Authors: Beverly Barton
"Just as-king, ma'am. Just as-king."
"Cecil co-uld ha-ve an-s-we-red that qu-es-ti-on over the pho-ne-" An-d-rea stop-ped mid sen-ten-ce, re-ali-zing she was over-re-ac-ting.
"Stan Wat-son's mur-der has si-mi-la-ri-ti-es to Jamie Up-ton's. Only this ti-me the body was bur-ned in-si-de the ve-hic-le, so we don't know whet-her she tor-tu-red him or not."
Laura gas-ped. An-d-rea put her arm aro-und her da-ug-h-ter's sho-ul-der. "Re-al-ly, She-riff,"
An-d-rea scol-ded.
"Sorry, ma'am, but you see, we fi-gu-re that the per-son who kil-led Jamie kil-led Stan."
''Then you al-re-ady ha-ve yo-ur mur-de-rer," An-d-rea told him. ''Jaz-zy Tal-bot kil-led Jamie." She lo-oked di-rectly at the dis-t-rict at-tor-ney. "Isn't that right?"
''Jaz-zy's ca-se will go be-fo-re a grand jury, if we can't find the re-al mur-de-rer, "Jacob sa-id. "You
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see, Jaz-zy has an iron-c-lad ali-bi for the ti-me Stan Wat-son was kil-led, so the-re’s no way she co-uld ha-ve com-mit-ted the se-cond mur-der."
Andrea swal-lo-wed.
Don't think abo-ut it
, she told her-self.
If you think abo-ut it, so-met-hing
might show on yo-ur fa-ce that wo-uld ma-ke the she-riff sus-pi-ci-ous
.
"We ne-ed to know exactly whe-re each of you was bet-we-en six yes-ter-day eve-ning and mid-night last night."
"We we-re at the Up-ton ho-me," An-d-rea rep-li-ed.
"All fo-ur of you? "Jacob But-ler as-ked.
"Yes-"
"Don't lie for me, Mot-her." She-ri-dan boldly sta-red at the she-riff. "I had a da-te that las-ted for ho-urs and ho-urs. I was with this gen-t-le-man from abo-ut six-thirty un-til so-me-ti-me af-ter mid-night."
Jacob cle-ared his thro-at. "We can ve-rify yo-ur whe-re-abo-uts, Ms. Wil-lis."
Andrea snap-ped her he-ad aro-und and gla-red at her yo-un-ger da-ug-h-ter. Go-od God, su-rely she hadn't be-en with the she-riff. No, not the she-riff, but cer-ta-inly so-me-one he knew. She scan-ned the ro-om, stud-ying each man, won-de-ring if She-ri-dan had be-en with the chi-ef of po-li-ce or even the dis-t-rict at-tor-ney.
"Cecil and I we-re to-get-her du-ring that ti-me and La-ura was eit-her with us or with her nur-se,"
An-d-rea sa-id, wan-ting to pro-tect La-ura. The she-riff must ne-ver know that La-ura had drug-ged Mrs. Con-ley and di-sap-pe-ared for ho-urs yes-ter-day eve-ning. If ne-ces-sary, she wo-uld pay off the nur-se, gi-ve her an enor-mo-us bo-nus for ke-eping qu-i-et.
Jacob wal-ked over to La-ura, squ-at-ted down in front of her and as-ked in a kind, gen-t-le vo-ice,
"La-ura, is the-re an-y-t-hing you can tell us that might help us sol-ve Jamie's mur-der… and Stan Wat-son's mur-der?"
Laura lo-oked to her mot-her, her blue eyes wi-de with fe-ar and ple-ading for help. "I-I don't know… so-me-ti-mes I can't re-mem-ber things. I want to help, but…"
"Please, don't do this," An-d-rea sa-id to the she-riff. "La-ura is by na-tu-re very de-li-ca-te and Jamie's de-ath has un-set-tled her, not to men-ti-on the un-for-tu-na-te mis-car-ri-age. She's un-der a doc-tor's ca-re." An-d-rea lo-oked at Ce-cil. "We sho-uld ha-ve Dr. Mac-Na-ir he-re. He can ex-p-la-in how easily the le-ast lit-tle ti-ling might-" She cle-ared her thro-at. "Ple-ase… La-ura can't help you. Be-li-eve me, she can't."
