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“Not yet, but it’s still early. Been less than twenty-four hours that it’s been with the media.” He managed a smile he didn’t feel because they both knew that the chances of the youngest sister being alive were slim, almost nonexistent. And even if she somehow had managed to survive, locating her was a long shot, an extremely long shot. “Let’s do it and see what we come up with. Who knows?” His gaze locked with hers. “We might just get lucky.”
CHAPTER 17
“Yeah, I can meet.” Brit Sully’s voice sounded a little faint over the wireless connection.
Nikki sat a little straighter in her desk chair. After over a week of trying to reach the woman, Brit, who was part of a clique that had included Andrea Clancy and Ashley McDonnell, had finally called her back.
“Awesome,” Nikki said. She’d been searching for and going through all the social media accounts of the people associated with the Duval case. If anyone who knew Hol
ly, Poppy or Rose Duval had a Facebook, Instagram or Twitter or other social platform account, Nikki had been trying to track them down or, if she could get into the account, take a look at their psyches, as well as their friends and contacts and interests and groups.
Now, finally, she could actually talk to someone about the case. Someone who’d actually known Holly Duval. Besides the girls’ parents, with whom she’d had short, emotional conversations.
Margaret, the girls’ mother, had been eager to talk, though unable or unwilling to offer any real insight, preferring instead to rail against the police for not finding her daughters earlier, and held tight to the belief that her youngest was alive somewhere.
“And where is Rose?” Margaret had wailed. “Where’s my baby? Why can’t the police locate her?”
Harvey said little more than, “It’s a real shame.” And when asked about his still-missing youngest daughter, Harvey had been more resigned. “I doubt we’ll ever see her again. Look, I can’t talk about this anymore. Please, don’t call again.”
So far, she hadn’t.
Everyone else she’d tried to contact about the Duval case had denied her. Until now. Her pulse ticked up as Brit suggested, “How about in half an hour? Ten thirty, I know that’s kind of short notice, but I didn’t really know if I should talk to you, and the rest of the day is pretty full.”
“Sure. Fine. Half an hour works!” She didn’t want to lose this lead, didn’t want to give Brit a chance to back out. “Where?”
“I was thinking the Buzz, that coffee shop that’s not far from Forsyth Park? You know where it is?”
“Yes. Perfect!” She frequented the Buzz often enough as it was only across the park, a few blocks from where she lived. “I’ll be there.” She stood quickly and heard a series of pops as her spine lengthened.
Finally! After two days of spinning her wheels. She’d spent most of the past forty-eight hours at home, working on her laptop, checking the Internet, arranging her own timeline of when events in the Duval murders had taken place, and making calls for interviews where she’d left messages one after another. Texts, e-mails and voice mails had been left unanswered.
Until now.
Of course Reed had been as tight-lipped about the case as ever, and rather than risking another rift with him, she hadn’t badgered him about the investigation and had barely mentioned it. He was absorbed in it, though he did ask about what she’d done each day and if there had been anything the least bit suspicious here at the house.
There hadn’t been.
No bogeyman lurking in the shadows.
No dark figure leaping at her as she rounded a corner.
And though she still had the uncanny sensation that she was being watched or followed, she’d chalked it all up to some lingering paranoia that she dismissed because one thing she was not was a wimp!
There had been a couple of times when the cat had looked out the window, his tail twitching, and Nikki had followed his gaze to land on a bird at the fountain or a squirrel scampering brazenly along the top of the back fence, but that had been it.
Nothing the least bit evil or scary or threatening.
No one had been hurt.
Nothing had been stolen.
Everything was quiet again.
Now, she hurried downstairs and felt a twinge in her arm, reminding her she wasn’t quite healed, though she’d been wearing her sling less and less and she wasn’t going to bother with it now. She put her iPad, phone and keys into her bag and caught sight of Mikado at the door, looking up at her hopefully. “Next time,” she promised. “You’re in charge.” His tail swept the floor. “That’s right, because we can’t trust him, now, can we?” She pointed to the cat, who was creeping along the windowsill, staring into the back garden.
And then she was off.
Nikki half jogged crossing the park where the live oaks spread their branches across the wide walkways. She passed a man in a fedora and overcoat despite the heat, a teenager walking four dogs of different shapes and sizes, and two women power walking for their morning exercise.
