reed. Right there on the operating table.” Advancing on Reed, he fought to keep control and failed. “Her life was snuffed out, just like that.” He snapped his fat fingers as beneath the brim of his cap a vein throbbed visibly at one temple. “The way I hear it, your wife killed her.” His jaw worked and his fists opened and closed, and Reed detected the lingering odor of his last beer on Yelkis’s breath. “Did you hear me?” he demanded, pointing a finger at Reed’s chest, his lips twisted in fury. “Your damned wife.” For a second Reed thought Yelkis was going to take a swing at him, sucker-punch him right then and there.

But as his fists balled, the passenger window of his truck rolled down and Toby yelled, “Dad? You comin’?”

Yelkis held up an index finger and yelled over his shoulder, “In a sec!”

“No one killed anyone,” Reed argued as a heavyset woman walked across the lot, aimed her remote at a silver Toyota, pressed a button and the little car beeped a response, its lights blinking.

“Hell, yeah, she did,” Yelkis insisted. “Your reporter wife? She killed Sylvie just as sure as if she steered that damn boat right into her head.” He pointed an accusing finger at Reed. “Sylvie dived in to save your bitch of a wife. And let me tell you, Nikki Gillette ain’t gonna get away with it.” He sneered Nikki’s name and the muscles in Reed’s back tightened reflexively even though he told himself not to take the bait.

“Yeah,” Yelkis went on. “That wife of yours? Rich from the get-go. She’s skated all her life, the daughter of a big-time judge and then married to a cop, but it ain’t gonna work. Not this time!” His jaw jutted forward, silently daring Reed to lunge at him.

Reed’s jaw was so tight it ached. “I don’t think—”

“Good! Don’t think and don’t goddamned argue with me.” Yelkis jabbed his finger straight at Reed’s chest. “Nikki Gillette is the reason my Sylvie’s gone! She’s the reason my kids don’t have a mother no more.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said automatically, still seething inside.

“Yeah, sure.”

From the corner of his eye, Reed saw Priscilla’s pale face pressed against the truck’s rear window and he hurt for the girl, understood Yelkis’s frustration, but deep down wanted to argue with the man, defend Nikki, tell Yelkis to fuck the hell off. He didn’t. Not when he noticed the streaks of mascara running down Priscilla’s wan face.

Bart Yelkis was still raving. “You and your wife and the whole goddamned police department are going to pay. That was my kids’ mama who died in there tonight.” He hooked a thumb toward the hospital. “Don’t think l’m gonna forget who’s responsible!” With that he stalked back to his truck, snarled at his kids as he climbed in, then