Page 21 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

On her way to the office, she passed the police station, considered stopping and thought better of it. She needed to make an appearance at the office and get her act together before she nailed Reed.

“To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” Jerome Marx asked, standing as his secretary led the three detectives into his office. He’d been “out of town on business” until this morning. He had the decency to stand but there was hostility in his dark eyes, a tightness to the lips hidden in his goatee and the edge of irritation beneath the outright sarcasm in his words. He was dressed in a crisp navy blue suit, white shirt, wide burgundy tie and gold cuff links. His office, decorated in leather and mahogany, oozed the same genteel breeding that his wardrobe tried so desperately to convey.

It was all a front.

Reed knew that Marx was about as far from old money and southern gentility as he was. The son of a dressmaker and a used-car salesman Marx had scraped his way through college on a football scholarship to a junior college, then walked on at a small four year university where he’d earned a degree in finance. From there he’d joined the ranks of corporate America, working for car rental companies, banks and mortgage brokers until he decided to become an entrepreneur using capital he’d inherited from his wife’s father. He and Barbara Jean hadn’t had any children.

Considering the way things had turned out, it was just as well.

McFee introduced himself as well as Morrisette and Reed. The skin over Marx’s cheekbones stretched even tighter when he met Reed’s eyes.

“I’m afraid we’re here with bad news,” McFee said.

“What kind of bad news?” Marx was instantly on edge.

“We think we’ve found your wife’s body.”

“What?” His face drained of color. “My wife? Barbara?”

“Yes. If you’ve watched the news, you know about the grave we discovered up near Blood Mountain in Lumpkin County—”

“My God, you mean…” His gaze flew from one detective to the next. “You mean that Bobbi was…in that…in there…” He swallowed, then dropped into a wing-back chair positioned near his desk. “No…I mean, that’s not possible.”

“I’m afraid it is, sir. We’d like you to come down and identify the body. It’s in Atlanta.”

“Oh, my God…oh, my God.” He buried his face in his hands. Clean hands. Manicured fingernails from the looks of them. He seemed genuinely shocked, though, of course, his response could be faked. “No. I don’t believe it.” He looked up and the grim faces must’ve convinced him. “Of course I’ll go with you. Atlanta?”

“Where they’ll do the autopsy.”

“Oh, Christ! Autopsy?”

“It looks like a homicide.”

“But who? Who would want to…” His voice trailed off. So he was finally getting it. “You think I did something to Bobbi?” He was aghast. “I would never.” His eyes met Reed’s again and some of the starch left him. “Sure we had our ups and downs and we were going through a divorce, but I swear, I had nothing to do with this. If you want me to identify the body, then let’s do it. Now.”

Trina pounced on Nikki the minute she dropped her purse into a desk drawer and clicked on her computer. “You’re in big trouble.” Trina peered over the top of the cubicle wall as piped-in music played instrumental renditions of Christmas carols over the clatter of computer keys and muted voices.

“I figured. Metzger probably smoked into Fink’s office at the crack of dawn yesterday.”

“That, too, I suppose.”

“You suppose.”

“I was talking about our date the other night. Since you bagged out you left me to play shrink to Dana and Aimee.” Trina rolled her expressive eyes. “I spent the night swiveling my head, congratulating Dana and telling her how much fun marriage was going to be, that Todd was a great guy, a fabulous catch, then pulling a one-eighty and telling Aimee how lucky she was to be rid of her cheatin’, lyin’, bastard of a husband.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“I could have used backup.”

“Sorry, I was—”

“I know, I know, chasing down the story that will send your career through the stratosphere. By the way, Dr. Francis called you. Wants to nail down an interview time as the school board is meeting next week and then won’t meet again until after Christmas. She just wants to make sure you understand her position on the upcoming bond issue.”

Nikki groaned. “And you know this—how?”

“Celeste routed your voice mail to me again.”

Nikki forced a fake smile. “Nice,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Anything else?”

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