“Beaker has an extraordinarily big mouth.”
“He’s a lawman, and he’s pushed to the brink right now. Two young women dead and the summer season hasn’t really started yet. He’s desperate.”
“Desperate and not very discreet,” Adam said. “I can tell you without consulting Ms. McBeth that there is absolutely no way she’d consent to that television show. Forget it.”
“She might be able to save the lives of several young women—”
Adam cut him off abruptly. “It isn’t Ms. McBeth’s responsibility. She told Sheriff Beaker everything she knows. He chose to ignore it, and even worse, repeat it. That’s as far as her responsibility goes, Mr. West.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that she should do anything else.” Martin backpedaled. “You’re sure you won’t reconsider the food products show? It would make my Friday.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Adam said firmly. “Maybe another time.”
He hung up the phone to find Cassandra standing in the doorway. Although she was leaning against the doorframe, her posture was tense. “Beaker told him about the dreams, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” Adam said. “He wanted you for a show on that subject. I took the liberty of telling him no.”
“Thanks.” She focused her attention on a pattern in the rug.
“Are you okay?”
“Sure.” She looked at him, her eyes clouded. “I’m like some freak in a carnival.”
“That isn’t true. West was genuinely interested.”
“I’ve seen how interested the people around here are. Three years ago, when two little girls disappeared in the woods near here on a picnic, the locals came out and threw bricks through my windows. They found the children three hours later playing near a stream five miles from here. But the first assumption was that the mountain witch had taken them.”
She took a deep breath and continued before Adam could say anything. “The year before that, someone chopped trees across my driveway, all the way down. The year before that, someone painted a hex sign on my front porch.”
Adam was still. He’d never realized to what lengths the local people had gone to isolate and punish Cassandra. Her trip to the sheriff had taken tremendous courage. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight.
“The only thing that matters is that you know you’re a good person,” he whispered into her silky hair. “You and me. We both know it.”
“I don’t want to be blamed for the deaths of these women,” Cassandra said. Her body grew still in his arms. “I’m afraid I’m going to.”
“Beaker wouldn’t be that irresponsible. He wouldn’t let the things you’ve told him get out to the general public.”
“He already has,” Cassandra pointed out in that same dull voice. “The consequences are going to be even worse, this time.”
7
“I shouldn’t be doing this.” Delight in her own mischief rippled through the young woman’s voice.
From beneath the murky depths of the heavy water, Cassandra tried to reach out to the young woman. She had to get her attention, to warn her.
“It’s only for an hour or so. You’ll be back before anyone notices.”
Cassandra strained to catch the inflection in the man’s voice. He was smooth, practiced in his lines as his hands gripped the steering wheel of the car. She could feel the strength in his fingers. His nails were immaculate.
“They’ll notice. But I did Sarah a favor the other night. She’ll cover for me as long as she can.”
“Sarah’s the blonde, isn’t she?”
“Right.”
“She’s older?”
“That’s her. She’s a great person. Really a good friend.”
“Did you tell Sarah where you were going?” His voice teased.
“I said I was meeting a handsome prince,” the girl answered.
Cassandra screamed in her mind. No! No! No! Tell him you told someone. Tell him everyone knows.
“How flattering. Do you really think I’m handsome?”
The girl laughed softly. “That’s really fishing, mister. You know women find you attractive.”
“It’s always nice to hear, though. Just like I’ll bet all the men tell you you’re beautiful. What hair! I love hair.”
Cassandra could feel the silky strands as he ran his hand through the chestnut lengths. She knew the hair. She’d seen it before. Shoulder-length, straight and heavy. Oh, please let me wake up! Please!
“Better keep both hands on the wheel,” the girl said. She was handling the situation with ease. “Where are we going?”
“Eagle’s Roost. It’s the best view in the entire area. You’ll love it.”
“I have to be back at nine.”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about your job.”
