The Last to Die (37 page)

"Did Genny re-cog-ni-ze the man?"

"Dallas didn't say, but pro-bably not or he wo-uld ha-ve men-ti-oned a na-me."

They're go-ing to start se-ar-c-hing for the body, aren't they? Genny will go with Jacob and Dal-las."

They'll call us when they know so-met-hing."

"Maybe we sho-uld-"

Caleb pres-sed his in-dex fin-ger over her lips. "No."

"No?"

"We are not go-ing with them. We're sta-ying right he-re."

"You're get-ting aw-ful-ly bossy all of a sud-den," she told him. "Just be-ca-use we slept to-get-her,
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do-esn't me-an-"

"I don't think we've do-ne any sle-eping," he sa-id. "At le-ast not yet."

"Damn, you know what I me-an. Just be-ca-use we're lo-vers now do-es not me-an you get to gi-ve me or-ders."

He gras-ped her fa-ce bet-we-en his fin-gers and thumb, for-cing her to lo-ok at him. "We're mo-re than lo-vers, aren't we?"

She sta-red at him, ne-it-her ag-re-e-ing nor di-sag-re-e-ing.

"Okay, I don't ha-ve the right to gi-ve you or-ders, even if you we-re my wi-fe. But what we ha-ve, who we are to each ot-her, do-es gi-ve me the right to pro-tect you."

"You want to pro-tect me?"

"Protect you, ta-ke ca-re of you, ma-ke you happy." He re-le-ased his te-na-ci-o-us hold on her fa-ce.

"You, Ca-leb McCord, are one of a kind." She kis-sed him. A ten-der, lo-ving, gra-te-ful kiss.

Hugging her clo-se, he res-ted his chin on the top of her he-ad. "I was just thin-king the sa-me thing abo-ut you, swe-et-he-art. The-re's no-body in the world li-ke you."

* * *

She dro-ve the truck to wit-hin half a mi-le of whe-re she had dum-ped the gre-en Jagu-ar. Along this stretch of ro-ad the-re we-re nu-me-ro-us ste-ep ra-vi-nes su-itab-le for what she had in mind. She'd co-ve-red Stan Wat-son's body with a tarp she'd fo-und in the mas-si-ve ste-el to-ol-box at-tac-hed to the truck bed. Luc-kily she hadn't run in-to anot-her ve-hic-le sin-ce she'd left Ho-ney Be-ar Tra-il fif-te-en mi-nu-tes ago. Be-fo-re le-aving, she had go-ne in-to the wo-ods and bu-ri-ed the blo-ody kni-fe she'd used on Stan-his own kni-fe!-only a few fe-et away from whe-re he'd bu-ri-ed her black plas-tic bag. It co-uld be ye-ars-or may-be ne-ver- be-fo-re an-yo-ne dis-co-ve-red that sack and its con-tents. She hadn't wan-ted to kill Stan. She hadn't even known him. But on-ce he'd se-en her dig-ging that ho-le in the gro-und, out in the wo-ods, she'd had no cho-ice. She had be-en mer-ci-ful. She'd kil-led him qu-ickly. And she'd even gi-ven him a fa-re-well fuck. It was the le-ast she co-uld do for an in-no-cent man.

Killing Stan scre-wed up her plans so-mew-hat. If Jaz-zy Tal-bot had an ali-bi for to-night, then the she-riff and the dis-t-rict at-tor-ney might start qu-es-ti-oning whet-her Jaz-zy had kil-led Jamie. But
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may-be, just may-be, the-re we-re eno-ugh dif-fe-ren-ces in the two mur-ders that the law wo-uld as-su-me this was a cop-y-cat kil-ling. She had left Jamie's body in the ca-bin. She wo-uld burn Stan's in-si-de the truck. And if that we-ird mo-un-ta-in girl Genny saw any vi-si-ons abo-ut Stan's de-ath, she wo-uld re-port that he hadn't be-en tor-tu-red. At le-ast not much.

I ho-pe you 're alo-ne, Jaz-zy Tal-bot. I ho-pe you don't ha-ve an ali-bi. If you don’t then this
se-cond mur-der will se-al yo-ur fa-te.

Andrea Wil-lis wo-ke with a start. She he-ard vo-ices. Sit-ting stra-ight up in bed, she lis-te-ned.

