Page 90 of Tell Me (Savannah 3)

Nikki felt both dread and exhilaration steal through her. Maybe they were on the verge of some answers.

“Three coral snakes and the same number of copperheads,” Trina went on. “Two of which, I’m thinking, maybe you met last night. Could be a coincidence, I suppose.”

“No. Someone stole the snakes from Necarney, murdered him, then came back to Savannah and slipped one into the cabin and another in my car.” Nikki was certain.

“That’s what I think,” Trina agreed. “Your buddies from last night had to come from somewhere. Even if you argued that the copperhead in the cabin could have been there for a while, had a nest or whatever, it is November, and don’t they like hibernate or something in the cold weather?”

“Or something,” she agreed. Geez, could the guy in front of her go any slower?

“And there’s just no way one got into your car without a little help.”

“You got that right,” she agreed grimly.

“So far the police upstate are investigating, and there’s no official word, but the sister, her name is Nola-Mae Pitman, has been spouting off. I found her number—she’s in the book—so I’ll text it to you just in case you want to give her a call.”

“Thanks. I do.”

“And by the way, Effie’s been hanging around. Of course, she asked all about you and what happened last night.”

“I guess that was to be expected,” Nikki said, her mind on other topics.

“Yeah, I know, but some of the questions were kind of personal. She was all about who owned the cabin and how you were related and why you were there.”

The driver ahead of Nikki slowed yet again. She couldn’t stand it, checked her mirror, and blew around the guy, who obviously didn’t know his old GTO had been considered a muscle car in its day and should be driven faster than fifty friggin’ miles an hour.

“I don’t know what Effie’s deal is,” Nikki admitted, tucking back into the lane and slowing a bit.

“I told her to take it all up with you.”

“Okay.”

“She’s also all over the Blondell O’Henry release tomorrow. I guess the blogosphere is blowing up about it.”

“Major news.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay. I’ll deal with it when I get there. I’m on my way back—oh, crap!” In her rearview mirror she saw flashing lights and, glancing down at her dash, realized she was once again speeding ten miles over the limit. “Talk to you later.” She slowed, hearing the siren screaming as she pulled over, and wondered how in the world she’d talk herself out of the ticket. It crossed her mind to use Reed’s name and title at the department, but she decided that was too low; it would put everyone on the spot. Heart sinking, nerves stretched, she waited . . . but the cop car shot by at a speed that far exceeded her max. Letting out her breath, she noticed that the other cars on the road ahead of her, which had also slowed onto the shoulder, were ignored as well.

Pulling into traffic again, she forced herself to drive at the speed limit as she headed back to Savannah and wondered who had put a snake from the hills around Dahlonga in her car.

“What is this?” Charles Arbuckle demanded, shooting up from the leather chair behind his desk as Morrisette and Reed strode into his expansive corner office with a wide view of the river.

“I tried to stop them!” a petite receptionist said in her high-pitched voice. She was wearing five-inch heels, a short dress, and a telephone headset that barely disturbed her shaggy, streaked hair. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Arbuckle, they just barged right in after I told them you were busy.” Indignation poured off of one hundred pounds of her. “I can call the police.”

“We’re already here,” Morrisette said, showing her badge.

“Oh.” The receptionist, flustered, her gaze glued to the badge, actually gulped back anything else she’d planned to say.

“It’s all right, Daisy,” Arbuckle said, holding up a staying hand. “Really. Just close the door and postpone my next appointment.”

“With the Quinns? Really?” She looked positively stricken and glared at Reed and Morrisette as if they were emissaries from Satan himself.

“Yes, Daisy, please,” Arbuckle said firmly, though obviously it pained him to waylay clients of the Quinns’ stature, whatever that might be.

Reed didn’t give a damn.

The starch having seeped out of her, Daisy left, pulling the door shut behind her. Once it closed, Arbuckle said stiffly, “What can I do for you?” Then before they could respond, he read the serious expression on their faces and said, “Do I need a lawyer?” He looked from Morrisette to Reed. “Because it sure feels like I should call my attorney.”

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