Authors: Beverly Barton
Life had be-en un-kind to Re-ba when it ca-me to her per-so-nal li-fe. Jim had mar-ri-ed her, not lo-ving her. And al-t-ho-ugh he ca-red for her de-eply and ad-mi-red her gre-atly, the lo-ve that he had ho-ped wo-uld grow in his he-art ne-ver to-ok ro-ot. He had gi-ven Re-ba ever-y-t-hing mo-ney co-uld buy, but he'd be-en an un-fa-it-h-ful hus-band most of the-ir mar-ri-ed li-fe. God knew she had de-ser-ved bet-ter. But even tho-ugh he felt cer-ta-in she sus-pec-ted he'd had ot-her wo-men, she'd ne-ver con-f-ron-ted him abo-ut his af-fa-irs. Why she'd cho-sen to ig-no-re his in-fi-de-lity he didn't know for su-re. May-be she enj-oyed be-ing Mrs. James Up-ton. Or may-be she just lo-ved him. Still.
Af-ter all the-se ye-ars. Af-ter all the ot-her wo-men. She had lo-ved him on-ce, lo-ved him as pas-si-ona-tely as he had lo-ved Mel-va Mae Nel-son over fifty ye-ars ago. May-be that kind of lo-ve ne-ver di-ed. Truth be told, the-re was a part of him that wo-uld al-ways lo-ve Mel-va Mae, even tho-ugh she'd be-en de-ad for qu-ite a few ye-ars now.
Reba had wan-ted mo-re chil-d-ren af-ter Jim Jr. and Me-la-nie, but com-p-li-ca-ti-ons fol-lo-wing Me-la-nie's birth had ma-de that dre-am an im-pos-sib-le one. The day they lost Jim Jr. and his wi-fe, the only ti-ling that kept Re-ba from dying of gri-ef was Jamie. By that ti-me, Me-la-nie had al-re-ady run away from her hus-band and her se-emingly per-fect li-fe, but Re-ba ne-ver ga-ve up ho-pe that the-ir da-ug-h-ter wo-uld one day re-turn. Then, ye-ars la-ter, the Mem-p-his po-li-ce had con-tac-ted them to let tell them the-ir da-ug-h-ter was de-ad, and Re-ba had be-en for-ced to ac-cept anot-her loss.
Jim glan-ced aro-und the ro-om, co-un-ting he-ads, chec-king to ma-ke su-re ever-yo-ne was he-re be-fo-re he sha-red the news abo-ut Jamie's de-ath. "Whe-re's La-ura?" he as-ked when he no-ted the yo-ung wo-man's ab-sen-ce. He lo-oked at Do-ra. "Didn't you ask her to jo-in us?"
"Yes, sir, but-"
Andrea Wil-lis in-ter-rup-ted. "I tri-ed to ex-p-la-in to Do-ra that La-ura didn't sle-ep well last night and-"
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"Mr. Wil-lis, go get yo-ur da-ug-h-ter and bring her dow-n-s-ta-irs im-me-di-ately," Jim told La-ura's fat-her in no un-cer-ta-in terms.
Reba gas-ped. "Jim, re-al-ly. Is the-re any re-ason for such ru-de-ness?"
"I apo-lo-gi-ze, my de-ar, but it's im-pe-ra-ti-ve that La-ura jo-ins us."
"Where's Jamie?" She-ri-dan Wil-lis as-ked, a rat-her sly smi-le cur-ving her full, pink lips.
"Sho-uldn't he be in-c-lu-ded in this fa-mily pow-wow?"
"Mr. Wil-lis, go now, ple-ase," Jim sa-id, then ga-ve She-ri-dan a scow-ling lo-ok that wi-ped the smi-le from her pretty fa-ce.
"Jim?" Re-ba ca-me to him and pla-ced her hand on his arm.
When she lo-oked up at him, ap-pre-hen-si-on vi-sib-le in her warm ha-zel eyes, he al-most lost his com-po-su-re. Only a few ho-urs ago he had plan-ned to le-ave this wo-man for his mis-t-ress. He'd had every in-ten-ti-on of as-king Re-ba for a di-vor-ce whi-le Jamie and La-ura we-re on the-ir ho-ney-mo-on. Now ne-it-her wo-uld hap-pen. No wed-ding and ho-ney-mo-on for the-ir gran-d-son.
No di-vor-ce for Re-ba and him.
Jim pul-led Re-ba in-to his arms and held her with gre-at ten-der-ness. She wrap-ped her arms aro-und his wa-ist and la-id her he-ad on his chest.
