The Fifth Victim

by Beverly Barton

  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.”
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  “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.”

  The minister, a tall, slender man with thinning brown hair and washed-out blue eyes nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Todd. It would be an honor to have you and the mayor attend services with us this Sunday.”

  Mrs. Stowe, though dressed conservatively in a simple beige linen dress, eluded an aura of sexiness—maybe it was the long, straight, platinum blond hair or the huge brown eyes framed by thick black lashes. She stood at her husband’s side, quiet and obedient, a bored expression on her face.

  Cindy turned her attention to Mr. Stowe. “We certainly appreciate the invitation, but Jerry Lee and I are staunch Baptists.”

  Before the minister could reply, Reba tugged on Cindy’s arm and said to the Stowes, “Y’all will excuse us, won’t you? I see Dr. and Mrs. MacNair over there all alone. I’ll just take Cindy over to meet them. Do mix and mingle. Enjoy yourselves. So glad y’all could come tonight.”

  Reba rushed Cindy away, and when they were out of earshot of the Stowes, she said, “They’re the oddest people, don’t you think? She’s years younger than he is. I’d say no more than thirty, if that. And she acts as if she’s deaf and dumb. The woman hasn’t said a word since they arrived.”

  “Maybe she’s shy,” Cindy said.

  “Shy? I doubt it.”

  Reba led Cindy toward a young couple standing off by themselves in the crowded room. The man had a stocky build, ruddy complexion, and a receding hairline, although he was probably in his early thirties. His wife was as tall as he, around five-nine, and was as willowy thin as he was stout. Although not really pretty, the strawberry blonde had a pleasant face. Cindy liked her instantly.

  “Hello, there,” Reba called to the secluded twosome. Reaching them, she said to Cindy, “You must meet these lovely people. This is Dr. Galvin MacNair and Mrs. MacNair.” Reba stared at the wife. “What is your given name, dear?”

  “Nina,” the young woman replied, a hint of a smile on her lips.

  “Galvin has taken over Dr. Webster’s practice at the clinic,” Reba said. “He’s fresh from his residency in—where was it now? What city?”

  “Bowling Green,” Galvin replied.

  Cindy chatted with the MacNairs for several minutes after Reba moved on to charm more of her guests. She liked the young couple, the wife more than the husband, who seemed oddly quiet. She even made a date with Nina MacNair for lunch at the country club on Thursday.

  Checking her watch, Cindy noted that it was nearly nine. She’d promised Dillon she would find a way to meet him tonight, even if only for an hour. When she’d made that promise she thought she would be able to fake a headache and stay home from the party, but Jerry Lee had seen through her ploy immediately.

  “Get yourself dressed and be ready to go to the Uptons in twenty minutes,” Jerry Lee had told her, his round face red with rage. “If you aren’t ready by then, I’ll dress you myself—after I prove to you once again who’s the boss around here.”

  Jerry Lee could be violent if pushed, and on several occasions he’d gotten rough with her. He’d never broken any of her bones, but he’d left her bruised and sore at least half a dozen times in the past four years. She thought about leaving him, dreamed of some other man whisking her away, but no one had come along to rescue her. Not until now. Not until Dillon. They’d been sleeping together for a month, ever since she’d joined the little theater group. He had moved to Cherokee Pointe late last summer after being hired by the city to oversee the local theater that produced plays to draw in the tourist trade.

  What would Jerry Lee do if she went to him now and told him she had a splitting headache and needed to go home? He wouldn’t want to leave the party. Whenever either the Uptons or MacKinnons threw a party, Jerry Lee Todd was one of the first to arrive and the last to leave. Her dear husband knew how to suck up better than anyone she’d ever known. He was a brownnoser par excellence.

  As she strolled out into the foyer, seeking relief from the incessant chatter that had reached a deafening roar in the parlor, Cindy noticed Dr. MacNair and his wife accepting their coats from the maid. They were leaving early.

  Before she realized wha
t she was doing, Cindy rushed toward Nina MacNair. “Would y’all mind giving me a lift into town? I have a dreadful headache and I don’t want to bother Jerry Lee. He loves these parties so.”

  “Yes, certainly.” Nina reached out and patted Cindy’s arm. “We’d be happy to drop you off at your house. And if you’d like, Galvin can give you something for your headache.”

  “Oh no, really, that won’t be necessary. I have something at home I can take.” She turned to the maid. “Would you get my coat, please? And once I’m gone, tell Mr. Todd that I wasn’t feeling well and caught a ride home with Dr. and Mrs. MacNair.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the maid said and hurried to get Cindy’s coat.

  Half an hour later, Cindy stood outside Dillon’s apartment. She’d walked there in the freezing rain, the three blocks from her house on Chestnut Street to the two-story apartment building on Baker’s Lane. Drenched to the skin and out of breath from running up the stairs to the second floor, she punched the doorbell repeatedly. She had an hour at most. An hour to find comfort and caring before she’d have to rush home and feign sleep when Jerry Lee returned from the Uptons. With luck the party would go on until at least eleven, even if this was a Monday night.

  Dillon threw open the door and surveyed her from head to toe. “My God, sugar, come on in and get out of those wet clothes.”

  Dillon wasn’t a handsome man, but there was an inexplicable sexiness about him. He stood about six-one. Curly dark hair tumbled about his broad shoulders. And when he did nothing more than grin at her, her pussy moistened.

  Smiling, she moved past him and into his cluttered living room. Many creative people were known for being messy and disorganized. Dillon was certainly both. Newspapers and magazines lay strewn about, an empty cup rested on the edge of the coffee table, and two pairs of sneakers and dirty socks lay discarded on either end of the sofa.