Authors: Beverly Barton
And that was the last co-he-rent tho-ught Jaz-zy had be-fo-re she pas-sed out aga-in.
Jacob and Dal-las had ta-ken every pre-ca-uti-on to ma-ke su-re the se-arch party sta-yed un-der the-ir con-t-rol, and mat me-ant brin-ging along Jim Up-ton and An-d-rea Wil-lis. Mrs. Wil-lis had thre-ate-ned to call ever-yo-ne from the lo-cal TV sta-ti-on to the go-ver-nor. Jacob had told Big Jim that it was his job to ke-ep Mrs. Wil-lis calm, which he'd be-en do-ing-up to this po-int But the re-al prob-lem wasn't An-d-rea Wil-lis, it was the wild card in the deck, a man Jacob fi-gu-red no-body co-uld con-t-rol. Ca-leb McCord had be-en wim Jim when Mrs. Wil-lis had cal-led him to tell him abo-ut Ce-cil and La-ura's di-sap-pe-aran-ce. And when Jacob had con-fi-ded in Jim that Jaz-zy, too, was Mis-sing, he'd sha-red the news with his new-fo-und gran-d-son.
Living clo-ser to the Up-tons, Dal-las had go-ne the-re, with Genny in tow, to spe-ak to Mrs. Wil-lis and se-arch the ho-use and gro-unds for clu-es. He'd fo-und not-hing of any sig-ni-fi-can-ce, ot-her than La-ura's bed-ro-om slip-per and a bro-ken te-acup. Ex-cept one ot-her pe-cu-li-ar item- a re-mo-te con-t-rol to the Up-tons' mas-si-ve front ga-tes. Big Jim had iden-ti-fi-ed it as Jamie's.
"Each of us has a dif-fe-rent co-lor re-mo-te, "Jim had ex-p-la-ined to Dal-las, who had la-ter told Jacob when they'd be-en trying to put all the pi-eces of tins Mis-sing per-sons' puz-zle to-get-her.
"Re-ba's is whi-te. Mi-ne is dark gre-en. Do-ra's is pur-p-le? La-ura's is red. Jamie's was blue."
It didn't ta-ke a roc-ket sci-en-tist to put two and two to-get-her and co-me up with the ine-vi-tab-le fo-ur. The wo-man who had kil-led Jamie Up-ton had so-me-how ma-na-ged to kid-nap Ce-cil and La-ura. And pro-bably Jaz-zy, too, if Genny's sixth sen-se was cor-rect. And it was, a go-od ni-nety-eight per-cent of the ti-me.
While Dal-las had ta-ken char-ge of the in-ves-ti-ga-ti-on at the Up-ton man-si-on, Jacob had go-ne in se-arch of clu-es in and aro-und Jaz-zy's Jo-int-the last pla-ce an-yo-ne had se-en Jaz-zy. He'd fo-und
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Lacy in te-ars, and whi-le he'd be-en qu-es-ti-oning her, Sally had stor-med in, along with Lu-die.
"I'm he-ading ho-me to get Pe-ter and Pa-ul," Sally had told him. "I'm gon-na find that gal, and when I do, who-ever's got her had bet-ter run li-ke hell."
Jacob had ma-na-ged to re-in Sally in by ex-p-la-ining the en-ti-re si-tu-ati-on to her and prot-hi-sing her that she and, if ne-ces-sary, her blo-od-ho-unds, wo-uld play a sig-ni-fi-cant part in se-ar-c-hing for Jaz-zy and La-ura and Ce-cil.
"I don't gi-ve a shit abo-ut that Wil-lis fel-low and his da-ug-h-ter," Sally had sa-id.
He'd sent her off to pick up her dogs and told her to me-et him at the Up-tons. In the me-an-ti-me, he and his de-pu-ti-es had sco-ured the al-ley be-hind Jaz-zy's Jo-int. What they'd fo-und had chil-led him to the bo-ne. Blo-od. Pro-bably Jaz-zy's blo-od. That me-ant she had be-en shot, just as Genny had se-en in her vi-si-on.
"Look he-re, She-riff," Mo-ody Ryan had cal-led af-ter he'd pic-ked so-met-hing up off the gro-und.
Af-ter hold-lng it up in his glo-ved hand so that the glow from the ne-arby stre-ethght il-lu-mi-na-ted the obj-ect, the de-puty had bag-ged the evi-den-ce. "It's a set of keys. Got blo-od on them."
"Let me ta-ke a lo-ok. "Jacob had re-ac-hed for the plas-tic bag and stu-di-ed the red-sta-ined keys.
