The Last to Die (45 page)

"But, Daddy, what if I did kill Jamie?"

Cecil sho-ok her gendy. Te-ars wel-led up in her eyes. "You didn't kill him. I know you didn't."

"Your fat-her is right, La-ura. You didn't kill him," a fe-ma-le vo-ice sa-id. "I did."

Cecil se-ar-c-hed the dar-k-ness for the so-ur-ce of the vo-ice, a vo-ice that se-emed oddly fa-mi-li-ar.

"Who sa-id that?" La-ura clung to her fat-her as she lo-oked all aro-und her.

A small gray sha-dow mo-ved out of the tall shrub-bery that li-ned the back gar-den wall.

Cecil held his bre-ath as she ca-me in-to vi-ew, the soft pa-tio tor-c-h-lights cas-ting a gol-den glow over the wo-man. He sta-red at her for an en-d-less mo-ment.

"My God, it can't be."

"But it is," she sa-id. "I've co-me for you. And for La-ura. Su-rely you knew that I wo-uld." She lif-ted her hand and aimed a si-nis-ter-lo-oking gun threcdy at him.

"How?" It was the only word Ce-cil ma-na-ged to say.

"How did I get in-si-de the loc-ked ga-tes of the Up-ton com-po-und?" the wo-man as-ked, smi-ling
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wic-kedly. "I used Jamie's re-mo-te con-t-rol, of co-ur-se. I fo-und it in his pants poc-ket when I strip-ped him."

"Who are you?" La-ura ma-na-ged to ask.

"Didn't yo-ur fat-her tell you abo-ut me? No, of co-ur-se he didn't He's as-ha-med of me. But he sho-uld be as-ha-med of him-self, be-ca-use he hasn't be-en a very go-od fat-her. A go-od fat-her ne-ver wo-uld ha-ve al-lo-wed you to be-co-me in-vol-ved with Jamie. He was a bad man. A bad man li-ke you, Ce-cil. He de-ser-ved to die."

"Daddy?" Trem-b-ling from he-ad to toe, La-ura clung to Ce-cil.

"It'll be all right La-ura," he prot-hi-sed her, pra-ying fer-vently that he co-uld ke-ep that prot-hi-se.

"He's right, La-ura. Ever-y-t-hing is all right, now that I m he-re. I'll ma-ke su-re no one ever hurts my baby. I'm a go-od mot-her. I was al-ways a go-od mot-her, but they to-ok my lit-tle girl away from me.

That wasn't right, was j«And Jaz-zy ra-ised my lit-tle girl and told her she was her mot-her. Jaz-zy and Jamie we-re so…"

She sta-red from La-ura to Ce-cil as if she co-uldn't qu-ite re-mem-ber who they we-re. If only he da-red to jump her, Ce-cil tho-ught, da-red to go for the gun and y to stop her. But what if she ac-ci-den-tal-ly shot La-ura?

''That's not right, is it? Jamie was me-an to you-" She po-in-ted the gun at La-ura and Ce-cil gas-ped.

Then she po-in-ted the gun back at him. "I kil-led him be-ca-use he was me-an to my baby. And you've be-en a bad fat-her, Ce-cil. A very bad fat-her. And Jaz-zy was a bad mot-her. It was wrong of her to ta-ke you away from me. She had no right to tell my baby she was her mot-her."

"Daddy, what is she tal-king abo-ut? Do you know her?" "Yes… Daddy… tell her what I'm tal-king abo-ut. Tell her who I am."

Andrea swung open the French do-ors and mar-c-hed out on-to the pa-tio. She had gi-ven Ce-cil mo-re than eno-ugh ti-me to bro-od on his own. It was ti-me they tal-ked, ti-me they ma-de plans to pro-tect them-sel-ves and the-ir da-ug-h-ters. Wha-te-ver it to-ok to ke-ep the truth hid-den, they must do it. If an-yo-ne in the-ir cir-c-le ever fo-und out abo-ut Mar-ga-ret, it wo-uld ru-in them. And it wo-uld des-t-roy La-ura. She hadn't in-ves-ted twen-ty-fo-ur ye-ars of her li-fe in Ce-cil's da-ug-h-ter to let it be for na-ught. She lo-ved La-ura, as much as it was pos-sib-le to lo-ve anot-her wo-man's child, and for Ce-cil's sa-ke she had pro-tec-ted the girl. Of co-ur-se, lo-ving La-ura hadn't be-en dif-fi-cult at first, not when she'd be-en an in-fant and tod-dler.

