Beg to Die

by Beverly Barton

  “Why are you in such a big hurry to leave our fair city?” Butler asked her. “You might give us the idea you don’t think much of our town or of us.”

  “I don’t think anything one way or the other about you, this town, or the entire citizenry.”

  “Citizenry? That’s one of them five-hundred-dollar words that you learn in college, ain’t it?”

  The two deputies on duty—Bobby Joe Harte and Tim Willingham—chuckled, but had the decency to look embarrassed when she glared at them. The two men had been staring at her since the moment the sheriff escorted her into the courthouse. With absolutely no tact, they’d asked her right out if she was Jazzy’s long-lost sister. She’d replied, “Does this Jazzy person have a long-lost sister?”

  Reve crossed her arms over her chest as she focused her attention on the sheriff. “If you’ve had your fun for the day, then just let me be on my way to the nearest car rental place, and I promise that you will never see me again.”

  “Closest car rental is out at the airport,” Deputy Bobby Joe Harte told her.

  “Thank you, Deputy Harte.” She rewarded him with a warm smile. “If you’d please call a taxi for me—”

  “We don’t have a taxi service in Cherokee Pointe,” Deputy Willingham informed her. “Not since old John Berryman died. Wasn’t never enough business for him, so nobody wanted to take on the job.”

  “It’s nearly lunchtime,” the sheriff said. “Why don’t you join me for a bite over at Jasmine’s and afterward I’ll drive you out to the airport?”

  She’d rather eat glass than dine with Sheriff Butler, but she did need a ride to the airport. If there was a flight out to Chattanooga later today, she’d forget about renting a car. The sooner she escaped from this ill-advised little trip into the twilight zone, the better she’d like it.

  “Isn’t there any other place in town to eat?” she asked, not wanting to run into Jazzy Talbot again, possible biological sister or not.

  “You have some reason for not wanting to eat at Jasmine’s?”

  Ah, hell, Reve, give up before you wear yourself out fighting a losing battle. It’s destined for you to face your look-alike again, so just bite the bullet and go peacefully with the sheriff. Later, once you’re back in Chattanooga, you can seek revenge. With one phone call to Senator Everett or Governor Neels, she could make Sheriff Jacob Butler rue the day he’d ever screwed with Reve Sorrell.

  Damn! Bad choice of words. Putting Jacob Butler’s name in the same sentence with hers and the word screw brought some rather graphic and totally unwanted images to her mind. Totally unwanted, she told herself again. This guy would be the last man on earth she’d ever—

  “Ms. Sorrell?”

  She snapped around and smiled, ever so sweetly. “I’d be delighted to join you for lunch at Jasmine’s.”

  Butler eyed her suspiciously. So the guy was no fool. He knew she couldn’t stand the sight of him, that from the moment he pecked on her car window after the wreck, she had taken an instant dislike to him.

  “Okay, so delighted might be an overstatement,” Reve admitted. “Let’s just say I need a ride to the airport, and if eating lunch with you is the price I have to pay—”

  “Humph. I just figured you and Jazzy ought to hook up before you rush out of town. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out you two have to be related. My guess is you must be at least a little curious about a woman who looks enough like you to be your twin. And if I know Jazzy—”

  “And you do know Jazzy, don’t you, sheriff? Hell, every man in town knows Jazzy.”

  The two deputies cleared their throats simultaneously. Reve smiled mockingly.

  “You implied that before, back at the accident site,” Butler said. “Want to explain how you’ve jumped to that conclusion about a woman you don’t know?”

  Reve sighed loudly. “I met Jazzy, very briefly earlier today. But we didn’t have time to delve into the possibilities of being related. She was too busy arguing with a man named Caleb McCord about her having spent the night with Jamie Upton.”

  Reve could swear that Sheriff Butler growled, the sound somewhat like an enraged animal. Good Lord, was this man jealous over Jazzy Talbot, too?

  “Was it something I said?” Reve asked sarcastically. “Did finding out that Jazzy’s been two-timing you with more than one man upset you?”

  “Come on, Ms. Sorrell.” Butler picked up his Stetson, put it on, and then grabbed her arm. “I’ll take you straight to the airport to pick yourself up a rental car or buy yourself a ticket out of town. I’ve decided that I wouldn’t wish you on my worst enemy, let alone a good friend like Jazzy.”

