Beg to Die

by Beverly Barton

  A loud, insistent pounding on the outer door stopped Genny mid sentence. She and Jazzy gasped and jumped simultaneously.

  “I’ll get it.” Genny rushed to the door.

  A couple of seconds later, Jazzy heard Caleb’s voice. “How is she?”

  “You heard about Jamie,” Genny said in a matter-of-fact way.

  “Yeah, I heard. I talked to Jacob.”

  Genny stepped aside to allow Caleb entrance.

  “I came over as soon as I could.” Caleb hurried past Genny and went straight to Jazzy.

  The minute she saw him, the blessed numbness that had cocooned her from pain melted away. Oh, Caleb, Caleb, her heart cried. She’d never been so glad to see anyone in her entire life. On some deep, instinctive level she recognized him as her protector. She needed him. Needed him desperately.

  “Caleb!” She shot up off the sofa and went right into his open arms. He held her, stroking her back, nuzzling the side of her face, whispering soft, incoherent soothing sounds into her ear. She clung to him for dear life.

  “Hey, hey, honey, it’s going to be all right.” Caleb grasped her face with both of his hands. “I know you’re hurting. I know how much you loved Jamie. It’s all right to cry and even rant and rave, if that’s what you want to do. I’m here for you. Lean on me.”

  “I—I used to love Jamie,” she said, somehow needing to explain to Caleb that she hadn’t been in love with Jamie for a long time. And last night—only hours before Jamie died—she had felt free of him for the first time since she was sixteen. Free of the past. Oh, God, what if she’d sensed Jamie was going to die and that’s the reason she had felt so free?

  “Tell me what I can do for you,” Caleb said. “You name it and—”

  “There’s a problem you don’t know about,” Genny said.

  Caleb snapped his head around and stared at Genny. “What is it?”

  Jazzy reached up and clutched Caleb’s hands and pressed them against her chest as she held them tightly. “Whoever killed Jamie wore a red wig—either that or she cut and dyed her hair to look like me.”

  “How did you find out about the woman? Did someone see her?”

  “Genny did.” Jazzy looked pleadingly at Caleb, hoping he wouldn’t disregard Genny’s gift of sight. “In one of her visions.”

  He turned to Genny. “Jacob told me about that, but not any details. Did you see anything else?”

  “Only her hair. And the car she drove.”

  “Yeah, I know about the car. A green Jaguar.”

  “How do you…” Genny sighed. “Why would Jacob tell you about the car?”

  “Because somebody set that car on fire and sent it over a ravine not half a mile from my cabin,” Caleb replied. “The fire department is there and Jacob’s got a deputy guarding the site. He questioned all the cabin residents nearby.”

  “By setting the car on fire, she hoped to destroy any evidence she might have left inside it,” Genny said.

  “Do you know who that Jag belonged to?” Caleb asked, but before either Jazzy or Genny had a chance to venture a guess, he went on, “Reve Sorrell, that woman who came to town yesterday asking about you, Jazzy. The woman who looks enough like you to be your twin.”

  The wheels in Jazzy’s head spun haphazardly, creating a crazy scenario where the Sorrell woman had killed Jamie and wanted people to blame Jazzy for the crime. But then logic took over and she asked aloud, “If Reve Sorrell had intended to kill Jamie and pretend to be me so that I’d get blamed, why would she have driven into town yesterday, where a lot of people saw her? Why would she come looking for me?”

  “Good question,” Caleb said. “Who knows? Maybe she’s crazy. Hell, if she tortured Jamie to death, then she’s nuts.”

  “Is she a suspect?” Genny asked. “Jacob is planning on questioning her, isn’t he?”

  “He told me that as soon as he finished questioning the other cabin residents, talking to Ms. Sorrell was next on his agenda.”

  Holding onto Caleb’s right hand—she didn’t think she’d ever be able to let him go—Jazzy looked to Genny. “Could it be Reve Sorrell? Do you sense anything about her?”

  Genny shook her head. “Nothing. Either there is no link between her and Jamie’s death or for some reason, I can’t pick up on it.”