"Whatever it is, we'll see it thro-ugh to-get-her," Re-ba whis-pe-red to him. 'The way we've do-ne so many ti-mes be-fo-re."
He le-aned down, til-ted her fa-ce up-ward, and kis-sed her fo-re-he-ad. "I don't de-ser-ve you. I ne-ver did."
Cecil Wil-lis re-tur-ned to the li-ving ro-om, his fa-ce slightly flus-hed, his bre-at-hing a bit ir-re-gu-lar, as if he'd run all the way up-s-ta-irs and back down aga-in. He had an ob-vi-o-usly be-fud-dled La-ura in tow. She wo-re ca-su-al lo-un-ge slacks and top, slightly wrin-k-led. Her ha-ir lo-oked as if she hadn't brus-hed it this mor-ning. And the-re was a da-zed-may-be drug-ged-lo-ok in her eyes. An-d-rea rus-hed im-me-di-ately to her el-der da-ug-h-ter and put a sup-por-ti-ve arm aro-und her wa-ist.
Jim eased Re-ba to his si-de and dra-ped his arm aro-und her sho-ul-ders, then lo-oked at her for a full mi-nu-te be-fo-re he fa-ced the ot-hers. "I re-ce-ived a pho-ne call qu-ite early this mor-ning from She-riff But-ler."
Reba ke-ened softly, the so-und ba-rely audib-le ex-cept to Jim be-ca-use she sto-od at his si-de.
He tig-h-te-ned his grip aro-und her sho-ul-ders.
"There is no easy way to say this." Jim cle-ared his thro-at. "Jamie's de-ad."
He felt Re-ba dis-sol-ve, her who-le body we-ake-ning in-s-tantly. He tur-ned to her. "Do you want to sit down?"
She nod-ded, but se-emed unab-le to spe-ak. He led her over to the so-fa and mo-ti-oned for Dr.
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Mac-Na-ir, who ca-me im-me-di-ately to Re-ba's si-de.
"You must be mis-ta-ken," La-ura sa-id, her words slightly slur-red. "We we-re to-get-her last night.
He was fi-ne. He- he can't be… it's not pos-sib-le. We're get-ting mar-ri-ed." 'What hap-pe-ned?"
Ce-cil as-ked.
"Was it a car ac-ci-dent?" An-d-rea in-qu-ired.
He glan-ced at Re-ba, who was now sit-ting. "Jamie was mur-de-red," Jim told them.
"My God!" Ce-cil glan-ced from An-d-rea to La-ura.
"No! No, no…" La-ura pul-led away from her mot-her and rus-hed to-ward Jim, her eyes wild, te-ars po-uring down her che-eks. "He can't be de-ad. He can't be." She fol-ded her arms ac-ross her belly and do-ub-led over, whim-pe-ring lo-udly.
Andrea and Ce-cil hur-ri-ed to La-ura and to-get-her they managed to so-ot-he her mo-men-ta-rily. Jim sat down be-si-de Re-ba and to-ok her trem-b-ling hands in-to his own un-s-te-ady grasp.
"Who kil-led him?" Re-ba as-ked. "Did she mur-der him?"
"They don't know who kil-led him," Jim sa-id.
"Was he with 1167?" Re-ba se-ar-c-hed Jim's fa-ce, as if she tho-ught he might lie to her and wan-ted to dis-cern the truth. "She thre-ate-ned to kill him. Ever-yo-ne knows that she-"
"He wasn't with Jaz-zy." Jim glan-ced ac-ross the ro-om at La-ura and the-ir ga-zes met for a mil-li-se-cond. "They don't know who the wo-man was he was with, but his body was fo-und in a de-ser-ted ca-bin up in the mo-un-ta-ins, not far from Scot-s-man's Bluff."
"Who fo-und him?" An-d-rea as-ked.
"Local law en-for-ce-ment," Jim rep-li-ed. "Both She-riff But-ler and Chi-ef Slo-an we-re to-get-fi-er when they dis-co-ve-red Jamie's body."
"How did they find him if he was in a de-ser-ted ca-bin?" Ce-cil as-ked.
"Genny Ma-doc. She's a psychic who li-ves he-re in Che-ro-kee Co-unty," Jim sa-id. "Crazy as it so-unds, Genny had a vi-si-on and saw Jamie be-ing kil-led and got a sen-se of what area he was in.
She-riff But-ler to-ok Sally Tal-bot and her blo-od-ho-unds along to hunt for Jamie. I went with them. I didn't say an-y-t-hing to an-yo-ne un-til we knew for su-re."
"How was Jamie kil-led?" She-ri-dan as-ked. "Was he shot? Did so-me je-alo-us bitch sho-ot him?