  How dare he speak to her in such a manner! You’d think she wasn’t good enough to kiss Jazzy Talbot’s shoes, when in fact it was the other way around. Ms. Talbot was a white trash slut, reared by a tobacco-chewing bag lady.

  “Nothing would suit me better.” Reve jerked away from Butler, but kept pace with his long-legged stride as he escorted her out of the sheriff’s department and into the courthouse corridor.

  Just as Butler shoved open the door to the rear entrance, a whoosh of cool, damp air slapped them in the face. A misty drizzle pelted them the minute they walked outside. A loud clap of thunder rattled the windowpanes in the old building. Great, just great, Reve thought. Just what I need—having to drive back to Chattanooga in a rental car during a springtime thunderstorm.

  They made a mad dash to Butler’s truck, and much to her surprise the sheriff actually opened the passenger door for her and gave her a hand getting up and into the cab. She glanced over her shoulder to say thanks, but he was already rounding the hood. He jumped in on the driver’s side, closed the door, and took off his Stetson. He shook the rain from his hat and returned it to his head, then stuck the key in the ignition and started the truck. While the engine idled, he turned to Reve.

  “What?” she asked when he stared at her.

  “Just to set the record straight, Jasmine Talbot is a good woman. She and I are friends. Nothing more. And Caleb McCord works for her at Jazzy’s Joint. He’s the bouncer. And he’s become quite protective of her, just as I am, because Jamie Upton preys on women. He’s hurt Jazzy in the past, and he’ll hurt her again if she gives him the chance.”

  This eloquent defense of Jazzy Talbot wasn’t what Reve had expected, and certainly not from a man she thought was a backwoods lout. If what Butler said was true, had she possibly misjudged the woman?

  “I know Jamie Upton, and while I found him to be a charming scoundrel, I certainly didn’t think he was—”

  “You know Jamie?”

  “Yes, we met at a Christmas party this past December.”

  “Another victim.” Butler shook his head.

  “See here, Sheriff, I am most certainly not a victim. Jamie Upton is an acquaintance. Nothing more.”

  “Don’t tell me he didn’t seduce you—or at least try to.”

  “Yes, of course he tried. But I’m not some gullible, love-starved female who—”

  “Neither is Jazzy. But he got his hooks into her when she was only sixteen.”

  “He did mention that they’d been teenage sweethearts.”

  “He told you about Jazzy?” Butler’s voice deepened with tension.

  “Yes.” Reve huffed. “And yes, that’s why I came to Cherokee Pointe.”

  “Because of Jamie Upton. Humph. Just as I guessed.”

  “Well, you guessed wrong. I didn’t come here because of Jamie. I came here to meet Jazzy, to see if she and I might be related.”

  “Any reason other than the strong resemblance makes you think she could be a cousin or—?”

  “I believe it’s possible she’s my sister,” Reve admitted.

  “You should talk to Sally, Jazzy’s aunt. She’d know if—”

  “I talked to her earlier today. A chance meeting in the street,” Reve explained. “She swears that Jazzy’s mother gave birth to only one child.”

  “Why haven’t you asked your own mam
a? Maybe—”

  “I was adopted.”

  Butler’s eyes widened.

  “You see, I was abandoned when I was only a few days or perhaps few weeks old.”

  “Where?”

  “Not here in Cherokee Pointe, if that’s what you’re thinking. I was found in Sevierville.” No need to tell him exactly where. Sharing the information that she’d been placed in a Dumpster, disposed of like unwanted rubbish, wasn’t something she’d willingly tell anyone, least of all Sheriff Jacob Butler.

  “So why leave town without talking to Jazzy again?”

  “Because after meeting her briefly, I realized I’d made a mistake coming here. We’re obviously not sisters. And if we’re cousins or something, it really doesn’t matter. I mean, she and I have nothing in common, so there’s no reason we’d want to become better acquainted.”

  “You’re a first-class, blue-blood snob.” Jacob glared at her with those hypnotic green eyes. “You think you’re too good for the likes of Jazzy Talbot, don’t you? Well, lady, the way I see it, it’s definitely the other way around—she’s twice the woman you are. There’s not a selfish, cruel, or unkind bone in her body. You’re as different as night and day. And you’re right, there’s no way on earth the two of you could be sisters. So it’s a good thing for Jazzy’s sake that you don’t have the guts to stick around and find out for sure.”