La-ura and She-ri-dan we-re ar-gu-ing.

She glan-ced at the bed-si-de clock. Twel-ve-twen-ty-fi-ve. Why we-re the-ir da-ug-h-ters ha-ving a sho-uting match at this ti-me of night? She got out of bed, slip-ped in-to her ro-be and sho-es, then qu-i-etly ma-de her way out of the ro-om, le-aving Ce-cil as-le-ep. Whe-ne-ver he to-ok a sle-eping pill, he slept li-ke the de-ad. Mo-re and mo-re of-ten, he re-li-ed on me-di-ca-ti-on in or-der to rest, just as she did. But to-night she'd left off her me-di-ca-ti-on.

The girls we-re stan-ding out-si-de in the hal-lway, ne-ar the back sta-ir-way. Both we-re fully dres-sed. Odd, An-d-rea tho-ught. Why wo-uld they be dres-sed? She hur-ri-ed to-ward them and the mi-nu-te they saw her, they qu-i-eted im-me-di-ately.

"What in God's na-me is go-ing on?" An-d-rea de-man-ded. "What if so-me-one over-he-ard you?"

"Nobody he-ard us, ex-cept you," She-ri-dan sa-id. "Big Jim sta-yed at the hos-pi-tal and it wo-uld ta-ke a bomb ex-p-lo-ding on his chest to wa-ke Daddy."

"What abo-ut the ser-vants?"

"The ser-vants' ro-oms are dow-n-s-ta-irs," She-ri-dan re-min-ded her mot-her.

"Who's go-ing to tell me what's go-ing on?" An-d-rea de-man-ded.

Laura hung her he-ad. She-ri-dan gri-ma-ced.

"Why aren't you two in bed as-le-ep at this ti-me of night? It's past mid-night."

"I've be-en out," She-ri-dan ad-mit-ted. "I had a da-te."

That fact didn't sur-p-ri-se An-d-rea in the le-ast. She lo-oked at La-ura. "And you?"

I was res-t-less, so I went out so-mew-he-re… I think."

"You think?" An-d-rea's he-art ca-ught in her thro-at. "Whe-re is Mrs. Con-ley?"

I don't know. As-le-ep, I gu-ess," La-ura rep-li-ed, he sho-uld ha-ve awa-ke-ned when she he-ard you two scre-ec-hing at each ot-her." An-d-rea tur-ned to She-ri-dan.

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''Tell me in one or two sen-ten-ces why you and yo-ur sis-ter we-re ar-gu-ing."

"When I ca-me in, I ca-ught her sne-aking up the back sta-irs, so I as-ked her who she'd go-ne out and kil-led to-night," She-ri-dan sa-id.

Acting pu-rely on in-s-tin-c-ti-ve ra-ge, An-d-rea slap-ped She-ri-dan, who jer-ked back and gla-red at her mot-her. Then she rub-bed her che-ek and grin-ned.

"Admit it, Mot-her, you think she might ha-ve kil-led Jamie."

"I didn't," La-ura told them. "I-I co-uldn't ha-ve. I lo-ved Jamie. We we-re go-ing to ha-ve a baby."

Andrea put her arm aro-und La-ura's sho-ul-ders, then glan-ced at She-ri-dan. "Go to bed. And from now on, ke-ep yo-ur opi-ni-on to yo-ur-self. Un-der-s-tand?"

"Yes, ma'am." She-ri-dan he-aded for her ro-om.

"Co-me with me." An-d-rea led La-ura in-to her bed-ro-om. The ro-om lay in mo-on-lit sha-dows.

An-d-rea flip-ped on the over-he-ad light. Mrs. Con-ley, sno-ring lo-udly, sat in the over-s-tuf-fed cha-ir in the cor-ner. A empty cup res-ted on the flo-or be-si-de the cha-ir. An-d-rea left La-ura stan-ding in the mid-dle of the ro-om and went to check on the nur-se. She cal-led the wo-man's na-me. No res-pon-se. She tap-ped on her sho-ul-der. Mrs. Con-ley con-ti-nu-ed sno-ring. An-d-rea sho-ok her.

She grun-ted, but didn't awa-ken. Drug-ged! The wo-man had be-en drug-ged. An-d-rea whir-led aro-und and gla-red at La-ura. "What did you gi-ve her?"

