The Last To Die

by Beverly Barton

  Galvin Mac­Na­ir fi­nis­hed his exa­mi­na­ti­on, then re­mo­ved his ste­ri­le glo­ves and sho­ved them in­to a plas­tic sack in his me­di­cal bag. Po­or girl, Gal­vin tho­ught as he glan­ced at La­ura Wil­lis. Small and de­li­ca­te, with an et­he­re­al be­a­uty, she lo­oked li­ke a wo­un­ded an­gel. His he­art went out to her. He knew he sho­uld con­t­rol his emo­ti­ons bet­ter when it ca­me to de­aling with pa­ti­ents, that he sho­uldn't ago­ni­ze over tel­ling this yo­ung wo­man her true con­di­ti­on. His ex-wi­fe Ni­na had on­ce told him that he ca­red too damn much and that fact wo­uld ke­ep him from ever be­ing a suc­ces­sful doc­tor. May­be she'd be­en right. And per­haps the day wo­uld co­me when he co­uld be to­tal­ly obj­ec­ti­ve when it ca­me to de­aling with pa­ti­ents, but he do­ub­ted it. It wasn't in his na­tu­re to doc­tor anot­her hu­man be­ing wit­ho­ut truly ca­ring, wit­ho­ut be­co­ming emo­ti­onal­ly in­vol­ved to so­me deg­ree.

  "Would you li­ke for yo­ur mot­her to co­me in now?" Gal­vin tur­ned his back to al­low La­ura so­me pri­vacy whi­le she red­res­sed.

  "No. Not yet. I-I want to know if…" She burst in­to fresh te­ars.

  Galvin rus­hed to her si­de, sat down on the ed­ge of the bed, and put his arm aro­und La­ura's trem­b­ling sho­ul­ders. "Hush, hush. I pro­mi­se that I'll do ever­y­t­hing m my po­wer to help you. I can't even ima­gi­ne what you're go­ing thro­ugh, lo­sing yo­ur fi­ancé and now… yo­ur pa­rents will be he­re for you. Yo­ur sis­ter. And Big Jim and Miss Re­ba."

  Laura lo­oked at him, te­ars glis­te­ning in her eyes. "Am I go­ing to lo­se my baby?"

  God, how he ha­ted to tell her the truth, but he co­uldn't lie to her. Su­gar­co­at the truth just a lit­tle, he told him­self. What will it hurt? "The­re's a chan­ce you'll mis­car­ry. You're ble­eding he­avily and… but the­re is al­ways ho­pe. We'll get you to the hos­pi­tal right away and I'll-"

  "No one knows I'm preg­nant. I hadn't even told Jamie." She ma­de a lo­ud cho­king so­und when she gas­ped.

  "Laura, I want you to lie back and try to re­lax," Gal­vin told her. "I'm go­ing to call the hos­pi­tal and ma­ke ar­ran­ge­ments. Then I'm go­ing out­si­de"-he nod­ded to the clo­sed bed­ro­om do­or-"and tell yo­ur pa­rents and the Up­tons abo­ut what's hap­pe­ning."

  She gras­ped the la­pels of his sports co­at. "Ple­ase, Dr. Mac­Na­ir, sa­ve my baby."

  "I'll do ever­y­t­hing hu­manly pos­sib­le." For se­ve­ral mi­nu­tes, he held her in his arms and let her we­ep softly. He lif­ted his hand and ca­res­sed her long, silky ha­ir. When she cal­med so­mew­hat, he eased her down on­to the bed, got up, and wal­ked to the do­or. On­ce out­si­de the bed­ro­om, he was bom­bar­ded by the Wil­lis fa­mily and by Big Jim.

  "What's wrong with her?" Ce­cil Wil­lis as­ked, his eyes fil­led with con­cern.

  "I want to see her right now," An­d­rea sa­id. Gal­vin's ga­ze scan­ned the gro­up, then ze­ro­ed in on La­ura's mot­her. "La­ura is preg­nant. Pro­bably six or se­ven we­eks. But I'm af­ra­id she's abor­ting the child and the­re isn't a gre­at de­al I can do to pre­vent it." "My God!" Ce­cil gas­ped.

  "Yes, I was af­ra­id of this," An­d­rea sa­id. "The mi­nu­te I saw the blo­od, I sus­pec­ted. You see, I've had se­ve­ral mis­car­ri­ages myself."

  "You say La­ura is preg­nant." Jim Up­ton ca­me ali­ve with ho­pe.

  Galvin ha­ted to be the one to dash that ho­pe, es­pe­ci­al­ly gi­ven the pre­sent set of cir­cum­s­tan­ces, but he co­uldn't al­low the man to be­li­eve that a gre­at-gran­d­c­hild was a pos­si­bi­lity. It wo­uld ta­ke a mi­rac­le to sa­ve La­ura's baby.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Up­ton, but I don't think the­re's any way we can pre­vent La­ura from mis­car­rying."

