If Looks Could Kill

by Beverly Barton

  But what did it matter? He was going to kill Reve, just as he’d killed Dinah. And then he would kill Jazzy and finish off the unholy trinity. Mother and both daughters. He’d heard Jazzy had come out of her coma and was on the verge of remembering the face of her attacker. Good. Whoever the idiot was who had presumed to copy him, the man deserved to be caught.

  Sheriff Butler and Chief Sloan kept close watch over Reve, day and night, but that little problem wouldn’t defeat him. It was simply a matter of eliminating the guard and finding Reve unawares. After all, how difficult could it be to outsmart one of these yokel lawmen?

  He chuckled to himself as he studied Reve Sorrell. You’re mine. Perhaps tonight. After all, I don’t dare wait much longer. Dinah will seek me out again soon and tempt me to play our little game. Before that happens, I have to concentrate on riding myself of her two daughters. Reve first and then Jazzy.

  And he knew just how he’d kill them. The same way he’d killed Dinah. He would strangle them with a black ribbon. But before he killed Reve, he would make love to her, as he’d made love to her mother. Just the thought of touching her, of thrusting into her, aroused him unbearably. No, he couldn’t wait much longer.

  “I’m going to kill your babies,” he whispered. “Do you hear me, Dinah? I’m going to take them away from Farlan just as I took you away from him.”

  The only way they had been able to convince Caleb to go home and get a good night’s rest was by Jacob agreeing to stay at the hospital and keep watch over Jazzy. Reve had dropped Caleb off at his cabin and then driven back into town. She’d been hearing murmurs all day long, gossip about Jazzy. When she’d told Jacob that somehow word had leaked out that Jazzy had regained consciousness and would soon be able to identify her attacker, he’d made her promise not to mention it to Caleb.

  “If he knows Jazzy’s attacker might hear about her recovery, Caleb will never leave her side,” Jacob had said. “The guy is one of the walking wounded. If he doesn’t get some rest soon, he’ll collapse and wind up in the hospital himself.”

  Reve had agreed, so she’d kept quiet, especially after Jacob told her that both he and Dallas were staying at the hospital tonight.

  “I promise you that we won’t let anything happen to Jazzy,” he’d sworn to her.

  After she parked her Jag at the back of Jazzy’s Joint, she wondered if she should run by both the restaurant and the bar tonight and check on things. But she was tired and sleepy. She hadn’t gotten much rest last night. Remembering how she’d spent those hours, she smiled. There was nothing she’d like better than to lie in Jacob’s arms all night again tonight.

  He’d pulled her aside and kissed her before she left the hospital. “I’d rather be spending the night with you tonight.”

  “Yes, I’d like that, too,” she’d told him.

  “One of Dallas’s men, Officer Graves, will follow you home and be outside Jazzy’s apartment all night tonight.” Jacob had cupped her face with both hands. “I’ll come by first thing in the morning.”

  Sighing, her mind fast-forwarding to morning and the possibility that she and Jacob would make love again, Reve waved good night to Officer Graves, a dark-haired young man in his mid-twenties. He’d parked the black-and-white police vehicle on the side of the street, directly below the staircase that led up to Jazzy’s apartment. When she waved at him, he waved back and smiled.

  Once inside the apartment, she flipped on the overhead light in the living room and tossed her purse and keys on the closest chair, then made her way straight to the bedroom. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, she couldn’t believe it was only seven-forty-five. She kicked off her shoes and undressed, dumping her clothes on the bed. Getting used to picking up after herself when she’d spent a lifetime being waited on by servants hadn’t come easy to Reve. Occasionally she forgot that no one would come along behind her and clean up after her. Oh, well, she’d gather up everything later.

  Once completely naked, she headed for the bathroom. Tonight she wanted a tub bath. She wanted to soak in some scented hot water—maybe some bubble bath—for a good twenty minutes and think about everything that had happened. Everything from becoming lovers with a man she thought she despised to meeting the man she believed was her father. And she wanted to celebrate in her own quiet, private way, the fact that her sister had come out of a coma and was not only going to live, but had a good chance of fully recovering.

