The Third Grave (Savannah #4) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,49
as they swung from her ears.
“I thought that was you!” She smiled, a wide, toothy grin rimmed by shiny pink lips. “I work at the flower shop now. Who woulda thunk, right?” Rolling her eyes, she hooked her thumb toward the door of the storefront flanked by risers of colorful cut flowers. As she passed by the coffee shop situated in the middle of the mall, Nikki got a better view of her. “You don’t recognize me, do you?” She seemed amused and rolled her palms upward. “It’s me, Maxie.”
“Maxie Johnson?” Nikki asked. This outgoing woman was the girl with whom Nikki had taken horseback riding lessons when she’d been in junior high. Maxine “Maxie” Johnson had been the youngest in the class, a doe-eyed girl who had shied away from even the gentlest horse in the paddock even though her mother had been the riding instructor.
“Yeah, yeah! Well, it’s Maxie Kendall now, I’m married—well, I was.” She shrugged. “Just got divorced and here I am working at the florist shop. I guess that’s what I get for marrying a lawyer.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He was a jerk. Cheated on me from the get-go. I’m even thinking of taking my maiden name back.” She frowned a bit, then waved a hand as if dismissing her ex as if he were a bothersome mosquito. “I just read that you were in some kind of accident in the river . . . after the hurricane.”
“Yeah, well . . .” She nodded toward the sling on her shoulder. “I’m okay.”
“Oh, yikes.” Maxie pulled a face. “Hurt?”
“Not too bad.”
“You got that in the river, right? At the Beaumont estate. I heard about it.”
“Bad news travels fast.”
“Right. I guess. Anyway, you know, I knew those girls. The Duvals? Well, not so much Rose, she was too little, but Holly and Poppy, yeah. They were in the neighborhood. They lived down the street from me, just down the block. We—my parents and me—our house was just across from the park until they finally bought the arena and that dump of a house that came with it. We all moved out there, you know, to Heritage Equestrian Acres. Geez, that name’s a mouthful, isn’t it? Look, I’m on a break, only fifteen minutes, thought I’d grab an iced coffee. You?”
“No, no, I’m good.”
“Okay.” She stepped to the window and placed her order. “Yeah, iced mocha, light whip . . . what? Sure. Sprinkles. Why not?” She sent the barista another brilliant smile and while she waited for the concoction to be created, said to Nikki, “It’s weird, you know. Working here, where it happened. I mean, those girls were literally right about here the last time they were seen.” She pointed to the floor. “Freaky.”
“What do you think happened?”
“Dunno.” She shook her head. “But Mom has her theories . . . oh, thank you.” She paid for her drink, took it and took a sip. “My one indulgence.”
“What does your mom think?”
“What everyone does, that Owen, the brother, did it, but with Mom it’s different. She’s kind of a psychic, you know. Gets all these ‘vibes.’ Or at least she used to. She doesn’t do much predicting anymore. But back then, when I was taking lessons with you? Mom told me she could tell I’d never be a horsewoman from the moment I stepped into the stable. She was sure right on that one.”
It hadn’t taken a psychic to see that Maxie had been deathly afraid of horses during the lessons. Nikki could have called that one.
“So you knew the Duval sisters?”
“Yeah, some. Holly, mainly. She was one year younger in school, but we hung out a bit. Usually with Andrea. You know her, right? Andrea Bennett, no, she got married. What was the guy’s name? He wasn’t from around here, someone she met while going to school . . . oh, God. Wait! Clancy. His name’s John or Josh or something like that, but Clancy, that’s her last name. Andrea and Holly and Brit—that’s Brittany Sully, I don’t know if she’s married or not, but they were all real tight.” Maxie smiled, proud of herself for coming up with it. “I haven’t thought of Andrea in years.” She took another sip, then checked her watch. “Oops! My break’s about over and I have to run. My boss—a real stickler about clocking in and out, he’s got an OCD thing about it. That’s right, isn’t it? OCD? Obsessive-compulsive whatever.”
“Disorder.”
“Right. That’s it. Anyway, he’s beyond anal and I don’t