Tur-ning the bag this way and that, he'd no-ti-ced so-met-hing writ-ten on the oval key ring. "Che-ro-kee Ca-bin Ren-tals," he'd sa-id alo-ud.
Was it just a co-in-ci-den-ce that what was pro-bably Jaz-zy's set of mas-ter keys to the ca-bin ren-tals had be-en fo-und in the al-ley-way? With blo-od on the keys? He didn't think so. It was as if Jaz-zy had de-li-be-ra-tely left the keys be-hind, as a clue. What had she be-en trying to tell him? Jamie Up-ton had be-en kil-led in a ca-bin, al-be-it a de-ser-ted ca-bin. But wasn't it pos-sib-le, may-be even pro-bab-le, ui-at the wo-man who had kid-na-ped Jaz-zy-as well as La-ura and Ce-cil-had ta-ken her to a ca-bin? One of the Che-ro-kee Ca-bin Ren-tals.
Scrunched to-get-her in Jacob's Dod-ge Ram-he, Genny, and Dal-las in the front se-at and Ca-leb and Sally in the bac-k-se-at-they dro-ve up the long, lo-nely stretch of hig-h-way, to-ward the si-te whe-re Re-ve Sor-rell'sj-ag and Stan Wat-son's truck had be-en bur-ned. He and Dal-las had com-pa-red no-tes and dis-co-ve-red they both had a hunch the wo-man they we-re trac-king might be in one of uie ne-arby ca-bins. And if she was, that me-ant her three cap-ti-ves we-re pro-bably with her.
"Wait!" Genny cri-ed.
Jacob slam-med on the bra-kes. Ever-yo-ne to-ok a col-lec-ti-ve de-ep bre-ath and wa-ited for Genny to con-ti-nue. She'd be-en trying for the past ho-ur to men-tal-ly con-nect with Jaz-zy, but wit-ho-ut suc-cess.
"Did you do it?" Ca-leb lur-c-hed for-ward, his hand grip-ping Genny's sho-ul-der. "Did you ma-ke con-tact with Jaz-zy? Do you know whe-re she is?"
Dallas knoc-ked Ca-leb's hand asi-de and grow-led at him.
"Nearby," Genny sa-id. "She's drif-ting in and out of con-s-ci-o-us-ness. We must hurry. If we don't get to her.. if we don't help her so-on, she'll die!"
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Chapter 30
Caleb lis-te-ned whi-le Jacob and Dal-las is-su-ed or-ders to the se-arch party, com-p-ri-sed of the-ir com-bi-ned per-son-nel. Pa-iring up, the of-fi-cers and de-pu-ti-es we-re to check each ca-bin in the vi-ci-nity and ra-dio back af-ter each check. Sin-ce the num-ber of se-ar-c-hers was li-mi-ted, they'd be ab-le to check only half the ca-bins at a ti-me, even with Jacob and Dal-las jo-ining the hunt.
Big Jim and An-d-rea Wil-lis sto-od ne-arby, Mrs. Wil-lis bra-vely hol-ding it to-get-her, with Jim at her si-de for sup-port. Jacob rat-tled off the na-mes of the pre-sent oc-cu-pants in each ca-bin, one ca-bin empty. But he in-s-t-ruc-ted his men to in-c-lu-de the unoc-cu-pi-ed ca-bin, al-so. When Jacob sa-id the na-me Mar-go Ken-ley-that her ca-bin wo-uld be one of the ca-bins chec-ked on the se-cond ro-und of in-s-pec-ti-ons-Mrs. Wil-lis gas-ped, but no one ot-her than Ca-leb and Jim he-ard her.
Caleb eased clo-ser to his gran-d-fat-her and as-ked, "Did Mrs. Wil-lis re-cog-ni-ze the na-me Mar-go Ken-ley?"
Jim la-id his hand on An-d-rea Wil-lis's sho-ul-der. "Did you re-cog-ni-ze the na-me? Do you know the wo-man?"
"No, I don't know an-yo-ne by that na-me, but… for-get it. It can't be."
"Please, Mrs. Wil-lis, tell us," Ca-leb sa-id. "Wha-te-ver yo-ur first tho-ught was when you he-ard the na-me, tell me. It might help us find yo-ur hus-band and da-ug-h-ter." And myj-az-zy.
"It was a ri-di-cu-lo-us tho-ught." An-d-rea sig-hed. "But if you think it might help."
Caleb re-ac-hed out and to-ok her hand in his. "Tell us." He knew only too well what An-d-rea Wil-lis was go-ing thro-ugh. The sa-me hell he was be-ca-use he was sca-red out of his mind abo-ut the sa-fety of the per-son he lo-ved mo-re than an-y-t-hing in this world.
