Dallas nodded. “All right. Come on.” He braced her with his strong arm as he helped her off the porch, across the yard, and down the gravel drive to where Jacob was talking on the radio.
“Get in touch with Roy Tillis and find out if that green Jaguar he towed in yesterday is still in his lot,” Jacob said. “And check on a lady named Reve Sorrell. She’s staying in one of the Cherokee Cabin Rentals. Just make sure she doesn’t leave town. I want to question her personally.”
Genny grasped Jacob’s arm. “What’s going on? Do you know someone who drives a green sports car?”
“Yeah. A very interesting lady who looks enough like Jazzy to be her sister,” Jacob replied. “She had a wreck in her green Jaguar yesterday, on her way out of town. And it just so happens that she came to Cherokee Pointe because she’d met Jamie Upton at a party several months ago. She said she didn’t fall for his pretty boy charm, but I had my doubts then and I’ve got even more now.”
“Someone who looks like Jazzy?” Genny couldn’t shake the overwhelming sensation that this mysterious woman and Jazzy were irrevocably connected. And not by their association with Jamie Upton. There was something else. Something basic. Something dangerous.
Dr. Galvin MacNair drove up to the open gates at the Upton Farm at nine-fifty. Jim had telephoned the doctor on his cell phone when one of Jacob’s deputies had driven him home. He’d been waiting fifteen minutes here at the gate, not wanting to go up to the house and tell everyone about Jamie, not without a doctor in attendance. Reba was a strong, healthy woman, but she was also past seventy, had already lost both of her children, and her whole world revolved around Jamie. He was everything to her. Finding out that he had been murdered…Jim could hardly bear to think about it himself. Despite how much sorrow that boy had caused them over the years, he had been their only grandchild and they loved him.
Jacob hadn’t let Jim see Jamie, had told him that his last memory of his grandson shouldn’t be of his bloody body. Although Jacob had been honest enough with Jim to admit that Jamie had been tortured, as Genny had foreseen, Jacob hadn’t gone into details. It was well enough. Some things an old man just didn’t need to know. But he’d been fighting his imagination, doing his best not to visualize what the killer had done to Jamie.
Emotion so raw and painful that he was practically numb with it sapped Jim’s strength. Although he realized that he would have to be the strong one, the one who’d support and care for Reba and Laura, he needed someone himself. He needed a shoulder to cry on. Loving arms to hold him. He’d telephoned Erin, but her answering machine had picked up again. Where the hell was she? Where had she spent last night? Why wasn’t she there when he so desperately needed her?
Dr. MacNair pulled to a stop, rolled down his window, and called to Jim, “I got here as quickly as I could.”
Jim nodded, then walked around the hood of MacNair’s truck, opened the passenger door, and slid into the seat. “Thanks for coming. I don’t know how Reba is going to be able to handle this. She loves Jamie. Loves him more than anything.”
“Yes, sir, I understand. He is…was…your only grandchild. How are you holding up, Mr. Upton? Is there something I can do for you right now?”
Jim looked at the doctor. MacNair, a stocky, ruddyfaced man in his thirties, had a kind face. He was new to Cherokee County, but in the few short months since he’d taken over Dr. Webster’s practice after the older doctor had retired, he’d gained a reputation as a firstrate physician.
“Thanks, but I don’t think it wise for me to take anything—pills or an injection,” Jim said. “I’m the one who’ll have to deal with the family, then make the arrangements and handle the local press. I’ll need a clear head for all that.”
“Yes, of course,” MacNair agreed. “But if you think you’ll need something to help you rest tonight…for the next few nights…”
“Mm-hmm. All right. That might not be a bad idea.” Jim admitted to himself that he was unlikely to sleep much tonight or for many nights to come unless he did take a sleeping pill. It would be impossible to rest with images of Jamie’s brutalized body flashing through his mind. Even though he hadn’t actually seen the body, he had a pretty good idea what had happened from the bits and pieces of what he’d overheard the deputies saying. And not only that, but how did a man rest when his grandson’s killer was on the loose?
“Mr. Upton…I’m deeply sorry about Jamie.”
