The Last To Die

by Beverly Barton

  To com­p­li­ca­te mat­ters now that she was re­tur­ning to Che­ro­kee Po­in­te, she'd be­en pla­gu­ed by tho­ughts of the big, surly, half-bre­ed she­riff. He was a tho­ro­ughly un­p­le­asant sort. A re­al ruf­fi­an. Af­ter the­ir ini­ti­al en­co­un­ter, she had ho­ped she wo­uld ne­ver see the man aga­in. But when Jamie Up­ton was mur­de­red whi­le she was still in town and a wit­ness had iden­ti­fi­ed a wo­man fit­ting Jaz­zy's des­c­rip­ti­on-and the­re­fo­re her des­c­rip­ti­on-as ha­ving be­en se­en with Jamie shortly be­fo­re his de­ath, She­riff But­ler had co­me knoc­king on her do­or. He'd had the gall to prac­ti­cal­ly ac­cu­se her of the mur­der, had in fact as­su­med-er­ro­ne­o­us­ly-that Jamie and she had be­en lo­vers. Na­tu­ral­ly, it hadn't ta­ken the aut­ho­ri­ti­es long to re­ali­ze she wasn't in­vol­ved in the cri­me, so she had, than­k­ful­ly, be­en ab­le to es­ca­pe from Che­ro­kee Po­in­te and the wat­c­h­ful eyes of the Ne­an­der­t­hal she­riff.

  Upon re­tur­ning to Chat­ta­no­oga, to her ho­me on Lo­oko­ut Mo­un­ta­in and her set of fri­ends and bu­si­ness as­so­ci­ates, she'd tri­ed to put her less than ple­asant ex­pe­ri­en­ces in Che­ro­kee Po­in­te be­hind her. She hadn't wanted to think abo­ut Jaz­zy or the fact that they did in fact re­sem­b­le each ot­her in a way only twins did. But try as she might, she hadn't be­en ab­le to era­se from her mind the ima­ge of her do­ub­le, a wo­man of du­bi­o­us cha­rac­ter.

  Reve sig­hed he­avily. Wo­uld she reg­ret go­ing back to Che­ro­kee Po­in­te and jo­ining for­ces with Jaz­zy to se­ek the truth abo­ut the­ir pos­sib­le sis­ter­ho­od? They had spo­ken on the pho­ne se­ve­ral ti­mes re­cently. So­mew­hat re­luc­tantly, Re­ve had ma­de that first call. Thirty ye­ars ago, so­me­one had thrown her in­to a Dum­p­s­ter in Se­vi­er­vil­le and left her for de­ad. She'd be­en an in­fant, pos­sibly only days or we­eks old at the ti­me. Ho­we­ver, Jaz­zy's aunt Sally, who had ra­ised her from a baby, swo­re that her sis­ter Cor­ri­ne had gi­ven birth to only one child. Was Sally Tal­bot lying? Or was the­re so­me ot­her ex­p­la­na­ti­on? Re­ve knew she'd ne­ver ha­ve any pe­ace of mind un­til she fo­und out the truth-the who­le truth.

  She hadn't in­ten­ded to le­ave Chat­ta­no­oga this early. It wasn't qu­ite fo­ur-thirty. But why not go ahe­ad and get on the ro­ad? If she left now, she'd be in Che­ro­kee Po­in­te by the ti­me Jas­mi­ne's ope­ned and she co­uld ha­ve bre­ak­fast at the res­ta­urant be­fo­re me­eting Jaz­zy at Dr. Mac­Na­ir's of­fi­ce aro­und ni­ne. They had ag­re­ed that DNA tes­ting was the first step in dis­co­ve­ring the truth abo­ut the­ir past.

  Not wan­ting to bot­her any of the ser­vants at this un­godly ho­ur, she he­aved her su­it­ca­se off the bed. As she wal­ked thro­ugh the ho­use and out to the ga­ra­ge, she co­uldn't help won­de­ring if she was ma­king a mo­nu­men­tal this­ta­ke. She and Jaz­zy Tal­bot had not­hing in com­mon, ot­her than a strong physi­cal re­sem­b­lan­ce- and pos­sibly the sa­me birth pa­rents. Did she re­al­ly want to form a fa­mi­li­al con­nec­ti­on with this wo­man who was, °y all stan­dards, so­ci­al­ly be­ne­ath her and mo­ral­ly in­fe­ri­or. God, Re­ve, lis­ten to yo­ur­self. You so­und li­ke the big­gest snob in the world. All right, may­be she was a snob. No may­be abo­ut it. She was a snob. But she'd be­en tra­ined by her pa­rents and pe­ers to lo­ok down her no­se at her in­fe­ri­ors. The­re you go aga­in, as­su­ming just be­ca­use she grew up po­or, has a re­pu­ta­ti­on as the town tramp and owns a hon­ky-tonk, that Jaz­zy isn't yo­ur equ­al.

