* * *
"I CAN'T EAT ANOTHER thing." Cassandra pushed the cup of frozen yogurt over to Adam. They were in their fourth restaurant of the afternoon. They'd had coffee, tea, and a sampling of different menu items, all in an effort to watch and talk with waitresses. They'd also made a quick tour of most of the shops along the main drag of Gatlinburg.
They'd seen several young women who looked like the brunette in Cassandra's dream. On closer inspection, though, none of them had seemed to be the right girl.
"There are resorts all over the area. Ski lodges, candy shops, craft shops, antique stores and firecracker stands…" Cassandra wanted to march to Sheriff Beaker's office and demand help in her search, but she knew she couldn't, and the frustration was tying her in knots. "We'll never be able to search everywhere. That girl could die. And I might be able to stop it."
"You're doing everything you can," Adam said softly. He took her hand from the table and held it. It was so small and dainty, yet the texture of the skin showed the work she did outdoors. She was a charmingly petite woman, but her spirit was gritty and filled with energy. She was no piece of fluff. Adam's fingers closed over hers. "And I'll do everything I can to help you."
"My mother told me once that whenever I needed someone in my life, they would be there for me. She said I would never be alone in a time of need. And she said that those who came to me at those times would be special and unique people, people I should value." Cassandra looked down at the table for a moment as she struggled for composure. "I thought at the time that it was just something she said to me because she was leaving me alone. You know, some sort of pat voodoo solution so she could take off and lead her own life."
Adam saw the conflicting emotions cross her face. He was more drawn to her than ever.
"The first time I thought about those words my mother said was when I met Running Stream and Bounder. The second time is now, with you. Perhaps my mother had more wisdom than I ever gave her credit for."
"People respond to your own generosity of spirit, Cassandra. You could ignore these dreams you're having. Sure, they frighten you, but it really isn't your concern, is it?"
"I don't know that I could do anything else except what we're doing. But I want to thank you for being here with me, Adam. Thank you for believing me."
"I do believe you. I do. I'm going to be completely honest and tell you that I'm not certain what I feel about your dreams. The earring— " he patted his shirt pocket where it was "— I just don't know. I'd like to ask Beaker about it myself. What I do know is that you need all of your…friends around you now. I intend to be here."
"Let's go," Cassandra said, putting her napkin on the table. None of the waiters or waitresses in the Kettle Inn had known a girl who looked like the one Cassandra described. None of them had known Carla Winchester, either.
"Ready to go to the reservation?"
"No." Cassandra stood up, stretching to her full height of five foot three. "To Beaker's office. So, let him suspect me." She didn't wait for Adam's objections; she led the way to the car.
They were almost at Sevierville when Cassandra spoke again. She'd been watching Adam's profile, wondering how she'd been lucky enough to meet him at this time in her life. "If the earring plays a role in this, then you'll believe me," she said softly.
"It doesn't matter what I believe. Beaker won't put any weight in your dreams, and he's the one who matters."
"Yes, but not completely. If you're going to spend your time helping me, I want you to believe."
"Cassandra." Adam touched her shoulder. "Isn't it obvious that I care enough to help, whether I believe or not?"
Cassandra searched his face. The emotion she saw there made her skin tingle. "That may be the most valuable gift anyone has ever given me," she said, her voice a husky whisper. "Why?"
"That question keeps popping up in all our conversations." Adam signaled left to turn into the courthouse parking lot. "I don't have an answer to that question…yet." The clear blue of Cassandra's eyes had captured him. Was that why he was so determined to help her? He'd come to get her to endorse a product, a business arrangement. He hadn't thought of Good Stuff Cereals in days. What was happening to him?
"I hope Beaker's at work today." Cassandra was uncomfortable with the emotions Adam unleashed with such simple honesty.
"Let's go to the reservation and find Running Stream," Adam suggested as they stood in the parking lot.
Cassandra's smile was slow and tired. "After coming all this way? We'll visit the sheriff's office, and then try to find Running Stream."