Jim nodded. “Thank you.”
“Are you ready to go up to the house now?”
“No, I’m not ready, but it has to be done. No point in putting it off any longer,” Jim said. “I called Dora and explained without going into details. I told her to make sure no one except she answered the phone and that no one made any calls out.”
Dr. MacNair shifted his truck from park into drive and headed the late model Ford up the long driveway toward the big house Jim had called home since the day he was born. A home was a place for a family, for children and grandchildren and…once he and Reba were gone, there would be no one. No more Uptons to carry on. No grandchildren and great-grandchildren to fill the empty rooms of the old home place.
When MacNair parked his truck in front of the house, Jim got out and he and the doctor walked up the steps together and onto the front veranda. Dora opened the door and came rushing out to meet them.
“I’ve had the devil’s own time keeping everyone from making phone calls,” Dora said. “And the phone’s been ringing off the hook. Word’s done got out about our Jamie. Neighbors have been calling. And the newspaper and…it’s only a matter of time before there’s a horde of people at the gate. You’d best figure out what to do about it.”
“Close the gate,” Jim told her. “And take the phones off the hook. All four separate lines. Once I’ve broken the news to Reba and Laura, I’ll contact Jacob and have him send somebody out here to keep order. And if necessary, I’ll hire my own private guards.”
“Yes, sir.” Dora looked up at Jim and he could tell she’d been crying. Dora had been with the family since she was a teenager, first as one of the maids and as the housekeeper for the past forty-five years. The woman was practically family.
Jim patted Dora’s back. “We’ve lost him. Our Jamie’s dead.”
“Breaks my heart,” Dora told him. “God help Miss Reba. This is gonna kill her.”
“Is she down yet?” Jim asked.
“Yes, sir. She’s in the dining room. Miss Reba and Mr. and Mrs. Willis are eating breakfast. Miss Sheridan is in the den, watching television. And Miss Laura is still upstairs.”
Jim ushered Dora back inside; Dr. MacNair followed them. Once in the massive foyer, Jim stiffened his spine. He’d done this twice before, when Jim Jr. and his wife were killed in an accident and when they’d received news about Melanie’s death years after she’d run away. Each time he had wondered how he and Reba would survive. They’d been younger then…and they’d still had Jamie. Now, they had no one.
“Dora, ask everyone to come into the living room,” Jim told her. “And send one of the girls upstairs to waken Miss Laura. I can’t do this more than once. I want everyone assembled in ten minutes.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll see to it.”
Reve Sorrell stepped out of the shower, dried herself off, and slipped into the white terry cloth robe which was one of the standard amenities at Cherokee Cabin Rentals. When she traveled, she never went tourist class, but even with her discerning tastes, she had to admit that this cabin wasn’t half bad. Not luxurious by any stretch of the imagination, but clean, neat, and quite comfortable. On a scale of one to ten, she’d certainly give it a six.
Just as she removed the hair dryer from the wall unit, the telephone rang. Something else she liked about this cabin—there was an extension phone in the bathroom. She had placed a call to her personal assistant, Paul Welby, late yesterday to alert him that she would be remaining in Cherokee Pointe a few days and to request he have another car—the dark blue Mercedes 300SL, her favorite, seco
nd only to her Jag—brought to her. She had instructed Paul to have whoever he sent with the Mercedes today pick up the Jaguar at the garage where it had been towed and take it back to Chattanooga for repairs. She didn’t want any of these jake-leg body repair people in Cherokee Pointe touching her precious car.
When she answered the phone, she expected to hear Paul’s soft, cultured voice on the other end. Instead she heard a rough, hillbilly redneck saying, “Ms. Sorrell, this here is Roy Tillis over at Tillis and Son Wrecking and Towing Service. I got some bad news for you, and I’m sure sorry about it. I done called Sheriff Butler and told him. And it ain’t my fault. I ain’t never had no car stolen from the lot. Not in all the years—”
“Mr. Tillis, exactly what are you trying to tell me?”
“Well, ma’am, I thought I told you. Somebody stole that green Jaguar of yours sometime after dark last night.”
