Page 37 of Tell Me (Savannah 3)

“Think positively,” she told herself as she slammed her car door shut.

Blythe lived in a modern, two-story apartment building wi

th a brick facade and white trim. Each unit, including Blythe’s ground-floor apartment, faced a central garden area with azaleas surrounded by snaking tendrils of ivy. She found her way to apartment 1-D and rang the bell.

For a second, she heard nothing. “Come on, come on,” she said under her breath, crossing her fingers. Surely she would get lucky.

Still she heard nothing, but the blinds in the front window fluttered a bit.

Knocking loudly, she waited again, and this time the blinds definitely moved as a black cat with tuxedo markings wedged himself between the slats and the window, hopping onto the sill, where he stared at her with round, green eyes.

“Well, at least I know someone lives here,” she said just as the blinds snapped open, the cat jumped down, and Nikki found herself staring into the elfin face of Blythe O’Henry, who was glaring up at her through the window. Her lips were pursed, her eyes nearly hidden by a fringe of bangs, but she looked mad as hell as she let the blinds drop. A few seconds later, loud clicks indicated that locks were being sprung. The door opened, and Blythe, now twenty-five and still ensconced in a wheelchair said, “You’re Nikki Gillette and you’re with the paper, I know. You wrote those books too. I’ve seen you on the news.”

Such was the price of fame in a small town. “I came here because—”

“Because of Niall’s testimony. Oh, I know,” she said heatedly on the other side of the screen. She was a tiny woman, her frame as small as her mother’s, and her blond hair, razor cut and straight, feathered across her forehead in side-swept bangs that partially hid large, hazel eyes. “My phone’s been ringing off the hook ever since my brother decided to change his story. Reporters, like you. The police. All of a sudden I’m the most popular girl at the prom.” To add credence to her words, her cell phone began to play some classical piece, and she plucked it from a bag snapped to the rail of her chair, checked the numbers on the screen, and raised an eyebrow as if to say, “See?” Then she dropped her phone into the bag again. “I don’t want any part of it.”

“I understand, really I do,” Nikki said quickly before she lost any chance of the interview. “I’ve been on both sides of this. Yes, I’m a reporter, and I would love to interview you, but I know what it’s like to be the victim, to be mobbed by the press.”

Blythe hesitated. “The Grave Robber, I know.”

Nikki was nodding, trying to come up with a reason for Blythe to allow her an interview. “I was lucky, not only that I survived, but that I worked for the newspaper and knew what to do, whom I could trust.”

“Fine. But I really don’t have anything to say.” She moved to shut the door.

“Your story’s important,” Nikki said.

“Oh, mine is?” Her lips thinned. “Don’t try to con me or flatter me or tell me any lies. I’ve had enough of that all my life.”

“I just meant—”

“What do you want from me?” she cut her off.

“Insight, I guess. For a series I’m doing. I also want to write a book about what happened that night.”

“Whoa! What? You think I’d agree to that? I’m not interested in any part of it! My father already sold his side of the story to some tabloid, and it was a nightmare. I was just a kid, but I remember. All the questions. The poking into my family’s life, looking for dirty, scandalous secrets they could exploit.” She shook her head violently. “I’m out.” She started to slam the door.

“But I was Amity’s friend,” Nikki persisted, desperate to speak with Blondell’s daughter. “We hung out together all the time. In fact, she called me that night. Wanted me to sneak out and see her.”

“That night?” Blythe repeated suspiciously. But the door remained open. “And you never told anyone?”

“She asked me not to.”

“But she was killed. We all nearly died, and you didn’t come forward?” Revulsion twisted her small features.

“Nothing she told me would have made any difference.”

“You don’t know that. What did she say to you? What did she want?”

“She asked me to meet her at the cabin. Sneak out. But I couldn’t get there. My parents were up and fighting, and I fell asleep.” The old pain returned, and it must’ve registered on her face because Blythe hesitated, her hand still on the door.

“Why did she want you to meet her?”

“If you let me come in, I’ll tell you all about our conversation.”

“Oh, for the love of God.” She rolled her eyes.

“Look, I’ve felt awful about it ever since.”

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