“Too expensive to keep up?”
“Too greedy to spend the time and money to keep it up, most likely. More money in sectioning it off, I guess,” she said sourly.
On the main floor, dark because the windows had been boarded over with waterlogged plywood, they picked their way through the kitchen. Cabinets and appliances were either broken or missing, the dirty floor uneven, evidence of rodents visible on the loose tiles as the grout had crumbled away. Morrisette trained her flashlight on an overflowing garbage bag stuffed near the dumbwaiter, and a rat, fat and dark, scurried from the bag and through a hole in the woodwork, its thin tail snaking behind.
“Nice,” Morrisette remarked, skimming the light behind a rusting, ancient stove. “Just peachy.”
The dining room was mostly empty, though a broken-down piano missing keys had been shoved against a huge, blackened fireplace, its tiles cracked or fallen. In the parlor or main living area, the stained wallpaper peeled from the wall, exposing previous layers.
She shined her flashlight up the broad, curving staircase in the foyer, where balusters had splintered and several steps had rotted through.
“Looks clear,” Morrisette said. “Like Crater said, no more bodies. No bad guys hiding in any closets. No squatters. Just squirrels in the attic and rats down here.”
“And two dead bodies in the basement.”
She nodded. “Let’s hope we don’t find any more.”
Amen, he thought. Two was more than enough.
CHAPTER 3
Her abdomen was still flat as a board.
Her red-blond hair caught in a messy bun, Nikki Gillette turned slowly in front of the full-length mirror. She was wearing only her bra and panties as she surveyed her image. Still no hint of the baby growing within her and she was ten weeks pregnant. Ten weeks! After months of trying to conceive and two heartbreaking miscarriages within the first weeks of pregnancy, she finally was closing in on her second trimester. “You hang in there,” she whispered to her unborn child, then pulled on a T-shirt and jeans that were, she had to admit, a little snug around the waist. But she didn’t care. Not at all.
Bring on the ice cream.
Bring on the donuts.
Whatever the baby inside her wanted, she’d devour . . . well, within reason. She hurried downstairs and flopped onto the couch as her phone started to buzz. News alerts. She was, after all, still a reporter for the Savannah Sentinel and had to keep abreast of what was going on.
Probably something about Hurricane Jules, which had thankfully not destroyed the old historic part of Savannah, where she called home. She wasn’t all that interested, until she noticed that police units had been dispatched to the old Beaumont estate.
Why?
The place had been abandoned for years. As she understood it, the current owner, a Beaumont heir, either Baxter Beaumont, now in his seventies, or his son, Tyson, had been trying to parcel it off and sell it, letting the old plantation house go to seed, but had been fighting with the historical society for years.
Interesting.
She did a quick sweep of the Internet but found nothing.
So the news was fresh.
Probably not a big deal.
Maybe squatters found on the property.
Or a poacher caught hunting in the off season.
Or...
She called the office of the newspaper, got hold of Millie Foxx, a recent hire who contributed to the online edition of the Savannah Sentinel, where Nikki still worked. In the past few years Nikki actually spent little time in the office and did most of her writing, editing and communicating from home, but luckily Millie, all of twenty-two and serious beyond her years, nearly camped out on the computers at the newspaper’s offices.
“So what’s up?” Nikki asked. “At the Beaumont estate.”
“We’re trying to run it down. I thought you’d know. Homicide’s been called in.”
“Someone was killed?”
“Unconfirmed. But looks like. I was about to call you. I figured you could maybe talk to Pierce.”
“Hmm.” Pierce Reed was Nikki’s husband, but... “You know how he feels about that.” Everyone at the Sentinel knew. Detective Reed had made his position clear about his wife not getting involved in police business, which was pretty damned difficult as Nikki not only worked at the paper but had three true-crime books under her belt. “I’ll check, though.”
“Do it,” Millie said. “From the police band activity, I think something big’s going on there and I thought you’d want a heads-up before Metzger gets interested.”
Millie was right about that. More than right. Metzger was such a pain in the rear. “You got it,” Nikki said. “In the meantime, can you keep checking to see if there’s any more info coming from the police. Like who called in the report?”
“Hmm. Don’t know. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Good. Later.” Nikki clicked off.
She smiled to herself as she grabbed her keys and slipped her cell phone into the back pocket of her jeans. A murder? At the Beaumont estate?
Perfect.
This was just the kind of story that was right up her alley. Even if her husband didn’t think so and would be pissed as hell.
* * *
Reed and Morrisette looked through the few outbuildings that were still standing at the Beaumont estate but found nothing significant. An old John Deere tractor without wheels was rusting in a garage, and the stove in the smokehouse had weeds growing through it. And daylight was fading. With the sun setting steadily, they stepped into an old pump house, where evidence of an owl was visible, feathers and splashes of feces on an open beam, roost debris scattered on the floor.
“Guess the flood waters never made it here,” Morrisette muttered. “What a mess.” After a quick look around, they headed back to the house, where they noticed that the forensic team van had arrived, parked close to the back verandah. Investigators in boots and masks were hauling equipment inside.
Morrisette said, “I guess the party’s really starting now,” just as a vehicle from the Medical Examiner’s Office rolled up and Reed felt his cell phone buzz in his pocket.
He retrieved the phone, saw his wife’s name and number appear on the screen, and felt a twinge of worry. Nikki rarely called him while he was working. Unless it was important. Or, well, when she wanted something.
“It’s Nikki. Give me a sec,” he said.
Morrisette gave him a quick nod and started for the house as he clicked to the call. “Hey.”
“Hi.” Then right into it. “I heard that Homicide was called out to the Beaumont estate and thought you might be there.”
Of course. She was already chasing down the story. He glanced at the house, where he spied Morrisette chatting up one of the deputies. “You heard right. And yeah, I’m out here.”
“And—?”
“And we’re investigating.”
“A murder?”
“Unknown.”
“Oh, Reed, come on,” she prodded, and he was tempted, as always, to confide in her. “I already told you I know Homicide was called in and you’re there,” she pointed out. “Obviously someone is dead. Foul play suspected. So is it one body? Or more? Was it found in the house or on the grounds, and have you got an ID?”