The Fifth Victim (2 page)

Jazzy rose to her feet. “I’d better be heading into town. Can I give you a ride home, Ludie?”

“Goodness no. You know my place ain’t a quarter of a mile from here.”

“But with a killer on the loose—”

“Got my revolver in my coat pocket, as always,” Ludie said. “You know I don’t go nowhere without it.”

Ludie carried an old Smith & Wesson that had belonged to her father; and Sally toted a shotgun. A couple of old kooks, that was what most folks thought.

Jazzy hugged Ludie, then turned to her aunt. “Keep your doors locked.”

“I intend to,” Sally assured her. “I’ve got my shotgun, and I’ll bring Peter and Paul in before nightfall, like I always do in the dead of winter. Them dogs ain’t gonna let nothing slip up on me.”

Five minutes later Jazzy headed her Jeep down the mountain toward Cherokee Pointe, all the while her mind swirling with memories of Jamie Upton. His smile. His laughter. The way he called her darlin’. The little presents he’d given her over the years—ever since she’d been sixteen and had given him her virginity. Expensive trinkets. Payments for services rendered? He’d told her at least a hundred times that he loved her. Every time he left town for months, even for years, he came home expecting her to be there waiting for him, with arms wide open. Actually, a better expression would be with legs spread apart. Why was it that every time he came back, she found herself unable to resist him?

Because, idiot, every time he comes back into your life, he convinces you that he loves you, wants you, and someday you’ll have a future together
. Even when he’d brought home a fiancée, on two other occasions, he’d come to her for sex. How could she have been so damn stupid?

Well, this time Mr. Jamie Upton could find himself another whore. That’s the way he made her feel—like the whore people thought she was.

Just as she rounded the next corner, the county roads intersected. She halted at the four-way stop and glanced to her left at the arched gates and long driveway that led up to the biggest farm in Cherokee County—the Upton farm. Half a mile up the private drive sat a typical Southern mansion, fashioned after old antebellum homes and built over a hundred years ago for Big Jim Upton’s grandmother, who’d been a Mason from Virginia.

Once, long ago, Jazzy had dreamed of marrying Jamie and living in that big white house, with hot and cold running servants. All her life she’d wanted more, needed more than four walls and a roof. Something inside her yearned to be a lady, and to her that meant being wealthy.

Jazzy swallowed the emotions lodged in her throat, laughed out loud, then gunned the motor and raced through the intersection. Maybe this time Jamie wouldn’t come looking for her. But if he did, maybe this time she’d find the strength to turn him away.

Jacob Butler zipped up his brown leather jacket, positioned his brown Stetson on his head and headed out of his office. He hadn’t had a bite to eat since he’d wolfed down a scrambled egg sandwich at seven this morning while he’d been heading toward Scotsman’s Bluff. It had been a long, tiring day. He was now facing his first murder case since he’d been elected sheriff.

Deputy Bobby Joe Harte called out as Jacob passed by his desk, “That FBI guy just called. He said to tell you he’s in Knoxville and has rented a car. Said he was heading out soon and wanted to talk to you tonight when he gets in.”

“Did you tell him it was going to snow tonight?” Jacob asked.

“No sir. I figure the guy had checked the weather.”

“I’m not going by what the weathermen are predicting. Genny said heavy snowfall tonight.”

“Funny how she’s always right about things like that.” Bobby Joe grinned.

“Look, if he shows up—this Sloan guy—before I get back, tell him I’m over at Jasmine’s eating supper.”

“Just curious, Jacob, but what interest do the Feds have in a local murder case?”

“The Feds don’t have an interest,” Jacob replied. “It’s a personal matter with Sloan. He had a niece who was killed the same way Susie Richards was—slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb.”

“Ah, man, that’s gotta be rough.”

Jacob left the Sheriff’s Department, located on the first floor of the south side of the Cherokee County courthouse, closed the door behind him, and walked out onto the street. A frigid evening wind whizzed around him, blowing tiny new-fallen snowflakes up from the sidewalk. When he looked at the dark sky, he saw snow dancing downward in the glow from the nearby streetlight.

As he walked up Main, he thought about the young girl who’d died at the hands of a monster early this morning. Pete Holt, the coroner and owner of Holt’s Funeral Home, had said she probably hadn’t been dead more than a couple of hours when he’d examined her at the site. He and Pete had done their best to make sure proper procedures were followed, that all the evidence was gathered, and nothing was left undone. He’d called in Roddy Watson for advice. Roddy had been the chief of police in Cherokee Pointe for the past fifteen years, and what he lacked in brains he partly made up for with experience. Roddy had told Jacob that with a case like this, they’d have to send all the evidence over to Knoxville to the crime lab there.

