The Third Grave (Savannah #4) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,9

online edition of the Savannah Sentinel, where Nikki still worked. In the past few years Nikki actually spent little time in the office and did most of her writing, editing and communicating from home, but luckily Millie, all of twenty-two and serious beyond her years, nearly camped out on the computers at the newspaper’s offices.

“So what’s up?” Nikki asked. “At the Beaumont estate.”

“We’re trying to run it down. I thought you’d know. Homicide’s been called in.”

“Someone was killed?”

“Unconfirmed. But looks like. I was about to call you. I figured you could maybe talk to Pierce.”

“Hmm.” Pierce Reed was Nikki’s husband, but... “You know how he feels about that.” Everyone at the Sentinel knew. Detective Reed had made his position clear about his wife not getting involved in police business, which was pretty damned difficult as Nikki not only worked at the paper but had three true-crime books under her belt. “I’ll check, though.”

“Do it,” Millie said. “From the police band activity, I think something big’s going on there and I thought you’d want a heads-up before Metzger gets interested.”

Millie was right about that. More than right. Metzger was such a pain in the rear. “You got it,” Nikki said. “In the meantime, can you keep checking to see if there’s any more info coming from the police. Like who called in the report?”

“Hmm. Don’t know. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Good. Later.” Nikki clicked off.

She smiled to herself as she grabbed her keys and slipped her cell phone into the back pocket of her jeans. A murder? At the Beaumont estate?

Perfect.

This was just the kind of story that was right up her alley. Even if her husband didn’t think so and would be pissed as hell.

* * *

Reed and Morrisette looked through the few outbuildings that were still standing at the Beaumont estate but found nothing significant. An old John Deere tractor without wheels was rusting in a garage, and the stove in the smokehouse had weeds growing through it. And daylight was fading. With the sun setting steadily, they stepped into an old pump house, where evidence of an owl was visible, feathers and splashes of feces on an open beam, roost debris scattered on the floor.

“Guess the flood waters never made it here,” Morrisette muttered. “What a mess.” After a quick look around, they headed back to the house, where they noticed that the forensic team van had arrived, parked close to the back verandah. Investigators in boots and masks were hauling equipment inside.

Morrisette said, “I guess the party’s really starting now,” just as a vehicle from the Medical Examiner’s Office rolled up and Reed felt his cell phone buzz in his pocket.

He retrieved the phone, saw his wife’s name and number appear on the screen, and felt a twinge of worry. Nikki rarely called him while he was working. Unless it was important. Or, well, when she wanted something.

“It’s Nikki. Give me a sec,” he said.

Morrisette gave him a quick nod and started for the house as he clicked to the call. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Then right into it. “I heard that Homicide was called out to the Beaumont estate and thought you might be there.”

Of course. She was already chasing down the story. He glanced at the house, where he spied Morrisette chatting up one of the deputies. “You heard right. And yeah, I’m out here.”

“And—?”

“And we’re investigating.”

“A murder?”

“Unknown.”

“Oh, Reed, come on,” she prodded, and he was tempted, as always, to confide in her. “I already told you I know Homicide was called in and you’re there,” she pointed out. “Obviously someone is dead. Foul play suspected. So is it one body? Or more? Was it found in the house or on the grounds, and have you got an ID?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down.” He imagined her already scouring the Internet on her phone while she was carrying on this conversation. Or maybe she was already heading to her car, ready to spring into action, probably to come out here. She was like a horse with a bit in its mouth at full gallop: dangerous and running headlong to who knew where. He held up a hand, though, of course, she couldn’t see him, but he had to stop the madness before it took root. “You know I can’t talk about a case.”

“Too late. It’s already news.”

“Just let this one go for now. Okay?”

“I can’t, Reed. You know that, so save your breath.”

“Then call Abbey, she’s the PIO.”

“When I’m married to the lead detective. You are, aren’t