“What!”
“Yes’m, they just waltzed right in, got past old Worthless, and just drove right off with your car.”
“How is that possible? They would have had to have the keys. And I’m sure you keep the keys locked up in your office, don’t you?”
“Well, there’s where you might figure it’s my fault,” Roy hemmed. “But it weren’t my fault. You see, one of the boys left the keys in the car and—”
“Let me get this straight. You parked my car in an unguarded, unprotected area with the keys in the ignition. Then someone got past a dog called Worthless and just drove off with my wrecked Jaguar. Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s about it. But I figure it’s no big deal, since you’re bound to have insurance out the ass.”
“What did Sheriff Butler say when you contacted him?” Reve asked, her patience almost at an end.
“He didn’t say much except that he’d put an all-points-bulletin out on it,” Roy replied. “Then he said something that didn’t make no sense to me.”
“What was that?”
“He said ‘mighty convenient for her that the car got stolen.’ He sort of mumbled it under his breath.”
“I see.” But she didn’t, not really. What had Butler meant by that unfathomable remark? Although she hated that her car had been stolen, what she hated even more was the thought of having to deal with Jacob Butler again. The man was a Neanderthal.
“Well, Ms. Sorrell, I sure hope they find your car. And I’m real sorry about what happened. You ain’t gonna sue me or nothing like that, are you? I figured you wouldn’t, seeing how your insurance will cover—”
“I’m not going to sue, Mr. Tillis.” She slammed down the receiver.
There was something about this town, Reve decided. Either the place was a jinx to her or it was the other way around and she was the jinx. She’d encountered a menagerie of odd characters yesterday morning—from her look-alike who’d gotten into a heated argument with a good-looking tough guy to a rawboned old kook who chewed tobacco. Then when she’d tried to make her escape and leave Cherokee Pointe, she’d had a wreck, which ended with the caveman sheriff all but locking her up. And now this—her Jag had been stolen. She couldn’t help but wonder, what next? Maybe when the Mercedes arrived later today, she should forget satisfying her curiosity about Jazzy Talbot and simply go home to Chattanooga and forget all about the woman who might be her sister.
Chapter 12
“My goodness, Jim, what’s this all about?” Dressed for church in her new suit and stylish hat, Reba pranced into the living room, her eyes alight with curiosity. She glanced at Galvin MacNair. “Well, hello, Dr. MacNair. What brings you out here on a Sunday morning?”
MacNair looked to Jim, who nodded, letting him know that he wasn’t expected to reply to Reba’s question. It was Jim’s place to give his wife the heartbreaking news about Jamie.
Jim studied Reba for a moment. A fragile smile formed on his lips and vanished quickly. He thought that even past seventy his wife was still a fine-looking woman. She took good care of herself in a way only a wealthy woman could do. A personal trainer to keep her body toned and a tummy tuck, a boob job, and several face lifts had done wonders to make her look a good ten years younger than her actual age. No doubt about it, Reba Upton was a lovely, vivacious woman, and although she wasn’t perfect—who was?—she’d always been a basically good woman. And a better wife than he’d deserved.
Life had been unkind to Reba when it came to her personal life. Jim had married her, not loving her. And although he cared for her deeply and admired her greatly, the love that he had hoped would grow in his heart never took root. He had given Reba everything money could buy, but he’d been an unfaithful husband most of their married life. God knew she had deserved better. But even though he felt certain she suspected he’d had other women, she’d never confronted him about his affairs. Why she’d chosen to ignore his infidelity he didn’t know for sure. Maybe she enjoyed being Mrs. James Upton. Or maybe she just loved him. Still. After all these years. After all the other women. She had loved him once, loved him as passionately as he had loved Melva Mae Nelson over fifty years ago. Maybe that kind of love never died. Truth be told, there was a part of him that would always love Melva Mae, even though she’d been dead for quite a few years now.
Reba had wanted more children after Jim Jr. and Melanie, but complications following Melanie’s birth had made that dream an impossible one. The day they lost Jim Jr. and his wife, the only thing that kept Reba from dying of grief was Jamie. By that time, Melanie had already run away from her husband and her seemingly perfect life, but Reba never gave up hope that their daughter would one day return. Then, years later, the Memphis police had contacted them to tell them their daughter was dead, and Reba had been forced to accept another loss.