"Cecil, whe-re are you?"

No res-pon-se.

Damn, had he go-ne off for a walk and not told her? She glan-ced aro-und and sud-denly no-ti-ced two rat-her odd ti-lin-gs-Ce-cil's empty te-acup and sa-ucer lay scat-te-red in bro-ken pi-eces on the brick pa-tio flo-or. And only a co-up-le of fe-et away, one of La-ura's ho-use slip-pers res-ted up-si-de
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down, as if she'd lost it whi-le run-ning.

An un-ner-ving sen-sa-ti-on flut-te-red thro-ugh An-d-rea's sto-mach. So-met-hing was wrong.

Ter-ribly wrong. La-ura wo-uldn't ha-ve ta-ken a walk with her fat-her wit-ho-ut her slip-pers. She had such sen-si-ti-ve fe-et that she'd ne-ver be-en ab-le to play ba-re-fo-ot as a child the way She-ri-dan had.

"Cecil!" An-d-rea sho-uted. "La-ura!"

Oh, God! Oh, God! She had no idea what had hap-pe-ned, co-uldn't even ima-gi-ne why she felt so pa-nicky. But her in-s-tincts told her that her hus-band and da-ug-h-ter we-re in dan-ger. Se-ri-o-us dan-ger.

Andrea rus-hed back in-si-de and scre-amed, "Do-ra!"

The ho-use-ke-eper ca-me run-ning as fast as a wo-man her age co-uld. "Yes, ma'am, what's wrong?"

"Have you se-en my hus-band and Miss La-ura?"

"No, ma'am, not sin-ce Miss La-ura ca-me by the kit-c-hen and as-ked me whe-re her fat-her was. I told her he'd ta-ken a cup of tea out on the pa-tio."

"Call She-riff But-ler im-me-di-ately and tell him that Mr. Wil-lis and Miss La-ura are Mis-sing."

"What?"

''You he-ard me. Call the she-riff right now. So-met-hing ter-rib-le has hap-pe-ned to my hus-band and da-ug-h-ter."

She tri-ed to be gen-t-le with La-ura, but the girl was af-ra-id of her. That was his fa-ult, of co-ur-se.

In or-der to ke-ep from hur-ting La-ura, she'd be-en for-ced to use the chlo-ro-form on her as well as on Jamie. No, not Jamie. Ce-cil. Ce-cil Wil-lis. A bad hus-band. And a bad fat-her.

She had ta-ken them back to her ca-bin. Sin-ce she wo-uld be le-aving town as so-on as she fi-nis-hed what she'd co-me he-re to do, the-re was no re-ason she co-uldn't kill them he-re in the ca-bin she'd be-en li-ving in for qu-ite so-me hme. Af-ter all, she'd used an ali-as and a phony ID. And °nce she left Che-ro-kee Co-unty, no one wo-uld be ab-le ° tra-ce her. She had new iden-ti-ti-es cho-sen for her-self and her baby, with all the ne-ces-sary pa-pers to pro-ve they we-re who they wo-uld say they we-re. And she co-uld do as she'd be-en do-ing for two ye-ars now, char-ge every-dhng to cre-dit cards, pay a lit-tle along, and then chan-ge iden-ti-ti-es and di-sap-pe-ar. She had be-en wa-iting and plan-ning, kno-wing that she wo-uld even-tu-al-ly be ab-le to pu-nish the ones who had hurt her, the ones who had ta-ken her baby away from her.

Her baby. Whe-re was her baby? She'd left her sle-eping when she'd go-ne to get Ce-cil, but when she bro-ught him and La-ura back to her ca-bin, her baby was go-ne.

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Think, think, think
. She tap-ped her-self on the tem-p-le.
Jaz-zy has yo-ur baby. She's be-en
pre-ten-ding to be her mot-her. Jamie ga-ve yo-ur baby to Jaz-zy.

No, that wasn't right. It hadn't be-en Jamie.

But Jaz-zy had ta-ken her baby. Jaz-zy had to pay with her li-fe. She'd hurt…

Who had Jaz-zy hurt?

