Page 88 of Tell Me (Savannah 3)

“Only that she’s deathly afraid of all kinds of snakes. Hates ’em,” he said, “Would turn the TV to another channel if a snake came into view, and visibly cringed when one was mentioned. Now, look, I really have to go.” He didn’t wait, but slipped back into the interior of the cavernous garage, and Nikki, hearing the crows cawing as they returned, made her way back to the car. All the while, she tried to tell herself that her uncle had not been involved with his client, that he wouldn’t have betrayed his marriage or his professional reputation, that his rumored romance with Blondell O’Henry was just that—pure, spiteful gossip.

But now she wasn’t as convinced.

Too many people, including Larry Thompson, believed differently.

She thought of her uncle as he had been twenty years earlier. Tall. Strapping. Successful. With a winning demeanor and a killer smile.

As she climbed into her rental car, she realized that everything she’d believed for most of her life had been a lie.

December 15th

Fifth Interview

This is difficult.

Harder than I imagined.

I’ve come here and tried to reach out to this woman, only to be thwarted at every turn. The prison walls are getting to me, the smell of pine cleaner not able to cover the smell of body odors and despair. I cannot imagine how she can stand to be locked away, but there she sits, her face impassive through the glass, her pain, if there is any, well hidden.

Why?

It doesn’t matter any longer. I’m done. I’ll write my story the way I want to, and she can sit in silence behind these thick, concrete-and-steel walls.

Trying to communicate with a woman whose heart has turned to stone is just too much for me. I’m tired of arguing and certainly tired of pleading, but most of all, I’m tired of the lies. So many lies.

My attempts to be fair and to tell her side of the story, to let her explain what she did, to try and exonerate herself, have gone unheeded. As if it’s all a game. As if playing along will ensure that I return.

The woman behind the glass can rot in hell for the rest of her life, if she wants to.

“This is the last time,” I tell her from my side of the glass, the old receiver resting against my ear, the muted conversations of others reaching me. “I’ve tried my best to give you every chance to tell your side of things, to explain about your children, to come clean, but you aren’t interested.” Sighing, I lay it out to her in the only terms I think she’ll understand. “I can only surmise that you just don’t care what the world thinks.”

For the first time, a blaze of indignation flares in her eyes, and her lips tighten almost imperceptibly. “So I’m writing the book the way I see it,” I continue. “I hope you can live with that.”

The face cracks just slightly, a bit of sadness showing. “I’ve lived with far worse,” she says to me, her voice as hollow as her eyes. “This is nothing.”

“So be it.” I start to hang up, but she taps on the glass and her eyes, for a second, soften.

“I loved my children! That’s all anyone has to know, all you have to know. I loved them!”

CHAPTER 26

“Here’s the receipt.” Max slid a copy of an itemized sales slip across a glass display case to Reed. Barely twenty-five if he was a day, Max Huber was the owner and manager of Max’s Spy World, a shop dedicated to surveillance equipment and decorated with posters from James Bond movies. The display cases held all kinds of cameras, listening gear, mini-computers, phones, tiny microphones, night-vision goggles, and even some drones marketed as toys. Max’s red hair was cropped short, his soul patch thin, his skin fighting a losing battle with acne.

“I can give you a copy of the surveillance tape for that day,” he said, pointing to the date on the receipt. “Since I’m in the biz, I run surveillance twenty-four/seven on the shop. Got lots of equipment that people might like to steal.” He lifted his shoulders. “Want a copy? It’ll just take a second. All filed digitally, and since the guy came in less than two weeks ago, right at my fingertips. Just give me a sec . . .”

Before Reed could answer, Max hit a few buttons on a computer at the desk and seconds later handed Reed a small jump drive. “I remember this dude. He was like, really nervous. Asked a butt-load of questions, but was kind of a cheap-ass. I could see he wanted the better camera, but he wasn’t going to part with the bucks, but hey, y’know, ya get what ya pay for. He asked about a GPS tracking device too, to hide in the undercarriage of a car or something, but opted out, said he could use the phone.” His mouth twisted. “I couldn’t talk him into the GPS, but hey, what’re ya gonna do?”

“Thanks,” Reed said.

“Hey, any time. And if the department ever needs state of the art equipment, I’ve got it. I can make a deal for Savannah’s finest.”

“I’ll bet,” Morrisette said under her breath, a comment that was no doubt caught and amplified by the microphones and video equipment in the store. A little louder, as they walked through the glass door, she added, “We’ll keep that in mind.”

Outside, the sun was peeking through the clouds, and a few errant rays were reflecting on puddles drying in the parking lot. “ ‘Never stop selling’ must be his motto,” Morrisette said. “The kid’s got moxie, I’ll give him that.”

Once inside the car, she started the engine. “You’re not saying much. You know the guy who bought the stuff?”

“Oh, yeah,” Reed said, still thinking it over.

---