Jim glanced around the room, counting heads, checking to make sure everyone was here before he shared the news about Jamie’s death. “Where’s Laura?” he asked when he noted the young woman’s absence. He looked at Dora. “Didn’t you ask her to join us?”
“Yes, sir, but—”
Andrea Willis interrupted. “I tried to explain to Dora that Laura didn’t sleep well last night and—”
“Mr. Willis, go get your daughter and bring her downstairs immediately,” Jim told Laura’s father in no uncertain terms.
Reba gasped. “Jim, really. Is there any reason for such rudeness?”
“I apologize, my dear, but it’s imperative that Laura joins us.”
“Where’s Jamie?” Sheridan Willis asked, a rather sly smile curving her full, pink lips. “Shouldn’t he be included in this family powwow?”
“Mr. Willis, go now, please,” Jim said, then gave Sheridan a scowling look that wiped the smile from her pretty face.
“Jim?” Reba came to him and placed her hand on his arm.
When she looked up at him, apprehension visible in her warm hazel eyes, he almost lost his composure. Only a few hours ago he had planned to leave this woman for his mistress. He’d had every intention of asking Reba for a divorce while Jamie and Laura were on their honeymoon. Now neither would happen. No wedding and honeymoon for their grandson. No divorce for Reba and him.
Jim pulled Reba into his arms and held her with great tenderness. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest.
“Whatever it is, we’ll see it through together,” Reba whispered to him. “The way we’ve done so many times before.”
He leaned down, tilted her face upward, and kissed her forehead. “I don’t deserve you. I never did.”
Cecil Willis returned to the living room, his face slightly flushed, his breathing a bit irregular, as if he’d run all the way upstairs and back down again. He had an obviously befuddled Laura in tow. She wore casual lounge slacks and top, slightly wrinkled. Her hair looked as if she hadn’t brushed it this morning. And there was a dazed—maybe drugged—look in her eyes. Andrea rushed immediately to her elder daughter and put a supportive arm around her waist.
Jim eased Reba to his side and draped his arm around her shoulders, t
hen looked at her for a full minute before he faced the others. “I received a phone call quite early this morning from Sheriff Butler.”
Reba keened softly, the sound barely audible except to Jim because she stood at his side. He tightened his grip around her shoulders.
“There is no easy way to say this.” Jim cleared his throat. “Jamie’s dead.”
He felt Reba dissolve, her whole body weakening instantly. He turned to her. “Do you want to sit down?”
She nodded, but seemed unable to speak. He led her over to the sofa and motioned for Dr. MacNair, who came immediately to Reba’s side.
“You must be mistaken,” Laura said, her words slightly slurred. “We were together last night. He was fine. He—he can’t be…it’s not possible. We’re getting married.”
“What happened?” Cecil asked.
“Was it a car accident?” Andrea inquired.
He glanced at Reba, who was now sitting. “Jamie was murdered,” Jim told them.
“My God!” Cecil glanced from Andrea to Laura.
“No! No, no…” Laura pulled away from her mother and rushed toward Jim, her eyes wild, tears pouring down her cheeks. “He can’t be dead. He can’t be.” She folded her arms across her belly and doubled over, whimpering loudly.
Andrea and Cecil hurried to Laura and together they managed to soothe her momentarily. Jim sat down beside Reba and took her trembling hands into his own unsteady grasp.
“Who killed him?” Reba asked. “Did she murder him?”
“They don’t know who killed him,” Jim said.
“Was he with her?” Reba searched Jim’s face, as if she thought he might lie to her and wanted to discern the truth. “She threatened to kill him. Everyone knows that she—”
“He wasn’t with Jazzy.” Jim glanced across the room at Laura and their gazes met for a millisecond. “They don’t know who the woman was he was with, but his body was found in a deserted cabin up in the mountains, not far from Scotsman’s Bluff.”
Beg to Die Page 14
