Billy shook his head. "We haven't seen him since yesterday. He said he had something he had to do. He wouldn't tell anyone. Not even me. What do you think he's up to?"
Cassandra hesitated. This latest development made her almost certain that Billy was not involved with the murders of the women. "He found something. An earring. I think it belonged to one of the murdered women, but I can't prove that."
"Where?"
"That's the question we all want answered."
"We're supposed to meet tonight at nine," Billy said. "If Bounder doesn't come, then you can be sure he's in trouble."
"I'll wait until tonight. I won't go to the orchard until I've heard from you. But Billy," she warned, "don't try to pull anything on me. Whatever you have up there, I'll have it removed later, when no one will be blamed."
"Tonight." He stepped back. In five strides, he'd disappeared as silently as he'd come. Cassandra was left in the woods, wondering what plot the young men were involved in. And if Bounder wasn't with his friends, where was he?
She took the long path back to the place where she'd parked her car. She'd been gone more than the two hours she'd told Adam. He'd be worried.
To her surprise, when she checked at the trading post, there was no word from Adam. As she drove back to Gatlinburg, she hit on the idea that he might be at Crockett's. She drove through the parking lot, but she didn't see his car. Knowing she'd probably end up in trouble again, she went inside. Many of the tables were empty, and a cluster of waitresses were gathered near the kitchen door talking.
"I'm looking for JoAnn Reed," she explained.
"JoAnn quit this morning." One woman stepped forward, signifying that she was the person in charge. "I'm the hostess. Is there some trouble?"
"No. I'm a friend." Cassandra took a chance. "I heard she might be looking for a roommate or a place to stay."
"Yeah, she was staying at Sarah's, but…" The hostess looked around. "That was such a tragedy."
Cassandra liked the woman, and she felt guilty for tricking her. But she had to find JoAnn. "I thought I might be able to help JoAnn out. Until she gets things put back together. She was very upset about her friend's death, and I've got some extra room."
"Well, if you'd been here earlier, you could have helped. As it is, I think she's leaving town. She said she had her stuff packed and she was moving on."
"Was she going home?"
"How good a friend are you?" the woman questioned suddenly. "Nobody who knew JoAnn would ask that question."
"Well, I mean, I didn't know if she had a choice. After everything that's happened, I thought maybe she'd be forced to go home. And I wanted to give her an option." Cassandra improvised as she went along.
"One thing you can be certain, she won't be going home. Not a chance."
"Do you know where she might have gone?" Cassandra felt her thin hope beginning to break. To come so close and lose the young woman would be hard to take.
"She didn't say. Check up at Sarah's. You might catch her there yet. She said she had a lot to pack."
"Could you give me directions?"
"How well did you know JoAnn, or Sarah?" the woman demanded.
Cassandra looked her in the eye. "Not very well. But I like her. I'd like to help."
"Okay," the woman relented. "She needs some help."
Cassandra wrote on a napkin as the hostess directed her to a small house that was part of a resort development. Sarah had rented the cabin for several years and had been considered a regular tenant.
Cassandra knew the area well, and she left the restaurant determined to find JoAnn Reed. What she couldn't answer was what had happened to Adam. If he'd gone to Crockett's as he'd planned, then he would have found the girl at work. Maybe he had tailed her home.
THE CHALET that Sarah Welford had rented was ideally located. The view was excellent, and the isolated cabin was perfect for two single women to share. As Cassandra took the steps, she found it hard to believe that Sarah was dead. According to the police, she'd been struck by a hit-and-run driver on the highway outside a local bar. The police report indicated she'd been drinking, and the assumption was that she stumbled onto the highway in the path of an oncoming car. Contrary to Beaker's accusations to Cassandra, no charges had been filed against anyone. Sarah's death had never been listed as a homicide.
