Page 12 of Tell Me (Savannah 3)

Ruby’s broad face brightened. “Thank you.” She tucked the bills into the pocket of jeans that were a couple of sizes too tight and peered over Nikki’s shoulder to the exterior door. “I hope the others come. I close up at five. Got dinner to get on the table, y’know. Seth, he comes home from the garage and he’s hungry as a bear. Growly as one too, if dinner ain’t on the table. Y’know what I mean?”

Janie was winding up again. “Hungry!” she cried.

“In an hour,” her grandmother admonished.

“I want a snack!”

“You eat now and I know what’ll happen. You won’t want any of your dinner.”

“Hungrrrrry,” the little one insisted, grabbing hold of Ruby’s leg again, clutching her rather substantial thigh.

“Oh, for the love of Pete. Here!” Ruby opened a drawer and pulled out some kind of packaged fruit snacks that looked suspiciously like red jelly beans though the wrapper proclaimed the health benefits of zero fat and a high percentage of vitamin C “in each and every bite.”

Snagging the packet, Janie finally released her grandmother’s leg and skipped off, her tears miraculously disappearing, her pigtails bouncing as she took off through an archway, separated by a series of child gates, toward the living room, where a television was visible, the screen flickering with the bright colors of a cartoon show.

“I swear, that one has me wrapped around her little finger, and it’s worse yet where her granddaddy is concerned. Man oh man, does she get her way around Seth.” Ruby was shaking her head as the beams of headlights flashed, splashing against the back of the house. “Oh, good. Looks like Margaret is here to pick up Spike. I was wondering. She’s not the most reliable tool in the shed, if you know what I mean.”

Nikki didn’t comment. Glancing at her watch, she knew she just had time to run Mikado home before driving to City Hall to hear firsthand why Niall O’Henry had decided to change a story he’d clung to for nearly twenty years.

CHAPTER 4

Unprecedented was the first word that came to Pierce Reed’s mind as he stood, collar to the cold wind, watching the growing throng of people gathered around the steps of City Hall. Grandstanding was the second.

Standing behind a podium that was set up under one of the stone arches of the portico was David Blass, a senior partner in the firm of Blass, Petrovich, and Sterns. A tall man with broad shoulders and what appeared to be an expensive suit, he leaned into the microphone. “Let me be clear,” he said in a voice that boomed into the crowd, where reporters with cameramen jockeyed for position. He held up one hand, as if for effect. “There will be no questions. Mr. O’Henry is here just to make a simple statement.”

The less-robust man beside him had to be Niall O’Henry, son of Blondell. He appeared uneasy, as if uncomfortable in his own skin, and was a good three inches shorter than his attorney. While Blass’s skin was tanned by hours on the golf course, Reed imagined, O’Henry was pale in comparison, a smaller, nervous man in a much cheaper suit. His features were sharp, his lips tight, his eyes staring across the milling crowd rather than into it. Had he looked healthier, Reed decided, Niall O’Henry, with his large eyes, aquiline nose, and high cheekbones, could have been a handsome man. As it was, he had the aura of a trapped animal, ready to bolt at any second.

“This is all such bullshit!” Morrisette muttered under her breath. “Such bullshit!” She was chewing her gum as if by pulverizing it she could wring out the very last drop of nicotine.

“Mr. O’Henry would like to change his testimony in the state’s case against his mother. Though the conviction of Mrs. Blondell O’Henry was nearly two decades ago, Mr. O’Henry was only a child at the time and now feels compelled to tell the truth.” Blass stepped aside, his shock of white hair catching in the wind as Niall stepped up to the microphone.

To Reed, this smelled of total crap.

And he wasn’t any more convinced when Blass stepped to one side and Niall, pale and wan, took the microphone.

His voice was thin and reedy, perhaps because of the injury he’d endured as a young boy, as he read from a prepared statement that he’d placed on the podium in front of him.

“I, uh, I just want to say that my testimony in the trial of my mother was false. I was young, impressionable, and confused. The night of the tragedy, when my sister Amity was killed, is a blur in my mind, still nearly a total blackout, and I, as a boy, was coerced into giving a statement that would ultimately convict my mother. I apologize to the state of Georgia, to my mother, Blondell O’Henry, and to God. Thank you.”

That was it.

Hands shot into the air, and reporters barked questions, even though they’d been specifically told not to. They were ignored by Blass and O’Henry and were left dissatisfied, as was Reed, though he hadn’t expected any major revelation in the first place, no new piece of evidence. The public and the police wanted something more. As he glanced around the crowd, he saw his fiancée, who, with her photographer, had pushed her way as close to the podium as possible. He’d caught a text from her earlier and knew that he’d be in for it later, that she was going to push him hard on this one.

But with Nikki that was to be expected.

“I’ll meet you back at the station,” he said to Morrisette. They had walked the few blocks over to City Hall to avoid the traffic knots and parking issues the impromptu press conference had created.

“Okay. I’ve already requested all the old files on the case.” Her eyes narrowed at the podium, now empty. “Looks like it’s going to be a long night.”

“The first of many.”

“Hell’s bells. Guess I’m going to have to play nice with my ex so he can ferry the kids around. It pisses me off.”

What doesn’t? Reed almost asked, then bit his tongue as he knew that comment would piss her off as well.

“I’ll be there soon.”

“Pick up dinner, would ya?” she asked, heading in the opposite direction. “Your turn. The Dollhouse is right on the way. Get me a fried shrimp po’boy, extra sauce. With fries. And a piece of pecan pie.”

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