  When the telephone rang, they all three stared at it as if it were a slithering snake.

  “I’ll get it.” Genny picked up the receiver. “Jazzy Talbot’s residence.”

  When Caleb slipped his arm around her waist, Jazzy leaned against him. “I guess our date is canceled.”

  He hugged her to him. “Just postponed.”

  Genny held her hand over the telephone’s mouthpiece. “It’s Tiffany Reid. She said she needs to talk to you, that it’s very important. What should I tell her?”

  Tiffany was not just one of the waitresses at Jasmine’s, she was a buddy, too. And only recently, Jazzy had given her a raise and promoted her to part-time hostess duties. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Are you sure?” Caleb asked.

  Reluctantly Jazzy eased away from Caleb and walked over to take the phone. Genny gave her a concerned look. “Yeah, Tif, what’s up?”

  “Jazzy, you heard about Jamie, didn’t you? I mean that’s why Genny’s there with you.”

  “Yes, I know that Jamie was murdered this morning.”

  “Look, there’s something you need to know, something I’m not sure what to do about.”

  “Whatever it is, just tell me.”

  “Well, it’s like this—I had a late date with Dillon Carson—” When Jazzy groaned, Tiffany laughed. “Yeah, I know. The guy’s bad news, just like Jamie was—oh, God, sorry I said that. Anyhow, we were heading to my place sometime early this morning and this car came whizzing past us. Dillon said he thought it was a Jaguar. And—” Tiffany paused, as if reluctant to continue. “He thought the woman driving the car that turned off on the mountain road was you, Jazzy. So this morning when I heard about Jamie and…I know you didn’t kill him, but what do I do? I don’t want to get you into trouble, so should I just keep quiet?”

  “Did you see the woman?” Jazzy asked.

  “No, I was driving. But Dillon saw her. And unless I stop him from blabbing, he might tell folks that it was you in that car.”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  “I know that, but—”

  “You have to tell Jacob,” Jazzy said. “He’ll have to question Dillon.”

  “Are you sure that’s what you want me to do?”

  “Yes, Tif, I’m sure.” Jazzy sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. God, what a mess. Dillon Carson had seen the woman who killed Jamie—and he’d thought it was her!

  Jacob knocked on Reve Sorrell’s cabin door shortly after noon. She responded quickly, but when she saw him, she started to close the door in his face. He grabbed the door and shoved it open.

  “I’ve got a few questions for you,” he said as he stepped into the cabin, his entry prompting her to move back quickly or be trampled by a man easily twice her size.

  “Look, if this is about my car being stolen, I already know.” She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him.

  He glanced around the room, noticed her suitcase sitting by the sofa, and looked back at her. “Going somewhere?”

  “I’m returning to Chattanooga,” she told him. “If it’s any of your business.”

  “Why the rush? I thought yesterday afternoon you’d decided to—”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Look Dudley Doright, let me make this simple for you. I know about Jamie Upton being murdered. I know that the chief suspect is Jazzy Talbot. When I went out for breakfast this morning, people were talking about nothing else. I don’t plan to stick around and try to find out if a murderess is related to me. As soon as my car arrives, I’m leaving Cherokee Pointe and I’m never coming back.”

  “I think you’d better stick around,” Jacob told her. “We n
eed to find out if Jazzy might be related to the murderess.”

  Reve gasped. “Just what do you mean by that? Surely you aren’t implying that I—I…you’re a moron if you think for one minute that I’m going to stand here and allow you to—”

  “Pipe down, will you?” How the hell this woman could look so much like Jazzy and be so completely different he’d never know. “Nobody is accusing you of anything. But since we have every reason to believe that the killer was driving your car and that she set it on fire and sent it careening over into a ravine up in the mountains—”

  “My Jag was set on fire?”

  “Burned to a fare-thee-well. It’s just barely recognizable. But we’re ninety-nine percent sure it’s your car.”

  “The killer stole my car, then burned it?”