Jacob rounded the corner onto Florence Avenue and headed straight for Jasmine’s, the best restaurant in town. As he drew near the front entrance to the renovated two-story building, he sensed he was being followed. When he glanced over his shoulder, he didn’t see anyone, but he couldn’t shake the notion that someone was watching him.

Damn, Butler, get a hold of yourself. Just because there was a gruesome murder in your county this morning doesn’t mean there are boogeymen lurking in the shadows
.

He stood across the street and watched the sheriff as he entered Jasmine’s.

Jacob Butler. Got elected by a landslide. Local boy done good. Jacob had left Cherokee Pointe when he’d been eighteen and joined the navy. The big guy—he stood six-five and had to weigh in at no less than two seventy five—had become a SEAL, been decorated for bravery, and got wounded bad enough on his last assignment to end his career at the ripe old age of thirty-five. Despite his quarter-breed heritage, he’d been welcomed home by the whole town and talked into running for office six months after his return.

He knew all about Jacob, which would make everything so much easier. Knowing one’s enemy was wise. What was the old saying about keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer. He intended to know every move Jacob made concerning the Susie Richards case.

There was no reason for anyone to ever suspect him. His reputation was above reproach. So when the next murder occurred, the local authorities would be stumped again, unable to figure out who and why. All he had to do was the same as he’d done countless times before—be diligent and patient and careful. With each death, his strength increased. But this time it would be different. This time he had found the perfect fifth victim.

Chapter 2

Genny had spent the day recuperating, and now she was restless. A winter storm was brewing—an unexpected storm. By morning there would be several inches of ice beneath a thick layer of newly fallen snow. There were things she needed to do to prepare for the isolation that lay ahead for her here in the mountains. Although she hadn’t regained all her strength after her dream vision, she had recovered enough to care for herself without any assistance. Jacob had called to check on her twice, and Jazzy had even driven up Cherokee Mountain late in the afternoon to see about her for the second time today. Jacob and Jazzy were the only two people to whom she could turn in moments of crisis, especially if the crisis was a result of her inherited
second sight
.

Having shared a childhood bond with Jacob, who was like a brother to her, and with Jazzy, with whom she’d been best friends since they were in diapers, she trusted them both implicitly. They understood she was different—Jazzy said she was special—and each stood by her, supported her, and loved her. They might not understand fully what she went through, but they understood better than anyone else ever had…anyone except Granny.

Some people didn’t believe in a sixth sense of any kind, and half of those who did believe in it were afraid of anyone they thought might have it. During her twenty-eight years, she’d been called some terrible names, as her maternal grandmother before her had been. Granny Butler had been ridiculed by those who didn’t understand she had little or no control over her psychic gifts. The ability to see things, to know things that should be impossible for her to see or know had been a mixed blessing, even a curse sometimes. Narrow-minded folks in Cherokee County had called her grandmother “the witch woman,” and many had been deathly afraid of her. But just as many had come to Granny, seeking her out for her special powers. And now those same people, as well as their children and grandchildren, often came to her. Sometimes she could help them; other times she either frightened them or sent them away without the help they’d been seeking.

She thanked the good Lord every day of her life that she’d had Granny to teach her, guide her, advise her, and protect her for so many years. Granny’s death six years ago had left a huge hole in Genny’s heart. She’d been two and Jacob eight when her mother had died in the same car wreck that had killed Jacob’s mother, leaving both children motherless. And since her own father had deserted her pregnant mother before Genny’s birth, Jacob’s father, Uncle Marcus, had been the only father she’d ever known.

During her years at Cherokee County High School, she’d tried to hide her abilities, had tried to fit in and be just one of the gang. But everyone had known about her grandmother. People had whispered behind her back, saying that Granny and she were witches. Jacob had gotten into numerous fist-fights defending their honor. How did you explain to people that you weren’t a witch, that you didn’t practice any type of magic, black or white?

The blood of a Cherokee shaman and a Celtic Druid princess had run in Granny Butler’s veins.

“Both my grandmothers had
the sight
. It skipped over your mother and your uncle Marcus and came right to you, just as it skipped over my mother and her siblings and came directly to me.” Granny had explained her unique inheritance to Genny when at six she had experienced her first vision.

Never a gregarious person and always one who enjoyed being alone, Genny had gravitated more and more to living a solitary life here in the massive old house where she and Jacob had grown up in Granny’s loving care.

