Authors: Beverly Barton
The qu-i-et in the 'apar-t-ment was de-afe-ning. Genny co-uld he-ar her own he-ar-t-be-at, co-uld he-ar Dal-las bre-at-hing. And the hus-hed so-und of Jaz-zy we-eping stir-red Genny's ca-ring, pro-tec-ti-ve in-s-tincts. If this was all Jaz-zy wo-uld ha-ve to con-tend with, then she co-uld de-al with it. She wo-uld mo-urn Jamie and then mo-ve on. But Genny's sixth sen-se told her that Jamie's de-ath wo-uld bring tro-ub-le for Jaz-zy and she wo-uld ne-ed all the lo-ve and sup-port her fri-ends and fa-mily co-uld gi-ve her.
Jazzy suc-ked in a de-ep bre-ath, then tur-ned to fa-ce Genny. "Tell me. I ne-ed to know."
"She tor-men-ted him with kni-ves, ra-zor bla-des, and a hot po-ker," Genny sa-id, the ima-ge in her mind as cle-ar as when she'd en-vi-si-oned it ear-li-er to-day. She pra-yed that in ti-me that ima-ge wo-uld va-nish, that even-tu-al-ly she wo-uld not be ab-le to re-call it at all.
"Even Jamie didn't de-ser-ve to die that way," Jaz-zy sa-id, her vo-ice de-cep-ti-vely calm. Genny knew how badly Jaz-zy was hur-ting, how the tho-ught of Jamie suf-fe-ring and dying to-re her apart in-si-de. No mat-ter what had hap-pe-ned bet-we-en them over the ye-ars, the-re had be-en a ti-me when Jaz-zy had de-eply lo-ved Jamie. And ye-ars ago, she had car-ri-ed his child for a few bri-ef months.
"No, Jamie didn't de-ser-ve to die such a hor-rib-le de-ath," Genny ag-re-ed.
"You ha-ve no idea who she was? Jacob do-esn't…" She lo-oked at Dal-las. "Any clu-es?
An-y-t-hing that can tell y'all who kil-led him?"
"We ha-ve our com-bi-ned fo-ren-sic te-ams go-ing over the ca-bin and the area sur-ro-un-ding the
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ca-bin," Dal-las sa-id. "And we might call in Knox-vil-le for so-me help. Big Jim is go-ing to ex-pect us to pull out all the stops to find his gran-d-son's mur-de-rer. And when a man has the po-wer Jim Up-ton do-es, he can get things do-ne that even Jacob and I can't."
Jazzy nod-ded, then glan-ced at Genny. "What is it? The-re's mo-re, isn't the-re? So-met-hing el-se you ne-ed to tell me."
"The wo-man who kil-led Jamie… I saw her ha-ir." "And?"
"She had short red ha-ir. The exact co-lor and style as yo-urs."
Jazzy gas-ped. "Oh, God, Genny, you don't think that I-"
"No!" Genny bo-un-ded off the so-fa and rus-hed to Jaz-zy. "I know you didn't kill him." She gras-ped Jaz-zy by the up-per arms. "But this wo-man, who-ever she is, wan-ted to re-sem-b-le you for so-me re-ason. I don't know why. May-be she wo-re a red wig and gold ho-op ear-rings li-ke yo-urs so that, just in ca-se so-me-one saw her with Jamie at a dis-tan-ce, they'd think it was you. Or may-be she wan-ted to ti-til-la-te Jamie by do-ing her best to lo-ok a lit-tle so-met-hing li-ke you."
"You know I didn't kill Jamie, but… tell me the rest" Jaz-zy pul-led Genny's hands from her arms and clut-c-hed the-ir hands to-get-her bet-we-en them.
"I'm af-ra-id that so-met-hing will hap-pen, that so-me-how you're go-ing to be bla-med for Jamie's de-ath." Genny lo-oked Jaz-zy squ-are in the eye. "We ha-ve to be pre-pa-red for the worst. Dal-las and Jacob will do ever-y-t-hing they can, but you'll ne-ed a law-yer. A go-od law-yer."
"Aren't we jum-ping the gun just a lit-tle?" Dal-las inj-ec-ted.
"Maybe a lit-tle," Genny ag-re-ed. "But I'm tel-ling you"- she glan-ced at Dal-las and then back at Jaz-zy-"t-his si-tu-ati-on is go-ing to get much, much wor-se be-fo-re it gets bet-ter."