The skinny dispatcher was still at the desk when they entered. "Sheriff Beaker, you got someone here to see you," she called to the back office.
Beaker's pleasant expression changed immediately when he saw Cassandra. "I don't have time for dreams and visions, Miss McBeth."
"Was Carla Winchester wearing a single earring?" Cassandra took the aggressive stance. She walked to the counter and stopped directly in front of Beaker.
"We're not revealing any details of the murder."
"A single earring, bits of metal and crystal?"
"Why?"
Adam brought the earring out of his pocket and put it on the counter.
"I have to know. Was she wearing the mate to this earring? If she was, then it proves I saw the murder before it happened in my dream."
"Where'd you get the earring?" Beaker asked. There was little interest in his voice.
"I found it," Cassandra said. She looked at Adam for support.
"Well, I'm going to tell you this, Miss McBeth, you and your friend, so maybe you'll go home and leave me alone to do my job. Miss Winchester's ears were pierced, but she wasn't wearing any earrings at all." He smiled. "Are you happy now?"
"Is this the truth?" Cassandra asked. She felt as if the air had been knocked from her. She'd been so certain it would match, so positive.
"It's the truth," Beaker answered, suddenly angry. "Now if you don't mind, I have work to do."
"Sheriff Beaker, is it possible that in the fall down the ravine, where the body was found, the earring might have come loose?" Adam asked. He wanted to put his arm around Cassandra but he checked the impulse. Now wasn't the time. Such a gesture would only make Beaker think she was weak, when she certainly wasn't.
Beaker gave Adam a long look. "Sure, that's possible. And she could have given the earring to the murderer as a keepsake."
His sarcasm drew a laugh from the radio dispatcher, and he grinned.
"My men combed that ravine. We took dogs. We had metal detectors. We spent three days working that site. We found nothing like an earring."
"The next victim will be a young woman with shoulder-length brunette hair. She has a soft drawl, maybe Georgia. She's about two inches taller than me. Her eyes crinkle when she laughs, and she likes to laugh."
Beaker looked at her as if she were mad.
"If I have my way, there won't be another murder," Beaker said slowly.
"I hope you have your way," Cassandra answered, not backing down an inch, "but I don't think so. Unless you find the killer, soon, that woman I just described will die."
Chapter Six
"The sheriff has no understanding of the power of a dream." Running Stream put three cups on the table and began to pour the hot tea. It had a pungent odor. "I knew he'd react this way."
"What can I do?" Cassandra asked. She and Adam had gone to the Cherokee reservation trading post, but Running Stream had already gone home. They'd tracked her down to her small cottage just over the Tennessee/North Carolina border.
Sitting silently at the table, Adam could hear the desperation in Cassandra's voice. He hoped the Indian woman might have answers, because he had none. He had only a bad feeling that Cassandra had made an enemy of Sheriff Beaker. The touchy lawman did not care to be questioned about his investigative tactics, especially not by a "crazy psychic."
"Listen to your dreams," Running Stream said as she took a seat with them at the o
ld wooden table.
"I hate them," Cassandra said fiercely. "I hate all of this. I don't want it. I don't want to feel responsible for something I can't understand or stop!"
"You must not fight it," Running Stream said softly. "I know you don't want to hear this, but it is a gift. Your mother was correct. Among my people, the dreamer is honored."
"I want to work in my garden and write my books," Cassandra said. "A simple life. Not this."
"You have been given a great chance. A human life has been handed to you, Cassandra. You have intelligence and ability. You have been challenged to use them."
"That isn't fair," Adam said quickly. "You make it sound as if it really is up to Cassandra to stop this killer."
The glance that Running Stream turned on Adam was calm and calculating. "You want to protect her, but you cannot. This is for her, Mr. Raleigh. You can help her, but you must not interfere."
Those words chilled Cassandra more than any others she'd heard. The full burden of her responsibility settled on her shoulders.
Adam saw the way she slumped. It had been a bad idea to go to Sheriff Beaker. Coming to visit Running Stream had been an even worse idea.
