Too Familiar (Fear Familiar Book 2)

by Carolyn Haines

  They were both silent on the long, winding trip into Sevierville. Adam didn’t say anything as they walked to the sheriff’s office, but he held her arm in a tight grip of support. When Beaker motioned her into his inner office, Adam followed with no intention of being left behind.

  As Beaker took a seat behind his desk, Adam watched the man’s face. Something in the way Beaker’s mouth tightened when he looked at Cassandra stopped Adam in his tracks. He gripped Cassandra’s arm and drew her back out the door. Leaning in toward Sheriff Beaker, he said, “We need a moment.” Then he quickly closed the door.

  Casting a look over his shoulder, Adam made sure the dispatcher couldn’t listen in.

  “What is it?” Cassandra’s brows were drawn together. “It’s Beaker. I just had a terrible thought. You told him about Sarah. Now she’s dead.”

  Cassandra’s frown deepened. “That’s true.”

  “Don’t you see? It’s a real coincidence that you mention her name and bring her into this, and now she’s dead. There have been several little things that have troubled me.”

  Cassandra’s body tightened as the possibility of Adam’s words struck home. If Beaker were involved in the murders, she’d given Sarah Welford a death sentence by naming her. “My God,” she whispered. She looked at Adam. “What should I do? Surely Beaker’s not involved in this mess?”

  “Be careful of everything you say. I know we thought it was a good idea to tell Beaker everything about your dreams. Now, maybe we shouldn’t tell him anything.”

  Cassandra put her hand on the knob. “We have to be wrong about Beaker. He’s the sheriff, Adam.” She didn’t want to believe that Beaker might be involved in Sarah’s death. If the law enforcement system was tangled up in murders…. The idea was too frightening to pursue.

  “We probably are wrong, but it doesn’t hurt to use a little caution,” Adam insisted. “Maybe we could think up a test.”

  “What kind of test?”

  “False information. See how he uses it.”

  Cassandra knew it was a good idea, but she had no clue how to implement it. And if they were wrong about Beaker, if she sent him on a wild-goose chase with false leads, another innocent woman could die. It was an impossible decision.

  Cassandra opened the door. When Adam started to enter, Beaker stood up. “I’ll speak with Ms. McBeth first, and then you,” the sheriff said easily but with firm authority.

  “It’s okay,” Cassandra said as she started to close the door on Adam.

  “I’ll be right here, waiting,” he promised.

  Cassandra took the chair Beaker indicated and sat down on the edge of it.

  “Any dreams?” Beaker asked. There was no inflection in his voice. He watched her with sharp, alert eyes.

  “Not this time.”

  “Is your subconscious, or wherever your visions come from, failing you?”

  “I don’t know,” Cassandra answered. “I had no idea that Sarah Welford was in any trouble. You said she was struck by a car. Did she die instantly?”

  Beaker ignored her question. “When was the last time you saw Ms. Welford?”

  Cassandra hesitated. She shrugged. “Late last night. The early morning hours, I guess you’d say. Adam went back to the restaurant, and I waited in the car. I saw her in the parking lot with a man. Ray Somebody.”

  “Ray Somebody?” Beaker’s eyes narrowed. “I’m surprised Ms. Welford let you get close enough to hear the name of her friend.”

  “She didn’t exactly let me,” Cassandra answered. She met Beaker’s gaze and didn’t waver. “I was looking at a car in the parking lot, and she and her friend were in the shadows. They didn’t see me and I left before I got into trouble.”

  “I told you to go straight home.” Beaker shifted in his chair. “You don’t listen very well, Ms. McBeth.”

  “No, but I hear awfully well,” she said. “That man with Ms. Welford threatened her in an indirect way. He was a bodybuilder. Very powerful.”

  “Oh?” Beaker was interested.

  Cassandra repeated the conversation she’d overheard. “That’s it.”

  Beaker had made a few notes. He put his pen down. “I’ll see if my men can’t locate this guy. No last name? No mention of job?”

  “None. But Sarah’s roommate, Ellen, might know who he is.” She lifted her eyebrows as she said it, knowing it would aggravate the sheriff.

