"Oh, Jim, I don't know. How will I be able to bear being there and not being able to comfort you?"
"Just knowing you're there, close by, will be a comfort. Please…"
"Yes, of course, I'll be there."
The Congregational Church was packed to capacity, the sanctuary and the vestibule. A crowd had gathered outside on the front steps and down the sidewalk. She knew that these people weren't here to show their respects to Jamie. Not many people had liked Jamie. Quite a few had despised him. And several had hated him, as she had. The huge outpouring of sympathy was for Big Jim and Miss Reba. Even people the Uptons barely knew or didn't know at all had come together on this beautiful, sunny spring day. She suspected that even a few curious tourists mingled among the local citizens inside and outside the church.
The sheriff and the chief of police were here, both in their dress uniforms, making their presences official, reminding everyone that Jamie had been murdered. Tortured and tormented. Made to suffer. Punished for his sins. She'd seen to that. She'd made sure he would never hurt her, her child, or any other woman-not ever again.
Jazzy Talbot was conspicuously absent. Good. She'd hate to think that worthless slut would dare to show her face.
As she watched while others paraded by Jamie's closed casket, she had to fight the urge to smile-even laugh. She had destroyed his pretty face and silenced his lying mouth. And now Jazzy was suffering.
But not nearly as much as she would suffer.
The woman had to die.
Deserved to die.
Would die.
But not yet.
When this all came to an end and everything was as it should be, Jazzy would be. After that, she and her baby would be safe. Safe and happy forever.
The Congregational Church choir stood outside the canopy covering the open grave as they sang an old spiritual, one the minister had said was Miss Reba's favorite. At least a couple of hundred people had come over directly from the church to the cemetery, while others were waiting to drop by the Upton house later.
Caleb had thought about going to the house, seeing what it looked like inside, getting an up close look at his grandparents. After being in Cherokee County for over three months, he still hadn't been able to work up enough courage to knock on the door and tell Big Jim and Miss Reba that he was their daughter Melanie's son. Hell, they probably wouldn't believe him. They'd think he was some opportunist out to sucker them. And who could blame them, especially now that they'd lost Jamie. Caleb knew that if his mother's revelation about her family hadn't been a deathbed confession, he probably wouldn't have believed her. Actually, at the time he hadn't believed her, had thought what she'd told him about her idyllic life as a rich girl had been nothing more than the ramblings of a drug addict, which his mother had been. "You have a family," she'd told him. "My family. In Cherokee County, not far outside of Knoxville. I grew up there. On a farm. The Upton Farm. I had a wonderful childhood. Wonderful parents. Jim and Reba Upton. And I have a brother, Jim, Jr." 'Why are you telling me this now?" he'd asked her as he held her hand.
"Because you're just a boy and you need somebody to look after you. Go to my father and tell him… tell him I'm sending him a present. A grandson he never knew he had."
That had been fifteen years ago, right before he turned seventeen. He'd been a undisciplined kid, a boy who'd fended for himself most of his life, despite having a mother. When she'd been clean and sober, Melanie had been loving and kind and a halfway decent parent. But when she backslid into that drug-induced black abyss she couldn't escape for long at a time, he'd been on his own. The first time he stole food from the supermarket, he'd been seven and hadn't eaten in two days. If it hadn't been for Joe Donovan's old man, a Memphis cop who'd taken an interest in a street smart kid with a penchant for getting into trouble, Caleb might be in the pen now. Instead, he'd wound up emulating his mentor and becoming a policeman. Then, six months ago, while on an undercover assignment, his partner had been killed and Caleb had spent weeks in the hospital recovering from gunshot wounds that had come damn near close to ending his life. That experience had changed him, and when he'd left the hospital, he'd known he didn't want to go back to his old job, his old «e. While he was trying to sort through everything and decide exactly what he did want to do with the rest of his life, he got to dunking about what his mother had told him. She had a family in Cherokee County. He had a family.
Caleb figured that he could easily blend in with the crowd here at the cemetery, that nobody would even notice him. But he'd been wrong. Jacob Butler sure as hell noticed him. The six-five quarter breed had been eyeing him for the past few minutes, making Caleb feel very conspicuous. Was the sheriff wondering why Caleb would show up at the graveside of a man he'd loathed? Was Butler thinking that maybe there was some credence in what a few folks had speculated-that Caleb had either killed Jamie himself or at the very least had been an accomplice?