The she-riff eyed An-d-rea sus-pi-ci-o-usly and for a split se-cond, she co-uldn't bre-at-he. Fe-ar smot-he-red her. But-ler ro-se to his full, im-p-res-si-ve he-ight. An-d-rea ima-gi-ned that this man's si-ze and sa-va-ge fe-atu-res of-ten frig-h-te-ned cri-mi-nals in-to ma-king a full con-fes-si-on. But she wasn't a cri-mi-nal and she wasn't easily in-ti-mi-da-ted, es-pe-ci-al-ly by so-me-one as in-fe-ri-or as this bac-k-wo-ods In-di-an she-riff.
The she-riff ope-ned the of-fi-ce do-or and cal-led to one of his de-pu-ti-es, "Con-tact Dr.
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Mac-Na-ir and ask him if he can co-me over he-re as so-on as pos-sib-le. Tell him we're qu-es-ti-oning the Wil-lis fa-mily and that I ha-ve so-me qu-es-ti-ons for La-ura, but her mot-her fe-els qu-es-ti-oning her any fur-t-her might je-opar-di-ze her he-alth."
Andrea felt the blo-od rush to her fa-ce, he-ard it po-un-ding thro-ugh her he-ad. She sto-od, wal-ked over to Ce-cil and sa-id qu-i-etly, "Do so-met-hing!"
"What wo-uld you ha-ve me do?" Ce-cil sig-hed. His sho-ul-ders sag-ged.
"Laura sho-uldn't be qu-es-ti-oned." An-d-rea la-id her hand on her hus-band's arm and squ-e-ezed tightly. "Do you un-der-s-tand?"
His eyes ope-ned wi-de with re-ali-za-ti-on. He nod-ded. "I'll call Phil-lip."
Just as An-d-rea star-ted to res-pond, to tell Ce-cil they ne-eded mo-re im-me-di-ate help than Phil-lip co-uld gi-ve them sin-ce he was hun-d-reds of mi-les away in Le-xin-g-ton, a te-lep-ho-ne rang.
She glan-ced aro-und in-si-de the she-rif-fs of-fi-ce and thro-ugh the open do-or in-to the outer of-fi-ce and no-ted one of the de-pu-ti-es on the pho-ne cal-ling Dr. Mac-Na-ir, as he'd be-en in-s-t-ruc-ted to do. Then she saw the chi-ef of po-li-ce re-mo-ve his cell pho-ne from its belt clip and flip the pho-ne open. She wat-c-hed him as he hur-ri-edly wal-ked in-to the outer of-fi-ce area.
Andrea had an un-can-ny fe-eling that Chi-ef Slo-an's pho-ne call had so-met-hing to do with them, with La-ura in par-ti-cu-lar. When he qu-ickly ca-me back to the open do-or and mo-ti-oned for the she-riff to step out-si-de, An-d-rea's na-ils bit in-to her hus-band's arm.
"Get on the pho-ne and con-tact Jim Up-ton," An-d-rea sa-id. 'Tell him we're go-ing to ne-ed a lo-cal law-yer as so-on as pos-sib-le."
"Why?" Ce-cil as-ked. "What ha-ven't you told me?"
"It's abo-ut La-ura-"
Before she co-uld ex-p-la-in to her hus-band, the she-riff and po-li-ce chi-ef re-tur-ned. Ce-cil ro-se to stand at An-d-rea's si-de. The two of them-wal-ked over and flan-ked the-ir el-dest child.
"We've just re-ce-ived so-me rat-her in-te-res-ting in-for-ma-ti-on," the she-riff sa-id.
Andrea held her bre-ath.
When She-riff But-ler spo-ke aga-in, he lo-oked di-rectly at her. "Why didn't y'all tell us that when La-ura was six-te-en, she tri-ed to kill her boy-f-ri-end?"
Chapter 25
Caleb par-ked his T-bird in front of his ren-tal ca-bin, alon-g-si-de Genny's Tra-il-b-la-zer. He knew be-fo-re he emer-ged from his car that if Genny was he-re, that pro-bably me-ant one of two things: eit-her Jaz-zy had sent her or Jaz-zy was with her. Okay, so what did you ex-pect? he as-ked him-self.
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He'd left Jaz-zy be-fo-re she wo-ke this mor-ning and he-re it was la-te af-ter-no-on and he hadn't got-ten in to-uch with her all day. She was bo-und to be won-de-ring what the hell was wrong with him.