* * *
Jacob left Bobby Joe Har-te be-hind at the ca-bin ne-ar Scot-s-man's Bluff whi-te the com-bi-ned fo-ren-sic te-ams of the she-rif-fs de-par-t-ment and the po-li-ce de-par-t-ment- three pe-op-le in all-went over the area, in-si-de and out-si-de. He'd al-re-ady put in a call to the Knox Co-unty she-riff and on-ce the Che-ro-kee Co-unty co-ro-ner, Pe-te Holt, ga-ve Jacob a pre-li-mi-nary re-port, Jamie's body wo-uld be sent to Knox-vil-le to the cri-me lab the-re. With only an on-si-te in-s-pec-ti-on, Pe-te had sa-id that loss of blo-od alo-ne or even he-art fa-ilu-re from en-du-ring pro-lon-ged, ago-ni-zing pa-in might ha-ve kil-led Jamie.
"No way to tell wit-ho-ut a com-p-le-te autopsy, al-t-ho-ugh I'd say he bled to de-ath," Pe-te had told them. "Who-ever she is, the lady's damn vi-ci-o-us. I su-re as hell wo-uldn't want to piss her off."
As he he-aded his Dod-ge Ram to-ward town, Jacob con-si-de-red pos-sib-le sus-pec-ts-wo-men who ha-ted Jamie Up-ton eno-ugh to want to not only see him de-ad, but to see him suf-fer. Des-pi-te
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the gru-eso-me-ness of the ca-se, Jacob fo-und him-self thin-king that Jamie's de-mi-se was so-me sort of po-etic jus-ti-ce.
Jacob snor-ted. Who-ever kil-led Jamie was sick. Men-tal-ly sick in the worst way pos-sib-le.
Psycho-tic. And very dan-ge-ro-us.
Although Jaz-zy wo-uld be the first na-me on ever-yo-ne's lips, Jacob knew that, as su-rely as he knew Genny had be-en born with Granny But-ler's gift of sight, Jaz-zy hadn't kil-led Jamie. He'd known her all his li-fe. She was not ca-pab-le of tor-tu-ring a man to de-ath, not even Jamie, who pro-bably de-ser-ved it mo-re than an-yo-ne Jacob knew.
The list of Jamie's vic-tims was pro-bably en-d-less, but only tho-se now in the Che-ro-kee Co-unty area co-uld be con-si-de-red sus-pects. Jaz-zy, of co-ur-se. And La-ura Wil-lis. She might lo-ve Jamie, might ha-ve in-ten-ded to marry him, but she had to ha-ve known* what a bas-tard the guy was. And if he scrat-c-hed the sur-fa-ce of the fe-ma-le po-pu-la-ti-on in the-se parts, he wo-uld no do-ubt co-me up with a few mo-re wo-men with re-ason to want to see Jamie de-ad. But as far as Jacob was con-cer-ned, his pri-mary sus-pect was the lady who owed a gre-en Jagu-ar and ad-mit-ted that she not only knew Jamie Up-ton but had be-en ro-man-ced by him. The re-al clin-c-her was the stri-king re-sem-b-lan-ce bet-we-en Jaz-zy and Re-ve Sor-rell. With a short, fi-re-en-gi-ne red wig on, Ms.
Sor-rell co-uld easily pass for Jaz-zy.
Had the wo-man co-me to town with the in-ten-ti-on of kil-ling Jamie? Had she so-ught out Jaz-zy to ma-ke su-re they ac-tu-al-ly lo-oked eno-ugh ali-ke to be twins? Did she con-coct the di-abo-li-cal plot to tor-tu-re Jamie to de-ath be-fo-re or af-ter she ar-ri-ved in Che-ro-kee Co-unty?
But the one thing that didn't ma-ke any sen-se, the one pi-ece of the puz-zle that didn't fit, was why wo-uld Re-ve Sor-rell be stu-pid eno-ugh to ste-al her own wrec-ked car and chan-ce be-ing se-en in it?
If the who-le town wasn't al-re-ady hog wild over the news abo-ut Jamie's mur-der, it was only a mat-ter of ti-me. Be-fo-re Jamie's body co-uld be ship-ped off to Knox-vil-le, re-por-ters from Mac-Kin-non me-dia wo-uld bom-bard lo-cal law en-for-ce-ment with a hun-d-red and one qu-es-ti-ons that ne-it-her he nor Dal-las wo-uld be ab-le to an-s-wer. Not yet. And on-ce the ini-ti-al shock wo-re off, Big Jim Up-ton wo-uld start de-man-ding an-s-wers. And ac-ti-on. If Jacob didn't ma-ke an ar-rest by this ti-me to-mor-row, the-re wo-uld be hell to pay. But how co-uld a man ma-ke an ar-rest wit-ho-ut any evi-den-ce?