  Reve un­loc­ked the trunk of her Jagu­ar, dum­ped the su­it­ca­se in­si­de, then slid be­hind the whe­el and star­ted the car. Even if Jaz­zy and she tur­ned out to be twin sis­ters, that didn't me­an they had to be­co­me fri­ends. She se­ri­o­usly do­ub­ted that Jaz­zy wan­ted to bu­ild a re­la­ti­on­s­hip with her any mo­re than she wan­ted one with Jaz­zy. But the­re was a ne­ed de­ep in­si­de her to find out the truth-who had thrown her in that Dum­p­s­ter and why? Had her birth mot­her thrown her away? If so, why had she dis­po­sed of one baby and not both? And if she and Jaz­zy we­re twin sis­ters, why had Jaz­zy's aunt Sally li­ed to her all the­se ye­ars? Af­ter the­ir DNA tes­ting con­fir­med the­ir re­la­ti­on­s­hip, the li­kely pla­ce to start the­ir se­arch for the truth was with Sally Tal­bot. And what a pla­ce to start-with a nutty old wo­man the who­le town tho­ught of as a ko­ok.

  Reve hit the but­ton to open the ga­ra­ge do­or, bac­ked out and then clo­sed the do­or. As she en­te­red the stre­et, she stop­ped the car and to­ok a long, hard lo­ok at her ho­me. This ho­use had be­lon­ged to her gran­d­pa­rents, Spen­cer Sor­rell's pa­rents, and the plush man­si­on held only happy me­mo­ri­es for Re­ve. If only she we­ren't adop­ted. If only the Sor­rel­ls had be­en her bi­olo­gi­cal mot­her and fat­her. But her adop­ted mot­her had po­in­ted out to her on nu­me­ro­us oc­ca­si­ons that she was a true Sor­rell in every way that co­un­ted. Ex­cept by blo­od.

  As she dro­ve along the ste­ep, twis­ting stre­et le­ading off Lo­oko­ut Mo­un­ta­in, Re­ve com­pa­red the si­mi­la­ri­ti­es bet­we­en this ro­ad and the one whe­re she'd had her car ac­ci­dent out­si­de Che­ro­kee Po­in­te. Damn! Why had she dro­ught abo­ut that wreck aga­in? Auto­ma­ti­cal­ly her mind brought She­riff But­ler to the fo­ref­ront-a vi­vid ima­ge of his hul­king six-fi­ve fra­me, his gre­en eyes, his hawk no­se, his fi­er­ce frown. She in­ten­ded to do her best to avo­id Jacob But­ler whi­le she was in Che­ro­kee Po­in­te. Not only did the man an­noy her, but he un­ner­ved her. His na­tu­re was a bit too sa­va­ge to su­it her. He'd be­en mo­re than just dow­n­right un­f­ri­endly to­ward her; he'd shown no res­pect what­so­ever for who she was-one of the ric­hest and most po­wer­ful wo­men in the sta­te of Ten­nes­see.

  Jazzy's or­gasm ex­p­lo­ded in­si­de her, eli­ci­ting a lo­ud, gut­tu­ral mo­an from de­ep in her thro­at The po­wer­ful sen­sa­ti­ons went on and on un­til they fi­nal­ly ta­pe­red off in­to de­li­ci­o­us af­ter­s­hocks. Hot, damp, com­p­le­tely sa­ted, she smot­he­red Ca­leb with de­li­ri­o­usly exu­be­rant kis­ses. He top­pled her off him and on­to the bed, his hard pe­nis slip­ping out of her du­ring the ma­ne­uver. Be­fo­re she had a chan­ce to catch her bre­ath, he thrust up in­to her. De­ep and hard. On­ce. Twi­ce. And then he ca­me.

  Roaring li­ke the ma­le ani­mal he was, Ca­leb shud­de­red with re­le­ase. Mo­ments la­ter, the­ir bo­di­es damp with sex-in­du­ced swe­at, they lay on the­ir backs, the­ir bo­di­es not to­uc­hing, only the­ir en­t­wi­ned fin­gers.