Ignore Butler, he told himself. He's just trying to intimidate you. Despite the sheriffs imposing size and tough-guy reputation, Caleb was more annoyed than intimidated. It would take a lot more than a killer stare to put the fear of God into him.
Caleb eased through the throng of mourners and away from Butler. He found a spot near a large, weathered oak tree that gave him a clear view of the family as they sat beneath the dark green canopy covering Jamie's open grave. His gaze traveled across the front row, seated closest to the shiny bronze casket. Big Jim Upton lived up to his reputation. He was big, robust, and physically fit for an old man. Although somber and quiet, he looked as if he was about to burst into tears. His big arm draped his small blonde wife's shoulders. Miss Reba had to be at least seventy, but she'd easily pass for sixty. If he'd ever doubted his mother's story about belonging to this wealthy, illustrious Tennessee family, taking a good look at Reba Upton erased those doubts. Although a taller, larger woman than Miss Reba, his mother had been the lady's spitting image.
Caleb studied the woman who was weeping quietly, doing her level best to remain dignified in front of the world while her heart was breaking in two. This was his grandmother. The woman who had given birth to his mother. The protective male side of his nature wanted to go to her, comfort her, tell her that she hadn't lost everything, that she still had one grandchild.
Laura Willis sat on the other side of Miss Reba, her body rigid, her eyes glazed. The poor girl was drugged senseless. Dr. MacNair stood at the side of Laura's chair, his hand on her shoulder. The Willis family-mother, father, and younger daughter-sat in the second row of folding chairs. Sheridan was staring a hole through her sister. She hates her, Caleb thought.
As his gaze traveled around the outer perimeter of the tent, he spo
tted Erin Mercer standing where she had a perfect view of Big Jim. As he watched her, he noticed how she seemed totally transfixed on something. He followed her line of vision straight to his grandfather and caught Big Jim staring straight at Erin. If he had noticed that intimate exchange, then others had, too. But it was no secret around town that the lovely middle-aged artist was Big Jim's lover.
Caleb didn't know who to feel sorry for-his grandmother or Erin Mercer. Hell, maybe he should pity his grandfather. It wasn't as if he knew enough about his mother's family to understand his grandparents' marriage.
The choir sang a final hymn when the minister finished his tribute to the deceased. Big Jim helped his wife to her feet. Unsteady, tears dampening her perfectly made-up face, Miss Reba allowed her husband to lead her to the edge of the open grave as the casket was being lowered into the ground. With each passing moment, she wept harder and harder.
Poor woman, Caleb thought. Poor Miss Reba. Poor Grandmother.
Suddenly Reba clutched the front of her black suit and gasped loudly, then crumpled in her husband's arms. At first Caleb thought she'd merely fainted, but then he heard Jim call out for Dr. MacNair. After a quick examination, the doctor shooed everyone aside.
"We have to get her to the hospital immediately," MacNair said. Then Caleb thought he heard the doctor say something about a heart attack.
Big Jim swooped his wife up in his arms and stomped through the crowd, all but running toward the black limousine waiting at the head of the funeral procession. Caleb stood by watching, as did the others at the cemetery, while Jim placed his wife in the limo and issued orders to the driver.
Murmurs rose from the crowd, everyone speculating about Miss Reba's health, some making odds on whether she'd live to make it to the hospital. Caleb caught himself on the verge of shouting at those insensitive bastards. Instead he shoved his way through the thick, milling crowd and rushed to his T-bird, parked along the road outside the cemetery gates. He started the engine, revved the motor, and within minutes caught up with the speeding limousine. He wasn't going to let Miss Reba die without knowing she had another grandson, one who sure as hell would like the chance to get to know her.
Jacob drove to the hospital with Dallas, since the two had gone to the funeral together. Neither had Missed Caleb McCord's reaction to Miss Reba's collapse. He'd acted like a man who cared-genuinely cared-whether the woman lived or died. En route to Cherokee County Hospital, they'd briefly discussed the possibility that McCord might have had something to do with Jamie's murder. After all, he'd had more than one motive.
When they inquired about Mrs. Upton's condition, they were directed to the ICU waiting area upstairs and were told that there was limited seating.