  “We think she used it to transport Jamie Upton to a deserted cabin up near Scotsman’s Bluff. Then she drove it halfway back down the mountain, set it on fire, and—”

  “I was right here, in this cabin”—she pointed to the adjoining room—“in that bedroom, in the bed asleep. I was not picking up Jamie Upton and taking him to some deserted cabin to kill him. Good grief, if I had planned to kill him, I’d have hardly been stupid enough to let some one see me driving my own car. A very distinct car, might I add.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Oh, you are a moron if you think I had anything to do with Jamie’s murder.” She flung her hands out in a gesture of exasperation. “I had no motive. Why would I want to kill Jamie?”

  “You tell me, Ms. Sorrell. Did he love you and leave you? Did he make a fool out of you? Are you used to ending your affairs, not the other way around, and got pissed when Jamie broke things off?”

  She shook her finger in his face. “I did not have an affair with Jamie, so there was no affair to end. We had a few dates. That’s the extent of our relationship. It didn’t take me long to figure out that the man was a charming Romeo who had only two interests in me. One, I looked like his teenage sweetheart. And two, he wanted me to be another notch on his bedpost. I was smart enough to see through him and not fall for his line of bull. Unlike your friend Jazzy.”

  “Lady, you’re a real piece of work.”

  “And just what do you mean by that cryptic statement?”

  When Jacob glared at her, she tilted her snooty little nose and said, “Would you like me to give you the definition of the word cryptic? I realize that as a backwoods sheriff you probably didn’t go to college. Actually, you might not even have finished high school.”

  Jacob laughed. Damn infuriating bitch had not only implied he was an uneducated idiot, and therefore stupid, but she had referred to him—to his face—as a moron. Twice!

  “Ms. Sorrell, don’t leave town.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “No, ma’am. But if you leave town, I’ll put out a warrant for your arrest.”

  “On what charges?”

  “I’m not sure. But I’ll think of something.”

  She gritted her teeth. “I did not kill Jamie Upton. I had no reason to kill him.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I intend to contact my lawyer.”

  Jacob nodded to the telephone. “Go right ahead.”

  Oddly enough, the phone rang. Reve Sorrell jumped as if she’d been shot.

  “Damn!” she mumbled the word under her breath, then walked over and picked up the receiver. “Yes, Reve Sorrell here.” She paused, listening to the caller. “What did you say?” She listened again. “Yes, Sheriff Butler is here. Certainly.” She held out the receiver to him.

  “Who is it?” he asked.

  “She didn’t say.” Reve placed her hand over the mouthpiece and said softly, “There’s something funny about her voice.”

  “How’s that?”

  “It sounded muffled. Either that or she’s got the worst case of laryngitis I’ve ever heard.”

  Jacob took the phone. “This is Sheriff Butler.”

  “You’re questioning the wrong woman,” the husky voice said.

  “Who is this?”

  “Someone who wants to help.”

  Jacob realized the voice was being disguised, probably by some type of device. His gut instincts told him that he was speaking to the killer.

  “How can you help me?”

  “You need evidence before you can arrest Jazzy Talbot, don’t you?”

  “And you have that evidence?”

  “Of course not, but I know where you can find it.”

  “Where?” Jacob asked.

  “In her office at Jasmine’s.”

  “How do you—?” The dial tone hummed in his ear. Son of a bitch.

  “What’s wrong?” Reve asked.

  “Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” he told her. “It’s been interesting, Ms. Sorrell, but I’ve got to run. I have a murder case to solve.”

  “By all means, Sheriff. Don’t let me stop you.”

  Jacob paused as he headed out the door, then glanced over his shoulder. “Remember not to leave town.”

  When she screwed up her face in a mocking smile, he tipped his hat and left. He had to talk to Jazzy and get permission to search her office for evidence he wasn’t even sure was there. But if it was, he figured the real killer had planted it. And if that was the case, then things didn’t look good for Jazzy. No, sir, things were looking worse for her with every passing minute.

  Chapter 15

  When Dr. MacNair entered the waiting room on the first floor of County General, Jim rose to his feet, but he stood back and allowed Laura’s parents to meet the doctor. His heart lodged in his throat as he waited to hear his unborn great-grandchild’s fate.

