Page 72 of The Night Before (Savannah 1)

The waitress deposited their drinks and promised to bring the sandwiches soon. As she left, Morrisette tossed the straw in her drink onto the table and took a sip. “Old man Montgomery was a car enthusiast. Loved older ones and he was driving one of his toys. An old model Jaguar. Before safety glass.”

“Bad luck,” Reed observed, taking a sip of his beer. He was getting a bad feeling about this.

“And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.” Morrisette took a long swallow from her Diet Coke just as the Braves scored, drawing a shout of approval from a fan perched on a stool at the bar. Morrisette glanced at the television, then continued. “A few years later the eldest son gets it. Another ‘freak accident.’ Now how many of those can one family have without it being freak anymore? Anyway, the family was up in West Virginia at their hunting lodge. For Thanksgiving. Charles is out hunting. Ends up with an arrow in his chest. Guess who found him?” She took another swig of the Diet Coke. “Caitlyn.”

“Mrs. Bandeaux?”

“Yep. She’d been out playing and gotten lost. Claims to have stumbled upon him, and he was nearly dead. She pulled out the arrow, and good old Chucky boy didn’t make it.”

“How old was she?”

“About nine or ten, I think.”

“Jesus.”

“The doctor, a quack by the name of Fellers, was there. Nothing he could do, he claims, with the arrow being yanked and all. Too much trauma. Too much blood loss.” With a lack of enthusiasm, the waitress put down their platters. Reed got her patty melt, and his burger was slid beneath her nose.

Morrisette switched the plates. “How the hell can they screw up every time?” she asked loudly enough for the bored-looking waitress to hear. “It’s not like we’re a big group. There’s only t

wo of us, for Christ’s sake, and it’s not as if the place is busy.”

“Maybe she does it just to bug you.”

“Well, it’s working.” She found a plastic bottle of catsup on the table and squirted a long stream of the red condiment over his fries. Somehow it reminded Reed of Bandeaux’s wrists. Cut at odd angles, leaving streams of blood. Morrisette plucked one fry from the pile and took a bite. “I love these things. Never order ’em. Too fattening.”

“Help yourself,” he said.

“Didn’t think you’d mind. This way neither one of us overeats.”

“And I pay for it.”

“Even better.” She snagged another fry, dredged it through the pool of catsup and said, “There’s something else no one mentions much and maybe it’s nothing, but one of the kids died of SIDS. He was the kid born between Troy and Hannah . . . is that right? Yeah. Parker. He’d be in his mid-twenties if he’d survived.”

“You think he was murdered?”

“I don’t know. It’s pretty bizarre, but then what isn’t in this case? Doc Fellers was the attending physician and he’s a bonafide quack, would have done anything to cover up something indiscreet in the family. And don’t forget there’s the mental illness angle of the whole Montgomery clan. The great-aunt was pretty much retarded—and yeah, I know that’s not politically correct, but she was so slow she had to be placed in one of those fancy-schmancy homes. Anyway, somehow she ends up falling down the stairs and breaks her neck. No one saw the accident, that’s what it was ruled, but a few of her friends—now, remember, these so-called friends are patients in the looney bin, too—claim she might have committed suicide. She was depressed—well, duh, who wouldn’t be?—and had talked about death quite a bit.”

Morrisette plowed into half of her patty melt. Reed had yet to take a bite.

“What about Caitlyn?”

“You think she might have pushed her aunt down the stairs?”

“No, but there’s a thought. I was wondering if we can get a court order to have her shrink’s files opened. You ever locate her—Dr. Wade?”

“Nope.” Morrisette scowled as she chewed. “It’s almost as if she was planning a trip, then didn’t go. I’ve requested her phone, cell phone and credit card statements. Got one from a local bank. Dr. Wade made a reservation at a pretty expensive resort in New Mexico, never arrived, never called and lost her deposit.” Reed listened and tore into his burger. “The last couple of purchases she made were at an outdoor store in town for hiking boots and some other athletic gear. Over the Internet she ordered some books and maps. They were delivered, but by the time they arrived, she’d disappeared. The landlady has them.”

“Maps of where?”

“Arizona, New Mexico and Southern California, just where she was planning to go.”

“Where’s her car?”

“Gone.”

“What about her office?”

“Haven’t got that far yet, but I’m working on it.” She stole another French fry. “You think this is connected with Bandeaux’s death?”

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