There were other things that troubled Cassandra. Sarah hadn't struck her as the kind of woman who got drunk and stumbled along highways. It didn't make much sense. The more Cassandra thought about it, the more certain she became that either Beaker was stupid, or he was hiding something. With that thought in mind, she'd taken care to hide her bright red car in a dense copse of trees half a mile from the chalet.
Cassandra knocked at the door, not knowing who she expected to answer it. If JoAnn did, then she had to convince her that her life might truly be in danger. Minutes ticked by and she knocked again. After the fourth attempt, Cassandra edged around the porch and checked the back windows of the chalet.
White curtains still hung in the kitchen window. She could see a sofa and table in the den, but there was definitely an air of abandonment in the place. Against all of her upbringing, she pushed at the sliding-glass door. To her surprise, it opened readily. One deep breath and she was inside. The earth-tone interior gave a sense of warmth and easy living. Remorse at Sarah's death struck Cassandra hard as she looked around. It was difficult to believe that the young woman who'd lived here only a few days before was dead.
Forcing her feet forward, Cassandra moved into the kitchen. There were still dishes in the drain board, and a check of the refrigerator showed a few condiments. Someone had gone to the trouble to throw away things that would spoil.
Stairs led to the bedrooms, and Cassandra stilled her doubts about invading another's privacy and went up. As she'd begun to suspect, one bedroom still contained Sarah Welford's personal items. The other had been cleaned out. JoAnn had fled.
With great reluctance, Cassandra began to open the drawers in the empty bedroom. A thorough search of the entire chalet would take a while. As she shook off her feeling of wrongdoing, Cassandra wondered again where Adam was. She held onto the bright hope that he'd found a better lead and was pursuing it.
She searched the chest of drawers and the closets. Each bedroom had a bathroom, and the one JoAnn had used was cleaned out. When every corner had been searched, Cassandra finally went to Sarah's room.
Lingerie spilled from a drawer and the top of the dresser was covered with bottles of perfume and powder. It was as if the woman had stepped away for a date. But Cassandra knew she would never be coming back. She forced herself to search the drawers, moving aside personal items and clothes as she looked for an envelope with an address or any scrap of information that might lead to JoAnn.
She was so engrossed in her search that she didn't hear the car pull up in the drive. She was deep into the third dresser drawer when she heard the sliding-glass door open. It was a sound she recognized instantly. In that same instant, she also knew that it wasn't Adam's footsteps. Without a second thought, she rolled under the bed.
She felt as if her heart was pounding so loud the bed above her shook, but Cassandra held herself rigidly still. One by one, slow and methodical, the footsteps came up the stairs. The pace was steady, regular, without hesitation. They went to JoAnn's room first, and then came toward the bedroom where Cassandra hid.
In the half inch between the dust ruffle and the carpeted floor, Cassandra saw two feet in black running shoes. Worn denim, ragged at the bottom as if it had been worn and washed a hundred times, touched the tops of the shoes. Some distant part of Cassandra's brain registered the fact that the jeans had a deep crease, as if they'd been pressed in a laundry. A man who took his jeans to a laundry. It was a thought that stuck with her and she concentrated on it to keep her breathing steady.
The feet moved toward the bed, then turned as if the man were surveying the room. "I guess you won't be taking any of those rides with me, Sa
rah, sweetheart," he said. "Now that's a real shame."
Cassandra's lungs clenched up. Breath caught in her throat, and for one horrible instant, she thought she was going to choke. Praying that he wouldn't hear, she took in short, ragged gulps of air and tried to calm herself. She knew the voice. She knew the man. It was the bodybuilder, the one from the parking lot. Ray!
Pressing her palms into the carpet, Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on remembering everything he'd said. What rides? She thought back to the conversation she'd overheard. He was in town for a brief spell. Then he'd be traveling on. What did he do?
The crash of a drawerful of clothes onto the floor almost made Cassandra scream. One of Sarah's slips fell partially under the bed. Inching backward, Cassandra moved as far as possible from it. Peering from the tiny crack, she could see other clothes cascading from the drawers as Ray searched through Sarah's belongings.