Laura hug-ged her-self and lo-oked ever-y-w-he-re but at her mot-her.

Andrea rus-hed over, grab-bed La-ura and sho-ok her. "What did you gi-ve Mrs. Con-ley? Do I ne-ed to call an am-bu-lan-ce?"

"It was just a co-up-le of Daddy's sle-eping pills," La-ura ad-mit-ted. "I got ti-red of her wat-c-hing me li-ke a hawk.

She wo-uldn't even let me go pee wit-ho-ut le-aving the bat-h-ro-om do-or open."

"Laura, La-ura… -what am I go-ing to do with you?"

"Love me. Ple-ase, Mot-her, lo-ve me the way you do She-ri-dan."

Andrea wrap-ped her arms aro-und her el-der da-ug-h-ter and held her. "My po-or lit-tle La-ura."

Sally Tal-bot sho-wed up at Jaz-zy's apar-t-ment promptly at six o'clock. Ca-leb was in the kit-c-hen pre-pa-ring cof-fee when she knoc-ked on the do-or.

"How's our girl?" Sally as-ked.

"Still sle-eping," Ca-leb sa-id. "It was af-ter fo-ur be-fo-re she fi-nal-ly fell as-le-ep aga-in."

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"Dallas cal-led me right be-fo-re I left the ho-use." Sally glan-ced to-ward the clo-sed bed-ro-om do-or. 'They fo-und anot-her ve-hic-le bur-ning down in a hol-low, not half a mi-le from whe-re they fo-und that ot-her one."

"When?"

"About an ho-ur ago."

"I think I'll dri-ve up the-re and see what they know."

"Figured you'd want to. That's why I'm he-re. To lo-ok af-ter Jaz-zy. She don't ne-ed to go with you."

"I ag-ree." He nod-ded to-ward the kit-c-hen. "Cof-fee's on. I'll grab a mug be-fo-re I he-ad out."

Ca-leb wal-ked to-ward the bed-ro-om.

"What are you do-ing?" Sally as-ked. " Don't wa-ke her UP or she'll want to go with you."

''I won't wa-ke her. I just…" He felt aw-k-ward ad-mit-ting his fe-elings to Jaz-zy's aunt. "I just want to ta-ke anot-her lo-ok at her be-fo-re I le-ave."

Sally grin-ned, then tur-ned and he-aded for the kit-c-hen.

Caleb ope-ned the do-or and tip-to-ed in-to the se-mi dark ro-om. Jaz-zy lay un-der the she-et, cur-led in a ball on her si-de. He crept over to the ed-ge of the bed and lo-oked down at her. God, she was the pret-ti-est thing he'd ever se-en.

Admit it, McCord. You 're in lo-ve with her.

Unable to re-sist the tem-p-ta-ti-on, he re-ac-hed out and ran the back of his hand gently ac-ross her che-ek. She sig-hed and tur-ned over on her back, but didn't wa-ke up. He le-aned over and kis-sed her fo-re-he-ad. She mur-mu-red so-met-hing in-co-he-rent in her sle-ep.

"I lo-ve you," he whis-pe-red, kno-wing she co-uldn't he-ar him.

Her bre-at-hing was de-ep and even. Res-t-ful. Her lips par-ted and she sa-id one word pla-inly.

''Jamie…"

Chapter 23

While Genny slept on the cot in Jacob's of-fi-ce, re-co-ve-ring from the-ir early mor-ning se-arch, he and Dal-las sat in the outer of-fi-ce with a co-up-le of his de-pu-ti-es, Mo-ody Ryan and Bobby Joe Har-te. Al-t-ho-ugh Genny had be-en ab-le to po-int them in the right di-rec-ti-on and hel-ped them find the spot whe-re the truck had be-en aban-do-ned and bur-ned, she'd be-en unab-le to pick up the lo-ca-ti-on whe-re the mur-der had ac-tu-al-ly be-en com-mit-ted. Be-fo-re she'd pas-sed out from ex-ha-us-ti-on, she'd told them de-fi-ni-tely that the mur-der hadn't oc-cur-red ne-arby.

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"Farther up the mo-un-ta-in," Genny had sa-id. "Ne-ar a thickly wo-oded area. Iso-la-ted. May-be only one ca-bin an-y-w-he-re clo-se."

