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The Last To Die

Page 37

by Beverly Barton


  "Jazzy, ho­ney… ple­ase-"

  "Don’t you 'ple­ase' me," she told him. "So­me­body had bet­ter start tal­king right now!"

  Jim cle­ared his thro­at. "I be­li­eve that's yo­ur cue, son." ‘’Stop cal­ling him son! "Jaz­zy scre­ec­hed at Jim.

  When Ca­leb tri­ed to ap­pro­ach Jaz­zy, her de­adly gla­re war­ned him off. He threw up his hands in a ges­tu­re of sur­ren­der. "Okay. Who am I? My na­me is Ca­leb Up­ton McCord." The mo­ment Jaz­zy he­ard his mid­dle na­me, her sho­ul­ders stif­fe­ned and she suc­ked in her bre­ath.

  "My mot­her was Me­la­nie Up­ton, Big Jim and Miss Re­ba's da­ug­h­ter."

  Speechless, her mo­uth par­ting on a si­lent gasp, Jaz­zy sat the­re sta­ring at him.

  "I had no idea my mot­her had any fa­mily," Ca­leb sa­id. "Not un­til right be­fo­re she di­ed fif­te­en ye­ars ago. She told me abo­ut her pa­rents, but… well, I was a wi­se­ass kid who tho­ught he didn't ne­ed or want a fa­mily. It was only a few months ago, af­ter I re­sig­ned from the Mem­p­his Po­li­ce for­ce, that I de­ci­ded I wan­ted to find my mot­her's fa­mily." 'That's the re­ason you ca­me to Che­ro­kee Po­in­te-to find the Up­tons?" Hug­ging her­self ner­vo­usly, her eyes dow­n­cast, Jaz­zy sho­ok her he­ad in dis­be­li­ef. "You're Jamie's first co­usin. And you knew all along who he was, who Big Jim and Miss Re­ba… you've be­en lying to me sin­ce the first night we met." Lif­ting her he­ad, she gla­red at him. "Damn you, Ca­leb. Damn you for ma­king me ca­re abo­ut you, for let­ting me think things wo­uld be dif­fe­rent with you." 'Things are dif­fe­rent with me. I swe­ar, ho­ney. I swe­ar-"

  She flew off the desk, rus­hed to­ward him, and slap­ped him so­undly. "What was it? Did you want ever­y­t­hing Jamie had-in­c­lu­ding me? Was get­ting me in the sack so­me sort of pri­ze?"

  "Stop tal­king li­ke that." Ca­leb ig­no­red the stin­ging pa­in throb­bing thro­ugh the left si­de of his fa­ce. I wan­ted you the mi­nu­te we met. Be­fo­re I knew an­y­t­hing abo­ut yo­ur re­la­ti­on­s­hip with Jamie."

  Jazzy ze­ro­ed in on Big Jim. "How long ha­ve you known?" ‘’This is all my fa­ult. I didn't know that you and Ca­leb had an­y­t­hing se­ri­o­us go­ing on." He lo­oked to Ca­leb. "I didn't me­an to-"

  "How long?" Jaz­zy de­man­ded.

  "Caleb told me yes­ter­day," Jim sa­id. "But I didn't be­li­eve him. Not at first’' "Appa­rently you be­li­eve him now." Jaz­zy kept her ga­ze fi­xed on Jim. "Got yo­ur­self so­me sort of pro­of, didn't you? You wo­uldn't ha­ve co­me he­re to cla­im the new he­ir to the Up­ton for­tu­ne if you we­ren't pretty damn su­re he was yo­ur blo­od kin."

  Jim glan­ced at Ca­leb. "I hi­red the best PI firm in Ten­nes­see, Po­well In­ves­ti­ga­ti­ons, to do a tho­ro­ugh check on you, boy. Every in­di­ca­ti­on is that you're de­fi­ni­tely our Me­la­nie's son. My gran­d­son."

  "Well, isn't this ni­ce?" Jaz­zy cros­sed her arms over her chest as she smi­led sar­cas­ti­cal­ly. "A warm and fuzzy re­uni­on in my of­fi­ce. Aren't I lucky to be wit­nes­sing such a he­ar­t­war­ming event?" Jaz­zy gas­ped moc­kingly. "My God, I'll bet Miss Re­ba is thril­led. Lo­se one gran­d­son, ga­in anot­her." Nar­ro­wing her eyes to me­re slits, she fi­xed her ga­ze on Ca­leb.