Did that Jaz-zy Tal-bot do it? I bet she did."
"Jamie wasn't shot." Jim wasn't su-re how much to tell them, had no idea how they wo-uld re-act to the word tor-tu-re.
Reba tug-ged on his hand. "Are you su-re Jamie is de-ad?"
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"Yes, he's de-ad."
"Did you see him?" 'Yes, I saw him." Jim swal-lo-wed. A lit-tle whi-te lie, he told him-self. Re-ba ne-eded to he-ar him say that he'd se-en the-ir gran-d-son de-ad; ot-her-wi-se she wo-uld want to see the body her-self.
"How did she kill him?" Re-ba as-ked. "I told him she was no go-od for him, told him to stay away from her, but she kept lu-ring him back to her, se-du-cing him." Re-ba clut-c-hed the front of Jim's shirt.
"I want her ar-res-ted and pro-se-cu-ted. I want her pu-nis-hed for what she did. Pro-mi-se me that you'll see to it that Jaz-zy Tal-bot pays with her own li-fe for what she's do-ne."
"Reba, we don't know who kil-led Jamie."
"Who el-se wo-uld ha-ve do-ne it? She knew she was lo-sing him for go-od this ti-me, that he was go-ing to marry La-ura and they we-re go-ing to be happy and she co-uldn't stand it. She wo-uld rat-her see him de-ad than happy with so-me-one el-se."
Jim re-ali-zed his wi-fe was on the ver-ge of hyste-ria. She was ob-ses-sed with the no-ti-on that Jaz-zy had kil-led Jamie. "I want you to let Dr. Mac-Na-ir gi-ve you so-me-thing to help you re-lax.
You're not do-ing eit-her of us any go-od by get-ting so up-set."
"Damn it, Jim, I know she kil-led Jamie, and I won't rest un-til she's pu-nis-hed." Re-ba jer-ked away from him and shot up off the so-fa. "Bring her to me and I'll kill her myself."
"Has this Tal-bot wo-man be-en qu-es-ti-oned?" Ce-cil as-ked.
Before Jim co-uld res-pond, La-ura's eyes wi-de-ned and she cri-ed out as she lo-oked an-xi-o-usly back and forth from her mot-her to her fat-her. "What if Jaz-zy didn't kill him?" La-ura grab-bed her mot-her's hands. With a lo-ok of she-er ter-ror in her eyes, she mo-aned. "I don't re-mem-ber… I don't re-mem-ber. What if-oh God, Mot-her, what if I kil-led him?"
"Oh, La-ura, what non-sen-se. You're over-w-ro-ught," An-d-rea sa-id.
"Why wo-uld you think you kil-led Jamie?" She-ri-dan scow-led at her sis-ter.
Laura sta-red at An-d-rea as if tran-s-fi-xed. "Did I do it?"
"Of co-ur-se you didn't. You we-re up-s-ta-irs in yo-ur bed all night. Don't be silly. You had no re-ason to harm Jamie. You lo-ved him."
"But I don't re-mem-ber… and Jamie's de-ad. And the-re was blo-od. I think I re-mem-ber the blo-od."
"Hush up. Don't say an-y-t-hing el-se. You don't know what you're sa-ying." 'Jamie…J-amie…"
La-ura kept re-pe-ating his na-me, cal-ling him, as she aga-in es-ca-ped her mot-her's grasp and star-ted wan-de-ring aim-les-sly aro-und the ro-om. She clut-c-hed her belly and cri-ed out in pa-in, then fell to the flo-or in a de-ad fa-int.
Dr. Mac-Na-ir rus-hed ac-ross the ro-om and knelt be-si-de La-ura. "My God!" He mur-mu-red the words sofdy, then lif-ted her up in-to his arms. That's when Jim no-ti-ced La-ura's slacks. Bright red and fresh, blo-od oozed thro-ugh the soft cot-ton ma-te-ri-al.
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Jazzy he-ard the knoc-king as she emer-ged from the sho-wer. So-me-one was trying to bang her do-or down. Was Ca-leb that eager? It co-uldn't be much past ten-thirty. She'd awa-ke-ned at ten, fi-xed cof-fee, dow-ned one cup, then jum-ped in the sho-wer. The po-un-ding con-ti-nu-ed wit-ho-ut le-tup. Jaz-zy rus-hed in-to her bed-ro-om, grab-bed her ro-be off the fo-ot of the bed, and put it on as she ran in-to the li-ving ro-om.
''Jazzy, open the do-or!" Genny Ma-doc cri-ed, her vo-ice ed-ged with pa-nic. "Ple-ase, Jaz-zy, ple-ase be he-re."