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  Numb, her mind ba­rely fun­c­ti­oning, Jaz­zy sat the­re sta­ring off in­to spa­ce. She had felt so many things at fir­st-gri­ef, fe­ar, an­ger, des­pa­ir-that such a strong res­pon­se, such a com­bi­na­ti­on of fe­elings, had ren­de­red her emo­ti­onal­ly im­po­tent. Men­tal­ly she ac­cep­ted the fact that Jamie Up­ton was de­ad-bru­tal­ly mur­de­red by so­me sa­dis­tic per­son. The tho­ught had re­gis­te­red in her mind, but not in her he­art Only last night she had be­li­eved her­self free of him fo­re­ver. She'd even ce­leb­ra­ted that li­fe-al­te­ring re­ali­za­ti­on. But God in he­aven, she sho­uld ha­ve known that she co­uld ne­ver be free from Jamie. He was li­ke so­me in­cu­rab­le di­se­ase. From ti­me to ti­me, she went in­to re­mis­si­on, but the il­lness do­omed her hap­pi­ness.

  ''Jazzy, can I get you so­met­hing?" Genny as­ked. "Mo­re tea? Or a san­d­wich?"

  Jazzy sho­ok her he­ad. De­ar, swe­et Genny, with her mot­her-to-the-world kin­d­ness. Jaz­zy glan­ced at the un­to­uc­hed cup of tea Genny had pre­pa­red for her over an ho­ur ago, right af­ter Dal­las had left.

  "It's cold." Genny fol­lo­wed Jaz­zy's li­ne of vi­si­on to the te­acup. "You ne­ed so­met­hing warm and so­ot­hing."

  When Genny pic­ked up the cup of cold tea and he­aded to­ward the kit­c­hen, Jaz­zy cal­led to her. "I don't ne­ed tea or cof­fee or… I ne­ed to un­der­s­tand what hap­pe­ned, why it hap­pe­ned, and how it is that I'm in­vol­ved."

  Genny tur­ned, set the cup on a ne­arby tab­le, and fa­ced Jaz­zy. "The most im­por­tant thing we must con­cern our­sel­ves with is how you're in­vol­ved. And even tho­ugh we both know you didn't kill Jamie, I ke­ep get­ting the­se odd fo­re­bo­dings. Who­ever kil­led Jamie wants you to be bla­med for his mur­der."

  "But who? Who wo­uld ha­te Jamie eno­ugh to tor­tu­re him to de­ath? And who­ever she is, she ha­tes me eno­ugh to want to see me bla­med for a cri­me I didn't com­mit."

  Genny ca­me over and sat down on the so­fa be­si­de Jaz­zy. "We both know that the list of wo­men in Jamie's li­fe is en­d­less. He's bro­ken do­zens of he­arts over the ye­ars."

  "So why wo­uld she fo­cus on me to ta­ke the fall for Jamie's mur­der?"

  "Because you're the only wo­man Jamie even ca­me clo­se to lo­ving," Genny rep­li­ed. "You're the wo­man Jamie kept co­ming back to, over and over aga­in."

  "I'd say it was La­ura Wil­lis, but I don't think she's ca­pab­le of mur­der. Cer­ta­inly not tor­tu­re. She co­mes ac­ross as be­ing a very ni­ce yo­ung wo­man. "Jaz­zy re­cal­led the­ir bri­ef con­ver­sa­ti­on in her of­fi­ce last night. She co­uld he­ar La­ura beg­ging. If he re­ma­ins ti­ed to you, in any way, he'll ne­ver be ab­le to com­mit to me, to our mar­ri­age. Ple­ase, ple­ase… set him free.

  "Even so, we don't re­al­ly know her, do we? And Dal­las says that ever­yo­ne is ca­pab­le of mur­der, gi­ven the right set of cir­cum­s­tan­ces."

  "Yeah, he's pro­bably right." Jaz­zy rub­bed the back of her neck. "I sup­po­se I had mo­re re­ason to kill him than an­yo­ne el­se did, and that's why I'll be the num­ber one sus­pect."

  "But the­re is no evi­den­ce aga­inst you. The­re can't be. You didn't kill Jamie. You we­re he­re in yo­ur apar­t­ment when he was mur­de­red."

  "Here all alo­ne. I don't ha­ve an ali­bi."

  "You ha­ve an ali­bi for part of the night," Genny re­min­ded her. "Ca­leb was he­re with you."

  At the men­ti­on of Ca­leb, Jaz­zy re­mem­be­red the­ir plans for this af­ter­no­on. A re­al da­te. So many ho­pes and dre­ams ti­ed to a da­te that wo­uld ne­ver be. "Oh, God, I ha­ve to call him. We ha­ve a da­te for two-thirty. What ti­me is it an­y­way?"

  "It's al­most no­on." When Jaz­zy star­ted to get up, Genny sho­ved her gently back on­to the so­fa. "Let me call him and tell him what-"

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

&n
bsp; "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, hop-mg 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, She­rif, 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, She­rif, 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 tins 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."