Beg to Die

by Beverly Barton

  Jim and Reba Upton were his grandparents, too. He had a right to know them, didn’t he? People might not understand that the Upton fortune didn’t mean that much to him, but having a family did. And as far as Jazzy was concerned, he didn’t want her to love him the way she’d loved Jamie. He wanted more from her because he was willing to offer her more.

  To hell with Jamie. To hell with what people would think and say. He was not going to let one word—one name—that Jazzy had spoken in her sleep run him off and stop him from laying claim to everything he wanted. Everything that was rightfully his.

  Caleb slid behind the wheel and started his Thunderbird. After backing out of the parking area, he turned the car southwest. He was heading home.

  Mid afternoon, Dallas finished up a late lunch with Jacob, the two of them sipping coffee and enjoying Ludie’s homemade pecan pie. As soon as Genny had finished eating, she’d gone to Jazzy’s apartment to relieve Sally, who’d called to say that Jazzy was worried about Caleb. He’d left around six this morning and they hadn’t heard a word from him. Dallas figured his Genny would be able to soothe Jazzy’s concerns. He just hoped she didn’t overdo. Genny had a way of putting everyone else first and herself last. As hard as he tried to look after her, to make her consider her own needs, she couldn’t change who she was. By nature she was a caretaker. That loving, giving spirit was as much a part of her as those luminous black eyes and her remarkable gift of sight, all three inherited from her Granny Butler, a half-breed Cherokee.

  Dallas’s cell phone rang, pulling him from his thoughts of Genny. He removed the phone from its holder, punched the on button and said, “Yeah, Sloan here.”

  “Dallas, it’s Teri. I’ve got a preliminary on Laura Willis and I’m still digging. It could take another day, maybe two, to get everything on her, her parents, and her sister.”

  “Keep digging,” Dallas said. “Now go ahead and tell me what you’ve got.”

  “She did have some sort of mental collapse when she was sixteen. She spent nearly three months in a private hospital and was under psychiatric care for a couple of years.”

  “Any details on what caused the breakdown?”

  “Haven’t been able to find that out yet.”

  When Teri paused and didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes, Dallas remembered how she’d always liked to build up to a big revelation with a long, silent pause.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She chuckled. “Just an interesting little tidbit. It was easy enough to trace dates. You know, things like date of birth, date of marriage, and so on. Laura Willis is twenty-four, according to the records I was able to access—her driver’s license info being one.”

  “So?”

  “Andrea and Cecil Willis have been married only twenty-three years.”

  Dallas mulled the information over in his mind. “Did you double-check the dates?”

  “Yes, I did. You should know that we FBI types always double-check.”

  “All that means is that Laura was born before her parents were married.”

  “Maybe.”

  “What are you dying to tell me?”

  “Andrea Willis is not the first Mrs. Cecil Willis. His first marriage was annulled twenty-four years ago, so that means he was married to someone else when he fathered Laura.”

  “Interesting, but I don’t see how it’s pertinent to our case.”

  “I think there’s more to it,” Teri said. “Call it gut instinct, but—hey, why don’t you ask Genny to do a—”

  “No way.”

  “Not even if it would help her friend Jazzy?”

  “You keep digging, find out all you can and if you don’t come up with something, then maybe I’ll involve Genny.”

  “Whatever you say. I’ll be in touch.”

  When Dallas replaced his phone in its holster, Jacob asked, “Anything?”

  “Not really, but Teri’s got a hunch and her hunches usually pay off,” Dallas said. “She’ll be back in touch with me soon.”

  “Well, I hope you’re right about her hunches. We’ve got two unsolved murders and unless we can give the DA another viable suspect, Jazzy will more than likely be put on trial for Jamie’s murder.”