Af-ter all, the two of them had sha-red an in-c-re-dib-le night to-get-her. A lady had a right to ex-pect cer-ta-in things from a man af-ter such an in-ti-ma-te ex-pe-ri-en-ce.
If he was lucky, Genny was alo-ne and he wo-uldn't J ha-ve to fa-ce Jaz-zy. But when he ap-pro-ac-hed the ca-bin and saw Genny and Jaz-zy sit-ting on the porch, he knew his luck had run out.
Whet-her he wan-ted to or not, he was go-ing to ha-ve to fa-ce Jaz-zy and ex-p-la-in his ac-ti-ons. He'd be-en ha-ving se-cond tho-ughts abo-ut to-tal ho-nesty. He didn't think he was re-ady to co-me right out and ask her if she was still in lo-ve with Jamie. Ac-tu-al-ly, he wasn't sure he'd ever ha-ve the guts to con-f-ront her abo-ut that god-damn hor-rib-le mo-ment he'd he-ard her whis-per Jamie's na-me.
And4ie cer-ta-inly wasn't pre-pa-red to tell her that he was Jim and Re-ba Up-ton's gran-d-son-that he was, as Jamie had be-en, an Up-ton he-ir. Only now mat Jamie was de-ad, he was the only he-ir.
Just what was he go-ing to say? What co-uld he tell her?
"Afternoon, la-di-es." Ca-leb clim-bed the wo-oden steps le-ading to the porch that span-ned the length of the ho-use. He'd be-en ren-ting this pla-ce from Che-ro-kee Ca-bin Ren-tals sin-ce he'd go-ne to work as the bo-un-cer at Jaz-zy's Jo-int back in Janu-ary.
Not be-ing one for sub-t-le-ti-es, Jaz-zy hop-ped out of the swing and ca-me char-ging to-ward him.
''Just whe-re the hell ha-ve you be-en?" Her bright gre-en eyes squ-in-ted di-sap-pro-vingly.
Caleb cram-med his hands in-to his poc-kets and shuf-fled his fe-et.
Now what
? he as-ked him-self.
"I to-ok a ri-de out of town."
Gre-at res-pon-se, McCord. Do you think she's go-ing to ac-cept that
wit-ho-ut any ot-her qu-es-ti-ons?
Jazzy cros-sed her arms over her chest and coc-ked her he-ad to one si-de. "Wrong an-s-wer. Want to tell me what's go-ing on?"
Genny ro-se from the roc-king cha-ir whe-re she'd be-en sit-ting. "I think you two ne-ed to talk pri-va-tely, wit-ho-ut an audi-en-ce."
When Genny wal-ked past Jaz-zy on her way to-ward the steps, Jaz-zy grab-bed her arm. "Don't go.
De-pen-ding on Ca-leb's an-s-wers, I might ne-ed a ri-de back in-to town."
Genny glan-ced from Jaz-zy to Ca-leb, but didn't say an-y-t-hing. The in-ten-se ex-p-res-si-on in her black eyes spo-ke vo-lu-mes. If Ca-leb had le-ar-ned an-y-t-hing abo-ut Genny du-ring the-se past few months, it was that, by na-tu-re, the wo-man was a pe-ace-ma-ker.
"I'll dri-ve you to town whe-ne-ver you get re-ady to go,"
Caleb told Jaz-zy. ''The-re's no ne-ed for Genny to hang aro-und and lis-ten to our ar-gu-ment."
Jazzy ga-ve him an aha lo-ok. "So we're go-ing to ar-gue, are we?"
"Maybe. I don't know."
Jazzy re-le-ased Genny. "Go ahe-ad. And thanks for co-ming with me and sit-ting out he-re for two ho-urs wa-iting on Ca-leb to fi-nal-ly co-me ho-me."
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"No prob-lem." Genny hug-ged Jaz-zy. "Gi-ve me a call la-ter. Okay?"
Jazzy nod-ded.
Two ho-urs? They'd be-en wa-iting he-re for him for two ho-urs, and that had gi-ven Jaz-zy mo-re than eno-ugh ti-me to work her-self in-to a po-wer-ful hissy fit.
When Genny wal-ked past Ca-leb, she pat-ted his arm and smi-led at him, then hur-ri-ed on out to her SUV. Jaz-zy sto-od the-re on the porch, gla-ring at him. From se-ve-ral fe-et away, he co-uld fe-el the pul-sa-ting an-ger in-si-de her. She was pis-sed as hell. And he didn't bla-me her.