"Damn!" he muttered as he finished the dresser and moved on. "Now where could it be?" He turned, making a circle in the room before he ripped the sheets off the bed. The mattress whumped from the force of his jerk, and Cassandra squinched into the tightest ball she could make.
Systematically, Ray tore the room apart. When he'd emptied every drawer, thrown the mattress off the bed and torn every piece of clothing out of the closet, he kicked the wall with an oath.
"Sarah, where did you put it?" he asked angrily. "You said you'd put it someplace safe. Where? Or did you give it to someone? Like your roommate." He cursed again. "She could pay for this mistake with her life." He left the room and took the stairs two at a time. The sliding-glass door banged shut.
Terrified that he was still in the house, yet determined to see Ray's face, Cassandra hurried to the bedroom window. Instead of the blue convertible she was expecting, a brown Jeeplike vehicle roared out from behind the chalet and tore down the road.
"Damn!" Cassandra said as she pressed her forehead to the window. She'd only caught a glimpse of the man. He had dark hair and the narcissistic body she remembered. The features of his face still eluded her. "Damn!" She bumped her forehead against the glass in frustration. She might have had the killer in the same room with her, and she'd failed to get even a glimpse of his face.
She turned back to the mess around her. With a sigh of discouragement, she continued her search, but she knew it was futile. If there'd been anything that gave a clue to JoAnn's whereabouts, Ray would have taken it. Thirty minutes later, she was ready to give up. Another dead end.
As she walked down the steps, she felt an intense need to see Adam. Where was he, anyway? It wasn't like him to fail to show up. On an impulse, she picked up the kitchen phone and called the trading post. Yes, there was a message for her from an Adam Raleigh.
The clerk's voice grew concerned as she read. "Don't go home without me. Trouble. Wait at the Ruby Inn."
"It's my boyfriend. He likes to play practical jokes," she explained with a forced laugh. She wanted to avoid any further questions. She hung up and started toward her car. Concern for Adam made her run the half mile, and in less than five minutes she was tearing down the dirt road toward the small, cozy restaurant Adam had named.
Adam was on his fifth cup of coffee when Cassandra pushed through the door, sending the brass bell into a wild jingle. He noted the anxiety in her wide eyes as she searched the restaurant for him. He had a pang about the wording of the message he'd left for her, but he'd had to make it strong enough to keep her from running back up the side of that mountain.
She saw him, and the joy and relief that spread across her face made him flush with pleasure. When Cassandra cared about someone, she cared with her whole heart. Adam knew by looking at her that she cared for him. It was a feeling that was totally reciprocated. He was out of his chair and halfway across the dining room to meet her when she rushed into his arms.
"I was worried silly," she said, lifting her face for a kiss. She was oblivious to the people staring at her or the single whisper of disgust that came from one of the booths.
Adam led her to the table he'd taken in the rear of the small establishment. He'd chosen it for privacy. When he told her about the scarecrow incident, he wanted to be sure that no one else heard. Thoughts of his own news were pushed aside, though. He could tell from her face that she had exciting news, and as soon as they were seated, he asked her what she'd learned.
"I didn't know they served witches in this restaurant."
The ugly comment drifted to Adam from another booth. Still talking, Cassandra didn't hear the remark, but several other diners had heard it and conversation in the small restaurant stopped.
The Gatlinburg mayor stepped out of the booth and stared directly at Adam. He shook his head in disgust and went to the cash register.
Adam kept his face in a mask, not showing the anger he felt toward Simpson. Torn between taking the matter up with Simpson or hurting Cassandra's feelings, he focused his attention back on Cassandra's story.
"I don't know what to do now," Cassandra continued. "We have Ray, Bounder and JoAnn to try and track down. I don't know where to start." She had carefully omitted any reference to the stash that the young Indians had hidden in her orchard. If the men were involved in illegal activities, it was better not to drag Adam in, too.