  “If Ms. Welford has a roommate, she might know who Sarah was dating, that’s true.” Beaker refused to get rattled.

  “How did Ms. Welford die?” Cassandra asked. “The truth. Did the car kill her, or did someone help?”

  Before the sheriff could answer, a deputy knocked on the door. At Beaker’s signal, he stepped into the room. “The car is clean, sir. No damage at all. I checked it thoroughly. In fact, the road dirt for several weeks hasn’t been disturbed at all. It needs to be washed.”

  “And Ms. McBeth’s car?”

  “It’s still over at Benny’s Garage,” Cassandra interjected. “He said he’s had the front wheel off since it was brought in. It hasn’t been driven anywhere.”

  “Thank you, Jim. That’ll be all.”

  “Uh, sir.” The deputy fidgeted. “Mayor Simpson has called four times. The dispatcher has him on hold now.”

  “Tell her to tell him I’ll call as soon as I know something.” Beaker’s voice was harsh. “That’s all.”

  The deputy left, closing the door smartly behind him. “So, you wanted us in here so you could inspect Adam’s vehicle.”

  Beaker didn’t bother to deny it.

  “We could have rented another,” she said, anger making her reckless. “We could have ten cars hidden on the side of that mountain, just waiting for the chance to run down waitresses who won’t answer a few of our questions.”

  “We have a warrant, and my men are searching your home and the area around it now,” Beaker said. His own smile was self-satisfied. “If there’s anything to hide, we’ll know it in the next hour or so. If you’ll take a seat outside and send Mr. Raleigh in, I’d like to speak with him.”

  The idea that someone was in her house, disturbing her personal possessions, made Cassandra so angry she couldn’t answer. She rose, turned stiffly away, and left. When she reached the hall, Adam could see the anger pulsing in her.

  “They’re searching my house,” she said, her voice murderous. “Right now, they’re in my personal belongings, going through my things.” Her voice cracked dangerously and she knew the tears weren’t far behind. “Beaker wants to talk with you now.”

  Adam kissed her cheek gently. “Just relax. There’s nothing we can do. I’ll be finished in a minute.”

  When Adam was seated in the same chair Cassandra had vacated, Beaker asked him the same questions. Adam’s answers were identical to hers.

  “That will be all,” Beaker said, dismissing Adam. “Keep Ms. McBeth out of town, as I requested.”

  “Sheriff, there’s something else I’d like to speak with you about.”

  “I don’t have time for any foolishness,” Beaker warned. Something in Adam’s expression stopped him. “Okay, what is it?”

  “Someone has been talking with Martin West. Some of the things they’ve told West have been very indiscreet.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as Cassandra’s dreams.”

  “And how is that indiscreet?” Beaker asked.

  “West has been calling Ms. McBeth’s home, asking her to appear on his show.”

  “Maybe she should,” Beaker said. “She’d make a helluva lot more money on television than her mother ever did in that shack on the side of the highway.”

  Adam’s temper, normally so cool, flashed through him. He wanted to feel his fist crashing into Beaker’s thin face. He wanted to feel Beaker’s nose give beneath his hand.

  “Calm down,” Beaker said. He stood up and leaned on the desk with both hands. “Martin West has often helped me in my work,” Beaker said. “Sometimes he stages shows that aid
an investigation, but I have never given him information that would hamper a case.”

  “You suggested that he ask Cassandra to come on his show?” Adam was incredulous. It was the most insane thing he’d ever heard. “You’d put Cassandra’s life at risk.”

  “Listen to me,” Beaker said. “I’d do whatever necessary to solve this case. If the maniac out there who’s killing women heard the show and believed some psychic had tuned in to his killing spree, he might find it a challenge. He might leave clues for her to find, or send her messages in some way.”

  Adam clenched his fists. He wanted to pulp the sheriff. “Have you thought this thing through enough to realize you could be putting Cassandra’s life at risk?”

  “A very small risk,” Beaker said. “Personally, I don’t believe anyone would be foolish enough to fall for such a cockamamie thing. This killer is smart. Very smart. Some crazy recluse who claims to dream the murders wouldn’t scare him.”