  "And on­ce she finds out abo­ut me-"J­az­zy la­ug­hed. "She'll be fit to be ti­ed. You see, I'm not go­od eno­ugh for an Up­ton. Jamie wo­uld ha­ve mar­ri­ed me ye­ars ago if it hadn't be­en for his gran­d­mot­her."

  "Jazzy, don't do this," Ca­leb sa­id.

  She tap­ped him in the cen­ter of his chest, each punch a lit­tle har­der than the one be­fo­re. "It do­esn't even mat­ter if you re­al­ly do ca­re abo­ut me. Hell, it do­esn't mat­ter if you lo­ve me. And you know why? Be­ca­use you're the Up­ton he­ir now. You're Miss Re­ba's gran­d­son and she'll mo­ve he­aven and earth to ke­ep us apart."

  "It won't be li­ke that." He lo­oked to his gran­d­fat­her, tell her. Tell her that Miss Re­ba do­esn't even know that, when she do­es-" ‘’Miss Re­ba do­esn't know yet?" Jaz­zy sho­uted the qu­es­ti­on.

  "No, Re­ba do­esn't know," Jim sa­id. "I had ho­ped Ca­leb wo­uld me­et me at the hos­pi­tal in the mor­ning so we co­uld tell her to­get­her."

  "Ah… how swe­et." Jaz­zy mar­c­hed ac­ross the of­fi­ce, swung ope­ned the do­or, tur­ned and aimed her ga­ze on Ca­leb. "Ta­ke yo­ur gran­d­fat­her and get out of my of­fi­ce. And whi­le you're at it, get out of my bar. You're fi­red." 'Jaz­zy, we can work thro­ugh this. It's not as bad as you think." Ca­leb held out one hand to her.

  "Get out. Now! Out of my of­fi­ce. Out of my bar. Out of my li­fe!"

  ''Jaz­zy…"

  She sto­od the­re trem­b­ling, her che­eks flus­hed, an­ger bo­iling over in­si­de her. He knew when to ac­cept de­fe­at . But this was only one bat­tle, the first skir­mish. This bat-de might be lost, but, by God, he in­ten­ded to win the war.

  "Let's go." Ca­leb la­id his hand on his gran­d­fat­her's sho­ul­der. "I think the lady has ma­de her fe­elings per­fectly cle­ar."

  Without sa­ying anot­her word, Jim exi­ted the of­fi­ce and Ca­leb fol­lo­wed. The very se­cond they en­te­red the hall, Jaz­zy slam­med the do­or shut.

  ''Jazzy's al­ways be­en high-st­rung and tem­pe­ra­men­tal," Jim sa­id. "The girl's got grit."

  "You so­und as if you al­most ad­mi­re her."

  "I do, in away."

  ''Then why-"

  "Miss Re­ba ha­tes Jaz­zy," Jim ad­mit­ted. "If you've got se­ri­o­us in­ten­ti­ons whe­re she's con­cer­ned, you might as well know yo­ur gran­d­mot­her isn't go­ing to li­ke it one lit­tle bit."

  "Meaning no dis­res­pect to Miss Re­ba, but my re­la­ti­on­s­hip with Jaz­zy-or any ot­her wo­man-is no­ne of her bu­si­ness."

  Jim slap­ped his hand down on Ca­leb's back and la­ug­hed. "Damn, boy, you so­und just li­ke me."

  "Is that go­od or bad?" Ca­leb as­ked.

  "Neither. It's just a fact." Still chuc­k­ling, Jim wal­ked down the hall be­si­de Ca­leb.

  Once they re­ac­hed the smo­ke-fil­led hub of Jaz­zy's Jo­int, Ca­leb sa­id, "Wa­it for me out­si­de, will you? I ne­ed to talk to Lacy, the bar­ten­der, be­fo­re I le­ave."

  Jim nod­ded, and as so­on as he he­aded for the do­or, Ca­leb wal­ked over to the bar.