  Reve grabbed the handle and opened the door. Butler clutched her arm.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he asked.

  “I’ve changed my mind.” She’d had a knee-jerk reaction to Butler’s goading. This man didn’t know her, couldn’t have possibly realized that by daring her to stay and unearth the truth about her relationship with Jazzy, he had hit her weak spot. She’d been susceptible to dares ever since she’d been a kid. Tell her she couldn’t do something, and she’d do it or die trying. “I’m not leaving Cherokee Pointe. At least not today. I’m going to check into the nearest hotel and—”

  “Motels and cabins,” Butler said.

  “What?”

  “Close the damn door before you get the interior of my truck soaked. I’ll drive you over to Cherokee Cabin Rentals and drop you off. We don’t have a hotel anywhere in Cherokee County, just motels and cabins for rent.”

  Reve closed the door. The right side of her body was dripping wet from the blowing rain. “Yes, a cabin will be fine, thank you. Something close to town so I can walk wherever I need to go. And sheriff, once you drop me off, let’s make a point of never seeing each other again.”

  “Suits me fine,” he said. “Only problem is that this is a small town, and we’re bound to run into each other if you stay here for a while.”

  “Then let’s try to avoid each other, and if by chance we see each other, let’s pretend we didn’t.”

  “For once, Ms. Sorrell, you and I are in total agreement.”

  Sally sat on the front porch of her small home up in the mountains. Peter and Paul, her bloodhounds, slept peacefully out in the yard, the afternoon sunshine warming their big red bodies. She spit a spray of brown juice off the side of the porch. Ludie had asked her a hundred questions after their talk with Reve Sorrell. Some she couldn’t answer because she didn’t know. She didn’t know there had been another baby. How could she have known?

  Hell, Sally old girl, you don’t know for sure that this Sorrell woman is Jazzy’s sister. Could be just a coincidence that they look so much alike. Yeah, sure, and God didn’t make little green apples. She chuckled nervously. Of course, after all this time what difference did it make? Jazzy was a grown woman; she’d soon be thirty years old. Couldn’t nobody take that gal away from her. They were bound together by love, by years of being the only family they each had. There wasn’t nothing she wouldn’t do for her Jasmine, the child of her heart, if not of her body. She’d die to protect Jazzy. She’d even kill to protect her.

  But if Jazzy ever learned the truth, what would she think? How would she react? Well, since you don’t know the truth—the whole truth—then it’s unlikely Jazzy or anybody else ever will, either. The truth didn’t matter. Whatever the whole truth was, it should stay buried in the past, along with all the lies Sally had told so nobody would try to take Jazzy away from her.

  But what about Reve Sorrell? She ain’t the type to let sleeping dogs lie, Sally thought. Nope, that gal seemed like the type who just might stir up trouble, in her own very cultured, highfalutin way. What if she’s determined to find out why she and Jazzy look so much alike? What if she starts asking questions, digging into the past? What if she puts doubts into Jazzy’s head?

  What you gonna do then, Sally, ole girl? What you gonna do then?

  Chapter 6

  Jazzy saw them as they entered the restaurant. Jamie, his fiancée, and an older couple she assumed were the bride-to-be’s parents—Mr. and Mrs. Willis, the wealthy horse breeders from Kentucky. For a split second, Jazzy froze to the spot. She glanced around, searching for a waitress who could take over her hostess duties immediately, but no one was close enough to summon before the party of four approached her. She had wanted to make her escape, but found it was too late.

  “Good evening,” the slender, distinguished gentleman with silvery gray hair and neatly trimmed beard said. “We’d like your best table for four, please. I telephoned earlier and was told reservations weren’t necessary.”

  Doing her best to avoid making eye contact with Jamie, Jazzy replied, “That’s right. We don’t take reservations here at Jasmine’s.” She could feel Jamie’s heated stare, knew he was watching her, and wondered if Laura noticed. Hazarding a quick sidelong glance at Jamie’s fiancée, she found herself looking directly into the woman’s speculative blue eyes. Their gazes collided, and Jazzy understood that this pretty, delicate girl was silently pleading with her. Jazzy could almost hear Laura saying, “Please let him go. You don’t want him and I do.”