"I have only my dreams," Cassandra said softly.
"And the earring Bounder told me about," Running Stream said. "You must not give up. This killer has to be stopped."
"And I must do it?"
"Listen to the dream. Yield to it. Remember all of it," Running Stream said. She grasped Cassandra's hand. "Allow Mr. Raleigh to offer you comfort and support. Call on me and Bounder to help you." She smiled. "You aren't alone. And how is that fine black cat?"
"Controlling the household," Adam answered. He was rewarded by a slight smile from Cassandra.
"He and Adam are the nice things that have happened to me. I somehow feel that Familiar was sent to help me, too."
Running Stream laughed. "Talk like that will get you burned at the stake, Cassandra."
"Another visit to Sheriff Beaker with a dream, and he'll probably be glad to oblige with the stakes and firewood."
"Tell him. You must tell him everything. Then ignore the way he reacts to you." Running Stream shrugged. "Your responsibility is to tell. You cannot make him listen."
"That's some comfort," Cassandra said, finishing her tea. "We'd better go. It's getting dark and one of the things I don't want to do is go up that mountain when I can't see."
"Bounder will be watching, in the woods," Running Stream said.
"No!" Cassandra's refusal was sharp. "If someone is out there, lurking about, Bounder could get hurt."
"He can see in the dark," Running Stream said with a smile.
"Promise me he won't try to protect me." Cassandra could already see tragedy building. "It's too dangerous to have him out there. Promise me."
"I will tell him not to," Running Stream said reluctantly.
"Cassandra's right," Adam agreed. "If we see someone around the cabin, we're going to assume it isn't a friend. We'll be safer with that attitude."
"Perhaps," Running Stream said carefully. "The best thing you can do, Cassandra, is to fight to remember the dreams. Each detail. If you are seeing the future, then you can prevent it."
"I'll try. If only I could see the killer instead of the young women. That would be a lot more helpful."
Running Stream touched her heart. "No, Cassandra, do not wish for that."
"Why not?" Adam asked. "It would make things a lot easier to look for the killer."
"Simpler, perhaps. But if Cassandra sees the killer in her dream, then she will be the next victim. She will be dreaming her own future death."
* * *
ADAM HELD OUT HIS HAND to stop Cassandra on the porch. "The television's on," he said softly. "We didn't leave it on."
"This way." Cassandra signaled him around to the side of the house. Hugging the log exterior, they moved silently, looking in each window as they passed. When they were finally at the den window, they saw the bluish blur of the television screen. The room appeared to be undisturbed. Familiar sat on the back of the sofa staring at the screen.
"He can turn it on," Adam reminded her.
"We did leave him alone. Maybe he got lonely."
"There's something very weird about that cat, Cassandra."
Her soft chuckle was delighted. "You step into the life of a woman who has prophetic dreams, is involved in serial killings, and you find it strange that a cat can turn on a television?"
"It's a matter of degree," Adam said. In the dusk, crouched at the window of her home, Cassandra had never looked more appealing. Before he had time to reconsider, Adam grasped her shoulders and kissed her. She responded with a tentative warmth that made him draw her closer.
The kiss wasn't unexpected. She'd thought about it for several days, since she'd first felt that curl of feeling for Adam. She'd wondered how his lips would feel on hers. Wondered and wanted. The sensation was more than she'd expected. She found herself opening her mouth, inviting him to kiss deeper. His hands moved along her arms, down her back, pulling her against him. She yielded. The feel of his body was pleasurable, exciting. She was alive with sensation.
* * *
WELL, WELL. Miss Locks and Lancelot must be pretending they're at the drive-in movies. They're standing at the window staring in at the television. Uh-oh, they're not staring at the TV anymore. They're smooching! I knew it would come to this. I have to admit, too, that I'm glad. Goldilocks ain't the type of dame to stay up here on a mountain all alone. What a waste of nature's bounty, if you'll pardon the pun! Now Lancelot can help look out for her. He's going to stay for the duration, I do believe. That's good, cause I don't like what's been happening up here on this mountain.
