The Third Grave (Savannah #4) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,88

of research on the Beaumont family and estate and I think I can help.”

“You’re not on the force.”

“We’ve worked together before,” she reminded him.

“And you nearly lost your life.”

She flopped back on the pillows. “I’ll be careful.”

He thought about that and shook his head. “No, you won’t. You don’t know how to be. And, really, I think there’s been enough damage done already.” He held her gaze and didn’t mention the lost baby or the fact that Sylvie Morrisette had given up her life. He didn’t have to. She got the message. Her expression changed from hopeful to sad in an instant.

“Low blow, Pierce,” she whispered, shrinking away from him. “Really low.”

And she was right. But she had to be reminded. He couldn’t take a chance on losing her, too.

* * *

Margaret Duval’s voice was thin and quavering over the connection, almost inaudible over the rumbling of the air-conditioner as it blasted cold air through the vents at the police station. “Did you, Detective Reed? Did you find my Rosie? I heard about a body being discovered up at Black Bear Lake.” She sounded so frail, her voice clogged with repressed tears. “Dear God. I prayed, you know. I prayed and prayed and prayed that she would be spared,” she sniffed.

Seated at his desk, the phone pressed to his ear, Reed silently swore at the idiot who had leaked the bad information to the press. If someone was going to talk, they could, at the very least, get their facts correct.

“No, Mrs. Le Roy, we didn’t find your daughter,” he said, glancing over at Delacroix, who was also on her desk phone but had turned her head to listen to him as he continued. “We did discover a youth’s body near Black Bear Lake, that’s true,” he said. “But it’s not Rose.”

“Thank God,” she said, now sobbing, her voice broken. “Things are so bad. Do you know that Owen is getting death threats?” She sniffed. “Death threats! For something he didn’t do. And he won’t go to the police. Nuh-uh. Not after the way he’s been treated. He’s my only son, you know. The only one I can still talk to. Sometimes . . . sometimes I think God is punishing me.”

“Mrs. Le Roy—” he tried to cut in, but she was on a roll.

“Ezra seems to think I can find solace in the Bible and I try, I really try. My husband, he’s such a good man, a God-fearing man, so willing to forgive sins. Anyone’s. Even mine. Just like our Lord Jesus.” Her voice was thin again, the sobbing having given way to a steady whisper. “I don’t deserve him.”

“I’m sure that’s not what he thinks,” Reed said, though he had no idea what was in the reverend’s mind.

“Rosie can’t be dead,” she said suddenly, her conviction renewed. “She just can’t be! I can’t lose them all.”

He didn’t want to give her any false hope. “Mrs. Le Roy—”

“You find my daughter!” she demanded, not allowing him to placate her. “Find her before something happens!”

“I assure you, Mrs. Le Roy—”

“Just do it, Detective. It’s your damned job!”

Click!

The connection was severed. He shook his head and caught Delacroix watching him. “Guess she told you.”

“Guess so.”

She was still holding the phone to her ear.

“Aren’t you . . . ?” he motioned to her cell.

“On hold.” She rolled her eyes. “Checking with Missing Persons about the new body. Hoping for an ID—something that matches.”

So far the body was still unidentified, though dental records were being checked. DNA would take longer.

He asked, “Did you hear that Owen Duval is getting death threats?”

She shook her head, took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “No.” “According to his mother, he’s being harassed by the press and tried and convicted by the public.”

“Great.” Again she shook her head and glanced out the window. “I bet he wishes he never moved back here.”

“Probably. You still on hold?” When she nodded, he asked, “Anything come in on the unknown teenagers who were in the lobby of the theater the last time anyone saw the Duval girls?”

“Nope, not yet. A copy of the tape of the lobby and with the teenagers went out to news stations. So far no one’s biting. But it’s still early.”

“Twenty years doesn’t seem so early to me.”

“You know what I mean.”

He turned back to the statement from one of the neighbors who had lived in the house next to the Duvals at the time of the girls’ disappearance. The paper had yellowed and