"Want to co-me in-si-de and-" He didn't get the sen-ten-ce fi-nis-hed be-fo-re Jaz-zy bar-re-led for-ward, re-ac-hed out, and po-un-ded on his chest.
"Damn you, Ca-leb McCord." She con-ti-nu-ed drum-ming her tight fists aga-inst his chest. "I tho-ught last night me-ant so-met-hing spe-ci-al to you. I tho-ught we…'' She gas-ped when he grab-bed her wrists and drew her hands up bet-we-en them.
"I just to-ok a dri-ve to cle-ar my he-ad this mor-ning," he told her. When she strug-gled aga-inst him, he in-c-re-ased the pres-su-re, hol-ding her wrists se-cu-rely. "I had so-me things to think abo-ut and I ne-eded to be alo-ne-so-mew-he-re away from Che-ro-kee Po-in-te." What he told her wasn't a lie, at le-ast not com-p-le-tely.
She cal-med eno-ugh so that he felt sa-fe to re-le-ase her. She sto-od only in-c-hes from him and lo-oked up at him, the-ir ga-zes clas-hing as she se-ar-c-hed his eyes for the truth.
How the hell did you ad-mit to a wo-man that you we-re je-alo-us of her de-ad lo-ver
?
"What did you ne-ed to think abo-ut-you and me?" she as-ked, hug-ging her-self as if she'd sud-denly got-ten a chill.
"Come on in-si-de and-"
"Did I get it wrong?" she as-ked. "Did I re-ad mo-re in-to what hap-pe-ned bet-we-en us than was ac-tu-al-ly the-re?"
"If you tho-ught so-met-hing spe-ci-al hap-pe-ned, it did," he told her. "If you think it was the most in-c-re-dib-le ex-pe-ri-en-ce of my li-fe, you're right. It was." 'Then I don't un-der-s-tand-"
Caleb wal-ked away from her, pul-led his key cha-in from his poc-ket, in-ser-ted the ho-use key in the lock, then tur-ned the knob and ope-ned the do-or. When he glan-ced back at her, he sa-id, "Let's talk in-si-de. I ne-ed a drink. How abo-ut you?"
"Is what you ha-ve to tell me that bad?"
Her vo-ice held a to-uch of hu-mor, which he tho-ught was a go-od sign. They'd both ne-ed a sen-se of hu-mor and a who-le he-ap of un-der-s-tan-ding and for-gi-ve-ness if they we-re go-ing to we-at-her this storm. Just how ho-nest sho-uld he be? Dip-lo-ma-ti-cal-ly ho-nest? Bru-tal-ly ho-nest?
"I'm not su-re how to an-s-wer that qu-es-ti-on," he told her trut-h-ful-ly as he he-aded for the kit-c-hen and the bot-tle of whis-key he kept in the cup-bo-ard abo-ve the sink.
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After clo-sing the do-or, she fol-lo-wed him thro-ugh the li-ving ro-om and in-to the small kit-c-hen area. He set two glas-ses on the tab-le, then fil-led each with a shot of Crown Ro-yal. He pic-ked up one glass and held it out to her. She lo-oked at him and then at the glass. As so-on as she ac-cep-ted her drink, he pic-ked up his. what are we drin-king to?" she as-ked.
"How abo-ut to hap-pi-ness in the fu-tu-re," he sa-id. "And to bur-ying the un-hap-py past."
She exa-mi-ned his fa-ce, his ex-p-res-si-on. "I tho-ught that's what we did last night. You hel-ped me bury my past and ga-ve me a re-ason to think I had a chan-ce to be happy in the fu-tu-re."
"Did we bury yo-ur past last night?" Ca-leb gul-ped down the li-qu-or, slung back his he-ad and let the whis-key siz-zle down his thro-at. One drink wo-uldn't be eno-ugh to! era-se the me-mory of Jaz-zy whis-pe-ring Jamie's na-me.. Hell, a hun-d-red drinks wo-uldn't be eno-ugh.
Jazzy set her glass down on uie kit-c-hen tab-le, the li-qu-or un-to-uc-hed. "I don't know what's go-ing on. Stop avo-iding gi-ving me a di-rect an-s-wer. Cut to the cha-se."