Our uninvited visitor has got my hackles standing. Everyone thinks he dropped that earring accidentally. I think it was deliberate. I saw him standing there, his hands hanging at his side. The fingers on his right hand went slack. Mixed in with the rain, the earring hit the ground. Very subtle. Very deliberate. He was leaving a mark, a sign that he'd be back.
And he will.
And we'll be waiting, Lancelot and me.
I don't know for certain who that guy was. Too bad we couldn't get a better look at him. Maybe I couldn't see who he was, but I know what he was. A killer. He's different from my old enemy Cal Vrenner. It's a difference of degree. This guy's worse. Cal kills for profit, to benefit himself. This guy, he kills for the pleasure of the kill. It's enough to tingle a cat's tail just thinking about it.
I don't know what he was doing up here on the mountain, but I know it doesn't bode well for Cassandra. Looking and watching. Dropping little clues. Why? That's the sixty-four-million-dollar question that everyone is asking. Why?
I'm just glad that Lancelot has been smitten and is hanging around. Now that Miss Locks has some help, I could use a little myself. There hasn't been a word on the news about Eleanor. My leg is getting stronger and stronger. It's almost time for me to leave, but I don't know where to go.
I'm afraid to leave here. Once I'm on the road, there's no guarantee that I can get any news. It's a quandary. I've thought of calling Eleanor's friends. It's not a simple matter— getting Ma Bell to make the connection. Reach out and meow at someone just isn't effective. I hardly think even the most talented information assistant would be able to give me Magdalena's number.
While Lancelot and Goldilocks were gone, I did call Dr. Doolittle's office. Drat! Lucille answered. I did my best to talk to her— what a waste. After twenty years of working for a vet, you'd think she'd pick up the rudiments of a few feline vocabulary words. Nope! No capacity whatsoever for languages. She squawked and snorted and then hung up.
I'll try again at another time. Eventually Dr. D. will have to answer. Until then, I've got the television remote in one paw and one ear cocked for trouble on this front.
Now that the two adult delinquents have stopped making out, they'll be heading inside. Good. I'm ready for a little evening snack before dinner. I hope C
assandra stopped by the store and got a supply of sardines. This country life has reawakened some odd hankerings.
* * *
THE KISS left Cassandra breathless, her mind fogged by the surge of sensations. Only her tight grip on Adam's shoulders kept her standing as he gradually lessened his hold on her.
There was a look of wonder in his eyes as he stared down at her. "Running Stream implied you were a witch. I believe it." He smiled. "You just put a mojo on me, I think."
The lighthearted remark gave Cassandra the time she needed to compose her own emotions. Her blood coursed, and she heard her own pulse. Slowly, it subsided.
There were things she wanted to tell Adam. She wanted him to know that she was afraid of her dreams, of what she saw. But that when he was with her, she was less afraid. He was a visitor, though, and to burden him with such a confession would be unfair. He had his own business, his own concerns. And he would have to leave soon, especially when she could not do the one thing he requested of her.
She dropped her gaze from his and turned away. "Let's go see what that crazy cat is up to," she said carefully.
Adam had watched the play of emotions in her eyes. He'd seen the tenderness, the yielding, and then the closing, all in the span of a few seconds. For an instant she'd been his completely. For whatever reasons, she'd shut off those feelings. He didn't know why, but he intended to find out.
He followed her into the house, half intending to ask her then. But her nervous behavior made him desist. Cassandra McBeth was a very complex woman. It would be better to let her come forth with what was troubling her.
Not to anyone's surprise, the television was silent when they entered the den. Familiar had given up his perch on the arm of the sofa and had curled up on a cushion for a nap.
"It's almost as if he were watching for something specific," Cassandra said.
"Is it time for that talk show guy?" Adam picked up the controls.
"Adam!" Cassandra was appalled. "Surely you aren't going to watch Martin West. He's a waste of time."
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