Page 22 of Tell Me (Savannah 3)

“That’s right,” Nikki said eagerly.

“Dangerous. A siren . . .”

“Blondell was kind of a siren,” she encouraged when he faded out.

His eyes focused somewhere in the middle distance, then he looked at her again. “Nikki!” he suddenly crowed. “About time you came to visit your favorite uncle!” Then he paused, his expression changing. “When did you get here?”

“Aunty-Pen just brought me.” He was back. Even if he’d lost the thread of their conversation, she was pleased he knew her. “You’re right. I should’ve come sooner. How’ve you been?”

He lifted a hand and tilted it back and forth. “I’ve been better, or so I’ve been told. Getting old is hell, you know. My mother told me that, but I didn’t believe her.” He nodded sagely. “Now I see she was right. It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” she said with heartfelt enthusiasm. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she’d missed the uncle who had spent so many hours in debate with her father as they’d smoked cigars on the veranda, both of their wives disapproving, two women who had been forced into a reluctant, often competitive, and sometimes icy relationship by marrying half brothers.

But Nikki didn’t have any time to consider family dynamics or loyalties, for she was certain her uncle’s moments of lucidity were short-lived. “I’m writing a story on Blondell O’Henry,” she said. “You remember her. She was your client, and she was convicted of murdering her daughter. She’s about to be released from jail. Her son’s recanting his testimony.”

Her uncle’s head snapped up. “No.”

“No?”

“She’s dangerous!” he insisted, nearly spitting as he grabbed her wrist in a death grip.

“But you tried so hard to see that she wasn’t convicted.”

“No. Nikki, no!”

“Why?” she asked desperately, hearing the water still running in the bathroom.

He glanced toward the door that Aunty-Pen had left ajar. “Leave this alone!”

“What do you know? Did Blondell really kill her kids? Uncle Alex?”

He was shaking his head. “Don’t touch this! You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“Alexander?” Aunty-Pen called from the other room. “What’s the name of your nurse? I want to talk to her.” The water stopped running and Nikki held her breath, but then Aunty-Pen closed the door for some privacy.

Nikki seized the extra opportunity and said softly, “I want to know what happened.”

“Attorney-client privilege, Nikki,” he answered sternly.

“Can you tell me anything about the case? Something not privileged, but—”

“Yes!” he interrupted suddenly.

“Let me get my recorder and notepad,” she said, throwing a quick glance at the bathroom door.

She heard the toilet flush as she dug around in her purse, just as Uncle Alex said firmly, “She didn’t do it!”

“You know that for sure? How? Didn’t you just tell me she was dangerous?”

“Did I?” He grew thoughtful. “I don’t remember.”

“How can you be so certain she was innocent?” Nikki asked. “Was it something in particular?”

He looked at her blankly.

“Of course, that was your position as defense counsel,” she hurriedly tried again, “but you must’ve had your doubts or at least some proof to think that she was innocent.”

She saw the clarity start to fade and wanted to moan with frustration. His strong jaw drooped, his gaze falling to the floor, where he saw a string and stooped to pick it up.

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