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“Yeah, next of kin—the mother—was just notified a couple of hours ago.”
“Metzger called trying to get info from me.”
“Yeah.” A pause. “He’s here at the office, doing some research. Or whatever. Maybe playing games on his computer. Or placing a bet or two. He’s big on the online gambling.”
“What about the third sister? The little one?”
“No sign of her or her remains,” Millie said, then, “unless you know more than I do.”
Nikki got the implication. “From Reed? Are you kidding? His lips are sealed. Like permanently.” And it was frustrating as hell.
There was a brief pause, then Millie asked, “So, Nikki, how’re you doing?”
The question was inevitable. “I’m okay.” That was a bit of a lie, but she went with it.
“How’s your shoulder?”
“It’ll be fine.”
“And—?”
Nikki let out a sigh. Millie wanted to know about the baby. Okay. That was fair. They were friends. “I’m . . . it’s . . . it’s okay,” she hedged, spying the cat stroll into the loft and hop onto her desk. “It, um, it might take a little while to get over, but I’ve been through it before. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.” Another lie, this one a little larger because right now she and Reed were not okay. Not okay at all.
“It’s rough.”
A lump formed in Nikki’s throat. She could handle a lot, but when someone was kind to her . . . “Yeah, it is. But . . .” She blinked. Stupid tears. “But there it is. So, I’ve decided to concentrate on work. For now.”
“Good idea.”
“So, to that end, I can access a lot of the newspaper’s files remotely, here, but that might not be enough. I might need your help.”
“You got it. What do you want?”
She watched as Jennings gathered himself, then leaped to the window ledge to stare out at the upper limb of a magnolia tree, where a magpie was perched, screeching and flapping its wings. “I’m hoping you can run down some contact info for me,” Nikki said. “Lots of people were quoted in the original reports, like friends of the victims, neighbors of the family, people who were at the movie theater on the day the girls disappeared, so I’d like to talk to some of them. You know, like the ticket taker or the person who worked the refreshment counter, that kind of thing, anyone who can remember them that day. Do you think you can find them? Especially any that are still local, that haven’t moved away?”
“Mmm, yeah. I’ll see what I can do. You got a list?”
“I’ll e-mail it to you.”
“Good.”
“Also,” Nikki said, flipping through her notes, “if there’s any info on Owen Duval, the brother, let me know because the police had zeroed in on him and if you can locate Owen’s alibi, her name was Ashley McDonnell.”
“McDonnell, got it. Is that all?” Millie asked sarcastically.
“Actually, no.” Nikki was thinking fast now. “I think I might have known some of the people close to the Duvals, so if you can find a list of people the police interviewed, the girls’ friends and relatives, that would help. If there’s any way to get a peek at their statements, I’d love it.”
“If it’s not public, you’ve got a better lead on that.”
“Through Reed,” she said, flopping back on the daybed.
“Yeah.”
That would never work, but she had to move on, couldn’t be waylaid. “So, if you could just, you know, keep an eye on the story, whatever comes in to the paper, over the wires or tips or whatever, and give me a heads-up and send me links, that kind of thing, so I can be on top of it until I can come back into the office myself, that would be great.”
“Okay. I think I can do it. No problem.”
“Oh, and let me know what Metzger’s got going on this.”