  Chapter 24

  Cherokee County Hospital seemed the most logical first stop for Caleb when he returned to town. He wasn’t quite ready to face Jazzy, to confront her with his wounded masculine pride. If she told him that she still loved Jamie, he wasn’t sure how he’d react. Was he willing to spend the rest of his life playing second fiddle to his dead cousin? Or if when she found out the truth about Caleb actually being an Upton heir, would she want him and put him in the position of always wondering if she loved him or the Upton millions? When he paused at the nurse’s station down the hall from the intensive care unit, no one paid any attention to him. He cleared his throat.

  A statuesque black woman in her mid fifties, with a warm smile, turned to face him. “May I help you, sir?”

  “I was wondering if I could find out how Mrs. Upton is doing?” Caleb asked.

  A petite middle-aged blonde—apparently the registered nurse on duty—snapped around and glared at Caleb. “If you’re another reporter, I suggest you leave before I call security.”

  “I’m not a reporter.”

  “Then what is your interest in Mrs. Upton? Are you family? A close personal friend?”

  Caleb didn’t know how to respond and before he could think of a suitable reply, the RN told him, “Since you’re apparently neither, perhaps you should call Mr. Upton and ask for that type of information.”

  “I’m family,” Caleb said boldly.

  The RN eyed him skeptically. “I doubt that.”

  “Look, all I want to know is if she’s better or worse.”

  “Check with the Upton family,” the nurse told him, then picked up a stack of charts and walked off down the hall.

  Just as Caleb started to leave, the other nurse called to him quietly. “Hey, young man.”

  Caleb stopped and faced her. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Mrs. Upton’s condition has been upgraded. She’s doing much better. So much better that they moved her out of ICU about an hour ago. Her husband arranged for her to have a suite on the fourth floor.”

  “Thank you.” Caleb grinned. “And you should know I really am a member of the family.”

  “I thought so,” the nurse replied. “I could tell right away that you were genuinely concerned about Mrs. Upton.”

  Caleb nodded, then rushed toward the elevators. After he entered and punched the fourth floor button, he thought about what the nurse had said about his concern for Reba Upton being obvious. Yeah, he was concerned, but he wasn’t sure why. She was his grandmother, but he didn’t know her, had never actually met her. Maybe just knowing she was his grandmother was enough to make him care. When Miss Reba’s image flashed through his mind, he saw his mother. That was why he cared. At some point in her life, his mother had loved Miss Reba and Big Jim. Otherwise when she was on her deathbed, she never would have told him to go to them. Okay, so his mother had died years ago and he was a little late in fulfilling her dying wish. But better late than never, right?

  When the elevator doors swung open, he hesitated for a moment. Do it, he told himself. You aren’t going to disturb her. You aren’t going to tell her who you are. Not yet. But maybe you can just take a look and see for yourself that she’s going to be all right.

  Caleb stepped out of the elevator and glanced left and right. Just how many private suites were up here on the fourth floor? And if there was more than one, how would he know which one Miss Reba was in?

  If you run into anybody or if a nurse confronts you, just act like you know what you’re doing and where you’re going. And if there’s a guard at Miss Reba’s door, just walk on by.

  It didn’t take long for him to discover that the patient’s name was posted on the outside of the door and there were only two private suites. One was empty. When he approached the
other, the door stood halfway open. He took a deep breath and approached, then paused outside and looked into the room. A woman in a uniform—a private duty nurse, no doubt—sat near the foot of the bed, her back to Caleb. He had a clear view of his grand mother. Despite her blond hair and relatively smooth face, she looked old. A heart attack would age a person, he figured. But even though she was pale and looked terribly small and helpless in that hospital bed, she was still a pretty woman. Just like his mother had been. Years of drug use had taken a toll on his mother, but even at the end, when she’d been bone skinny, her once lustrous hair thin and dull, and with dark circles under her eyes, she had still been pretty. Or maybe he had just looked at her through a son’s eyes. Melanie hadn’t been the best mother in the world, but she’d been the only mother he’d had, and before the drugs took over her life completely, there had been some good times. Good memories.

  He didn’t know how long he stood there just staring at his grandmother, wondering how she would react when she learned that her daughter had left behind a child. Then, just as he decided it was time for him to leave, a big hand hooked over his shoulder.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Big Jim Upton’s voice sounded like a rottweiler’s ferocious growl.