  She lo­ved hol­ding hands with Ca­leb. A swe­et, sen­ti­men­tal ges­tu­re, but it sa­id so much abo­ut the­ir re­la­ti­on­s­hip. Abo­ut who she was when she was with him. Abo­ut the type of man Ca­leb McCord was.

  Jazzy lo­oked up at the ce­iling, stret­c­hed lan­gu­idly and smi­led. Sex with Ca­leb was al­ways li­ke this-ex­p­lo­si­ve and fully sa­tis­f­ying. But the­re was so much mo­re to the­ir re­la­ti­on­s­hip than gre­at sex. They we­re fri­ends as well as lo­vers. And they we­re madly in lo­ve, too. Ho­nest to go­od­ness in lo­ve.

  She didn't know what she'd do­ne to de­ser­ve a fa­bu lo­us guy li­ke Ca­leb, but she than­ked God for him. And with each pas­sing day, she trus­ted Ca­leb and the lo­ve they sha­red mo­re and mo­re. May­be one of the­se days so­on she wo­uld be ab­le to ac­cept his mar­ri­age pro­po­sal. He had as­ked her to marry him so many ti­mes it had al­most be­co­me a joke bet­we­en them.

  Almost.

  Even now, months af­ter Jamie Up­ton's de­ath, his me­mory ha­un­ted her. But not in the way Ca­leb tho­ught it did. On so­me ba­sic, to­tal­ly mas­cu­li­ne le­vel Ca­leb was still je­alo­us of Jamie, of the fact he'd be­en her first lo­ve and her first
lo­ver. The­re was no re­ason for him to be je­alo­us. She didn't lo­ve Jamie. Only the dis­t­rust and fe­ar Jamie had in­s­til­led in her kept him ali­ve and al­lo­wed him to stand bet­we­en her and Ca­leb, bet­we­en her and hap­pi­ness. ¦Jaz­zy?" Ca­leb sa­id her na­me in that lazy, sexy Mem­p­his drawl she lo­ved so well.

  "Hm-m?" She tur­ned si­de­ways and lo­oked at the sil­ho­u­et­te of his long, le­an body the­re in the se­mi­dar­k­ness of her bed­ro­om. She knew his body as well as she knew her own.

  "Marry me."

  Her smi­le wi­de­ned. She re­ac­hed over and ran her fin­ger­tips up and down his body, from thro­at to na­vel.

  He grab­bed her hand. "I me­an it. Marry me. Let's get a li­cen­se to­mor­row and just do it. We'll elo­pe. No fan­fa­re, no-"

  "No Miss Re­ba thro­wing a hissy fit un­til it's over and do­ne."

  "Do not bring my gran­d­mot­her in­to this equ­ati­on. I've told you a tho­usand ti­mes that I don't gi­ve a damn what she thinks." To­tal­ly na­ked, Ca­leb jum­ped out of bed and grab­bed his je­ans up off the flo­or.

  Damn it, she'd hurt his fe­elings by qu­es­ti­oning his lo­yalty to her. Her mind told her that he wo­uld ne­ver do as Jamie had do­ne and al­low Miss Re­ba to dic­ta­te who he co­uld and co­uldn't marry. But her he­art had be­en bro­ken on­ce by an Up­ton he­ir, by the char­ming, wor­t­h­less, wo­ma­ni­zing Jamie. And her he­art was af­ra­id to trust, af­ra­id to be­li­eve that Miss Re­ba didn't wi­eld the sa­me po­wer over Ca­leb that she had over her ot­her gran­d­son.

  "What are you do­ing?"

  "I'm put­ting on my clot­hes," Ca­leb told her.

  "Why? You aren't le­aving, are you? Ple­ase, Ca­leb, don't go."

  He pul­led on his je­ans, and then felt aro­und on the flo­or un­til he fo­und his shirt. "I'm just go­ing out­si­de for a few mi­nu­tes. I ne­ed so­me early mor­ning air to cle­ar my he­ad. I'll be back in a lit­tle whi­le."

  "I'm sorry."

  "It's okay," he sa­id. "Just re­mem­ber, I'm not Jamie. I'm not wal­king out on you or gi­ving up on us. Not now or ever. You co­uldn't be­at me off with a stick, ho­ney."

  "I know you're not Jamie." When she sat up, the she­et drop­ped to her wa­ist, ex­po­sing her bre­asts.

  "Then stop as­su­ming I'm go­ing to tre­at you the way he did. I can't stand it when you pro­j­ect his ac­ti­ons on­to me."