"My hus-band was mar-ri-ed to anot-her wo-man be-fo-re we got mar-ri-ed," An-d-rea ex-p-la-ined. "Her na-me was Mar-ga-ret Ben-dey. I tho-ught the na-mes so-un-ded si-mi-lar. Mar-go Ken-ley. Mar-ga-ret Ben-dey. That's all it was." 'Wo-uld this Mar-ga-ret Ben-dey ha-ve any re-ason to want to harm yo-ur hus-band and da-ug-h-ter?" Ca-leb as-ked, gras-ping at straws with his qu-es-ti-on.
"Yes, she wo-uld. If she we-re ali-ve."
"She's de-ad?"
Andrea nod-ded. "She di-ed in a fi-re abo-ut two ye-ars ago."
"You know wit-ho-ut a do-ubt that she's de-ad?" Ca-leb's tra-ining as a po-li-ce de-tec-ti-ve re-sur-fa-ced im-me-di-ately. "The body was re-co-ve-red and iden-ti-fi-ed?"
"Yes, I… I sup-po-se so. We ne-ver as-ked. We just as-su-med. I me-an they no-ti-fi-ed Ce-cil and sa-id Mar-ga-ret was de-ad."
"So it's pos-sib-le that she didn't die in that fi-re, that so-me-how she es-ca-ped." Ca-leb's
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po-li-ce-man tho-ught pro-ces-ses went in-to ac-ti-on, put-ting pi-eces of an un-k-nown puz-zle to-get-her. "Is the-re any re-ason this wo-man wo-uld ha-ve wan-ted the fact she was ali-ve kept sec-ret?"
"I-I…" An-d-rea sta-red at Ca-leb, fe-ar and un-cer-ta-inty in her eyes. "Yes. The wo-man spent ye-ars in a men-tal in-s-ti-tu-ti-ons That's whe-re she di-ed. You don't re-al-ly think it's pos-sib-le that-"
'Which ca-bin did Jacob say this Mar-go Ken-ley was sta-ying in?" Ca-leb as-ked. "Eag-le's Nest, wasn't it?"
"Yes, that was it," Jim rep-li-ed.
Andrea grab-bed Ca-leb's arm. "It can't be Mar-ga-ret. It just can't be!"
"You ha-ve no re-al pro-of she di-ed, right? The wo-man must ha-ve had se-ve-re men-tal prob-lems to ha-ve spent ye-ars in an in-s-ti-tu-ti-on, right? So-me-ti-mes in a ca-se whe-re the-re's a fi-re in a pla-ce li-ke that, with nu-me-ro-us ca-su-al-ti-es, they do a body co-unt and fi-gu-re an-y-body Mis-sing is de-ad. And you sa-id yo-ur-self that this wo-man had a re-ason to want to harm yo-ur hus-band and da-ug-h-ter."
Clutching her thro-at, An-d-rea gas-ped. "Oh, God. If Mar-ga-ret is ali-ve and she has Ce-cil…
she… she tri-ed to kill his fat-her, ye-ars ago. She tor-tu-red him."
Caleb's blo-od ran cold. "Excu-se us a mi-nu-te, will you, Mrs. Wil-lis?" He nod-ded to his gran-d-fat-her, in-di-ca-ting for him to co-me with him. Big Jim fol-lo-wed Ca-leb, abo-ut ten fe-et away, out of Mrs. Wil-lis's ear-s-hot. "You wo-uldn't hap-pen to ha-ve a gun with you, wo-uld you?"
Big Jim eyed him spe-cu-la-ti-vely. "Don't do anydhng fo-olish, son. Let the law han-d-le this."
'Jaz-zy Tal-bot is my wo-man," Ca-leb sa-id. "Do you un-der-s-tand?"
"Yes, but-"
Caleb clut-c-hed his gran-d-fat-her's arm. "I'm not so-me rank ama-te-ur who do-esn't know what he's do-ing. I was a po-li-ce de-tec-ti-ve."
Jim nod-ded. "I ke-ep a pis-tol in the glo-ve com-par-t-ment."
"Is yo-ur car loc-ked?"
"No."
"You wa-it he-re with Mrs. Wil-lis and Genny. When Jacob and Dal-las re-turn, tell them whe-re I've go-ne and why. If this Mar-go Ken-ley turns out to be Mar-ga-ret Ben-dey, I just might ne-ed bac-kup."