  "What's up?" Lacy as­ked when he le­aned over the co­un­ter.

  "Jazzy and I just had a ma­j­or fal­ling out," he sa­id. "She fi­red me. And she kic­ked me out of her li­fe. For the ti­me be­ing."

  "All be­ca­use of Big Jim Up­ton? What's that abo­ut an­y­way?"

  "Big Jim is my gran­d­fat­her," Ca­leb told her.

  Her eyes ro­und and wi­de, Lacy whis­t­led lo­udly. "And you didn't bot­her men­ti­oning that fact to Jaz­zy? Go­od God, man, you must ha­ve a de­ath wish."

  "Listen, this ti­ling isn't over bet­we­en us by a long shot, but un­til she co­ols off… you un­der­s­tand. She sho­uldn't be alo­ne to­night. Gi­ve Sally a call and tell her what's hap­pe­ned. Tell her to co­me on over to Jaz­zy's apar­t­ment and spend the night. On­ce Jaz­zy's had a chan­ce to co­ol off and think things thro­ugh, I'll talk to her aga­in."

  "That co­uld ta­ke a whi­le."

  ''I'll gi­ve her un­til no­on to­mor­row."

  Lacy rol­led her eyes to­ward the ce­iling.

  He le­aned over and kis­sed her on the che­ek. "Ke­ep an eye on her, will you?"

  ''You re­al­ly do lo­ve her, don't you?"

  "Yeah, I'm af­ra­id so," Ca­leb ad­mit­ted.

  * * *

  Jazzy swept ever­y­t­hing off the top of her desk in one angry pass, let­ting things hit hap­ha­zardly aga­inst the wall and scat­ter over the flo­or. Lif­ting her fo­ot, she kic­ked the swi­vel cha­ir and sent it sa­iling hal­f­way ac­ross
the ro­om and in­to a fi­le ca­bi­net.

  "Damn him! Damn him to hell and back!" she sho­uted.

  Once a fo­ol, al­ways a fo­ol!

  How co­uld she ha­ve be­en so stu­pid? Why did she think she co­uld ac­tu­al­ly be happy? You we­re born un­der a damn un­lucky star, she told her­self. Hell, a witch must ha­ve pla­ced an evil spell on you the day you ca­me in­to this world.

  The last ti­me she'd be­en this angry, she had thre­ate­ned to blow off Jamie's balls. She hadn't tho­ught any man co­uld ever hurt her the way Jamie had. Boy, had she be­en wrong. Put­ting so many ho­pes and dre­ams for the fu­tu­re in­to her re­la­ti­on­s­hip with Ca­leb had be­en a hu­ge mis­ta­ke. She sho­uld ha­ve known bet­ter.

  When will you ever le­arn that hap­pily ever af­ter isn’t for you?

  Of all the men on earth to ha­ve fal­len for-anot­her god­damn Up­ton! Oh, his last na­me might be McCord, but he had Up­ton blo­od flo­wing thro­ugh his ve­ins. High so­ci­ety, Miss Re­ba blue blo­od. Rich, po­wer­ful Big Jim blo­od. Just li­ke Jamie! She'd go­ne and tra­ded in one Up­ton gran­d­son for anot­her.

  He sho­uld ha­ve told her. She'd had a right to know. Why had it ta­ken him all the­se months to ap­pro­ach Big Jim? Why had he wa­ited aro­und, wor­king as a bo­un­cer at Jaz­zy's Jo­int, when he was the he­ir to a vast for­tu­ne?

  Maybe she sho­uld gi­ve him a chan­ce to ex­p­la­in. Su­rely it hadn't all be­en an act. If he'd be­en pre­ten­ding to ca­re abo­ut her, then he de­ser­ved an Aca­demy Award. Just thin­king abo­ut the way things had be­en bet­we­en them-all hot and wild-up­ped her body he­at a few deg­re­es and mo­is­te­ned her in­si­de as if his big hands we­re stro­king her na­ked flesh.

  No, no, no! You aren’t go­ing to gi­ve in to him, al­low him to ¦we­ave so­me be­li­evab­le ta­le to ex­p­la­in away his be­ha­vi­or. You can't trust him. Even if he swe­ars on a stack of Bib­les that he lo­ves you, you can­not be­li­eve him.

