Page 76 of Tell Me (Savannah 3)

s because, though she was “cattin’ around,” she had kind of settled on him. He was up front with her about how he felt about another man’s offspring. He would never even be with her when Amity, Niall, and Blythe were around, and that frustrated her. He repeated what he’d said on the witness stand—that he thought she was the kind of woman who was good for one thing only and that was a hell-fire hot time in the sack. He figured because she’d been married and had kids already she wouldn’t be foolish enough to get “knocked up” again, but when it turned out she was, he swore up and down it wasn’t his. “I was suspicious, y’see. Didn’t trust her claimin’ she was on the pill, so I took care of things myself.”

“But you are able to father children,” Morrisette pointed out.

“ ’Course I can, but it’s when I want to. My terms. Back then, it wasn’t the right time and it wasn’t the right woman.” His eyes glittered for a second before he pulled in on the reins of his temper and said, “Look, man, if I knew anything more, I’d tell ya. I ain’t got nothin’ to hide.” He rubbed his arms and sighed through his nose. “To tell you the truth, I wish I’d never laid eyes on Blondell O’Henry, and I’d lay odds that I ain’t the only son of a bitch who feels that way.”

CHAPTER 23

Nikki felt as if she’d stepped back in time.

An eerie feeling crawled over her skin, causing goose pimples to rise, as she eyed the interior of the cabin where her friend had been shot. Involuntarily, though she’d not been raised a Catholic, she crossed herself, as she’d seen her friends do so often. The cabin was as she remembered it, but it appeared smaller and darker than it had when she was a child.

Using the flashlight app on her cell phone, she scanned the interior and even took a few photos, though they too were dark. She flipped a light switch, but though it clicked loudly, no illumination was forthcoming.

She studied the area where Amity had been sleeping—on the pull-out sofa, where it had been tucked under the loft.

What really had happened here that night? The prosecution and defense had laid out differing stories, but the truth was still a mystery.

Nikki’s gaze drifted upward to the floor above, where Blythe and Niall had been tucked in for the night. Blondell had either opened fire on her own daughter as she slept or found an attacker looming over her . . . no, wait. That wasn’t right. If Blythe had been correct, Amity had already awakened in a panic as she’d discovered a live snake in her bed. The puncture wounds and venom found in her bloodstream confirmed the reptilian attack.

Carefully, making no sound, her muscles taut, Nikki peered into the adjacent rooms, although out of respect for her claustrophobia, she wouldn’t step into the tiny bathroom. She did walk through the old kitchen, with its sloping, rotting countertops and leaking windows, and outside to the once-screened porch where Blondell said she’d dozed. Rain was pouring in now, and there was no furniture on the wraparound porch. The view of the lake was partially obscured by brush.

Nikki wondered about Blondell’s story yet again as she returned to the house and started hesitantly up the stairs. Her great-great-grandfather had built this place, if family history was correct, and had raised his family here before the newer, modern home was constructed on the site across the water, the farm where her family had kept their horses.

And yet Amity O’Henry had died here.

She felt a strange little frisson slide down her spine, a niggle that told her she was more than connected to what had happened here, that she was the catalyst, that Amity’s blood was somehow on her hands.

As she stepped through the old rooms, she imagined the terror of that night, heard the blood-curdling screams and the crack of gunfire ricocheting through the rooms, felt the frantic, confused horror as the kids tumbled out of their beds and made their way to the stairs. Niall was first, racing down, only to be hit, then little Blythe, shot and sent reeling through the rails. Nikki shivered when she saw the stains still on the wall near the stairs. Though the tragedy had happened twenty years earlier and the dead were long buried and the survivors now adults, she felt her eyes well with tears and her soul darken a bit.

Norm Metzger had accused her of being a daughter of privilege, and he wasn’t far from the truth. The fact that she’d come so close to witnessing the horror unfold, had nearly been a part of the terror, reminded her how lucky she’d been all her life.

Hadn’t Amity accused her of such on the days they’d been riding with Hollis? “You two are so lucky,” she’d said as the horses had stopped to graze. Nikki had been astride Vixen, the pinto mare she’d come to love. Hollis had been riding her sorrel mare, while Amity had chosen Rebel, a bay gelding who was Uncle Alex’s favorite. They’d been riding by the lake, just across from this cabin, Nikki recalled now, and as they’d returned to the stable, she’d spied Uncle Alex, who had stopped by to talk to the foreman. He’d smiled at the teenagers, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses, his smile wide. He’d waved and walked into a barn with the foreman, but Nikki had experienced the sensation that he’d been watching the three of them together.

As rain peppered the roof, she made her way to the loft, and from that position high over the living area, she took another picture, of the blackened fireplace below, with its rock face and thick mantel. How had Blondell and her kids ended up here? Nikki asked herself again. Before the attack. Before she’d been accused of murder. Before she’d needed to hire Alexander McBaine as her attorney.

Had she read the answer to that question in Blondell’s testimony? Surely someone had asked it. Just as she had when Amity had called that night. Nikki asked herself, and not for the first time, whether somehow, inadvertently, by showing her friend the cabin, she’d set the wheels in motion for Amity’s death.

Don’t go there. It’s not your fault. You know that.

She’d seen all she needed to have seen, and what little light was left, filtering through the windows, was swiftly fading. The place felt haunted, as if whatever evil had gone down that night had seeped into the walls and floorboards of the old building, as if a residue of the depravity still lingered.

She had loved this cabin as a child, but it now seemed to have a blackened soul.

Don’t be ridiculous.

From the loft, she took a step onto the stairs.

Thud!

She nearly tripped at the sound, then caught herself by grabbing the rail.

She was alone.

Right?

No one else was here, and no one had followed her. She’d checked.

Something blowing over outside and hitting the house? The thud had been muted, more like the sound of a car door closing than something falling onto the floor.

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