Page 105 of Tell Me (Savannah 3)

Nikki parked in the first spot she found near Effie’s apartment, located in a tall, older building.

Effie’s unit had its own entrance through a wrought-iron gate and a small garden area that was three stairs below street level. The gate creaked as she opened it, and the path was covered in leaves wet enough from the recent rain to be slick beneath her boots.

She rang the bell, hearing it peal inside, and waited. Impatiently. Ready to tell the woman exactly what she thought.

If Leon’s telling the truth.

But something felt right about this.

“Come on. Come on.”

Nothing.

But there were lights on. She could see the glow of a television. Standing at the door, Nikki realized how little she knew of the woman who lived so near to her, worked with her. Effie was single, she’d said as much, and wore no wedding ring and, Nikki thought, lived alone. She’d been in Savannah only a month or six weeks, had lived in Texas before moving to Georgia, though she had mentioned she had family living in the area and that she was originally from around here. It seemed that recently she’d been with a newspaper in Dallas, but Nikki wasn’t sure. She’d never paid much attention.

Again, Nikki pressed the bell, and this time she beat on the door. “Effie!” she yelled, and when there was no response she tried the door. Locked.

She should just leave. She had things to do. But the thought of Effie Savoy cowering in her apartment after spending weeks following Nikki, scaring her, taking pictures of her, was too much. Had Effie been the dark figure she’d seen at the fountain? Or had that been Nikki’s overactive imagination conjuring up a stalker?

And what about the time she’d been nearly run over? Right after Effie had come up to her in the coffee shop. Had that been Effie, or just some negligent driver?

Why in the world would she target Nikki?

She rang the bell one final time and was turning back to her car when she saw the path leading around the building. Without hesitation she followed the brick walkway, lit by small outdoor lights. It led to another gate, which she reached over, tripping the latch to let herself into a back courtyard. The upper units had decks, but Effie’s place had a small patio surrounded by shrubbery and a sliding door.

The curtains were partially open, as if someone stepped out here regularly, and the ashtray on a small table seemed to confirm that Effie spent time out here.

Nikki peered inside. She could see into the living area, where a love seat and two chairs faced a televison set. There was no dining table in the space allotted for it. Instead a computer sat atop a scarred desk pressed against one wall.

“Effie?” Nikki called, listening for a response. So far she hadn’t heard a dog; that was a good sign, but Effie could be in the bedroom, earbuds in place as she listened to music, or in the damned shower.

She tested the slider and found it unlocked. An invitation if there ever was one. Despite her elevated heart rate and the arguments pounding through her brain, she stepped inside.

You’re getting good at this, aren’t you? Breaking into places? First Aunty-Pen’s and now here . . . a regular cat burglar.

But if Effie had been spying on her, she figured turnabout was fair play. But what if Leon, the insufferable idiot, had been lying? Baiting her? What if Nikki was about to walk into a bedroom where Effie was sleeping or a bathroom where she was taking a shower, water rushing . . . Nikki would be hard pressed to explain herself.

So far, though, the place seemed empty, and the slider had been left open. Softly, every muscle tense, she walked through the apartment.

She heard no signs of life.

A galley kitchen was near the front door, countertops littered with dishes, a slight odor suggesting the garbage should be taken out to the Dumpster.

The bedroom was empty, the bed unmade, an older television propped onto a chest of drawers at the foot of an unmade double bed, laundry tossed in or near a basket by the closet. The bathroom was also empty, towels scattered on the floor, half-full bottles of shampoo and a razor in the shower. Several bottles of prescription medications were lined on the counter, all issued to Effie Maria Savoy.

At least she hadn’t broken into the wrong apartment, Nikki thought, frustrated that she couldn’t have it out with the woman.

She walked back to the dining room, where the computer sat, a tiny light visible on the keyboard indicating the system was turned on, the monitor dark. Of course, she shouldn’t snoop in Effie’s digital files—that would be a real invasion of privacy—but as she thought about Effie taking pictures of her home, of peering inside at her, she didn’t really give a damn.

Who knew if she’d ever get this opportunity again?

Yeah, and who knows that Effie won’t walk in the door at any second? She might have run to the convenience store for cigarettes or milk or whatever.

Nerves strung tight, every little noise making her jump, Nikki touched a finger to the keyboard. The monitor began to glow with a screen saver that was a picture of the cabin by the lake, but it wasn’t a recent photograph, or even one of the old crime-scene photos of the night Amity was killed.

Nikki’s lips parted in shock.

This was a much older picture, in which the sun was shining, the cabin still tended, a canoe pulled up to the porch. Seated on the step, staring into the camera, was Nikki’s much younger self. All of seven years old, her teeth too large for her face, her freckles in full bloom, Nikki Gillette grinned happily into the camera’s lens.

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