Cassandra heard the sinister tones, the threat in his voice. The water held her prisoner, frozen in the thick depths. She could see the car, feel the evening wind against her face. She turned to look at the girl, and for the first time she saw her clearly. Nice profile, smooth skin. Her brown hair tangled behind her head as the wind blew. She wore a blue cotton blouse with a pointed collar and short sleeves. The glimmer of a necklace could be seen against the collar and in her ears were small pearl studs. Very conservative attire.
“Where do you come from, Ellen?”
“Georgia. My folks have a small farm down below Atlanta. I got a scholarship to the University of Georgia for my senior year, but I have to earn some money this summer for rent and food.”
“Here we go.” He turned the car to the right down a tree-covered path.
Cassandra could see it, but it was like looking through an ancient telescope. There was the center of vision, which was fairly clear, but the edges were blurred and foggy.
“This is pretty isolated.”
For the first time Cassandra could hear unease in the girl’s voice.
“That’s why it’s such a special place. You wouldn’t want me to take you somewhere that everyone went.”
“I don’t know.”
The man knew she was getting nervous. His grip on the steering wheel tightened and he pressed the gas a fraction harder. The car moved under the canopy of trees, headlights cutting through the darkness to reveal a jungle of trunks and heavy foliage on either side.
Cassandra knew the car had taken one of the thousands of isolated paths that cut along the mountains. It was one of the most beautiful things about where she lived, the ability to find solitude. Now, though, her heart was pounding with fear for the girl.
The man was watching. No, not exactly watching. He was coveting her fair skin, her luxurious hair. His fingers reached out to touch the silken lengths again. “So soft,” he whispered.
The girl knew then that he had lost sight of her as a person. Her fingers clutched on the door of the car, as if she wanted to open it and jump into the forest that grew so close to the road.
Jump! Cassandra commanded, but the girl did nothing except tighten her grip on the door. Jump! The farther into the woods you go, the less your chances.
But the girl was too afraid to try.
The car jounced and bumped. Suddenly it cut to the left, crashing through small shrubs and underbrush. Headlights illuminated a heavily overgrown clearing as the car blazed though the night and the high grass.
“Take me back,” the girl said softly, pleading. “I’m afraid.”
“You haven’t seen the sights, yet,” the man said. His foot pressed a little heavier; the car lurched forward. He turned to her and gave a smile. “Fear gives an experience a little edge, doesn’t it?”
“For the person who’s in control.” There was more strength in the girl’s voice. She was thinking now.
The man’s hand snaked across the seat and stroked her hair. “I know this is unsettling, but I want to show you something. You aren’t really afraid, are you?”
“No, I suppose not.” The girl shifted in the seat.
His fingers looped throu
gh her hair and continued to stroke it. “Your hair is so beautiful.”
“Yours isn’t bad, either. Is it natural or dyed?” She chuckled. “It’s okay these days for men to change their hair color, you know. Hey, this place we’re going is really in the boonies. Maybe we should head back. I do have to check in. Sarah’s a good friend, but even friends don’t like you to take advantage of them.”
The car stopped. “She’s waiting for you? Really?”
“If I don’t show up, she’s going to have to call the manager. It’s a rule. Sarah isn’t a very good liar. She’d have to tell him I was meeting someone.”
The man leaned back in the seat. The leather headrest supported him. Cassandra could feel the anger building in him. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening.
“No!” Cassandra’s scream echoed off the pine ceiling of her bedroom. “Run! Run!” She screamed as she struggled against the sheet and quilt. “Run!” she finally sobbed as she clutched the tangle of bedclothes and forced herself awake.
She heard the pounding of Adam’s feet as he burst into her room with a power that sent the solid pine door flying against the wall.
“Cassandra!” He had her in his arms and held her tight. “Wake up. It’s only a dream.”