"Already a crowd here?" Dallas asked.
"If it was anyone other than the two of you, I'd have told you to go home and call back later for an update on Mrs. Upton," the receptionist said. "We've had to post a guard outside the waiting room, mostly to control the press. Would you believe that WMMK brought in TV cameras?"
"Yeah, I'd believe it," Jacob said, knowing firsthand that Brian MacKinnon would stop at nothing, would stoop as low as he had to, in order to sensationalize the news on his TV and radio stations, as well as in his newspaper. That's the reason we're here-to make sure this situation doesn't turn into a three-ring circus."
"I'll coordinate efforts with your chief of security," Dallas said. "If you'll point me to his office, I'll check in with him while the sheriff goes on upstairs and assesses the situation there."
The receptionist shook her head. "Mr. Carruthers, our security chief, is upstairs personally making sure no one bothers Mr. Upton."
"I see," Dallas said. 'Thank you, ma'am."
They headed straight for the nearest elevator. On the °de up, neither said a word. The minute the doors opened, they heard a ruckus and saw two guards escorting a TV cameraman down the corridor.
Jacob walked over to a burly gray-haired man in uniform. "Hey, Charlie, need a little assistance?"
Charlie Carruthers grunted. "I've never seen anything like it. You'd think the queen of England was in our ICU the way folks are acting."
"Miss Reba's heart attack is big news, considering it happened at Jamie's funeral, "Jacob said.
''That poor old woman." Charlie shook his head sympathetically. "It's no wonder she keeled over at the graveside. Not many of us could go through losing both our kids and then our only grandchild."
"Yeah, you're right about that." Dallas nudged Jacob in the side and nodded to a spot to the left, a few feet behind Charlie.
Jacob glanced over his shoulder and scanned the area where two hallways intersected. Leaning against the wall near an alcove where several vending machines stood, Caleb McCord looked down at the floor, his hands stuffed into his pockets and his shoulders slumped.
Jacob left Dallas talking to Charlie while he casually made his way down the hall toward the alcove. When he approached, McCord glanced up and their gazes locked instantly.
''You got a reason for being here?" Jacob asked.
"I might."
"A reason I should know about?"
McCord gave Jacob a speculative look. "Maybe you already know why I'm here."
"Maybe I do."
"Why would it be any of your business?" 'Jazzy didn't kill Jamie and we both know it. That means somebody else did."
''Yeah, so? Genny said it was a woman who tried to look like Jazzy. What's that fact got to do with-"
"Maybe this woman had help."
"Are you accusing me of something, Sheriff?"
"Nope. Just speculating. It was no secret that there was no love lost between you and Jamie because of Jazzy. Maybe you figured the only way to get rid of the competition was to kill him. That's one motive."
"And now you've figured out that I might have another motive as well."
"Seeing how you're Melanie Upton's son, now that Jamie is dead, you're the heir to the Upton fortune. I'd say that's a damn good motive for murder."
* * *
Chapter 20
As one of the maintenance crew for Cherokee Cabin Rentals, Stan Watson not only did yard work-mowing grass, trimming shrubs, and raking leaves-but because he was pretty much a jack-of-all-trades, he had keys to every cabin so he could keep a check on the heat and air systems, the plumbing, etc. Even though it was springtime, it still got chilly around these parts some days and just about every night, so tourists often used their fireplaces. Checking on the Honey Bear Trail cabin's fireplace was on his to-do list for this afternoon, but it was nearly six and he took off work about that time every day.
'The last tenants complained that the damper on the fireplace flu wasn't working right," his boss had told him. "Make su
re you check it real good before the place is rented out again and somebody builds a fire and gets smoke all in the cabin."
When he parked his old Chevy truck in the drive, he noticed there wasn't another vehicle anywhere around, so he assumed that nobody had rented the place today.
Cherokee Cabin Rentals' policy was to do all inside maintenance work when a cabin was vacant.
Stan got out of the truck. Then, as he stepped up on the front porch, he fished around in his pants pocket for the key ring. Just as he pulled out the set of keys, he heard a peculiar noise. Could it be a bear? he wondered. The black bears had come out of winter hibernation and sometimes made it this far down the mountain. He'd come face-to-face with more than one bear since he'd been working on the rental cabins.
The Last To Die Page 27