  Moments later, after pinning her hair atop her head, Reve settled into the foamy bathwater and closed her eyes. She tried to concentrate on the positive, on Jazzy’s recovery and her relationship with Jacob—whatever that relationship was—but all she could think about was Farlan MacKinnon and Dinah Collins. Her parents.

  When Farlan had sworn to her that for all these years he’d thought Dinah and her twins were alive and well and living happily in Atlanta, she’d believed him. She couldn’t easily forgive him, but she did believe him. He wasn’t totally blameless, but he hadn’t deliberately harmed either Dinah or her babies. Reve felt certain that the man really had loved Dinah.

  Perhaps he’s paid for his sins, she thought. After all, he had spent a lifetime with a crazy woman he didn’t love. And their only child was Brian MacKinnon, a not-so-nice man whom Jazzy disliked intensely.

  Oh, Lord, what would Jazzy say when she found out that Brian was their half-brother?

  I haven’t seen anyone I know since arriving at the hospital and the few people I’ve seen paid little attention to me. Why should they? I dressed very discreetly and have done nothing to draw attention to myself. As far as anyone knows, I’m simply here to visit a sick friend. And if by some horrific chance I actually do run into anyone who recognizes me, I have a very good excuse. A sweet old lady from church had been admitted to the hospital only yesterday, so wasn’t it a good Christian’s duty to visit the sick?

  I wonder if there will be guards outside Jazzy’s door. When I called earlier, from a pay phone downtown, I was told she’d

  been put in a private room. Room # 310. I had so hoped the bitch would die, but I should have known that if she had survived being abandoned in the woods as an infant, she might survive being hit in the head with a hammer—twice.

  There’s the nurses’ station up ahead. I must keep my head down and not look directly at anyone. If somebody approaches me, I’ll pretend I’m lost. Keep walking. Don’t slow down.

  I just passed Room 304. Jazzy Talbot is only three doors down.

  Uh-oh, there’s a nurse talking to some man. Is he a plainclothes policeman? No, no, he’s not. He’s thanking the nurse and coming this way. He just passed me without even glancing my way. And the nurse returned to Room 305.

  I can breath a sigh of relief. There’s Room 310. Not a guard in sight. But there could be one inside. Yes, there could be, but I won’t know until I check. And if there is a guard in Jazzy’s room, what then? I’ll apologize for being in the wrong room, then I’ll leave and figure out another way to get to Jazzy before she remembers anything about the night I attacked her.

  She never saw my face.

  Are you sure?

  I’m certain. At least, I’m almost certain.

  Almost isn’t good enough.

  That’s one of the reasons she has to die.

  Don’t be afraid. Walk right on into the room as if you belonged there.

  There’s Jazzy lying on the narrow hospital bed, her short red hair bright against the white pillow. Go over and take a really good look at her. See if she looks as much like Dinah as Reve does. Take a good hard look at Farlan’s other bastard daughter.

  Oh, she’s a pretty thing. Every bit as pretty as Dinah and the spitting image of her twin sister.

  If only Slim had killed those babies, I wouldn’t have to be here now, forced to murder another human being. I hate the thought of killing her now, just as much as I did the night I hit her in the head with the hammer and threw her off the bridge.

  Look around, check in the bathroom, make sure you and J
azzy are all alone.

  Ah, yes, we’re alone. Just the two of us.

  It will be so easy. All I have to do is simply pick up the extra pillow lying in the chair there and cover her face. Yes, that’s all there is to it. I’ll hold the pillow over her face until she stops breathing. Then I’ll put the pillow back in the chair and walk out of here as if nothing happened.

  I can do it. I have to do it.

  The pillow was fluffy and soft, the case lightly starched. Jazzy hadn’t opened her eyes, hadn’t moved. No doubt she was drugged. Good. That way she wouldn’t put up a fight.

  Lower the pillow. Down. Down. That’s it. Cover her face completely. Hold the pillow down tightly.

  No, no, Jazzy was supposed to be asleep, supposed to be drugged. Why is she fighting me, struggling to live? Let go of me, you little bitch. I have to shake off her grasp around my wrist. I’m stronger than she is. I can control her.