“No,” she said, her voice almost composed. “It isn’t only a dream. It’s the future. I saw the girl clearly. I saw her. This time I have to do something.” She struggled against Adam’s grip as once again the sensation of the young woman came back to her. “Let me go!” she demanded.
“Hey, easy now.” Adam increased his grip and held her until he could see that the panic had passed. “You’re awake, Cassandra,” he said calmly. “You’re safe. You’re safe.” He eased her back against her pillow and leaned down to kiss her forehead. It was cool against his lips. All of his concerns for her came back in a tidal wave of anxiety. What was happening to this bright and sensitive woman?
“I’m okay.” Cassandra drew in several deep breaths. She was in her own room. She was safe, with Adam—and the concerned cat that had hopped up on her bed to inspect her.
“Tell me the dream,” Adam said. The past evening there had been nothing to upset Cassandra. They’d played some of her favorite classical tapes and had a lighthearted conversation.
Cassandra grew suddenly still. “That’s it,” she said. A calmness stole over her expression. “I have to remember, just like Running Stream told me. This dream was long, intense. It was as if I were there. Right there behind the wheel of the car.”
Adam stared at her.
“As if I were the killer,” she said, remembering the way his hands had gripped the steering wheel, touched the young woman’s hair. She looked down at her own hand, expecting to find a few brunette hairs there. “I was with the killer, very clearly this time. I woke up just before he murdered the girl.”
“Do you know who she was?”
“Ellen.” She thought hard, pulling her memory of the dream together. She described the young woman, and as she spoke, Adam went to the bedside table and took the notepad and pen she kept there. He began jotting notes.
“She was from Georgia. A farm south of Atlanta,” Cassandra finished triumphantly.
Adam put the pen aside for a moment as he picked up Cassandra’s hand. “I hate to ask this, but if this dream is real, has it happened yet?”
“I don’t know.” Cassandra swung her legs off the bed and sat up. “With the other girls, I dreamed the murder before it happened, if we can believe the information Sheriff Beaker gave us.”
“Then she might be alive.” Adam felt a surge of hope.
“Maybe. And she had to be at work in the evening, so she’s working the night shift.” She glanced at her watch. It was midnight. “Maybe a bar or lounge.”
“Her clothes?” Adam asked.
While Cassandra described the rather severe outfit, she mentally flipped through places that might hire a waitress with conservative dress.
“Wait a minute.” Adam hurried out of the bedroom and returned a moment later with a telephone book. In the Yellow Pages, he turned to restaurants.
“It wouldn’t be a family place, not if she were going to work at nine,” Cassandra said. “Most of those close at eleven, so she wouldn’t be working a two-hour shift.”
“It has to be a…what about her skirt?”
“I don’t know.” Cassandra focused on the dream. She saw the blouse, the necklace, the stud earrings. But her gaze didn’t go below the waist. “He didn’t notice what she wore, and neither did I.”
The thought was a revelation to both of them. It told them something about the killer that was chilling. Once his victim was selected, he failed to see her as a total person.
“It was her hair he noticed. Her hair and skin and neck,” Cassandra said slowly. She felt as if some tremendous sickness had brushed against her. “I want to take a shower.”
“I’ll start making some calls,” Adam volunteered. “When you’re dressed, maybe we should take a ride into town.”
Cassandra nodded. She wanted to feel the spray of hot water against her skin. Shampoo. She wanted to scrub and scrub and scrub until she couldn’t remember the feel of Ellen’s hair ever again.
“I called twelve places, but there wasn’t an Ellen working there,” Adam said as he put the phone down. Cassandra was dressed and ready to go.
“Try Crockett’s,” she said. “It’s a strange place. Lots of locals, real down-home, but supposedly the best food in town.”
“Let’s go there,” Adam suggested. “Neither of us can sleep, and maybe we’ll poke around and find something.”
Cassandra wanted to run, to fight, to scream. The horrors of the dream had given her tremendous energy. Driving down the mountain to Crockett’s was the best substitute she could find. It was probably a wild-goose chase, but it was better than doing nothing.
