Page 114 of The Night Before (Savannah 1)

Reed’s jaw clenched. His hands tightened over the wheel. “You’re sure that it wasn’t some kind of animal, a predator that got to her?”

“Don’t think so. According to the M.E., the tongue was sliced off clean as a whistle and found wrapped in plastic in a makeup bag in her purse. The only thing in the little case. Just her tongue wrapped up like a goddamned ham sandwich.”

She let him kiss her on the doorstep.

That was Caitlyn’s first mistake.

The second was inviting him in for another drink.

And the third was the fact that she wanted to make love to him. Right here in her house, while the rest of the world crumbled around them, Caitlyn wanted to feel Adam’s strong arms around her, needed to know that he cared, was desperate to find some meaning in life, to feel alive when so many people were dying.

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” he said as they sipped drinks—a Cosmo for her and whiskey over rocks for him—on her couch. “He’s not going for it.” Adam hitched his chin in Oscar’s direction. The little dog was lying beneath the arch separating the living room from the foyer and he never took his eyes off Adam.

“He’s not used to strangers coming here.”

“But he does recognize Kelly?”

Caitlyn sighed; second-guessed telling him about her twin. “Would you like to talk to her?”

“That would be a great idea.”

“Hang on.” She walked into the kitchen with Oscar tagging behind, found her purse and dug out her cell phone, which she carried back to the living area. Adam was seated in one corner of her floral couch, half sprawled over the cushions. A hint of beard shadow was darkening his jaw, his hair was mussed from their walk from the bistro to the house, his long legs stretched beneath the coffee table. Serious eyes watched her every move as she took her spot next to him, punched out Kelly’s number and waited. “She might not be home.”

“I’ll bet.”

“I’m serious . . .” Caitlyn listened to the phone ring and the answering machine pick up. At the tone she said, “Hey, Kelly, I’m home. Give me a call back, would you? I need to talk to you and no . . . don’t worry, I’m not going to try and coerce you into going to Mom’s funeral. Okay? Call me.” She clicked off, glanced at Adam and saw the doubt in his eyes. “You still don’t believe me, do you? Well . . .” She dialed Kelly’s number again and handed the phone to Adam. “You listen to her voice, you leave a message. Tell her you want to talk to her, for crying out loud.”

Adam’s eyes never left her face. It was irritating that no one, not even her shrink, believed her. Even though the receiver was pressed against his ear, Caitlyn heard the phone ringing and Kelly’s answering machine pick up. Adam didn’t so much as flinch. “Yes, this is Adam Hunt. You probably know that I’m working with your sister Caitlyn. Would you give me a call back? I’d appreciate it.” He left his number and pressed the end button on her cell, then sat holding the phone for a long time.

“You still don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say that.” He handed her the phone.

“You didn’t have to. I can read it in your eyes. Your name should be Thomas, you know. Doubting Thomas.” She took a long sip of her drink, felt her anger rise. Why should it matter so much what he thought? Just because he was her shrink . . . no, it was more than that. She wanted him not as her psychologist, but as a man, her confidant, her friend, her . . . lover? to have some faith in her. Even if the reason she was with him was because she was mentally screwed up.

“You must see where I’m having trouble with this,” he said slowly. “No one but you, that I know of, deals with Kelly.”

“Wrong. Kelly’s somewhat of a recluse, but she does hold down a job. She does see clients. She does fly all around.”

“Has anyone else in your family talked to Kelly since the accident?”

“No, but . . . Oh, for the love of God, why would I create an imaginary sister? I mean, she’s real. Look at the birth records.”

“It’s not her birth that worries me,” he said. “It’s her death.”

“Supposed death. Supposed. She’s alive. You know, I’m going to insist that she meet with you. When she calls back, you can talk to her, and if that isn’t convincing enough, we’ll go see her at her house.”

“Which is where?”

“Out of town on Sorghum Road . . . I have the address somewhere in the den, I think, but she doesn’t get her mail there, she picks it up at the post office—all part of her secret life, I guess—but her place is this little funky cabin right across the river from Oak Hill. Isn’t that ironic? She never goes there but she can see what’s going on from her spot on the river. I don’t think my family is even aware the cabin is there.”

“Why not?”

“Well, maybe my father or his father knew about it, and my brothers probably have seen it as they used to fish around there, but it’s pretty tucked away in the trees. No one suspects Kelly lives there.” She finished her drink. “And that’s just the way she likes it.”

“Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

“A lot of things about my family strike me as odd,” she said and felt a sadness for those she’d lost so recently, a sadness so cold that no amount of alcohol could warm her, an ache so deep she didn’t know if she’d ever get over it. And behind all that was something else, the niggling fear that she was involved, that, as the police suspected, she might have caused pa

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