  Caleb tur­ned from her and has­tily left the ro­om. Jaz­zy flip­ped on the bed­si­de lamp, then got up and he­aded for the bat­h­ro­om. Usu­al­ly they didn't get up this ear­ly-and se­ven-thirty was early for pe­op­le who didn't go to bed un­til two in the mor­ning-but she had an ap­po­in­t­ment to me­et Re­ve Sor­rell in Dr. Mac­Na­ir's of­fi­ce at ni­ne. Gal­vin had ex­p­la­ined to them that the re­sults of the DNA test might ta­ke a few we­eks, but Re­ve had in­for­med him that she wo­uld pay any ex­t­ra costs ne­ces­sary to fa­ci­li­ta­te a spe­edy res­pon­se.

  Jazzy tur­ned on the wa­ter, wa­ited a co­up­le of mi­nu­tes or the wa­ter to he­at, and then step­ped un­der the sho­wer-»e­ad. As the warm spray do­used her, she tho­ught abo­ut her fu­tu­re. Her first con­cern was Ca­leb. She co­uldn't ke­ep put­ting him off. So­oner or la­ter he'd get ti­red of wa­iting for her to marry him. The tho­ught of lo­sing him was too ter­rib­le to con­si­der, yet she wasn't re­ady to say yes. The­re we­re too many anan­s­we­red qu­es­ti­ons in her li­fe, too many lo­ose ends she had to tie up be­fo­re she co­uld bu­ild a so­lid fu­tu­re with the man she lo­ved. And she did lo­ve Ca­leb. Mo­re than she'd ever tho­ught pos­sib­le to lo­ve a man. But she had to con­vin­ce him that he was the only man she lo­ved. In or­der to do that, she had to let go of Jamie com­p­le­tely.

  Since Ca­leb spent most nights at her apar­t­ment abo­ve Jaz­zy's Jo­int, they usu­al­ly clo­sed the bar to­get­her and ca­me up­s­ta­irs for a la­te night me­al and then went to bed. She lo­ved be­ing with him, ma­king lo­ve with him, sha­ring her li­fe with him.

  So why don't you marry the guy? she he­ard Lacy Fal­lon's vo­ice in­si­de her he­ad. Lacy, the bar­ten­der at Jaz­zy's Jo­int, tre­ated Jaz­zy li­ke a kid sis­ter, gi­ving her ad­vi­ce and wat­c­hing out for her.

  Don't let what Jamie did to you ke­ep you from fin­ding hap­pi­ness with Ca­leb, Jaz­zy's best fri­end, Genny Slo­an, had told her re­pe­atedly.

  Even her own he­art ad­vi­sed her to re­ach out and grab the hap­pi­ness Ca­leb of­fe­red.

  Jazzy bat­hed hur­ri­edly, was­hed her ha­ir and emer­ged from the sho­wer, fresh and cle­an, and cle­ar-he­aded. By the ti­me she dri­ed her ha­ir and dres­sed, Ca­leb wo­uld pro­bably be back in the apar­t­ment and in the kit­c­hen fi­xing the­ir bre­ak­fast. She smi­led to her­self. Her Ca­leb was a man of many ta­lents.

  The te­lep­ho­ne rang. Who on earth wo­uld be cal­ling so early? Ever­yo­ne knew they slept la­te. Af­ter wrap­ping a to­wel aro­und her, Jaz­zy rus­hed in­to the bed­ro­om to an­s­wer the pho­ne.

  "Hello."

  "Jazzy, this is Re­ve Sor­rell. I got an early start so I'm al­re­ady in town. I'm over at Jas­mi­ne's and ha­ve just or­de­red bre­ak­fast. Any chan­ce you can jo­in me?"

  "Ah… I just step­ped out of the sho­wer. But-" May­be it was a go­od idea to to­uch ba­se with Re­ve be­fo­re they went to see Gal­vin. Af­ter all, if it tur­ned out they re­al­ly we­re twin sis­ters, as they sus­pec­ted, they'd be spen­ding a gre­at de­al of ti­me to­get­her in the up­co­ming we­eks. They had ag­re­ed that if the DNA tests pro­ved they we­re sib­lings, they wo­uld work to­get­her to dis­co­ver the truth abo­ut the­ir pa­ren­ta­ge.

  "If you'd rat­her not-" Re­ve sa­id.

  "No, it's okay. I'll hurry and dress." Jaz­zy pe­eked thro­ugh the open bed­ro­om do­or and in­to the li­ving ro­om. No sign of Ca­leb. She lis­te­ned for any so­und of him in the kit­c­hen. No­ne.

