Page 97 of Tell Me (Savannah 3)

Reed feared some nutcase had Nikki in his crosshairs again, and he was pretty damned sure it wasn’t Charles Arbuckle or Leon Donnigan. No, whoever was targeting her was far more dangerous, and it was all he could do not to order a bodyguard for her. She’d be upset, but it didn’t matter. Let her be mad. As long as she was safe.

He grabbed his jacket and sidearm and patted his jacket pocket to make certain he had his badge and wallet. His keys jangled in his pants pocket as he stepped into the hallway and nearly ran into his partner.

“You know,” Morrisette said as they headed downstairs, “Reverend Ezekiel Byrd’s congregation does use copperheads in its snake-handling rites. But they’re not just into coppers. They are an equal-opportunity user of poisonous snakes, so they’ve got rattlers and cottonmouths, and even an occasional cobra, but they’re rare since, you know, they’re not indigenous to the area—or the continent, for that matter.” She seemed proud of herself as they headed down the steps together, her boots ringing loudly on the stairs.

“You visited the reverend?” He’d learned the church was forty-five miles outside of the city and, of course, outside their jurisdiction, but the various departments across the state worked together more often than not.

“Of course not. I called, but I just got a voice recording. I’m hoping he’ll call me back.”

Reed almost laughed. “You think the reverend would tell you?”

“He will if he’s an honest, God-fearing man, I think,” she countered. “And even if he isn’t, I have a cousin whose friend belongs, and Corinne, that’s my cousin, double-checked about the snakes.”

“I would have liked to have heard that conversation. Was it casual, maybe over an iced tea? ‘Hey, by the way, what kind of serpents do you all handle at church?’ ” He stepped closer to Morrisette at the landing, to allow room for a couple of uniformed cops climbing up the staircase.

“Make fun all you want, but that’s what she said. I don’t know how she found out, but according to her, lately it’s only been rattlers. I guess there’s been a run on copperheads.”

“The kind someone used to scare Nikki.” At that thought, he lost his sense of humor.

“According to Corinne, the congregation is small, maybe sixty people, and was started by Byrd, who originally hails from Kentucky. Appalachia. His daddy was a coal miner and started the group. Byrd apparently brought Daddy’s beliefs with him. The members stand out a little. Don’t smoke. Don’t drink. The women don’t cut their hair, the men wear long-sleeved shirts, and they speak in tongues, though Byrd’s sect has drawn the line at drinking poison.”

“There’s a line?”

“Every religion is different.”

“I still think we’d better talk to the good reverend himself. Your cousin’s anonymous friend’s tip has to be checked out.”

“Amen, brother!” They reached the bottom of the steps and started for the main doors.

They had just stepped outside when Reed’s cell phone went off. He glanced at the screen. “Deacon Beauregard,” he said. “Wants a meeting.” He frowned. “In his office. And he wants it now.”

“Of course he does.” Morrisette rolled her eyes. “He’s no better than his old man.”

Elton has to be a part of this, Nikki told herself. You know it. Whether you like it or not, you have to face the fact that your whole family is involved in this mess. It’s sicker and more twisted than you thought.

She parked her car in the Sentinel’s parking lot and cinched the belt of her sweater a little more tightly around her as she hurried along the cobblestones near the waterfront. She walked quickly, but was wary, half-expecting some stranger to leap out at her. She hadn’t told Reed that the night before she had barely slept, with thoughts of snakes crawling through her mind and dreams of scaly bodies, open mouths, and sharp fangs dripping with venom. Amity O’Henry had been bitten by a copperhead in her bed; now Nikki had been warned with the same slinky reptile, so tonight she was careful, on edge.

Within minutes and without intervention from a tall stranger or a slithering viper, she found the alley and Salty’s bar, an establishment that had been in existence, under different names and a variety of owners, for a hundred and fifty years.

Inside, the bar was dark but warm, a long, narrow room with black wainscoting, gray walls, and decorative tin ceiling tiles, all illuminated by a dozen sconces. It was early for the evening crowd, only a few tables occupied, so she spotted Holt Beauregard easily, a lone man nursing a drink in one of the booths near a back corner. He had been gazing at the door, so he noticed her as well, and lifted a hand as she wended her way through the tightly packed tables. Physically he resembled his older brother, aside from his coloring, but that’s where the likeness ended.

While Deacon was always clean-shaven, his black hair neatly trimmed, his suits expensive and pressed, Holt exuded a total disrespect for fashion. Tonight he hadn’t bothered to shave; his hair was on the shaggy side, the sleeves of his work shirt were shoved up, his jeans faded and probably in need of a wash.

He rose as she approached.

“Nikki Gillette,” she said, extending her hand.

Dark blue eyes assessed her as he took her hand in a firm, brief shake before they sat down on opposite sides of the table. “Buy you a drink?”

She nearly declined as she wanted to keep her wits about her, but she needed their conversation to be easy, almost friendly, so that he felt he could confide in her. She guessed his drink, a short glass filled with ice and some kind of whiskey, from the looks of it, wasn’t his first. “Sure,” she said brightly. “But I can buy my own. Yours too.”

With a shake of his head, he said, “My mother would kill me if she thought I let a woman pay, no matter what the circumstances.” With a glance and a crooked smile in Nikki’s direction, he added, “Flora is very old school. There are rules, you know, and they must be followed.”

“What your mother doesn’t know won’t kill her.”

“S’pose not.” He flagged a waitress at the bar. “But just the same, this one’s on me.” As the unenthusiastic waitress shuffled over, he said, “Whatever the lady wants.”

“The lady will have a . . . cosmo,” Nikki decided aloud. “I haven’t had one in years.”

---