"Has Ms. McBeth had any more of her dreams?"
He returned the receiver to his ear. "Those details were told to Sheriff Beaker in confidence. He violated a trust when he repeated them to you. If you continue to bother Ms. McBeth, I'm afraid I'm going to have to speak with the sheriff about the violation of his duties."
"Hey, it was just a simple question. You know it's hard to drum up business for one of these shows."
"Please, Mr. West, have some consideration for Ms. McBeth's desire for privacy." He replaced the receiver. Adam watched Cassandra's reaction. Though she tried to hide it, he could see her distaste. "Sorry about that. He's a determined man."
"Forget it," Cassandra said reasonably. She motioned Adam into the bedroom. "Let's finish."
"Let's finish breakfast and start something else," Adam said. He took her shoulders in his hands and kissed her cheek.
"Adam, I— "
The shrill ring of the telephone came again.
"I'm going to disconnect that thing," she said irritably. "Now what."
Adam held up his finger to her lips. "I'll take this one." In two strides he was across the room and at the phone.
"McBeth residence."
He looked at Cassandra. "Yes, Sheriff. She's right here." He handed her the receiver.
Chapter Nine
Cassandra took the telephone in nerveless fingers. She could tell by the expression in Adam's eyes that Beaker was upset.
"Hello, Sheriff."
"Ms. McBeth, where were you early this morning, about three or four a.m.?"
Cassandra's heart skipped as she heard his question. Something terrible had happened. The young woman named Ellen, they must have discovered her body.
"I was with Mr. Raleigh, here at my home." There was a pause. "Why?"
"Are there any witnesses who can verify your whereabouts?" Beaker asked. He sounded tired and angry.
"No, we were alone. Once again, I'm asking why?" She felt Adam's hand on her shoulder and she gave him a wan smile.
"Sarah Welford was killed in the early morning hours," Beaker said. "We're talking with everyone who might have a reason to want to see her dead."
"Sarah?" Cassandra stumbled backward from the shock. "Why Sarah? I didn't see anything in my dream involving her." She was rocked by confusion. Nowhere in any of her dreams had there been any indication that Sarah Welford would die. "Was she strangled?"
"No, ma'am, she was not," Beaker said. "She was run down by a motorist. I was thinking you might be able to tell me something about that."
"Me? I've never hurt anyone." Cassandra stumbled slightly as if her knees were buckling.
Adam took the receiver from Cassandra's hand. Her fingers could barely hold it.
"Why are you calling Cassandra? What's happened?" Adam couldn't keep the anger from his voice.
"There's a possibility Ms. McBeth is involved in Sarah Welford's death," Beaker said coldly. "The coroner has set the time of death at four a.m. this morning. I find it strange that Ms. McBeth and Ms. Welford had a run-in, and now Ms. Welford is dead. Don't you find that odd?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Adam snapped back. "Cassandra wouldn't harm a fly and you know it. She's trying to help you, she isn't a murderer."
"Evidence points otherwise," Beaker said. "Would you bring Ms. McBeth into town for questioning?"
Adam was tempted to say no. He wanted to tell the sheriff what he could do with his questions, but he knew he had no choice. If he didn't take Cassandra to Sevierville, the sheriff would merely come and get her.
"We'll be there in an hour."
"Don't try anything stupid, Raleigh." The sheriff's voice was hard.
"Yeah," Adam answered as he put the phone down.
Still stunned, Cassandra took a seat on the arm of the sofa. Familiar went to her and rubbed against her hip. Her fingers absently stroked his back. "Is he charging me?"
"He didn't say."
"Why didn't I dream it?" Cassandra asked. "That poor woman. Maybe it was her all along and I got confused in the dream." She twisted her hands. "It doesn't make any sense."
"We don't know all the facts," Adam pointed out. "Sarah Welford's death might not be related at all."
"I don't believe that," Cassandra said. "You don't, either."
"Beaker didn't say the word murder, you know," Adam insisted. "He might be making this more dramatic than it should be. Maybe he's trying to upset you."
Cassandra went to Adam and gently kissed his chin. She stood on tiptoe to do so. His arms circled her and held her to his chest. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thanks." Adam was the mooring that kept her safe. He was so steadfast, and she was so battered by the shifting winds of her life.
He kissed the top of her head, letting one hand stroke her hair. "We'll get this figured out, Cassandra. We will."
"One way or the other." A terrible darkness settled on her mind. It had been bad enough when she felt she could foresee the murders. Now, though, she wasn't even much use. Sarah Welford's death indicated that her "talent" was partial, at best, and perhaps not reliable at all.
"Could you identify that Ray character if you saw him again?"
Adam's question halted her bleak thoughts. Ray. She'd forgotten about him. He was such a sinister figure. Maybe she did have some way to help solve Sarah's death.
"I didn't see his face," she said. "His body, yes. Very distinctive."
"I'm not sure that's enough," Adam said carefully. He could tell by the way Cassandra latched onto the idea that it had reawakened her hope. But for criminal purposes, he didn't know if such an identification was good enough.
"We might as well face Sheriff Beaker," Cassandra said, shifting back from the haven of Adam's chest. "I'll get dressed."
"I wish we could lock the door and stay here until all of this was resolved," Adam said. He held her close, unwilling to let her go. The feel of her in his arms was something he didn't want to lose.
"I've spent most of my life doing just that," Cassandra said. There was no bitterness in her voice, only mild amazement. "I thought I had developed a perfectly reasonable life. I gardened, I walked, I wrote, I studied. Now it seems so…incomplete. I think I was hiding, safe in my own little world with no room for anyone who might hurt me again."
Adam couldn't resist. He stepped closer and brought her back against his chest. His life, too, had been "perfect." Goal after goal had fallen before his assault. He had his own company, structured and operated the way he felt was best. He had respect, prestige to a certain extent, satisfaction in his work, always invitations to dinners and parties. And a very empty life other than that. Until now.
"This craziness won't last forever," he promised her. "Then, we're going to talk about the future. Things that we both have been too busy to realize we need."
Cassandra lifted her face to his. She stood on tiptoe to offer her kiss. "That's a promise," she said when they drew apart. "We'd better go to town."
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 idea 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 cockamamy 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."
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