  “I’m sorry,” MacNair said.

  Jim sighed. The only hope of an heir—a descendant with his blood flowing through his or her veins—had died with the miscarriage of Jamie’s child. Why now, God, why now? Wasn’t it enough to take Jamie? Did you have to take his baby, too?

  “When may we see Laura?” Andrea Willis held her husband’s hand tightly.

  “Soon,” MacNair replied. “We did a D and C and she’s asleep and resting comfortably now. In a few weeks, she’ll be fully recovered. There was no permanent damage, no reason she can’t have other children.”

  It was good that sweet, little Laura would one day be able to have other children, Jim thought. But those children wouldn’t be Upton babies. Jamie’s child was dead.

  Tears glistened in Cecil Willis’s eyes. “Thank you, Dr. MacNair.”

  “I’ll arrange for a grief counselor to speak to Laura,” MacNair said.

  “I would prefer that I be present when the counselor talks to Laura,” Andrea said. “I plan on being here at the hospital with her day and night until she’s released.”

  “Yes, of course.” MacNair looked sympathetically at Andrea. “Laura will certainly need her mother with her.”

  After the doctor left, Jim walked over to Andrea and Cecil. During their brief acquaintance, Jim had formed an opinion of the couple. Basically he liked them. They seemed like good people. Reba sure set great store by them being wealthy and socially prominent. Laura’s from a fine family, Reba had said. The Willis family has been breeding Kentucky Derby winners for generations. They’re old money.

  “I’m truly glad that Laura will be all right,” Jim told them. “She’s a dear girl. Reba and I were looking forward to her becoming a member of our family. And if the baby had—” Jim cleared his throat. “I’m going to head on back to the house. If the sedative Dr. MacNair gave Reba has worn off, she’s probably worrying herself sick because I haven’t called to let her know how Laura is.”

  Cecil shook Jim’s hand, then patted him on the back. “Please tell Sheridan that we’ll call her later.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Jim replied. “I appreciate her staying at the house with Reba. It was kind of her to offer.”

  As Jim left the waiting room and walked down the hall toward the hospital’s back exit, he thought about what he
had lost today and how irrevocably his life had changed in the matter of hours. Less than twenty-four hours ago, Jamie had been alive. And Laura had been pregnant.

  Just as the automatic exit doors opened and Jim stepped outside, he came to an abrupt halt when he saw Erin Mercer rushing toward him. What was she doing here? How had she known where he was?

  “Jim!” She ran toward him, her arms open wide.

  He grabbed her hands to prevent her from enveloping him in a hug.

  “I know about Jamie. I called your house and spoke to Dora. I asked to speak to you to give you my condolences, and she said you’d gone to the hospital.” She looked up at him with concern in her eyes. “Are you all right? I was afraid you’d had a heart attack or—”

  He pulled her aside, away from the glass wall that surrounded the hospital exit and exposed them to prying eyes. “I’m fine. I came to the hospital with Laura’s parents. Laura just suffered a miscarriage.”

  “Laura was pregnant?”

  Jim nodded. “She hadn’t even told Jamie.”

  “Oh, Jim…Jim, I’m so sorry, darling. I wish there was something I could do.”

  He thought about demanding to know where she’d been all night, why she hadn’t been at home early this morning when he’d stopped by her cabin. But somehow that didn’t seem to matter right now. “I need you, Erin. God, how I need you.”

  Squeezing his hands, she leaned toward him. It was all he could do to stop himself from grabbing her and kissing her.

  “I’m here for you,” she told him. “Tell me what I can do and I’ll do it. Anything. Everything.”

  Jim let go of her and stuffed his hands into his pants pockets. “I have to go home and tell Reba that”—he looked up at the clear blue sky, swallowed, and willed his emotions under control. “She’s in pretty bad shape, as you can imagine. Finding out that we no longer have the hope of a great-grandchild…”

  “I understand that you have to be with her, that she needs you.” Erin offered him a compassionate smile. “And you probably need her, too. After all—”

  “I need you,” he told her. “Later today—will you be at home?”