Laura.

Jazzy had hurt La-ura.

She le-aned over La-ura Wil-lis, who lay sle-eping on the so-fa, and ca-res-sed the girl's soft che-ek.

It hadn't be-en too dif-fi-cult to drag the girl from the car. She was small and slen-der. Get-ting Ce-cil in-to the ca-bin had be-en mo-re dif-fi-cult be-ca-use he was big-ger and he-avi-er. But she had ma-na-ged by she-er de-ter-mi-na-ti-on.

"I'm go-ing to get Jaz-zy and bring her back he-re. I want her to watch me kill him, but be-fo-re I end his li-fe, I want him to he-ar her scre-ams. I'll ma-ke them pay, baby, I prot-hi-se. I'll ma-ke them pay for everydhng they've do-ne to us."

Jazzy stag-ge-red aro-und in her of-fi-ce. She was a bit tipsy. Not drunk, just fe-eling very lit-tle pa-in. That dhrd shot of whis-key had so-ot-hed her. And the fo-urth had num-bed her. What she ne-eded now was to get up-s-ta-irs to her bed and sle-ep for abo-ut a hun-d-red ho-urs. On-ce she'd slept, on-ce she'd era-sed both Ca-leb and Jamie from her mind, she wo-uld be ab-le to de-ci-de what to do. To-mor-row.

Lacy co-uld clo-se up shop wit-ho-ut her. She'd do-ne it nu-me-ro-us ti-mes. And the-re was no ne-ed to bot-her her.
I'll just sne-ak out the back way and go ho-me. Don't want no-body ma-king a
fuss over me.

"Who the hell wo-uld do that, Jaz-zy, you damn fo-ol?" she hol-le-red.

She pla-ced her in-dex fin-ger over her lips. "Sh-be qu-i-et. You're tal-king too lo-ud."

What if when you go ho-me you can't sle-ep? What if you're not drunk eno-ugh to pass out?

You '11 be in the bed whe-re you and Ca-leb ma-de lo-ve for the first ti-me. Will you be ab-le to lie
the-re and not think abo-ut him? Hell, no! You '11 wind up crying, that's what you'll do. Be-ca-use
you're in lo-ve with him. In lo-ve with anot-her damn Up-ton.

So don't go ho-me. You 're part ow-ner in a co-up-le of do-zen ca-bin ren-tals. Cho-ose one
that's empty and spend the night the-re. But which one? The one whe-re Re-ve Sor-rell sta-yed. I
don't think an-y-body has ren-ted that one aga-in.

Jazzy stum-b-led ac-ross her of-fi-ce, back to her desk, step-ping over scat-te-red deb-ris on the flo-or. She rum-ma-ged aro-und in the desk dra-wers un-til she fo-und a set of mas-ter keys to the
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ren-tal ca-bins.

Now what was the na-me of the ca-bin whe-re Re-ve had sta-yed? Pi-nes so-met-hing or ot-her.

Two Pi-nes. No, Twin Pi-nes. That was it.

She drag-ged her swe-ater off the clot-hes rack in the cor-ner, inad-ver-tendy cras-hing the rack in-to the wall. gno-ring the to-tal mess she'd ma-de of her of-fi-ce, she ut-fed the hu-ge key cha-in in her swe-ater poc-ket and he-aded for the do-or.

Music mi-xed and min-g-led with ot-her hon-ky-tonk so-unds and drif-ted down the hal-lway. Jaz-zy glan-ced up the hall, saw no one, and then went stra-ight to-ward the back do-or that led in-to the al-ley.

Her car was par-ked at the end of the stre-et, on the cor-ner by the al-ley ne-ar the out-si-de sta-irs that led to her apar-t-ment over Jaz-zy's Jo-int. She felt in her je-ans poc-ket for her car keys and sig-hed when she felt them the-re.

She'd ta-ken only a few steps when she tho-ught she he-ard so-met-hing. He-aring bo-gey-men aga-in? Ig-no-ring the so-und, she kept wal-king up the al-ley, to-ward the stre-et ahe-ad. When she'd al-most re-ac-hed the stre-et, she he-ard a no-ise aga-in.

"Is so-me-body the-re?" she as-ked as she tur-ned aro-und, then gas-ped when she saw the dark fi-gu-re step out of the sha-dows. "What do you want?"

