Page 113 of The Night Before (Savannah 1)

She understood where this was going. “Yes.” Studying the burn marks on the table, she whispered, “I know what you’re going to say, that there was no Griffin, no childhood friend. But you’re wrong. He existed.” She blinked hard, remembered those long, lonely years growing up. “He existed for me.”

Adam reached across the table. Took both her hands in his. Rubbed the back of her knuckles gently with his thumbs. “If he was real to you, he did exist. Then. But now?”

She shook her head, fought the tears. “Now I know he was imaginary.”

“But necessary then.”

“Oh, yeah.” She sniffed and bit her lip as she thought of the nights she’d slipped out of her window, climbed onto the roof and sat staring up at the stars, Griffin beside her, ready to catch her if she fell, ready to tell her everything was going to be all right, never letting her down, not like the other people in her life, not like her older brother who had crept the halls, slipping into her room, into Kelly’s room, brushing foul kisses across her cheeks, smelling of beer as he’d slid a hand beneath the covers to touch her. Not like her mother who doubted her and suggested that she was making up tales. Not like her father who was rarely around, never took the time to know her or any of his children. “Griffin was real necessary,” she admitted.

“Just like Kelly is now?” he asked gently, but she shook her head, wouldn’t go there. He didn’t understand, but then, no one did. Not when it came to her twin.

“Kelly’s real, Adam,” she insisted. “As real as I am.”

Twenty-Eight

Reed leaned back in his La-Z-Boy and tried to pay attention to the Braves’ game playing on his new 36-inch flat-screen TV. The thing had cost him an arm and two legs, but he loved it. He figured he’d finish his “Man-Sized” microwave meal that tasted like shit, then hit the street

s again, taking a swing by Caitlyn Bandeaux’s home. He’d asked Morrisette to watch the place, which she had agreed to even though her daughter was in the throes of a “major case of chicken pox.” Reed needed a break. He’d been working the Bandeaux case round the clock and it was time to step back and gain some perspective.

Before Caitlyn Bandeaux slams the door on your face again.

Hell.

The Braves were down seven to one in the bottom of the eighth with two outs. It didn’t look good. The Mets were on a roll.

Reed washed the remains of his meal down with the rest of his beer, did his dishes by tossing the plastic plate into the garbage, flicked off the set and was out the door just as his cell phone chirped. He answered as he climbed into the El Dorado. “Reed.”

“Hey, it’s me,” Sylvie Morrisette said from her cell phone.

“I’m on my way.”

“About time. The sitter’s called twice.”

“Where are you?”

“On the side street catty-corner from a little bistro called Nickleby’s,” she said and gave him the street number. “Get this. Our widow seems to be on a date. Her and that shrink of hers. Having drinks together. Real cozy.”

Interesting. “I’ll be there in twenty,” he said as he pulled out of his drive and headed into town. He turned on the police band and was slowing for a red light when his phone jangled again. No doubt Morrisette’s sitter was pressuring her. He hit the talk button. “Reed.”

“This is Deputy Bell, down at St. Simons. You said you wanted to know when we got a positive ID on the Jane Doe we pulled from the water on the north side of the island.”

Reed tensed, hung a left. “That’s right.”

“Rebecca Wade. The M.E. got her dental records and matched ’em up.”

Reed was beginning to get a bad feeling about this.

“Any idea on the time of death?”

“She’s been in the drink a while. Weeks. Maybe months. Hasn’t been determined yet.”

“Cause of death?”

“Still workin’ on it. I’ll have a copy of the autopsy report faxed to you the minute I get one. But there is something odd about the case,” he added and the tone of his voice had grown heavier, a precursor of more bad news. “Something you probably ought to know.”

Reed took a corner a little too fast. His tires screeched. “Shoot.”

“Well, her body was pretty decomposed as I said . . . but one thing the M.E. noticed, and it’ll be in the report. It looks like her tongue was cut off. Clean out of her mouth.”

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