A call ca-me in over the ra-dio from Tim Wil-lin-g-ham, one of Jacob's de-pu-ti-es. "Bet-ter get over he-re and ta-ke a lo-ok," Tim sa-id. "A Mr. and Mrs. Wal-ker cal-led in a re-port that so-met-hing was on fi-re down the ro-ad from the-ir ca-bin. When the fi-re de-par-t-ment got the-re, gu-ess what they fo-und off in a ra-vi-ne, bur-ning li-ke crazy." Jacob's gut tig-h-te-ned. "A gre-en Jagu-ar." "Ye-ah, that's my gu-ess. The ve-hic-le is bur-ned to a fa-re-thee-well. Right abo-ut the ti-me the fi-re de-par-t-ment sho-wed up, the thing ex-p-lo-ded. Sent sparks sho-oting up in the air. Er-nie's crew is still wor-king on ma-king su-re no-ne of tho-se sparks catch an-y-t-hing on fi-re in the sur-ro-un-ding area."
"Make su-re no-body bot-hers an-y-t-hing un-til I get the-re," Jacob sa-id. "And, Tim, ma-ke su-re the pe-op-le sta-ying in the ca-bins wit-hin a two-mi-le area of the si-te don't run off an-y-w-he-re.
So-me-body might ha-ve se-en so-met-hing."
Chapter 13
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When Jacob ma-de it to the si-te, the ve-hic-le was still smol-de-ring. The Jagu-ar was no lon-ger gre-en, no lon-ger sle-ek, no lon-ger classy. It was just a bur-ned out hull of a on-ce very ex-pen-si-ve toy for a rich girl. Tim Wil-lin-g-ham and Mo-ody Ryan, anot-her de-puty, had the area se-aled off, and Er-nie Swe-eney, the fi-re chi-ef, had his squ-ad ho-sing down the wo-ods sur-ro-un-ding the ra-vi-ne.
A small crowd of on-lo-okers had gat-he-red, less than a do-zen pe-op-le, and no one Jacob re-cog-ni-zed right off hand. To-urists, no do-ubt. Most had pro-bably be-en just dri-ving by. The ca-bins dot-ted he-re and the-re in the Che-ro-kee Co-unty mo-un-ta-ins ren-ted by the day, we-ek, or month and most folks we-re tem-po-rary re-si-dents, to-urists who sel-dom sta-yed mo-re than a we-ek or two.
Using the ro-pe that his de-pu-ti-es had in-s-tal-led in-to the ra-vi-ne, Jacob in-c-hed his way dow-n-ward, get-ting as clo-se to the ru-ins as he da-red. On-ce at the fo-ot of the ste-ep but re-la-ti-vely shal-low gor-ge, Jacob re-le-ased his hold on the ro-pe and wal-ked hal-f-way aro-und the Jagu-ar's re-ma-ins. Eno-ugh of the car still exis-ted to ta-ke an edu ca-ted gu-ess as to the ma-ke, if not the exact mo-del. He'd bet his last di-me that this was Re-ve Sor-rell's Jagu-ar, the one sto-len from Til-lis’ Ga-ra-ge.
"Keep this area cor-ded off," Jacob cal-led up to Tim and Mo-ody. "As so-on as they fi-nish up over at the ca-bin, I'll send Burt, Dway-ne, and Earl over he-re to work with Er-nie to check the car over be-fo-re we ha-ve it ha-uled in." Burt and Dway-ne com-p-ri-sed the co-unty's fo-ren-sics te-am, and the Che-ro-kee Po-in-te po-li-ce had only Earl. They we-re all go-od at the-ir jobs, but co-uld do only so much, sin-ce ne-it-her the city nor the co-unty had a sta-te-of-the-art lab.
"Will do," Tim rep-li-ed. "By the way, Jacob, we chec-ked, and the-re are six ca-bins wit-hin a two-mi-le ra-di-us of he-re. One ca-bin is empty, but we spo-ke to the pe-op-le in the ot-hers." Tim nod-ded to-ward the half do-zen in-te-res-ted ci-ti-zens ke-eping a res-pec-t-ful dis-tan-ce as they wat-c-hed the fi-re-fig-h-ters and law-men. 'The folks who cal-led in abo-ut the fi-re are over the-re.
They're sta-ying in the ne-arest ca-bin. It's a Fred and Re-gi-na Wal-ker."
"Tourists?" Jacob as-ked.
'Yeah."
"What abo-ut the ot-her fo-ur ca-bins? To-urists in them?" 'To-urists in two," Tim rep-li-ed.