Jacob had left the fo-ren-sics te-am go-ing over the fi-ery truck si-te. And he'd put in a call to Knox-vil-le. A se-cond mur-der in a we-ek's ti-me was all too re-mi-nis-cent of the se-ri-al kil-ler that had stal-ked Che-ro-kee Co-unty three months ago, so he was dam-ned and de-ter-mi-ned to do his best to stop this kil-ler be-fo-re anot-her man fell victim to her black-wi-dow tac-tics. From the char-red re-ma-ins of the body in-si-de the truck the-re was no way to tell for su-re who the man had be-en, and Pe-te Holt had sa-id it had de-fi-ni-tely be-en a man. The body wo-uld be ship-ped out to Knox-vil-le by no-on to-day. Un-til then, they co-uld only spe-cu-la-te as to who the vic-tim was. But the truck was anot-her mat-ter. Al-t-ho-ugh badly bur-ned, the truck was still in-tact eno-ugh to ma-ke out the mo-del. And as luck wo-uld ha-ve it, the car tag, which ap-pa-rently had be-en held in pla-ce by a de-co-ra-ti-ve plas-tic fra-me, had fal-len off on the gro-und and es-ca-ped be-ing blac-ke-ned when the plas-tic fra-me mel-ted. They'd im-me-di-ately run a se-arch on the tag and fo-und the truck be-lon-ged to Stan-ley Wat-son, a ma-in-te-nan-ce man who wor-ked for Che-ro-kee Ca-bin Ren-tals.

Propped on the ed-ge of Mo-ody's desk, his legs cros-sed at the an-k-les, Jacob held the list of job as-sig-n-ments Stan's boss Ho-ot Tom-p-kins, the ma-na-ger of the ren-tal ca-bins, had gi-ven them.

"Hoot sa-id his men to-ok the-ir as-sig-n-ment she-ets from him every mor-ning, then de-ci-ded for them-sel-ves which job to do first, un-less told ot-her-wi-se, "Jacob sa-id. "We've got a co-up-le of guys from our de-par-t-ment and from Dal-las's go-ing from ca-bin to ca-bin to find out if Stan fi-nis-hed up on all the-se jobs. "Jacob tap-ped the as-sig-n-ment she-et he held. "If one was left un-do-ne, that might me-an it was the last pla-ce he stop-ped be-fo-re he was kil-led."

"Do you think it was her?" Bobby Joe as-ked and when all eyes fo-cu-sed on him, he swal-lo-wed hard. "Not Miss Jaz-zy. I didn't me-an her. I'm tal-king abo-ut who-ever re-al-ly kil-led Jamie Up-ton.

You think the sa-me wo-man kil-led Stan Wat-son?"

"We're only gu-es-sing that it's Wat-son," Dal-las sa-id. "It was his truck and the guy isn't at ho-me and no-body's se-en him sin-ce aro-und lun-c-h-ti-me yes-ter-day."

"If it is the sa-me per-son-the kil-ler, I me-an…" Bobby Joe pa-ced aro-und the ro-om as he spo-ke ner-vo-usly. "Do-esn't that put Miss Jaz-zy in the cle-ar? If she's got-got an ali-bi this ti-me, then may-be we sho-uld- sho-uld be lo-oking el-sew-he-re for Jamie's kil-ler."

Jacob stu-di-ed his de-puty. Bobby Joe was stut-te-ring and ac-ting li-ke a worm in hot as-hes. He su-re wasn't his usu-al la-id-back, eas-y-go-ing self. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

At the so-und of Jacob's ro-ar, Bobby Joe fro-ze in his tracks. "Not-hing's wrong with me."

"You su-re are ac-ting pe-cu-li-ar," Dal-las com-men-ted.

''That's what I was thin-king," Jacob sa-id.

"Ah, his mind isn't on his job," Mo-ody told them. "He's got him-self a new swe-etie. A re-al hot lit-tle num-ber and-"

"Shut up, will you!" Bobby Joe glo-we-red at Mo-ody. "Hell, can't a man ha-ve a pri-va-te li-fe wit-ho-ut ever-y-body stic-king the-ir no-se in his bu-si-ness?" 'You're over-re-ac-ting to a lit-tle in-no-cent rib-bing," Jacob sa-id. 'That's not li-ke you. So-met-hing is wrong or you wo-uldn't be ac-ting
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