The Third Grave (Savannah #4) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,39

in her hand. She slanted a gaze at the screen, then sighed. “Crap.”

“What?”

“Wouldn’t ya know?” She started down the steps. “It’s the morgue. I asked them to keep the clothing and jewelry from the bodies and let me know when I could take a look. Examine the locket before they processed and bagged it.”

“That hasn’t been done?”

She sent him a glance over her shoulder and was jostled by a beefy uniformed cop hurrying up the stairs. “Backlog, remember? They were already behind when the hurricane hit. They rushed the autopsies and ID of the girls through and now want to clear them out. So I gotta go.” She slid him a glance as they reached the first floor. “Why don’t you go on ahead and I’ll meet up with you,” she suggested. “For all we know Margaret might not even be home.”

“She might be at the morgue already. You might run into her there.”

“Oh, God, I hope not . . . she shouldn’t see the bodies.” Delacroix’s eyebrows slammed downward over her glasses. Shaking her head, she added, “They’re just skeletons. Nothing a mother should ever view.”

He couldn’t disagree. “If I see her first, I’ll try to dissuade her.”

“Do that. Definitely. After I check out the locket, I’ll try to catch up with the father, Harvey, in California, talk to him on the phone. Then I’ll meet you back here. Okay?”

“Works for me,” he said as they reached the main door.

“Good. Later.”

Once outside they split up.

Reed climbed into the sweltering interior of his Jeep, slid on a pair of Ray-Bans, then started the engine. With the windows rolled down, he maneuvered through one detour, hit the Truman Parkway, melding into traffic and rolling up the windows as he remembered how Morrisette had an irritating habit of playing with the automatic windows. It had driven him crazy. Now, he’d have to get used to a new partner and all her idiosyncrasies. Delacroix? Would he be partnered with her permanently? Or would he have to get used to flying solo?

Maybe, for the time being, having some time alone was a good thing.

CHAPTER 10

With the cat curled up beside her, Nikki lay on her back in the bed and stared at the slowly turning blades of the ceiling fan. She felt awful.

Never had she liked lying around, she’d never even been one to sun herself on a beach and soak up rays or spend hours on the couch watching television or reading. She’d always been athletic and ready for action, so this . . . this ennui was getting to her.

Add to that a mountain of regret and guilt eating away at her brain.

Which hadn’t been helped by her husband.

She was still steamed at Reed. Oh, she got where he was coming from, she didn’t blame him for that, but it was time to move on. They were both incredibly sad at the loss of the child, but she couldn’t stand recuperating and doing nothing despite her doctor’s suggestion to take it easy. She grabbed her new phone, the one she’d picked up after her visit with Dr. Kasey. Somehow she’d managed to transfer all the data to her new iPhone, but she’d done it by rote as her thoughts had been with the baby she’d lost. Even now, she blinked back tears.

“You need to give yourself permission to heal, to take the time,” Dr. Kasey had said, her dark eyes kind, her smile understanding. But what the doctor and her husband didn’t understand was that Nikki was better off doing something, anything, and the fact that there was potentially the story of the century at her fingertips only added to her need to get up and get going.

Worse yet, Norm Metzger had the nerve to call her for information on the investigation.

“What is it about ‘I’m recovering and shouldn’t be bothered’ you don’t understand?” she’d asked him when he’d identified himself and explained that he was looking for information on the bodies found at the Beaumont estate. Nikki would never have taken the call, but she’d recognized the number for the Sentinel and assumed erroneously that Millie was phoning her with information.

“But you were there,” Metzger had argued, “and you’re married to the lead investigator on the case.”

“So?”

“And it’s my story, Gillette. Not yours. Not anyone else’s at the paper.” He couldn’t hide the irritation in his voice.

Nikki got it. Metzger was still burned about the other crime cases she’d been a part of while he, ostensibly, was the police beat/crime reporter