  Okay, Jaz­zy, stop and think abo­ut what you're tel­ling yo­ur­self. Just who are you tal­king abo­ut an­y­way? Ca­leb or Jamie?

  Caleb might be Big Jim's gran­d­son, but he was not Jamie. Ca­leb and Jamie had very lit­tle in com­mon. Ca­leb was to­tal­ly dif­fe­rent. Ever­y­t­hing Jamie hadn't be­en.

  But he'd chan­ge now that Big Jim had dec­la­red him an Up­ton. All that mo­ney and po­wer wo­uld get to him so­oner or la­ter. Gi­ve him a few months and you won't re­cog­ni­ze him.

  Hey, girl, what ma­kes you think that in a few months he'll even want you? Add we­alth and so­ci­al stan­ding to all of Ca­leb's ot­her fan­tas­tic qu­ali­ti­es, and the­re wasn't a wo­man an­y­w­he­re who wo­uldn't jump at the chan­ce to be­long to him.

  Jazzy po­ured her­self a drink and dow­ned it in one long swal­low. The whis­key bur­ned a siz­zling stre­ak down her thro­at and set her belly on fi­re. She co­ug­hed and splut­te­red a few ti­mes, then po­ured her­self a se­cond drink. As she lif­ted the glass to her lips, she tho­ught abo­ut now she'd be­en so su­re she co­uld co­unt on Ca­leb, how she'd be­li­eved he wo­uld see her thro­ugh the nig­h­t­ma­re her li­fe had be­co­me la­tely.

  "What are you go­ing to do now?" she as­ked her­self. Now that Ca­leb isn't go­ing to be lo­oking out for you?" She dow­ned the se­cond shot of eighty pro­of and won­de­red just how much li­qu­or it wo­uld ta­ke to get rip-ro­aring drunk.

  * * *

  Chapter 28

  Cecil had wan­de­red out in­to the gar­den se­eking so­li­tu­de from not only his wi­fe, but from ever­y­t­hing in­com­p­re­hen­sib­le that his li­fe had be­co­me re­cently. How h he re­ac­hed this po­int? What had he do­ne to de­ser­ve such mi­sery? Wasn't every man en­tit­led to a few mis­ta­kes?

  All the old nig­h­t­ma­res had re­tur­ned. He'd dre­am abo­ut Mar­ga­ret last night. Vi­vid, ugly dre­ams. It ha ta­ken him ye­ars to put the past be­hind him, to li­ve wi' out fe­ar that so­me­day the truth abo­ut La­ura's bi­olo cal mot­her wo­uld be re­ve­aled to the world. His swee pre­ci­o­us La­ura. Ex­cept for the pa­le blond ha­ir, she a tu­al­ly re­sem­b­led him much mo­re than she did h mot­her. That alo­ne had be­en a bles­sing. If every tim he'd lo­oked at his el­der da­ug­h­ter he'd se­en the ma wo­man who had al­most des­t­ro­yed his li­fe ne­arly twen fi­ve ye­ars ago, he wasn't su­re he co­uld ha­ve lo­ved he But he did lo­ve La­ura. And oddly eno­ugh, so did Andr Oh, he knew she didn't lo­ve La­ura the way she did She dan, but the fact that she lo­ved his child at all ne­ve ce­ased to ama­ze him. It had be­en An­d­rea who had de fen­ded La­ura ti­me and aga­in. It had be­en An­d­rea who had in­sis­ted La­ura re­ce­ive the psychi­at­ric help she'd ne­eded as a yo­ung girl. And it had be­en An­d­rea who had ca­red for and pro­tec­ted La­ura du­ring the­se black days fol­lo­wing Jamie's bru­tal mur­der.

  Cecil fi­nis­hed off his tea, then set the chi­na cup and sa­ucer on the glass and me­tal pa­tio tab­le. Her­bal tea of­ten so­ot­hed his ner­ves, but he sus­pec­ted that to­night he wo­uld ha­ve to ta­ke anot­her sle­eping pill if he wan­ted to rest.