  Finish the job. Don’t let her stop you. Kill her. Kill her now!

  A pair of huge hands grabbed her by the arms and flung her backward and away from Jazzy. In her peripheral vision she saw a big blond man jerk the pillow away from Jazzy’s face and lift her up into his arms. Gasping for air, Jazzy stared at her with those large brown eyes that looked so much like Farlan’s eyes.

  “No, dammit, no! You don’t understand. She has to die! I can’t allow her to live.”

  “Apparently you’re the one who doesn’t understand, Mrs. MacKinnon—we won’t allow you to hurt Jazzy again.”

  Veda looked up at a giant of a man who pulled out a pair of handcuffs as he came toward her.

  “There’s been a mistake, Sheriff Butler,” Veda said.

  “Yes, ma’am, there has been and you just made it.” He turned her around, pulled her arms behind her back and laced the cuffs over her wrists.

  “You do know who I am, don’t you, young man? I’m Mrs. Farlan MacKinnon. My husband will be outraged when he learns of the way you’re treating me.”

  “That may well be, but there won’t be much he can do about it. The chief of police and I caught you red-handed trying to smother Jazzy Talbot. That’s attempted murder.”

  Veda stuck her nose in the air. “If she didn’t have such a hard head, she’d have died when I hit her that night on the bridge.”

  “This is your case since the hospital is in your jurisdiction. Read her her rights before she says anything else,” Jacob Butler told Chief Sloan, who did just that.

  “Mrs. MacKinnon, you have the right to—”

  His voice became little more than a pesky roar. What did she care about rights? About being handcuffed and arrested? Farlan would take care of everything. He’d call Max and Max would have her out of jail and home in her own bed this very night. It wasn’t as if she’d done anything wrong. Both of Dinah’s little bastards were supposed to have died thirty years ago. She’d handed over both babies to Slim, the MacKinnons’ handyman at the time and a person who would do anything for the right amount of money. She’d given him specific instructions to kill both twins and dispose of their bodies separately in two different locations, in two different counties. She had told him that if the bodies were ever found, she didn’t want Farlan or anyone else to suspect that those individual babies were Dinah Collins’s twins.

  “Are you taking me to jail, Sheriff?” Veda asked.

  “Chief Sloan will take you to the police station, where you can make a phone call,” Sheriff Butler told her. “I’ll be staying here with Jazzy.”

  Veda glanced at the bed where Jazzy Talbot lay. “You were supposed to have died thirty years ago. You and your twin sister. Why didn’t you both die then?”

  “Get her out of here,” Sheriff Butler said.

  “Let’s go, Mrs. MacKinnon.” Chief Sloan grasped her arm firmly. “If you don’t cooperate, things could get embarrassing and a lady such as yourself wouldn’t like that, would you?”

  “No, I wouldn’t. Thank you for understanding. I won’t put up a fight. I’ll go peacefully. But as soon as we arrive at the police station, I’ll call Farlan. He’ll take care of everything.”

  He waited until he was reasonably certain no one would see him. With the loud music and rowdy fun inside Jazzy’s Joint, there wasn’t a chance anyone would hear him. The side street where the policeman was parked was semi-dark. The young officer, positioned so he could see anyone who approached the steps leading to the apartment above the honkytonk, was keeping watch over Reve. Shadows cast from the streetlight on the corner illuminated only the back half of the black-and-white car.

  He’d never killed anyone with a gun before, but there was a first time for everything. He preferred strangulation. A black braided ribbon had always been his weapon of choice, ever since he’d killed Dinah with the ribbon she wore around her neck. When he’d first seen that little gold heart attached to the ribbon, he’d wondered about it. And when he’d removed it and taken it with him after he’d killed Dinah, he’d been almost afraid to hold it in his hand. But he’d examined the eighteen-karat gold locket thoroughly, and when he opened it, he had discovered two pictures inside. One of Farlan. The other of her twin babies.

  Damn Farlan. Damn him to hell.