  “Then why tell West?”

  “Mr. Raleigh, you don’t realize what’s going on in this town. We have three women murdered. Panic is just below the surface. Ken Simpson is riding me hard. If I don’t get a lid on this, Gatlinburg is going to suffer one of the worst tourist seasons in history. The town’s economy could be ruined. My career would be destroyed.”

  “That comes with your job, Sheriff,” Adam said. He had no sympathy for him. Beaker was a calculating man who watched his own backside. His assumption a few moments before that Beaker might actually be involved in the murders gained new weight. If not Beaker, was the sheriff protecting someone?

  “If Ms. McBeth will do the show, we’ll give her complete protection.” Beaker didn’t smile. “It will also give us an opportunity to watch the two of you. I’m still not certain you aren’t involved.”

  “The feeling’s mutual,” Adam retorted. He watched with satisfaction as the impact of his statement struck Beaker.

  “If Ms. McBeth truly wants to help, she should consider going on television. If she knows anything, maybe she can flush out the killer.”

  “I won’t have Cassandra dangled like a piece of bait.” Adam was immovable.

  “I didn’t realize you were making Ms. McBeth’s decisions for her,” Beaker said. “She didn’t strike me as that type of woman.”

  Adam knew Beaker had instinctively gone for his weak point. Cassandra wasn’t the type to let anyone else make her decisions. “Ask her yourself,” he said. “I’m not speaking for her. I’m merely reflecting what she’s already told me.”

  “Martin West can do his own asking,” Beaker said. “In fact, that’s probably what he’s doing now.”

  Adam jerked open the door. Cassandra was sitting on the bench in the sheriff’s main office, talking with Martin West. Adam recognized the television personality immediately. Even so early in the morning, West was perfectly dressed, every hair in place.

  “If anything happens to Cassandra....” Adam didn’t finish the sentence. He closed the door behind him as he left Beaker reaching for the telephone.

  He waited at the door, taking the measure of the room. Cassandra seemed calm enough. West was leaning forward, pressing a point, but Cassandra wasn’t distressed. At least he didn’t think so. Adam slowly started to her side. He didn’t want to interfere.

  “Adam,” Cassandra said. There was the tiniest hint of relief in her face. “Mr. West was asking me to do a show.”

  “Yes, Sheriff Beaker said he’d given Mr. West some details.”

  “It’s the perfect opportunity for Ms. McBeth to reveal her talents and to shed some light on the murders of those poor, unfortunate women.”

  “I told Mr. West that there’s really nothing I can tell the public that I haven’t already told the sheriff.” She shrugged. “I have nothing interesting to tell, so there’s no point in doing such a show.”

  “But you actually witnessed the murders of those women, didn’t you?” West pressed.

  “That isn’t an accurate way to put it,” Cassandra said. “According to Beaker, I had a nightmare.”

  “But Beaker said you claimed to see the murder happen in a dream.” West pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket where he’d obviously made notes from his talk with Beaker. “You feel you’re a part of the murder, as if you were with the killer and victim, right?”

  “That’s correct,” Cassandra answered with some reluctance.

  “Then you could identify the killer.” Martin’s voice grew sharper. “Can you?”

  “Not exactly.” Cassandra shifted away from the man. He seemed to be leaning closer and closer to her. “I really don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  “Well, you can or you can’t. Which is it?”

  “Ease back,” Adam suggested as he stepped to Cassandra’s side. His voice was pleasant, but the tension in his body let Martin know he was prepared to make his request an order.

  “Hey, sorry. It’s just exciting.”

  “Not for me,” Cassandra said softly.

  “Some people have no appreciation for a rare gift.” Martin West put his hand on Cassandra’s knee. “But I do, Cassandra. I’ve always believed in special talents. I mean, since I was old enough to remember, I’ve wanted to be in television. I think I made it happen for me, and I think that’s a gift.”

  “Clear and focused ambition can be a gift,” Cassandra agreed. “Not many people know what they want. Those who do are way ahead of the game.”