In a small town where the population grew by thousands on a daily basis during the summer, it was going to be hard to find a young woman named Ellen. Hell, it was next to impossible. But once they were down in the town, Cassandra had plans to go on over to Sheriff Beaker’s. He might laugh at her and ridicule her, but she was going to tell him about this latest dream. She was also going to warn him not to talk about her or her dreams to anyone, especially not pushy television talk show hosts.
“Have you thought of something else?” Adam asked as he held the door for her.
“No.” She stopped. Familiar was standing at the door as if he couldn’t decide whether to go in or stay out. “Your choice, fella,” she said. The cat walked past her onto the porch. “Just remember to stay close to the house. There are owls and panthers and bears out in those woods.”
* * *
So nickname me Toto and let’s get on the road to Oz. It isn’t the wildlife I’m concerned about. I thought I heard someone in the woods earlier. Hard to tell, since whoever it was was walking very carefully. I just thought I’d check out the territory while the humans gallivant around town.
I’m getting antsy hanging out here in the wilderness. Goldilocks has her own set of nightmares, but I had a dream about Eleanor. She was all in white. There were white bandages wrapped around her head, and her beautiful hair was gone. But she was smiling, and she had new glasses. Battered but undefeated. I just wish I knew where she was.
I’ve racked my brain to think where she might be. Nothing. The answering machine was on at Dr. Doolittle’s office, so I left a vocal imprint. If Dr. D. gets there in the morning, he’ll know it’s me. I know he will. How can I be certain Lucille won’t erase the tape?
I’ve made a firm decision to drive her to a nervous breakdown when I get back to Washington. Just punishment for hanging up on me. I’ve never liked her since the day I met her. She probably teaches her dog to chase cats.
Well, the big folks are gone and there’s no time like the present to scout the perimeter. If it weren’t so vulgar I’d get one of those coonskin caps—fake coonskin of course. Since I�
��m a creature with what is commonly known as a luxurious pelt, it makes me sick to think that humans actually derive pleasure from skinning small animals and wearing their furs. My, my, there’s such a lot of room for civilization in this savage race of bipeds.
There’s that slight movement in the woods again. I’m going to stroll that way. Few people realize that the cat and the owl have the best night vision of any creatures. We are nocturnal hunters.
Yes, I see that slight movement behind that clump of underbrush. About a hundred yards from the house, I’d say. Very discreet. Whoever it is is watching the house. They’re relaxed, probably waiting for Adam and Cassandra to return. I wonder if I should frighten them away or merely observe. Best to check it out before I render a decision.
Well, well, it’s that Indian. He’s tucked up in the brush as if he intended to spend the night. He sees me. No point in slithering along in the dark anymore.
Strange, the way he’s assessing me. It’s almost as if he were aware of my thoughts, my intelligence. A perceptive young man with a troubled spirit. He’s angry. I could sense it the other day when he was visiting. Angry and afraid.
Oops. He dropped something in the dark. What? Let me give him the old friendly cat trick and see what it is. A little brush across the shins with my body, and I’m in close enough for a look. Yep, there it is.
The earring! The one he and Lancelot found. I thought they took that to the sheriff’s department. There, he’s got it again, and he’s putting it in his pocket. Patting his shirt to make sure it’s at the bottom. And now he’s settling back to give me a few pets. Nice touch, very strong fingers, but gentle hands. He likes the feel of my fur. It’s a pleasure to meet a man who can appreciate the finer things in life. But what’s he doing lurking out behind Cassandra’s house? This bears closer scrutiny.
* * *
“I DON’T KNOW,” Cassandra came back to her table and sat down. “There must be a hundred people in here. The waitresses move back and forth like flies.”
“Not a very appetizing comparison,” Adam commented dryly, “but the dress is casual, jeans and all.”
Too Familiar (Fear Familiar Book 2) Page 9