"Damn, boy, I wish you wo-uldn't-"
Caleb was hal-f-way to Big Jim's Ca-dil-lac be-fo-re Jim fi-nis-hed his sen-ten-ce, so he didn't he-ar the rest. He ope-ned the do-or, le-aned in-si-de, and ope-ned the glo-ve com-par-t-ment. The-re, atop va-ri-o-us ot-her items, res-ted Jim's Hec-k-ler and Koch 9mm. He pic-ked up the pis-tol and in-s-pec-ted it A P7M8 auto-ma-tic, with an eig-ht-shot ma-ga-zi-ne. Af-ter rum-ma-ging thro-ugh the ot-her items in the glo-ve com-par-t-ment, he fo-und an ex-t-ra clip, which he stuf-fed in-to his shirt poc-ket, then he-aded to-ward the ro-ad le-ading to the Eag-le's Nest ca-bin.
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Jazzy kept fa-ding in and out of con-s-ci-o-us-ness. Every ti-me that crazy bitch, Mar-go, de-ci-ded it was Jaz-zy's turn for a lit-tle sa-dis-tic tor-ment, she wo-uld slap Jaz-zy's fa-ce and po-ur wa-ter on her to try to ro-use her. Luc-kily, her wo-unds, ot-her than the ble-eding bul-let ho-le in her belly, we-ren't li-fe thre-ate-ning. Mostly small, su-per-fi-ci-al kni-fe wo-unds on her arms and legs, just eno-ugh to in-f-lict pa-in and ke-ep her ali-ve for pro-lon-ged tor-tu-re. But from what she co-uld tell, Ce-cil Wil-lis wasn't fa-iring as well. The so-und of his tor-men-ted scre-ams had be-en what bro-ught Jaz-zy back to con-s-ci-o-us-ness this ti-me. She tur-ned her he-ad and sta-red at the pi-ti-ful man on the flo-or, blo-od oozing out of co-un-t-less cuts on his body, from sho-ul-ders to fe-et. God, the man was a blo-ody mess.
Margo sto-od over him, a hot po-ker in her hand and a wic-ked, ma-ni-acal lo-ok in her eyes.
Brin-ging the po-ker down aga-in, she ran it up one leg, ac-ross his lo-wer belly and then down the ot-her leg. Ce-cil bel-lo-wed with pa-in.
Where the hell was* La-ura, and why wasn't she trying to do so-met-hing to help her fat-her?
Using what lit-tle strength she had left, Jaz-zy ma-ne-uve-red her-self just eno-ugh so she co-uld scan the ro-om to se-arch for La-ura. Jamie's fi-an-cee wasn't sa-ying or do-ing an-y-t-hing be-ca-use she co-uldn't. So-me-ti-me whi-le Jaz-zy had be-en out of it, this Mar-go bitch had ti-ed La-ura to a wo-oden cha-ir and gag-ged her.
Jazzy's ga-ze met La-ura's, and she won-de-red if the sa-me ter-ror she saw in La-ura's eyes was ref-lec-ted in her own. Pro-bably. Be-ca-use she su-re as hell was ter-ri-fi-ed. If so-me-body didn't do so-met-hing to help them-and so-on-they we-re go-ing to die. May-be La-ura, too, even if she re-al-ly was this in-sa-ne wo-man's da-ug-h-ter.
All Jaz-zy had be-en ab-le to fi-gu-re out was that Mar-go's re-al na-me was Mar-ga-ret, that she'd be-en mar-ri-ed to Ce-cil Wil-lis and La-ura was the-ir child. But La-ura hadn't known that lit-tle fact, hadn't had any idea that this Mar-go/Mar-ga-ret even exis-ted. From what Ce-cil had sa-id and from Mar-go's ne-arly in-co-he-rent ran-ting, Jaz-zy had fi-gu-red out that Ce-cil's first wi-fe had so-me-how, in her de-ran-ged mind, got-ten La-ura and Jamie all mi-xed up with Mar-ga-ret and Ce-cil. That me-ant the wo-man she re-al-ly wan-ted to kill alon-g-si-de Ce-cil was pro-bably An-d-rea Wil-lis.
When Mar-go wal-ked ac-ross the ro-om and pla-ced the po-ker back in-to the fi-rep-la-ce, its tip he-ating in the blaz-mg fi-re, Jaz-zy stu-di-ed her, ca-re-ful not to alert the wo-man that she was awa-ke and awa-re. As Jaz-zy lay the-re on the so-fa, hel-p-less to do an-y-t-hing ex-cept watch and wa-it, Mar-go di-sap-pe-ared in-to the bed-ro-om. If only she co-uld fi-gu-re °ut a way to get lo-ose. The-re was a te-lep-ho-ne on the tab-le in the cor-ner, a go-od twel-ve fe-et from her. If she co-uld ma-na-ge to get to the pho-ne… she co-uld at le-ast knock it off the ho-ok, may-be use her no-se to di-al 911. Do it, she told her-self. It's now or ne-ver.