"I don't know, either, but I know we shouldn't split up again. Whatever we do, we have to stick together. And I don't want you taking off hunting for Bounder by yourself, not even on your own property."
"Why?" She had a feeling that he knew about the tire tracks.
"There's someone on the place," he said, and told her about the scarecrow being thrown at his car. "I had your mechanic go up and tow it to town, and I'm making arrangements to rent another." He gave a twisted smile. "We seem to be hard on cars."
As the waitress brought more hot tea for Cassandra and a cup of coffee for Adam, he reached across the table and took her hand. His touch was light on her fingers as he turned her hand over to explore the palm.
"What are you doing?" she asked, surprised at his behavior. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet. There was something troubling him, but she couldn't be certain what.
"Look at this line right here," Adam said, pointing to her palm. The truth was, he was fighting hard to control his emotions. He cared for her so much, and she'd come very close to finding herself in a position where she might have wound up dead.
"What line?" Cassandra bent closer to her hand.
"This one here. I've been studying from a very ancient palmist, and I've learned that this is the line of destiny."
Cassandra laughed. "There's no such thing. There's a fate line, but— "
"Okay, the line of fate," Adam interrupted. "It says right here— " he used his forefinger to gently mark a spot "— that you will meet a man from Michigan, and that you will do everything he tells you from now on in order to protect your life." At last, Adam looked at her. "You will get on a plane and go away with him. Tonight. Without any quarreling. You will obey him."
Cassandra reached across the small table with her free hand and rested it on Adam's cheek. "I wish I could," she whispered. She could see how troubled he was. He hadn't reacted to her information because he was too upset. She could see it now.
"You can, Cassandra. Let Sheriff Beaker handle this. It's his county, and it's their town. Get out now, before you get hurt."
She shook her head. "You know I can't."
"Marry me. We'll find a place where you can be happy."
She stroked his cheek, lingering on the feel of the day's growth of beard. "I won't consider that a proposal. To marry a woman to protect her is a noble thing, but it isn't the kind of marriage I want."
"You know it's more than that!" He caught her hand and pressed it against his lips. "I love you. And I do want to keep you safe. More than anything."
"I can't." She blinked against the tears in her eyes. "Ask me again, Adam. When all of this is over. If you still want to."
"Will your answer be any different
then, or will it be something else, some other reason that ties you here?" There was no bitterness in his voice, only acceptance of reality.
"I can't see beyond this mess," Cassandra said. "I honestly can't. We both know there are very real differences between us. When this is over, we can talk about them. If there's a way around them, we'll find it. Together." She captured both his hands in her small ones and pulled them across the table to her. She kissed one and then the other.
"I didn't realize the mountain witch had taken to casting spells in public places."
The voice was harsh, ugly.
Cassandra looked up into the face of the city mayor.
"Sheriff Beaker tells me you've been helping on his murder cases." Simpson smiled, but his eyes were deadly. "I never figured you for the helpful type, Cassandra."
Adam started to push back his chair, but Cassandra held tight to his hands.
"Nothing you ever thought about me was accurate," Cassandra said easily. "In fact, I'm surprised to hear that you actually think." She put Adam's hands down on the table as she straightened in her chair.
"Why you…"
Adam stood with slow deliberateness.
"Why are you afraid of me?" Cassandra asked. Her blue eyes snapped with a fiery anger and a sure intelligence. She was rewarded when his face blanched. "You're terrified of me. Why? What is it that you have to hide that I might find out about?"
"You're a menace to this town," Simpson said as he took a step backward. "Your mother was a freak, a sideshow, and you're just as bad." He stepped behind an empty table as Adam reached for him.
"Let him go," Cassandra said softly as she watched Simpson retreat. "It's taken me twenty years to realize why he hates me so. He's afraid."
The bell on the door of the Ruby Inn jangled as the mayor pulled it closed behind him. Cassandra looked at Adam. "Another question for us to answer— why is the esteemed mayor so afraid?"
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