  "It's okay if I bring Ca­leb along, isn't it?"

  "Sure. Af­ter all, he is yo­ur fi­an­ce, right?"

  "He most cer­ta­inly is. Unof­fi­ci­al­ly."

  "Have you two set a da­te?"

  "Not yet" Ever­yo­ne as­su­med that so­oner or la­ter she'd ac­cept Ca­leb's pro­po­sal-ever­yo­ne ex­cept Ca­leb's gran­d­mot­her, one of Che­ro­kee Co­unty's gran­de da­mes, Re­ba Up­ton. Damn the old bitch!

  "Bring him along," Re­ve sa­id. "I'll go ahe­ad and eat, then ha­ve cof­fee when y'all ar­ri­ve. Or wo­uld you li­ke for me to or­der for you two and wa­it?"

  "Yes, do that. Just tell Tif­fany that Ca­leb and I will be eating at the res­ta­urant this mor­ning. She knows our usu­al or­der."

  "See you so­on." Hm-m." The di­al to­ne hum­med in Jaz­zy's ear.

  Reve Sor­rell had be­en ple­asant eno­ugh, but not overly nendly. The wo­man had erec­ted so­me sort of emo­ti­onal bar­ri­er aro­und her­self, one that ef­fec­ti­vely kept pe­op­le at bay. If they we­re twin sis­ters, how was it pos­sib­le that the­ir per­so­na­li­ti­es we­re as dif­fe­rent as night is from day? She sup­po­sed it all bo­iled down to the old qu­es­ti­on abo­ut which do­mi­na­ted a per­son's physi­cal, men­tal, and emo­ti­onal ma­ke­up mo­re-nur­tu­re or na­tu­re.

  Reve Sor­rell was a class act. A re­al lady. Jaz­zy Tal­bot was a da­me, a bro­ad, a go­od old gal.

  "Jazzy?" Ca­leb cal­led to her as he en­te­red the li­ving ro­om.

  "Huh?"

  "Want me to put on so­me cof­fee?"

  Caleb might get up­set with her, he might storm off in a ra­ge, but he al­ways ca­me back. He ne­ver left her for mo­re than a few mi­nu­tes, an ho­ur or two on a few oc­ca­si­ons. He me­ant what he'd sa­id abo­ut not ever le­aving her. Not the way Jamie had do­ne, ti­me and ti­me aga­in.

  "Reve Sor­rell just cal­led,"Jazzy sa­id. "Sh
e wants us to me­et her for bre­ak­fast over at Jas­mi­ne's."

  "She got in early, didn't she?"

  "Yeah, she did. I gu­ess she's as an­xi­o­us as I am to get our DNA sam­p­les sent off to the lab."

  Caleb ap­pe­ared in the bed­ro­om do­or­way. "Gi­ve me a co­up­le of mi­nu­tes to grab a qu­ick sho­wer." As he mo­ved past her, he pa­used, le­aned over and kis­sed her che­ek, then yan­ked off her to­wel be­fo­re he went in­to the bat­h­ro­om.

  Jazzy hug­ged her­self and sig­hed con­ten­tedly. Re­ve Sor­rell might be a lady-a very rich and im­por­tant lady- but who ca­red? Ca­leb didn't. And it didn't mat­ter to him that Jaz­zy wasn't so­me blue blo­od with a lily-whi­te re­pu­ta­ti­on. He lo­ved her just the way she was. And Ca­leb's opi­ni­on was all that mat­te­red.

  * * *

  Sally Tal­bot sto­od on her front porch, a tasty chaw of to­bac­co in her mo­uth. Pe­ter and Pa­ul, her old blo­od­ho­unds, lo­un­ged la­zily un­der the porch, the­ir he­ads ba­rely pe­eking out as they sno­red. She wis­hed she co­uld sle­ep as easy as them two var­mints did, but if they had the wor­ri­es she had, they wo­uldn't be sle­eping so so­undly eit­her. Af­ter spit­ting a spray of brown ju­ice out in­to the yard, Sally wi­ped her mo­uth and to­ok a de­ep bre­ath of autumn mo­un­ta­in air. The­re we­ren't not­hing li­ke autumn in the Ap­pa­lac­hi­ans. The crisp, cle­an mor­ning air. The bright co­lors na­tu­re pa­in­ted the earth this ti­me of ye­ar. No, sir­ree, we­ren't no pla­ce on earth as ne­ar God's he­aven as the­se he­re mo­un­ta­ins.