CHAPTER
24
SHELLMAN BLUFF, ABOUT TWO HOURS NORTH OF OKEFENOKEE, IS A LOW country fishing town in Georgia, with tidal marshes all along the coast, once you get that far. On the map the whole area looks like a maze of tributaries feeding into Sapelo Sound, which itself feeds right into the Atlantic.
Sampson and I didn’t have any trouble finding Tommy and Jeannette Reilly’s place, a small stilt house overlooking the causeway at the dead end of a quiet road in the village. This was where Elizabeth Reilly had grown up—and now maybe where her daughter would, too.
It was eighty-five degrees when we got out of the car. Not unusual for Georgia, but a little ahead of DC’s temperatures. I was sweating in my jacket and tie.
Down by the water I saw an older woman standing on the dock. She wore a loose white dress, and had a long gray braid down her back. When she turned around, I saw she had a small bundle in her arms, too. John and I walked down from the dirt driveway to meet her halfway, on the dry brown patch of a back lawn behind the house.
“Grow ’em tall up in Washington, don’t they?” she said, craning her neck, especially at Sampson, who’s six nine. We’d already spoken on the phone; there was no real need for introductions. “I’m going to guess you boys are hungry from your trip.”
“We’re fine, ma’am, thank you,” Sampson said. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full there, anyway.”
Mrs. Reilly beamed and turned to show us the tiny little girl. Baby Reilly, as I’d come to think of her.
“This is Rebecca,” she said. “Our miracle child.”
The baby was sleeping peacefully, wrapped up in a thin pink blanket. Her face was pink, too, from the heat, and her hair was the same sandy blond that her mother’s had been. For me, there was a definite sense of relief, just laying eyes on her after all the searching and worrying about what might have happened. I think Sampson probably felt the same way.
Inside, we met Tommy Reilly, who looked to be in his early sixties, like his wife. I couldn’t imagine taking on a newborn at that age, but he lit up just as brightly when he took Rebecca into his arms. It seemed clear to me that these people had already fallen deeply in love with their great-granddaughter. Maybe that’s why they seemed so at peace here, all things considered.
Once we were settled around their kitchen table, I started in with some necessary business.
“Mr. and Mrs. Reilly, I don’t mean to alarm you,” I said, “but I have to ask. Have you considered relocating for the time being, or even putting Rebecca into county custody until this can all be sorted out?”
“You mean, until they find out who killed our Lizzie,” Mr. Reilly said.
“That’s right,” I said. “Just as a precaution.”
“You know, this isn’t Washington, detective,” he said, bouncing the baby gently on his shoulder. “I don’t mean to come off naive, but it’s pretty quiet around here. And for that matter . . . well, let’s just say I’m a firm believer in the Second Amendment. I think we’ll be okay.”
“But we do appreciate the concern,” Mrs. Reilly added.
I nodded, and took my time answering. I could imagine that giving up Rebecca, even just for a little while, could be traumatic under the circumstances.
“What if we talked to your sheriff’s office about setting up a unit outside?” I asked. “Just for overnights, until we know a little more. I’d feel a lot better if we erred on the side of caution here.”
“For Rebecca’s sake,” Sampson added.
The Reillys looked at each other across the table again. Without saying anything, they seemed to come to some kind of silent agreement, the way couples can sometimes.
“You do what you have to do,” Mr. Reilly said. “I still think you’re going to be wasting Earl’s time, but I won’t chase him off. How’s that sound?”
Once that was settled, we were able to move on to the subject of Elizabeth herself.
“I know you’ve probably been asked before,” Sampson said, “but is there anyone we should be talking to in Washington? Any friends, or boyfriends Elizabeth ever mentioned? Or for that matter, anyone who might have had some kind of grudge against her?”
Mr. Reilly shook his head and went to put Rebecca down in the raised bassinet by the window.
“I’m not sure Lizzie had a whole lot of friends up there,” he said. “We kind of thought Washington was going to be a chance for her to spread her wings, and whatnot, but she never really did cotton to it. Or to the people, for that matter.”
“There was one boy,” Mrs. Reilly said. “I suspect he’s the daddy, and maybe even—” She stopped, at a loss. “Maybe the one you’re looking for. But honestly, I have no idea.”
Sampson took out his pad and a pen. “Do you have a name?” he asked.
“Russell,” she said, while John scribbled it down.