Page 108 of The Third Grave (Savannah 4)

“Then find my daughter,” Margaret had said brokenly.

And then there was Nikki’s wild theory that Rose Duval could be the love child of Margaret Duval and Baxter Beaumont when they hadn’t yet established the two had been involved in an affair. He’d posed the idea to his new partner early this morning while they were both sipping coffee and going over the reports that had come in overnight.

Delacroix had looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Are you serious?” she’d asked.

“Anything’s possible.”

“But is it probable? More importantly, is it a fact?” She reminded him, “We deal in facts.”

“And theories that are supported by facts. So we need to find out the truth and before we go asking Margaret Duval or Baxter Beaumont if they had a child together, we’d better make certain they were really involved and this isn’t just local gossip that’s been embellished over the years.”

“I guess it’s worth looking into,” she’d said reluctantly. “But you should really tell your wife to back off. Doesn’t she have a history of screwing up your cases?”

“No, never screwed them up,” Reed said, which was a bit of a lie. How many times had Nikki put herself in danger, all for chasing down a story, and yeah, getting involved with his work. “It’s her job.”

Delacroix didn’t have to say any more, just shot him a knowing look, reminding him of the thin line he was walking between his marriage to a pushy reporter and doing his by-the-book investigations.

“If Rose isn’t Harvey’s daughter, it might explain why we didn’t find her in the tomb with her sisters.”

“How?”

“Don’t know yet.”

Delacroix hadn’t been convinced. “You know, your wife has some real out-there ideas. Look, if we go down this rabbit hole and you think it’s valid, you can be the one to ask the woman married to the preacher if she was fooling around on her husband and, oh, by the way, had a baby that she passed off as his.” Delacroix had taken a final sip from her takeout cup and tossed it into the trash. “That’s on you.”

“Thanks.” He wasn’t looking forward to the prospect, but if it seemed like it was important, he’d deal with what would probably be an even more emotional Mrs. Le Roy.

He glanced around the church and saw Delacroix, four rows up, sitting near a couple of officers in full uniform.

They stood for a final prayer and Reed sent up his own private message to his once-upon-a-time partner.

Hey, Morrisette. Help me out, would ya? I’m running this case and I could use a little of the Texas attitude and smarts right now.

He rubbed the star and almost heard her say, You’ve got a new partner now. A cute one. Not as cute as me, of course, and not nearly as smart, that’s for damned sure, but you gotta trust her, man. And, for God’s sake, quit with the stealing. The key chain? Really? She laughed that deep raspy laugh. Now, leave me alone, would ya? I’m up here trying to rest in damned peace! Whatever the hell that means.

He almost smiled. God, he wished he could really hear one of her smartass comebacks one last time.

“Amen,” Linley said aloud, breaking into his thoughts.

In hushed tones, the congregation echoed discordantly, “Amen.”

Reed opened his eyes.

Found Yelkis staring again.

Reed took his wife’s hand as they walked out of the stuffy church and down the front steps to the gray day beyond. The sun was trying valiantly to shine through a shroud of clouds, and the air outside the reach of the church’s air conditioning was cloying and heavy, threatening yet another summer storm. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

“Amen,” she whispered.

Outside, cops, family and a few friends were gathering on the lawn beneath a canopy of the surrounding trees. Reed wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Nor was he interested in drinking some kind of weak punch and nibbling on cake or sandwiches that were going to be offered in the church’s rec hall. Nor would he put Nikki through it. And the graveside service was for members of Morrisette’s family, which was just fine with him. Reed didn’t need to see the casket lowered into the earth.

Time to leave.

Still holding hands, they headed for his Jeep, when he heard a woman’s voice say, “Nikki Gillette?”

He glanced up and found a blonde with a microphone thrust forward. Behind her stood a hefty man in his twenties, a shoulder cam aimed at Reed and Nikki.

“I’m Kimberly Mason with WKAM, and I’d like to ask you a few questions,” she said, then her eyes found Reed. “And you, as well, Detective Reed. We’ve spoken before.”

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