Page 60 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

“You heard me.”

“But where and why?”

“I’m not sure where I want to land. But somewhere else. Richmond, maybe.”

“Richmond?” Nikki couldn’t believe her ears. Never had Simone mentioned leaving Savannah.

Simone began picking at the tail of a shrimp. Avoiding Nikki’s eyes. “Or Charleston.”

“Where did this come from?” she asked as the couple at the next table scooted back their chairs noisily.

“Oh, come on, Nikki, you know what I mean. You’ve been talking of leaving for years. New York or Chicago or San Francisco or L.A. I’m not talking about a crosscountry move. I want to be close enough to visit my folks when I want to, but far enough away to have some space, my own space. I’ve got to face it, Nikki, I’m in a rut here. I have been since Andrew died. I need a change.”

She had a point. Not only was Simone the only child of a wealthy old-money Savannah family, but she’d also been the beneficiary of Andrew’s estate. Andrew had owned land he’d inherited from Nana and a healthy bank account. It had always been a sore spot between the families that Simone, rather than Andrew’s parents, had ended up with part of the family fortune, but it had never bothered Nikki.

“I figured you’d understand,” Simone was saying. “You’re always on the lookout for something exciting. You get that rush through your work.”

“Oh, yeah, writing such hot stories as what the historical society’s next project is or who’s been elected to the school board is a real high.”

“You helped bust Dickie Ray Biscayne.”

“And the world is better off,” Nikki mocked, remembering the bastard cousin to the Montgomerys. A lowlife bottom feeder if ever there was one.

“It is,” Simone insisted as a busboy neatly pocketed the tip left at the neighboring table before picking up the dishes and swiping the oilcloth with a wet towel. “Dickie Ray was organizing dogfights.” She shuddered. “Awful stuff. You did the world a favor. And now you’re on the trail of that Grave Robber, right?” Simone’s eyes brightened. “I read the article this morning. You’re on to something,” she said with a smile, then leaned across the table as if about to share a secret. “I’m no investigative reporter, but I’m willing to bet from the way you’ve been checking your watch and cell phone you’ve got something more going, someplace you need to be, right?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Yeah. I’m willing to bet it has to do with the murders, right?”

Nikki hedged. “I can’t say much, but for the first time in a long, long time I get the chance to prove myself to Tom Fink and I’m not going to blow it.”

“Oh…” Simone nodded as she bit into a shrimp. “So, that’s it. You know, Nikki, the Chevalier trial was a long time ago.”

“It seems like yesterday.”

“A lot longer than that. More like ten or twelve years. I was there. I remember.” She shuddered and Nikki noticed goose bumps raise on her forearms. “I heard Chevalier was getting out or had gotten out a few weeks ago. Can you believe it? The psycho hacks up his girlfriend and most of her family, gets sent to prison and then gets released on some kind of technicality?” Simone was suddenly serious as death, her face pale. “You know, there is definitely something wrong with the system, if something like that can happen.”

Nikki couldn’t agree more, didn’t want to think about LeRoy Chevalier and his brutal crime, or how she’d nearly jeopardized the case against him by reporting information she’d heard from her father, the judge overseeing the trial. She’d nearly cost her father his job, probably had ruined any political ambitions he might have harbored. And now Chevalier was a free man. She agreed with Simone; it just wasn’t right. She checked the time and apologized to Simone. “I’m sorry, but I really do have to run.”

“I know, there’s a big story out there just begging Nikki Gillette to write it.”

Nikki smiled as she opened her wallet, then groaned. In her haste to get home and pick up the new keys, she hadn’t run to the bank. She didn’t have a dime on her. “You won’t believe this.”

Simone laughed. “Don’t worry about it. The tea’s on me. Besides, when you become a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, you can buy!” Simone raised her hand, intending to flag down the waitress, but stopped. Her smile faded and her eyebrows slammed together. “Who’s that guy?”

“What guy?”

“The guy that was in the booth over there…” She hitched her chin toward a corner booth located close to a side door that was swinging shut. “He was seated facing me and I caught him looking our way a couple

of times…. I thought I recognized him, but…” Little lines of frustration showed between her eyebrows. “Oh, maybe it was nothing.”

Nikki’s mouth went dry. She stared through the glass door, peering through the panes into the darkness, but saw only the darkened, empty sidewalk beyond. Her gaze moved quickly to the bank of windows in the front of the restaurant, but again didn’t catch a glimpse of anyone loitering just outside the window’s warm light. No partially hidden figure. “He was watching us?”

“Oh, maybe not.” Lines of frustration creased Simone’s brow. “I’m probably imagining things. I’ve been jumpy lately.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Lately, I’ve just had this feeling…” her voice trailed off and she sighed. “I really do have to get out of this town.”

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