  Caleb turned around and faced his grandfather.

  “If you’re a damned reporter—”

  “I’m not a reporter.”

  “Then what are you doing snooping around outside my wife’s hospital room? Who told you where she was?”

  “I wasn’t snooping.” Caleb jerked free of Jim’s tight hold. “I stopped by to see how Miss Reba was doing.”

  Jim eyed him suspiciously. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”

  “You don’t know me, Mr. Upton. But if I look familiar to you, it could be because I look quite a bit like my mother.”

  “Your mother? Do we know your mother? Is she a friend of ours?” Jim scanned Caleb from his overlong hair to his black leather boots.

  If you’re going to do it, do it! Caleb told himself. Maybe this is the wrong time and the wrong place, but you’ve put it off long enough.

  “My mother was Melanie Upton McCord.”

  Jim glared at him as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard him right. “What sort of game are you playing, boy? You here to try to take advantage of us when we’re at our most vulnerable? Well, whatever you’re up to, forget it. Our daughter died fifteen years ago of a—”

  “A drug overdose in Memphis.”

  Jim frowned, squinting his eyes and scrunching his face. “How would you know that?”

  “Because I was with her when she died. I’m the one who tried to save her. I’m the one who called for an ambulance.”

  Jim grabbed Caleb by the front of his shirt. “How old are you? Not old enough to have been her lover.”

  “I was sixteen when she died. She wasn’t even forty, but she looked sixty. Drugs do that to people, even beautiful blonde women from good families. Beautiful blonde women who look just like their mothers.”

  Jim loosened his hold on Caleb’s shirt, but didn’t let go. He stared into Caleb’s eyes—eyes that were not like his mother’s. Jim studied his features. Slowly. Carefully. “You look a bit like her and I can see some of Jim Jr. in you—” Jim released Caleb abruptly and stepped away from him. “You can’t be hers. If she’d had a child, the police would have told us when they notified us she had died.”

  “They didn’t know about me,” Caleb said. “When I knew she was dead, I split. I didn’t hang around so some social worker could put me in a foster home.”

  “But if she had a child, why…why didn’t she come home? She had a husband.” Jim shook his head. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-two.”

  “She left here over thirty-three years ago. Left us, left a good husband—”

  “He’s not my father.”

  “And my Melanie is not your mother.” Jim hardened his gaze. “Whoever the hell you are, don’t you dare ever go near Miss Reba telling her your crazy lies. That woman has been through way too much already.”

  “I don’t want to hurt her…or you.”

  “Then get the hell out of my sight. Leave Cherokee Pointe, and don’t you ever come back. Do you hear me, boy?”

  Caleb looked the old man right in the eye. “I’ll leave whenever I get damn good and ready to go.”

  “You know who I am. You know what I can do to you if I’ve a mind to.”

  “Yeah, I know. I know that you’ve seen to it that the DA has railroaded an innocent woman, had her arrested for a murder she didn’t commit. I know all about how powerful Big Jim Upton is.” Caleb grunted. “Hell, maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m not your grandson. If Jamie Upton was the result of your parenting skills, then I’m damn lucky I didn’t do what my mother wanted me to do and come to you and Miss Reba when I was sixteen.”

  Jim’s face flushed. For a minute there Caleb thought Big Jim might hit him.

  “My mother’s favorite color was blue. Her favorite fairy tale was Sleeping Beauty. You used to read it to her every night when she was a little girl. She had a pony named Ruffles. Her sixteenth birthday present from you was a yellow Corvette. And Miss Reba gave her a gold locket surrounded by diamonds on her wedding day. She wore it all the time when I was a kid. She hung on to that necklace for a long time, but finally in the end she sold it to buy drugs.”

  Caleb turned and walked away. Let the old man digest all that information. If he ever wanted to talk to Caleb, he’d have to come to him. He wasn’t going to beg the man to believe him. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Big Jim Upton intimidate him.