"I want you, Jaz-zy," the wo-man sa-id. "I've co-me to ta-ke you to yo-ur lo-ver."

"Who are you? What the hell are you tal-king abo-ut?"

"I'm the mot-her of the child you sto-le. I'm the wi-fe of the man you se-du-ced."

Jazzy tri-ed to get a bet-ter lo-ok at the wo-man, but all she co-uld see in the sha-dowy dar-k-ness was the shim-mer of blond ha-ir. "You're crazy. I've ne-ver fo-oled aro-und with a mar-ri-ed man. And I su-re as hell ne-ver sto-le an-y-body's baby."

"Lying won't help you. Not now."

The wo-man mo-ved clo-ser, clo-se eno-ugh for Jaz-zy to see her fa-ce cle-arly and to re-cog-ni-ze the wild-eyed cre-atu-re po-in-ting a gun right at her.

"We're go-ing to ta-ke a lit-tle ri-de."

"I don't think so," Jaz-zy sa-id.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way," the wo-man told her.

"I'm af-ra-id it's go-ing to ha-ve to be the hard way.

Before Jaz-zy re-ali-zed the wo-man's in-tent, she aimed her gun at Jaz-zy's mid-sec-ti-on and fi-red.

The bul-let en-te-red Jaz-zy's belly li-ke a hot ser-ra-ted kni-fe, rip-ping her apart with fi-ery pa-in.

When Jaz-zy drop-ped to her kne-es, the wo-man ca-me clo-ser and sto-od over her. Jaz-zy co-uldn't be-li-eve this had just hap-pe-ned, co-uldn't be-li-eve this crazy bitch had ac-tu-al-ly shot her.

Grip-ping her belly with both hands, she felt the warm stic-ki-ness of her own blo-od.
Oh, God, ple-ase
help me.

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The wo-man grab-bed Jaz-zy by her ha-ir. Jaz-zy yel-ped. She to-ok hold of the na-pe of Jaz-zy's swe-ater and star-ted drag-ging her down the al-ley. Damn, for a small wo-man, she was strong as an ox.

"Where… whe-re are you ta-king me?" Jaz-zy as-ked, kno-wing that she was on the ver-ge of fa-in-ting.

"Back to my ca-bin, of co-ur-se. I ha-ve Ce-cil and La-ura wa-iting for us."

Cecil and La-ura? La-ura Wil-lis and her fat-her? Jaz-zy re-ali-zed she was fa-ding fast and her tho-ught pro-ces-ses pro-bably we-ren't wor-king all that well, but no-ne of what this wo-man had sa-id ma-de any sen-se.

You're go-ing to die if you don't do so-met-hing
, Jaz-zy told her-self. But what co-uld she do? She was ble-eding pro-fu-sely and abo-ut half a mi-nu-te away from pas-sing out.
Le-ave a clue. It's only a
mat-ter of ti-me un-til so-me-body mis-ses you and co-mes lo-oking for you.

While the wo-man con-ti-nu-ed tug-ging on the neck of Jaz-zy's swe-ater, pul-ling her along the ro-ugh al-ley-way, Jaz-zy ma-na-ged to mus-ter eno-ugh strength to ease out the big key cha-in from her swe-ater poc-ket and sli-de it qu-i-etly down on the gro-und.

Chapter 29

Dallas Slo-an knew the signs. It hadn't ta-ken him long to re-cog-ni-ze both the sub-de and the ob-vi-o-us clu-es when Genny's mind left this tem-po-ral pla-ne and mo-ved in-to a spi-ri-tu-al re-alm.

Whe-ne-ver one of her vi-si-ons to-ok her away, she of-ten be-ca-me very still and very qu-i-et and her eyes wo-uld gla-ze over. Then when she be-ca-me fully im-mer-sed in that pla-ce out of ti-me and spa-ce, whe-re she wit-nes-sed eit-her the fu-tu-re or events oc-cur-ring so-mew-he-re el-se at that very mo-ment, she of-ten fa-in-ted de-ad away. If she was as-le-ep when a vi-si-on hap-pe-ned, her body wo-uld be-co-me ri-gid only mo-ments be-fo-re she be-gan tos-sing and tur-ning. And mo-re of-ten than not, she wo-uld wa-ke scre-aming.