Taking her heavy winter coat from the rack on the enclosed back porch, Genny headed for the door. The evening wind whistled around the corner of the cabin and cut into her skin like a thousand frigid little blades. She slipped into the coat hurriedly, grabbled in the pockets until she found her hat and gloves, then put them on. The moment she stepped into the backyard, Drudwyn came racing out of the woods that lay all around the half acre clearing where her great-grandfather had built a home for his family.

“Been visiting your lady friend again?” Genny asked as she reached down to stroke the huge dog’s head and back.

He gazed up at her with the eyes of a wolf, with his father’s eyes. She knew that someday he would leave her to run wild with the wolf pack that lived high in the mountains. She hadn’t seen Drudwyn’s leaving her in a vision, but she had sensed it several times lately when they spoke to each other. One of her several abilities was the rare gift of being able to communicate with animals. It wasn’t that she actually talked to animals and they replied; it was simply that she sensed what they thought and felt, and they in turn seemed able to do the same.

“I have to check the generators,” Genny said. “The electricity will likely go out tonight and I can’t have the greenhouses without power.”

Drudwyn followed at her side as she went through the routine of checking the generator and the greenhouses. Her livelihood depended upon those greenhouses, where she grew specialty flowers and various herbs that were sold locally and by mail-order throughout the country. She hadn’t expanded her nursery of shrubs and trees to her mail-order business, but had hopes of adding it in the near future. During the winter she and Wallace were able to handle everything, but come spring every year she hired a dozen part-time workers.

Wallace drove up from Cherokee Pointe every day except Sunday and Monday. He hadn’t made the drive today since today was Monday. Wallace was a hand-me-down employee from Granny. The old man had worked in the nursery for as long as Genny could remember. People in and around the area had been as unkind and cruel to Wallace because he was “slow-witted” as they had been to Granny because she was “fey.” It didn’t matter that Wallace was Farlan MacKinnon’s younger brother and the MacKinnons were one of the two wealthiest families in the county. Long ago Mr. Farlan had ceased trying to control his mentally impaired brother and simply let him do as he pleased. It had always pleased Wallace to work for Melva Mae Butler.

Genny lifted an armful of wood from the huge stack at the back of the house and carried it inside to the box on the back porch. When the electricity went out—and it would; it always did in really bad weather—she would have to rely on the fireplaces and the wood stoves to keep the place warm. The generators were for the greenhouses only.

Suddenly, just as she eased one arm from the sleeve of her coat, she felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding. And then she sensed the presence of another. A man. A tall, fair-haired man. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the strange thoughts. Was she trying to visualize the killer, the man who had murdered poor little Susie Richards?

Standing there on her back porch, Drudwyn nuzzling the side of her thigh in a show of concern, Genny closed her eyes and allowed the vision to come to her, full force, surrounded by bright light and not dark shadows the way the vision had been this morning. Clear, white light. That always meant goodness, not evil. A tall, blond man trudged through the snow and came toward her cabin. He was angry. No, not angry. He was aggravated. He came closer and closer. Her heart raced wildly. Not out of fear, but from excitement. He was coming toward her. Coming for her.

No, no, that’s not right. It can’t be. Why would he be coming for her? He wasn’t the killer. She sensed no evil in him, only an enormous sadness.

As quickly as the phantom appeared, he disappeared. Genny shook from head to toe, then reached out and laid her hands flat against the wall to brace herself. Weakness crept through every muscle in her body.

He’s coming
, an inner voice told her.
He’s coming to you tonight
.

Drudwyn whimpered. Genny took several deep, calming breaths, looked the wolf-dog in the eyes, then removed her coat and hung it on the rack there on the porch.

“I don’t know who he is,” Genny said to Drudwyn as they entered the kitchen. “But whoever he is, he’ll be here tonight. And I believe he’s a good man, one we can trust.”

Genny hoped she was right about the stranger. Only occasionally could she judge a person with her sixth-sense ability. Most people cloaked their true selves from everyone around them, even from psychics. But for some odd reason, she’d gotten past this man’s defenses, even if for only a few moments. Just long enough to sense his sorrow.

“Jamie Upton, you devil you.” Cindy Todd playfully swatted the young prince of the Upton family on the chest. “You know I’m a happily married woman.”

“I know nothing of the sort,” he said as he shoved her up against the wall at the far end of the hallway, near the powder room. “Jerry Lee’s sexual prowess can’t have improved that much since the last time I was in town. I distinctly remember—”

Cindy gently slapped the palm of her hand over Jamie’s mouth. He licked the moist, salty surface. She shivered, jerked her hand away, and glared at him. “You’ve got a new fiancée who should be keeping you satisfied. And…and I’ve got somebody else, too.”

“Somebody besides Jerry Lee, huh? Who is he? Do I know him?”