  Andrea didn’t like this one little bit. Although the sheriff had assured Cecil they didn’t need their lawyer present, she felt uneasy walking into the sheriff’s office without legal counsel. They had their murderer—Jazzy Talbot. Why did they need to question her family any further? She believed she could control Cecil. After all, she’d been doing it for years. But their daughters were another matter. Sheridan was headstrong, insolent, and might say anything. She’d taken her younger child aside before they left the Upton house and warned her to be on her best behavior. She probably had Sheridan under control, too. At least temporarily. But what about Laura? That poor child was so fragile that it wouldn’t take very much pressure for her to break into pieces. Pieces that might not ever go back together.

  “Do not say anything about not remembering where you were the night Jamie died,” Andrea had told Laura. “Do you hear me?”

  Laura had nodded and promised to keep their secret, but Andrea knew that if she was pushed too far, Laura would crumble. And if that happened, there would be little that she and Cecil could do for the girl. God help them all if the whole truth ever came out.

  What if she did kill Jamie? Andrea asked herself as the four of them entered the courthouse. Heads high, she’d told them. We have nothing to fear.

  If Laura killed Jamie, no one must ever know. But what about the other man who had been murdered, that Watson man? Laura had been out again last evening. Sheridan had caught her slipping up the back stairs. Had she killed him, too? And if she had, why?

  “Please come in.” Jacob Butler met them at the door to the sheriff’s department. “I sure do appreciate y’all coming in. I’ll try not to keep you folks long. Just come on back to my office so we can talk in private.”

  Andrea nudged Cecil, who stood aside for his wife and daughters, then followed alongside the sheriff.

  “I put in a call to Phillip Stockton, my lawyer, and he advised me as to what I should and shouldn’t speak to you about,” Cecil said. “But since neither I nor my wife and daughters have anything to hide, we’re more than glad to cooperate.”

  “Just go on in and have a seat,” Sheriff Butler said when they reached his office. “I’ve asked Police Chief Sloan and our district attorney, Wade Truman, to sit in on our conversation.”

  Andrea glanced at the other two men—the big blond police chief standing by
the windows and Mr. Truman seated behind the sheriff’s desk—but she didn’t acknowledge their presence by speaking to them. Then she noted that four chairs were spread out over the room, so that no two people would be side by side. Had that been deliberate or just happenstance? She leaned over and whispered to Cecil, “Move one of the chairs next to this one”—she pointed—“where I’ll sit.”

  He looked at her, a puzzled expression on his face, but did as she had asked. As soon as he placed the folding chair beside the one where Andrea sat, she called, “Laura, come sit by me, dear.”

  Sheridan eyed her mother, then grinned. She didn’t like that cunning smile. What did Sheridan know? Probably nothing. But that girl had a mischievous streak a mile wide and seemed to enjoy causing trouble.

  Jacob Butler crossed his arms over his massive chest and sat on the edge of his desk. “As you folks probably already know, we’ve had another murder here in Cherokee County.”

  “Yes,” Cecil said. “A handyman of some sort, wasn’t he?”

  “A maintenance man for Cherokee Cabin Rentals,” Jacob said. “His name was Stanley Watson. Did y’all by any chance know him?”

  “Certainly not,” Andrea replied. “Why would you ever think we might know such a person?”

  “Just asking, ma’am. Just asking.”

  “Cecil could have answered that question over the phone—” Andrea stopped mid sentence, realizing she was overreacting.

  “Stan Watson’s murder has similarities to Jamie Upton’s. Only this time the body was burned inside the vehicle, so we don’t know whether she tortured him or not.”

  Laura gasped. Andrea put her arm around her daughter’s shoulder. “Really, Sheriff,” Andrea scolded.

  “Sorry, ma’am, but you see, we figure that the person who killed Jamie killed Stan.”

  “Then you already have your murderer,” Andrea told him. “Jazzy Talbot killed Jamie.” She looked directly at the district attorney. “Isn’t that right?”