  He had to make sure the policeman didn’t hear him, didn’t see him coming. All he had to do was get close enough to the car to aim and fire. With a silencer on the gun, it shouldn’t make much noise. And at close range, he couldn’t miss.

  Chapter 29

  Dallas spoke personally to Judge Earl Ray Stillwell, who issued a warrant to search the MacKinnon property tonight. He called in Lieutenant Tommy Glenn to oversee the search, wanting his very best man for this particular job. Although Veda MacKinnon had talked non-stop since he’d brought her in and had even told him where she’d put the hammer she’d used to attack Jazzy, Dallas didn’t want to risk losing any evidence that might show up at her home.

  Max Fennel arrived five minutes after Veda called him, which she’d done when she couldn’t reach her husband. “He’s probably off in Sevierville with Dinah,” Veda had said. “She’s his mistress, you know. He keeps her in a fine apartment over on Hyatt Street.”

  “Veda, stop talking,” Max advised.

  “Oh, shut up yourself, Max. It’s not like everyone doesn’t know about Farlan and that slut.” Veda smiled at Dallas. “He’s going to acknowledge those girls as his daughters. He’s already met with Reve. I can’t allow that. You understand, don’t you? I have to protect Brian. I can’t allow Farlan to give away my son’s legacy to Dinah’s children. It wouldn’t be right.”

  Dallas figured Max wouldn’t have a problem proving Veda MacKinnon was insane. If she wasn’t certifiable, then she was a great actress. The best he’d ever seen.

  “Veda, honey, I do wish you’d be quiet,” Max told his client. “All you’re doing is digging yourself into a hole that I won’t be able to get you out of.”

  “Nonsense.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “I’m Mrs. Farlan MacKinnon. There’s no one who can touch me. My husband would never allow anyone to harm me. He’d do absolutely anything for me.”

  Dallas shook his head. He’d seen cases where people faked insanity, some quite cleverly, but his gut instincts told him that Veda wasn’t faking. She was the genuine article. A crazy woman who had tried to kill Jazzy because, according to her, Jazzy and Reve were going to disinherit Farlan MacKinnon’s legitimate son.

  “Where is Farlan anyway?” Veda asked. “Did you tell him about my little problem?”

  “I’ve left messages for him at home and at the club and I’ve tried his cell phone repeatedly,” Max told her. “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before he gets one of my messages.”

  As if on cue, the outer doors to the small downtown police station swung open, and Farlan MacKinnon came storming in. Dallas left the interrogation room and closed the door behind him. He met Mr. MacKinnon, stopping him dead in his tracks.

  “Where’s my wife?” MacKinnon demanded.

  “She’s
with her lawyer, Mr. Fennel.”

  “Is it true—did she try to kill Jazzy Talbot tonight?”

  “Yes, sir, it’s true. Sheriff Butler and I caught her in the act.”

  “God help me. This is all my fault. I should have done something years ago, but –” He paused as if realizing he was voicing his thoughts aloud. “Is Jazzy all right?”

  “She was unharmed tonight, but because of the head injury she received, she’ll have to undergo months, perhaps years of physical therapy.” When MacKinnon hung his head and said nothing, Dallas reached out and grasped his shoulder. “Your wife has confessed to beating Jazzy with a hammer that night on the old covered bridge and dumping her into the creek below. She’s told us that she had to kill Dinah’s children. And she says Jazzy and Reve are your daughters.”

  “My wife has severe mental problems,” MacKinnon said. “Far more serious than I’ve allowed myself to accept.” He looked Dallas right in the eyes. “I am Jazzy and Reve’s biological father.”

  “Does Reve know?”

  “Yes. I met with her this afternoon and explained to her about her mother and me.”

  “Well, that’s another matter,” Dallas said. “Right now, I’m going to have to book your wife for attempted murder.”

  “I understand. I assume she’ll be sent to the psychiatric ward of County General as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, possibly as early as tomorrow. You can probably pull a few strings and—”

  “Maxwell will handle things tonight, but by morning I’ll have Quinn Cortez here, if I have to send a goon squad to find him. Veda may have tried to kill my daughter, but I’m the one to blame. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”