"Locals ren-ting the ot-her two?"
"Caleb McCord's in one and that lady pa-in-ter, Ms. Mer-cer, li-ves in the ot-her one."
Jacob grun-ted, then clim-bed back up the hill, using •he ro-pe to aid him in his as-cent. When he re-ac-hed the ro-ad, he pul-led Tim asi-de. "Lo-ok, it'll sa-ve me ti-me if you and Mo-ody co-uld ro-und up-"
"Been do-ne," Tim sa-id. "I fi-gu-red you'd want to qu-es-ti-on ever-y-body, so I to-ok it on myself to ask all the folks to co-me on over to Mr. and Mrs. Wal-ker's ca-bin. They we-re re-al ni-ce and sa-id they didn't mind a bit." Tim cle-ared his thro-at. "It was all right that I just went ahe-ad and-"
"Yeah, su-re. Thanks," Jacob sa-id. "I ap-pre-ci-ate yo-ur ta-king the ini-ti-ati-ve. So let's go. The
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so-oner I talk to the-se folks, the so-oner we'll find out if an-y-body saw an-y-t-hing." Jacob fo-cu-sed his ga-ze on Tim. "Or ha-ve you al-re-ady qu-es-ti-oned them?"
Tim gul-ped. "No, sir. I fi-gu-red you'd want to do that."
Jacob grin-ned, slap-ped Tim on the back, and he-aded to-ward the ca-bin that had be-en bu-ilt way up in the wo-ods, ca-ter-cor-ner from the ra-vi-ne. His gu-ess was that, al-t-ho-ugh the Wal-kers had se-en the dark smo-ke ri-sing in-to the cle-ar blue sky, from the way the-ir ca-bin was si-tu-ated, it had be-en im-pos-sib-le for them to see this sec-ti-on of the ro-ad-way or the ra-vi-ne it-self.
With Tim at his si-de, Jacob ap-pro-ac-hed the crowd. "Mr. and Mrs. Wal-ker?"
"Yes, that's us." A short, stocky man in his mid fif-ti-es mo-ved for-ward, a plump, rosy-che-eked blon-de abo-ut the sa-me age hug-ging his si-de.
"Where are you folks from?" Jacob as-ked.
"Nashville," Mr. Wal-ker rep-li-ed. "We co-me up he-re every ye-ar abo-ut this ti-me. And we've be-en ren-ting the sa-me ca-bin the past fi-ve ye-ars."
"We su-re do ap-pre-ci-ate y'all con-tac-ting the fi-re de-par-t-ment," Jacob told them. "I won-der if you might an-s-wer a few qu-es-ti-ons."
"Certainly, She-riff. You are the she-riff, aren't you?" Mr. Wal-ker as-ked.
"Yes, sir. She-riff Jacob But-ler." He held out his hand and he and Wal-ker sha-red a bri-ef sha-ke.
"We've had a ho-mi-ci-de in Che-ro-kee Co-unty, and the-re's a go-od chan-ce the car down in the ra-vi-ne is con-nec-ted to that cri-me.
"Is the-re a body in the car?" Mrs. Wal-ker as-ked, her eyes wi-de with won-der.
"No, ma'am," Jacob sa-id.
"We'll an-s-wer any qu-es-ti-ons you ha-ve to ask," Mr. Wal-ker sa-id.
Jacob nod-ded. "Be-fo-re y'all saw the smo-ke co-ming from the ra-vi-ne, did eit-her of you see or he-ar an-y-t-hing out of the or-di-nary? Did you see so-me-one on the ro-ad? Or did you see the car-a gre-en Jagu-ar-go by he-re any ti-me this mor-ning?"
Walker sho-ok his he-ad. "We slept la-te. I'd just wal-ked out on the deck with my first cup of cof-fee when I saw the smo-ke. Re-gi-na was still in bed."
"I see. Well, thanks. And thanks, too, for al-lo-wing us to use yo-ur ca-bin to qu-es-ti-on the folks in the ot-her ne-arby ca-bins. It sho-uldn't ta-ke long, and then we'll turn the pla-ce back over to y'all."
Jacob her-ded Tim to-ward his truck and the two got in and dro-ve up the ro-ad and on-to the dri-ve le-ading to the Wal-ker's ren-tal ca-bin. As he pul-led the Dod-ge Ram to a halt, Jacob no-ti-ced Ca-leb McCord sit-ting in a roc-king cha-ir on the wi-de front porch. The mi-nu-te Jacob jum-ped out of his truck, Ca-leb bo-un-ded down the steps to me-et him,