  He wis­hed he co­uld stop dhnking abo­ut so­medhng that had be­en tor­men­ting him sin­ce Jamie's de­ath. If he didn't know for a fact that Mar­ga­ret was de­ad, that she had di­ed in the fi­re that swept thro­ugh the pri­va­te men­tal hos­pi­tal whe­re she'd li­ved, he wo­uld won­der if she had be­en the one who'd kil­led Jamie. Mar­ga­ret had tor­tu­red his fa-ther, had al­most kil­led him. And at her tri­al, a gru­eso­me truth had be­en re­ve­aled. Mar­ga­ret's own fat­her had be­en fo­und bru­ta­li­zed-cas­t­ra­ted-when Mar­ga­ret was only fif­te­en. Al­t­ho­ugh the­re had be­en no pro­of that Mar­ga­ret had kil­led her own fat­her-and the jud­ge co­uldn't con­si­der that cri­me evi­den­ce aga­inst her-ever­yo­ne in­vol­ved, from the po­li­ce of­fi­cers to the dis­t­rict at­tor­ney, had be­en con­vin­ced that Mar­ga­ret was a psycho­padhc kil­ler.

  Laura. His po­or La­ura. She must ne­ver know abo­ut Mar­ga­ret. Al­t­ho­ugh La­ura had al­ways be­en emo­ti­onal­ly fra­gi­le, Ce­cil had ne­ver se­en any evi­den­ce that she had in­he­ri­ted her mot­her's evil sic­k­ness. Not un­til that Ro­berts boy had ac­cu­sed her of trying to run him down with her car.

  But that was only one in­ci­dent, he re­min­ded him­self.

  Until Jamie's mur­der.

  No. Ab­so­lu­tely, une­qu­ivo­cal­ly no! La­ura is in­ca­pab­le of uch cru­elty. You can't al­low yo­ur­self to think, even for one mi­nu­te, that she has kil­led two men.

  "Daddy?"

  Jumping at the so­und of her vo­ice, Ce­cil gas­ped and tur­ned to fa­ce his el­der da­ug­h­ter.

  "Yes, La­ura, what is it?"

  "Are you all right?"

  He of­fe­red her a smi­le as he wal­ked to­ward her. 'Just con­cer­ned abo­ut you. You've be­en thro­ugh so much la­tely. Jamie's de­ath. Lo­sing the baby. And now this asi­ni­ne at­tempt to bla­me you for Jamie's de­ath."

  "Do you think I kil­led him?"

  She lo­oked at him, her he­art in her eyes, and Ce­cil wan­ted to pick her up and set her on his lap as he had do­ne when she'd be­en a lit­tle girl.

  "Of co­ur­se not. I know you didn't-"

  "I don't re­mem­ber whe­re I was the night Jamie was kil­led."

  "What?"

  "Mother told me that I mustn't say an­y­t­hing to an­yo­ne abo­ut it. But I had one of tho­se odd spells, li­ke the one I had when-"

  Cecil gras­ped La­ura's sho­ul­ders. "Yo­ur mot­her is right. Don't ever re­pe­at to an­yo­ne el­se what you just told me. If the she­riff we­re to find out…" Ce­cil sho­ok his he­ad. "No, no, that mustn't hap­pen. He wo­uldn't un­der­s­tand. He co­uld use that fact as evi­den­ce aga­inst you."

  "But, Daddy, what if I did kill Jamie?"<
br />
  Cecil sho­ok her gendy. Te­ars wel­led up in her eyes. "You didn't kill him. I know you didn't."

  "Your fat­her is right, La­ura. You didn't kill him," a fe­ma­le vo­ice sa­id. "I did."

  Cecil se­ar­c­hed the dar­k­ness for the so­ur­ce of the vo­ice, a vo­ice that se­emed oddly fa­mi­li­ar.

  "Who sa­id that?" La­ura clung to her fat­her as she lo­oked all aro­und her.

  A small gray sha­dow mo­ved out of the tall shrub­bery that li­ned the back gar­den wall.

  Cecil held his bre­ath as she ca­me in­to vi­ew, the soft pa­tio tor­c­h­lights cas­ting a gol­den glow over the wo­man. He sta­red at her for an en­d­less mo­ment.

 

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