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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?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down.” He imagined her already scouring the Internet on her phone while she was carrying on this conversation. Or maybe she was already heading to her car, ready to spring into action, probably to come out here. She was like a horse with a bit in its mouth at full gallop: dangerous and running headlong to who knew where. He held up a hand, though, of course, she couldn’t see him, but he had to stop the madness before it took root. “You know I can’t talk about a case.”
“Too late. It’s already news.”
“Just let this one go for now. Okay?”
“I can’t, Reed. You know that, so save your breath.”
“Then call Abbey, she’s the PIO.”
“When I’m married to the lead detective. You are, aren’t you? The lead?”
Oh, hell. She sounded excited, even breathless. “Look. Back off of this for now. There’s nothing more to tell, and isn’t this Metzger’s beat anyway?” The minute he said the words, he wanted to call them back because bringing up Norm Metzger was like adding gasoline to an already-simmering fire. She and the crime reporter had always butted heads, and she’d made no bones about the fact that she wanted his job.
“Don’t even go there,” she warned.
Reed more than anyone knew it had always burned her that Norm was on the crime detail, despite the fact that she had three true-crime books under her belt.
“There’s nothing I can tell you. Not yet. I just got here a while ago myself.”
“Just give me something.”
“Not yet.”
“I want an exclusive on this, Reed.”
“There’s nothing—”
