Bishop's Reach by Kathryn R. Wall

Author:Kathryn R. Wall
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780312337957
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

I FOUND BEN WYLER’S MESSAGE WHEN I TRUDGED INTO the house shortly after ten o’clock. I debated whether or not to call him back while I stripped off my clothes and pulled on the old T-shirt that had become my nightwear of choice since I’d stopped sharing my bed with anyone except Sam Spade and his fictional brethren.

In the end I decided just to get it over with. The drop in the barometer accompanying the rumbling storms which seemed destined to pound the island for the rest of eternity had set my face throbbing and a pain like a sharp knife spiking through my right eye. I tossed back two sinus tablets and put the kettle on for tea before punching in the number.

“Yeah? This is Wyler.” His voice sounded raspy, the few words slightly slurred, and I wondered if he’d been drinking or if I’d gotten him out of bed.

“It’s Bay. Your message said you had some news?”

“Right.” He paused as if gathering his thoughts. “I took a little spin over to Savannah when I struck out at the local airport. Henry Littlejohn.”

I frowned, which only made my head feel worse. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Wake up, woman. The Jamaican. The guy who’s been bugging Miss Hammond?”

“Well, why didn’t you just say so? Look, Wyler, I’m not in the mood for any of your games right now. I’ve got a sinus headache. I just want to drink some tea and crawl into bed.”

His low chuckle could have been interpreted in any number of ways I didn’t like, but I couldn’t muster the energy to call him on it.

“Anything else?” I asked.

“He’s driving a blue Ford Taurus with Georgia plates. You want me to give the old lady a heads-up?”

“Don’t call Miss Addie ‘the old lady.’ And no. I’ll take care of it.”

“We are cranky tonight, aren’t we? Maybe I’d better save the rest of it for another day.”

“What rest of it?”

“I had a little informal chat with Morgan, the death investigator for the sheriff’s office. Without mentioning any names, I let him know he needs to ramp up his investigation of the dead guy. Fingerprints, DNA, the whole shot. I pretty much guaranteed him it’s not this Randolph Wade.”

The kettle whistled, and I tucked the handset between my cheek and shoulder and set about making tea. “How’d he take it?” I asked, pouring the steaming water over the chamomile in the old, chipped Wedgewood teapot. I dunked the bags up and down a few times and set it aside to steep.

Ben Wyler snorted. “Not too great, actually, but I think he knows me well enough—at least by reputation—that he took it seriously. You talk to the Kennedy woman yet?”

“I just got back from the Westin.” I pulled a mug from the cupboard and filled it, then inhaled the fragrant steam. I could almost feel the tightness in my face easing a little. “There’s something weird going on there, too.”

“Weird like how?”

I sipped and exhaled gratefully, maneuvered my way down the steps, and curled up on the white sofa in the great room.

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