My God, what was wrong with Genny? She so-un-ded al-most hyste-ri-cal, and Genny wasn't pro-ne to hyste-rics. So-met-hing ter-rib-le must ha-ve hap-pe-ned. Just as Jaz-zy fi-nis-hed tying her ho-use-co-at's cloth belt aro-und her wa-ist, she re-ac-hed for the do-or-k-nob. The mi-nu-te Jaz-zy flung open the do-or, Genny gas-ped. With te-ars spar-k-ling in her black eyes, she grab-bed Jaz-zy and hug-ged her fi-er-cely.
'Thank God. What to-ok you so long to co-me to the do-or?" Genny kept hug-ging Jaz-zy.
"I was in the sho-wer." Jaz-zy pul-led free and grab-bed Genny by the sho-ul-ders. "Ho-ney, what's wrong?" She glan-ced over Genny's sho-ul-der and up at Dal-las.
"Let's go in-si-de." Dal-las put one hand on Jaz-zy's sho-ul-der and the ot-her in the cen-ter of Genny's back, then he nud-ged them in-to the li-ving ro-om.
Once in-si-de, Dal-las clo-sed the do-or. Genny gras-ped Jaz-zy's hands. She co-uld tell by the ex-p-res-si-ons on Genny's and Dal-las's fa-ces that wha-te-ver bro-ught them he-re on a Sun-day mor-ning was bad. Very bad. Ter-ror clut-c-hed Jaz-zy's he-art.
"Yall are sca-ring me to de-ath," Jaz-zy told them. "What is it? What's wrong? Is it Jacob?"
"No, Jacob is all right," Genny sa-id.
"Caleb? Has so-met-hing hap-pe-ned to Ca-leb? We-we ha-ve a da-te this af-ter-no-on. A re-al da-te."
"It isn't Ca-leb," Dal-las sa-id. "It's Jamie." 'Jamie?"
Genny nod-ded, then, tug-ging on Jaz-zy's hands, ur-ged her to-ward the so-fa. Jaz-zy al-lo-wed Genny to gu-ide her un-til they sat si-de by si-de on the over-s-tuf-fed old co-uch. *Jamie's de-ad."
Genny clut-c-hed Jaz-zy's hands.
"How? Was it a car wreck? Was he drunk?"
"He was mur-de-red." Dal-las mo-ved ac-ross the ro-om and sat down in the cha-ir op-po-si-te from the so-fa. "He was kil-led so-me-ti-me early this mor-ning."
"Murdered? Who? How? Why wo-uld…"
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"We don't know," Dal-las sa-id. "We don't know who kil-led him, but we're pretty su-re it was a wo-man."
Dry-eyed and fe-eling rat-her numb, Jaz-zy lo-oked di-rectly at Genny. "Did you see it? Is that how you know a wo-man kil-led him? You had one of yo-ur vi-si-ons."
Genny tur-ned Jaz-zy's hands over in hers, then squ-e-ezed re-as-su-ringly. Jaz-zy was her de-arest fri-end, the clo-sest thing she'd ever had to a sis-ter. If only she co-uld find an easi-er way to tell her what had hap-pe-ned. But the-re was no easy way. And Jaz-zy wo-uld want to know the truth-the who-le truth. She wo-uld trust Genny to be com-p-le-tely ho-nest with her.
"Yes, I saw Jamie be-ing tor-tu-red in one of my vi-si-ons," Genny ad-mit-ted. "I co-uldn't see the wo-man's fa-ce. I got only blurry ima-ges of her." 'Tor-tu-red? She tor-tu-red him?"
"Yes. She wan-ted him to suf-fer. I felt her ra-ge. She ha-ted Jamie."
"How-how did she…"Jazzy jum-ped up off the so-fa and tur-ned her back to them.
Genny re-ali-zed that the re-ality of Jamie's de-ath-his mur-der-had just now ac-tu-al-ly re-gis-te-red in Jaz-zy's mind. Dal-las glan-ced at Genny and she te-le-pat-hi-cal-ly he-ard him say, "Sho-uldn't you do so-met-hing? Get up and go to her? Hug her?" And Genny res-pon-ded. "No, not yet. She ne-eds ti-me. Jaz-zy will want to get her emo-ti-ons un-der con-t-rol be-fo-re she fa-ces us." Genny knew her best fri-end li-ke no one el-se did. They had sha-red ever-y-t-hing-tri-umphs and tra-ge-di-es, hap-pi-ness and he-ar-t-b-re-ak, go-od ti-mes and bad-sin-ce they we-re small chil-d-ren.