Page 137 of Secrets Along the Shore
“Reggie Banks.”
“And how does Reggie know Kamden?”
She stares for several moments, appraising me.
What does she see when she looks at the five-foot-three woman with long dark hair, wisps falling out of her ponytail, tired brown eyes, light wash jeans and short black trench? Do I seem trustworthy to her?
Her expression settles into something hard.
I guess not.
“She’s dead, ain’t she?” she asks.
I don’t want to tell her. I want to see what she can tell me. “Like I said, we’re trying to find out what happened. I can’t go into details about the investigation?—”
“Yeah, she’s dead all right. Police don’t talk about people like that ’less they’re dead. Dang,” she says, shifting her weight around on her Eiffel Towers and shaking her head, “I justknewshe was in a bad way.”
“You were telling me about Reggie?”
She sucks in a breath and rolls her shoulders back. “Reggie won’t shut up about her even after…what…like a year or somethin’? He was her supplier. Or her main one, anyway—there mighta been somebody else supplyin’ her too.
“Reggie, he had a thing for her, and he can’t let it go. Goes on and on about how great they woulda been, but now she’s gone. I wouldn’t say nothin’ but…I don’t know…we meet a lotta weirdos. Her disappearin’? That coulda been me, you know? Girl was just tryin’ to get along like the rest of us. I figure we gotta stick together, ’cause ain’t no one else gonna help.”
“I’d say that’s the right attitude.”
“Well, I don’t need you to tell me that,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “But if somethin’ happened to her, I want y’all to find her. Find out who did it.”
“Is Reggie saying anything else? Does he have a theory about what happened to Kamden? Where she might have gone or who with?”
Her gaze narrows to a pinpoint. “The way he tells it, that other dealer—her other maybe supplier—had a problem with her. Abadproblem.” Her head tilts with import at the word “bad,” her brows rising.
“Bad enough to get her killed?”
She crosses her arms in front of her. “That’s something you’ll have to ask Reggie.”
Now we’re getting somewhere.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Storm clouds are gatheringin the distance as I drive north on I-65 toward Riverview. Right now, the rain is holding off, but the skies ahead are ominous and heavy, threatening to give way.
Despite having left multiple messages, I’m already halfway home and haven’t heard from Tasha or Keel. I’m hoping they’re knee-deep in preparation for the sentencing tomorrow, and her failure to answer isn’t due to some unwelcome development in the case.
Like another body.
It’s a horrible thought, but I can’t help but go there.
My call to James also goes unanswered, which isn’t a surprise. I’m sure his dad’s got him schmoozing whatever investor he’s brought in. Probably turned into a golf game with rounds at the nineteenth hole, if I had to guess.
I did manage to connect with Sheriff Vickers and update him on my progress. But since everyone else has stopped answering their phones, all I can do is drive, which of course turns into a mental rehash of everything I’ve learned in the last several hours.
Once someone gets back to me, I’ll run that license plate and find out who decided I’m interesting enough to follow around Birmingham on a Sunday afternoon. I suppose it’s possible it isn’t related to Fogerty or the Kamden Avery case—I do have other cases where I’ve ticked people off—but I won’t bet on those odds.
Regardless, the fact that someone knew where I was is troubling. Either there are eyes on me enough of the time to know I left town this morning or—and this is much worse—someone has a connection on the inside who told them where I would be. Neither option is a good one.
Next, I make a note—literally, because I tell my phone to remind me—to have Goat run Kamden’s last Instagram post through his programs to try to identify the place where it was taken. I’m doubtful he’ll be able to ID it with how little there is to go on, but experience has taught me to never count him out.