  “That’s right.” Martin West sat back, finally turning his attention to Adam. “Forgive me, I’ve forgotten my manners. And here is the cereal magnate, Adam Raleigh, isn’t it?” He held out his hand.

  Adam shook it slightly. For a big man with a large hand, Martin West’s grip was annoyingly soft.

  “We can leave now, Cassandra,” Adam said clearly. “It’s been a hard morning. We were both sorry to hear about Ms. Welford.” As he spoke, Adam assisted Cassandra to her feet.

  “Tell me one more thing,” Martin said as he rose, also. “If you see the murders happening, and you can’t identify the murderer, then he must be wearing a mask, right?”

  Cassandra stared at the television host. “No. He doesn’t wear a mask.”

  “How can you be so certain?” Martin followed through, walking with Cassandra and Adam toward the door.

  “He’s a vain man,” Cassandra said slowly. “He worries about his looks. He wants to be told he’s handsome. That’s how he attracts the women, with his looks and his—” She broke off. Her voice had taken on a dreamlike quality.

  “His what?” Martin pressed. He pulled his pen from his pocket.

  “I’m not certain,” Cassandra looked at Adam for reassurance.

  Adam felt an urge to stop her, to get her away from West, but he knew he could do nothing. Cassandra was a grown, woman. If she wanted to feed the frenzy of the TV host, she had every right. It was just that he didn’t understand her motivation.

  “His what?” Martin asked again. “His clothes, his car, what?”

  “His personality,” Cassandra finished. “He’s good at that. He meets the public well, and he gives an aura of confidence. Like an official personage of some kind.”

  Martin stopped writing. “This is heavy stuff. We should get this on tape. How about we put you behind a screen, no actual photos? We could protect your identity and yet let the public know that you’re solving the murder case.”

  It was more than Adam could take. “Cassandra isn’t solving anything,” he said sharply. “She’s tried to help, but so far the authorities have been more interested in persecuting her than taking her help.”

  “Remember what I told you.” Martin gave his attention to Cassandra. “You might be able to draw the murderer out.”

  “Enough!” Adam knew how seriously Cassandra took her responsibilities. He should have known Martin had dangled that particular ploy at her, making her feel guilty in order to get an interview. He took Cassandra’s arm. “West, stay away from Ms. McBeth and her property. Don’t call
or we’ll press harassment charges, is that clear?”

  “It’s clear enough you don’t want to let the lady decide for herself.” West grinned. “Afraid of what she’ll do?”

  “I make my own decisions,” Cassandra said clearly. “Right now, I want to leave. I’ll consider what you had to say, Mr. West. I’ll give it serious thought, and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Not many people get a chance to stop a murderer,” Martin said loudly as Adam and Cassandra walked away. “Think about it, Ms. McBeth. Think long and hard about the women who might die before this thing is stopped.”

  10

  “It is not a good thing.” Running Stream paced Cassandra’s kitchen. Her dark eyes were angry. “You could be in terrible danger, Cassandra. You must not do this.”

  “Innocent women are in danger,” Cassandra replied. She didn’t sound too forceful, because her heart was troubled by the idea of appearing on Martin West’s show. But her conscience demanded that she do everything in her power to stop the killer. If, via television, she could convince the killer that she was getting closer and closer to finding out his identity, then maybe he would come after her. “I have to try to stop him. Even if it means going on television.”

  “Even if it means putting your own life at risk?” The unexpected question came from Running Stream. “I know how much you hate the idea of going on television, but that isn’t the biggest problem. Cassandra, if that killer thinks you know him, he’ll have to come after you.”

  “It’s a calculated risk,” Cassandra admitted. Running Stream was bringing up the exact same points Adam had used to argue against the idea of her television appearance. She’d sent Adam into town on an errand so that she could have this discussion with her friend. Even though his absence was at her request, she still missed him.

  “Adam doesn’t want you to do this either, does he?”

  Looking up at the tall, statuesque Indian woman, Cassandra noticed for the first time that her friend’s skin was sallow. Dark circles, like smudges, were beneath the unblinking brown eyes.

  “Where’s Bounder?” Cassandra asked. She knew instinctively that the young man would be the source of Running Stream’s moments of extreme joy and pain.