  With her nose tilted upward, perfecting a haughty expression, Mrs. Willis inspected her surroundings. “This is a rather quaint little place. I do hope we can find something palatable on the menu.” She skewered Jazzy with a sharp glare. “Everything isn’t fried, is it? I detest fried food. Perhaps we should speak to the owner about having the chef prepare something that isn’t fried.”

  “I’m the owner.” Jazzy focused on Mrs. Willis. “Let me assure you that we have a wide variety on our menu, including broiled, boiled, baked, and grilled items.”

  “Well, that’s a relief, isn’t it, my dear?” Mr. Willis surveyed Jazzy from head to toe and smiled condescendingly. “So you’re Jasmine.” He paused for effect. “The proprietress.”

  Jazzy snapped her fingers at Tiffany who had just served a nearby table. The waitress rushed right over.

  “Please give these customers a nice table”—she looked right at Mr. Willis—“or a booth if they prefer.”

  “We prefer a table,” Mrs. Willis said.

  Jazzy nodded.

  Tiffany picked up four menus. “Please, follow me.”

  “And their dinner is on the house,” Jazzy said.

  That wiped the self-satisfied expressions off both Mr. and Mrs. Willis’s faces.

  “That’s very generous of you, Ms. Talbot, but—” Mr. Willis said.

  Jazzy offered the Willises a broad smile. “Your future son-in-law and I are old friends, so please consider this a wedding gift.” Jazzy glanced at Laura, who looked rather flushed. She tried to convey, without words, her reassurance that she was no threat to Laura. Poor stupid girl. She knew only too well what it was like to love Jamie Upton, to be so crazy about the guy that nothing else mattered.

  “That’s mighty nice of you,” Jamie said.

  “Yes, thank you,” Laura added, her voice a whispery tremble.

  “Enjoy your dinner.” Jazzy turned around and headed for her office. She walked slowly, swaying her hips just a little, enough to make her movements both sexy and self-confident. Damn Mr. and Mrs. Willis. And damn Jamie, too.

  As
she passed by several tables, the customers glanced her way, some staring at her boldly, others doing it more subtly. Erin Mercer, an artist who lived in a cabin outside town and came to Jasmine’s for dinner several evenings each week, purposefully avoided looking Jazzy’s way. Jazzy caught a glimpse of the attractive older lady as she passed her table. She didn’t know the woman well, but what she did know, she liked, despite the rumors she’d heard about Erin and Big Jim Upton. Of course, their affair was none of her business, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why Erin would want the man, considering he was old enough to be her father. But then again maybe Erin wondered why Jazzy had wasted so much of her life giving Jamie numerous second chances.

  At the table nearest the doors leading into the kitchen and down the hall to her office, another lone woman sat eating her dinner, totally ignoring Jazzy. She didn’t know the woman’s name, but she’d seen her in the restaurant several times over the past few weeks, and she was always alone. Another tourist enjoying herself in the mountains, Jazzy assumed. After all, it was springtime and tourist season had already begun. A keen observer of human nature, Jazzy got some odd vibes from this woman. She sensed the small, blonde lady was very sad. Probably a recent widow or lonely divorcee, Jazzy decided.

  Once she made it to her office, she closed the door and let out a sigh of relief. Was Jamie out of his mind coming here tonight? Or had dining at Jasmine’s been someone else’s idea? Mr. and Mrs. Willis’s idea, perhaps. Surely not Laura’s. She suspected Jamie’s fiancée wasn’t the type to seek confrontation, otherwise she would have already paid Jazzy a visit. Someone had a purpose for tonight’s dinner, for bringing Laura and Jazzy face-to-face.

  Going to the portable bar in the corner, Jazzy opened the bottle of Jack Daniels and poured enough for a couple of good belts, then took a swig. The whiskey burned a path from throat to belly, settling inside her like a hot brick. Within seconds the warmth spread through her whole body. She carried the glass over to her desk, placed it on top of a stack of bills, and pulled out her swivel chair. After sitting down, she leaned back her head and closed her eyes.