The Third Grave (Savannah #4) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,73

it. Did they hook up?” Brit thought about it a second. “I don’t know. She liked him, yeah. Owen held some weird fascination with her because he was different, I suppose, but . . . it was never serious. He wasn’t the kind of guy she went for, not in the long term anyway.” Brit shrugged as three women in their sixties climbed onto stools a couple of tables away. They were laughing and talking, hooking their purses over the back of their chairs and caught up in their conversation. Ashley leaned across the table and lowered her voice as if afraid the trio might overhear her. “If you want to know the truth, I was surprised that she was his alibi.”

“Why?”

“Because”—she let out her breath—“well, because it would get her into trouble, you know, with her parents, and it also kind of messed with her rep.”

“Her rep?”

“Reputation. It was one thing to be friends with Owen the outcast, you know, but to be his alibi, to be cast as the girl he’d been with that night, was weird. Ashley was always so worried about appearances: what she wore, who she hung with, her grades . . . everything.”

“You’re saying she’s lying?”

“No—I mean, I don’t think so.”

Which seemed to indicate she did.

Nikki asked, “Why would she lie if she was all about protecting her rep and staying out of trouble?”

“Exactly.” Brit frowned. “I mean, it doesn’t make sense, but then, what does?” She checked her watch again. “I really gotta go. I told you this was a busy day.” She climbed off her chair and, using both hands, tightened her ponytail. “I don’t know anything else.”

Before Nikki could ask another question or thank her, she was off, running, starting at a trot until she reached the street, then as the pedestrian light changed, she sprinted away across the street, her ponytail swinging side to side with her strides as she sped around a woman walking a dog and a cluster of teenagers vaping and talking, all the while scanning their cell phone screens.

Nikki texted Millie, asking for Ryan and Ashley Jefferson’s address on Tybee Island, then bought an iced coffee inside the shop before walking home.

She thought about calling her husband.

And tell him what? that naggy little voice in her head demanded.

Is that what you want, to always be reporting in?

To be one of those women on an oh-so-short leash?

Scowling, she reentered the park, deep in thought, hurrying past a woman pushing a stroller, looking at the baby swaddled beneath pink blankets, and her heart twisted a bit.

Someday, she thought, someday.

She wasn’t giving up. She had an appointment later in the day with Dr. Kasey and then she’d find out when they could try again. The sooner the better. She walked, moving quickly, rounding the fountain, when she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Sensing someone was watching, she glanced over her shoulder and saw a few people in the park. Was anyone following her? Someone suspicious?

No.

It was a warm day under clear skies, a breath of wind whispering through the trees in the park.

So why did the back of her arms still have goose pimples?

Why did the muscles in her chest tighten?

She picked up her pace and told herself she was being a ninny, a “’fraidy cat,” as they said in grade school. But she did understand about Reed’s concerns. Who wouldn’t be after the other night when a stranger had entered their home unannounced and uninvited?

She made her way out of the park, crossed the street and once on the steps of her home, glanced over her shoulder.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Whatever she’d seen or thought she’d seen was gone.

But the uneasy feeling remained.

* * *

Reed was on his way out of the office when his cell phone rang and he took the call, settling back into his chair. “Detective Reed.”

“Hey. Yeah. You been callin’ me and, um, I decided if I didn’t call ya back, you might come knockin’ and I don’t need any of that kind of trouble.” The voice was male and rough.

“I’m sorry. You’re—?”

“Oh, uh. Reggie Scott. You’ve been phonin’, leavin’ messages.”

Owen Duval’s biological father. “That’s right. I didn’t recognize the number.” He sat on his desk and hit the record button on his phone. “You’re in Atlanta.”

“Yeah, got me a job at the mill and I don’t want no one messin’ it up for me. Don’t need any cops comin’ to the mill or nothin’, but I ain’t got