“No, you don’t know him. He’s new in town.”
And he’s the best thing that ever happened to me
.

Jamie ran his hand between their bodies and cupped her left breast. “Does he make you feel the way I do? Is he as good in the sack?”

“Dammit, is that what this is all about? You heard something, didn’t you? Somebody hinted to you that I was involved with Dillon and your ego couldn’t stand it because I haven’t been pining away for you the way Jazzy Talbot has.”

Jamie grinned. “You didn’t answer my questions.”

“And I’m not going to. I don’t owe you any explanations. What we had was a wild fling…a couple of wild flings.”

After releasing her breast, Jamie eased back, putting some space between their bodies. “No problem. Just thought I’d give you first dibs before I call Jazzy. I figured you’d be easier. Jazzy always puts up such a fuss before she gives in.”

“If she’s half as smart as I think she is, she won’t give in to you this time,” Cindy told him. “You know she’s dated Jacob Butler several times since he came back to Cherokee Pointe.”

“Jacob Butler? The old witch woman’s grandson? I thought he joined the army or something. When did he come home?”

“Last year. He’s the new sheriff and all the women have a thing for him, even Jazzy.”

“He’s not her type. Jazzy likes her men rich—like me. She wouldn’t seriously waste her time on a quarter-breed with nothing more than a county sheriff’s salary.”

“People change,” Cindy said. “You’ve been gone three years this time. Jazzy’s grown older and wiser. Besides, like I told you, she hasn’t been pining away for you any more than I have.”

Jamie laughed. The sound rippled through Cindy in sensual waves. Everything about Jamie Upton reeked with sex appeal. He was prettier than any man had a right to be, with his wavy brown hair and hypnotic hazel eyes. He wasn’t a big man, but every inch of his five-foot-ten-inch frame was honed to sleek, muscular perfection. He was handsome, rich, and could be charming when it suited him. And he knew how to please a woman in bed—if it suited him.

“I need to get back to the others,” Cindy said. “Jerry Lee’s going to wonder what’s taking me so long in the ladies’ room.”

Jamie stepped aside. Cindy released a relieved sigh, then hurried up the hall, walking only a bit faster than her usual pace. Even though her flight-or-fight instinct urged her to run, she didn’t. She wouldn’t give Jamie the satisfaction of knowing how desperately she wanted to get away before she succumbed to her wicked desire for him. Until she’d had her first fling with him, she hadn’t understood why Jazzy Talbot repeatedly made a fool of herself over the man. But she understood now. There was something irresistible about the black-hearted bastard. But she doubted Jamie had ever loved anyone in his entire life—anyone other than himself, that is.

When Cindy reached the huge front parlor, she paused, licked her lips, smoothed her hands down either side of her clinging silk dress, and squared her shoulders.
Back into the fray
, she thought. Forcing a false smile, she entered the room where the Uptons were entertaining a variety of local society. Although the dinner party had been planned weeks ago, before Jamie’s return, the event had turned into a welcome home for the Uptons’ only grandchild. Miss Reba had quickly added a dozen more to the guest list, including Jerry Lee and Cindy, and changed the sit-down dinner into a buffet.

When she entered the room, Jerry Lee didn’t even notice her; he was deep in conversation with Big Jim Upton, the patriarch of the Upton family. Jerry Lee’s daddy had been friends with Big Jim, who had used his influence and wealth to help get Jerry Lee elected mayor of Cherokee Pointe for two terms, the second of which had just begun.

Big Jim stood six-four and probably tipped the scales at close to three hundred pounds. He possessed a shock of thick white hair and sported a dapper white mustache. The Upton family owned Upton Farms, which still provided dairy products to most of northeastern Tennessee. They were semi-old money. Four generations of wealth. And each Upton son had married class, making each successive generation a bit more refined than the previous one. But something had gone wrong with the only heir. Jamie Upton might be well-bred, but he was a worthless, heartless son of a bitch.

“Cindy, there you are,” Reba Upton called. “Come here, dear, and meet the Stowes.”

Cindy forced a smile and went directly toward Miss Reba, Big Jim’s petite blond wife. Her unlined face and sleek, slender body belied the fact that she was seventy years old. A visit to a skilled surgeon every six years or so kept the old biddy’s face as smooth as a baby’s butt, and daily workouts with her own personal trainer kept her body in shape.

Reba laced her arm through Cindy’s, her mauve lips spread wide in a hostess smile. “Cindy, this is Reverend and Mrs. Stowe. They’re new in Cherokee Pointe. The reverend has been assigned to the Congregational Church.” Reba patted Cindy’s hand. “And this dear girl is our mayor’s wife, Cindy Todd.”