Cassandra was too startled to ask the obvious questions. Sylvia had never mentioned the incident to her. Never.
"I see by your face that you don't believe me. Well, that really isn't the issue, is it? The people believe me, and Ken is very susceptible to public opinion. Poor Ken, I know all of his secrets, and those early years are only the tip of the iceberg."
"What are you saying?" Cassandra asked.
"Ken has a talent for thievery. Contracts, bids, that kind of thing. As mayor, he has opportunity. See, when the city lets a bid, Ken makes sure his favorite contractor is low. Together, they see to it that they both make a lot of money." Martin chuckled. "The best part is that Ken thinks you told me about it. See, he thinks you and your mother can actually know what crimes people are committing. Haven't you ever wondered why he hates you so?"
"That's incredible." Cassandra couldn't believe Ken Simpson could be such a chump. "So you've blackmailed him over the years into doing your bidding."
"At the moment he's performing a little errand for me. He believes your Mr. Raleigh knows about his illegal activities. He's taking care of Adam now."
Cassandra felt sick. "The call from JoAnn."
"Exactly," Martin agreed. "Clever, eh? Ken gets Adam out of the way for me, and I get you to myself."
Cassandra struggled for control. Now, of all times, she had to be calm and alert. Don't show fear, and react in an unexpected manner— those were the rules she had to live by, if she wanted to live.
The car had picked up the tracks that she and Familiar had explored. Martin knew the area well. He drove steadily and without any hesitation. They were going to the rock formation, to the lookout.
"My God," Cassandra whispered. It had all become so clear to her. "You brought the women up here, to my property, to kill them. They were looking out over the view from the apple orchard, weren't they?"
"Give the woman an A. You finally put it all together."
Cassandra absorbed the information. That was why the dreams had come to her, because of the location. That had been the trigger. "And poor Sarah, you ran her down."
"That was your fault completely, Cassandra. She didn't have to die. Her hair was dry and coarse from all that bleach. I didn't want to kill her, but you had to meddle. You told her to warn JoAnn, and she was going to do it. Her death is on your shoulders."
That's why she hadn't gotten any dreams about Sarah's death. It had taken place far from the apple orchard. Her psychic link came from the location. "Poor Sarah," she whispered.
The car rocked across two deep ruts. Martin didn't have on a seat belt, and the motion threw him forward. With a cry of triumph, Cassandra slammed his head into the steering wheel and threw open the door.
He was quicker than she. His fingers caught the material of her blouse, and with a quick jerk, he pulled her back into the car. He slammed on the brakes and kept the motor running.
Instead of the anger, his voice was calm and assured. "That wasn't very smart, Cassandra. You're going to die very slowly. Think about that as we drive to Eagle's Roost."
Dying slowly was the one thing Cassandra didn't want to think about. "Why do you call it Eagle's Roost? That lookout has been in the McBeth family for generations. It's never had a name."
"The first time I came up here, I saw…a vision." He laced his fingers tighter in her hair to hold her. "Looking out over the view, I realized that I could be a national personality. The networks were considering me. The whole world was out there, below me, waiting. It was intended to be mine. LeAnne had promised that we would be stars together. She used me, though. Used my show to get her precious modeling career going." His fingers tangled in Cassandra's hair with a vicious jerk. "My mother was a fine person. She was devoted to me. She gave her life to me. She wasn't a lesbian and you'll pay for saying that on television. Mother gave me everything. She spent hours each day helping me to look my best, to talk properly, to prepare for my future as a television personality. She coached me night and day. It was LeAnne who betrayed me."
He threw Cassandra into the car door.
"I killed her first. In New York. Just after the network passed on taking my show last fall. It wasn't right that she was going to become a star just because she was pretty. I'd worked harder. All my life I'd worked to prepare. And the networks passed me by because I was upset over LeAnne leaving me. They said I was not ready. She was to blame— and she paid. Just like you're going to."
Cassandra pulled air into her lungs. Martin had knocked the breath from her when he slammed her into the car door. "What are you going to do?"
"We're going to the lookout. I want you to see something."
"Why are you doing this?" she asked him.
"You said you knew. You said I was sick, egotistical, that I envied the women I killed. You're so wrong, and you have to pay for that. You made me sound weak and despicable."
"You love their hair, their skin. You want to be loved like they are, isn't that true?"
His fingers clutched and gently released her hair, then clutched again. "You're the prettiest yet, Cassandra. I've watched you. Your hair. I wanted to touch it yesterday."
He drove the car to the edge of the apple trees, and then dragged her across the seat and out the driver's side door.
"Have you dreamed this?" he asked. He pulled her toward the edge of the mountain. "I want you to look out to the view. Count the stars, Cassandra. There's no escape. This is your destiny."
He had her shoulders in his hands and he forced her to look out toward the night. Inch by inch, he moved her toward the precipice. "Don't get in a rush to jump," he said. "I have to have my souvenir. One thick strand of golden hair. Maybe two, to replace the one you stole from the rock."
"You'll never get away with this." Don't show fear; keep control. That's what he thrives on, seeing the woman collapse and yield to the fear he creates. "Adam will find you and kill you. I've told him that I suspect you."
"Adam is dead." His hands caressed her shoulders, moving up her throat to feel the sensitive skin there. "You have such wonderful skin. All of those health-nut products, no doubt."
"Adam isn't dead. He's too smart to fall for your tricks."
Martin laughed. "You're so easy to deceive." He laughed again, almost a giggle. "I was going to kill you first, but it might be more interesting to show you something."
"What could you possibly have to show me?" She decided to challenge him. There was a slim chance she could force him into doing something stupid. He was much stronger than she was, and while he had her standing on the lip of the mountain, there was nothing she could do to agitate him. One tiny slip, and he might send her cascading to her death.
"Come with me, Cassandra. Remember the cave? Oh, I took that cache of toys and threw what I didn't want over the side of the mountain. Little boys playing at politics. They almost ruined my plans. But the bomb in your house was a masterpiece, wasn't it? You were groveling in fear."
His fingers kept a tight grip on her, and as soon as they had enough room to maneuver, Cassandra looked for a route of escape. With a little luck, she thought she could outrun him.
He pushed her into the total blackness of the cave, and for a split second, she was without the pressure of his hand on her arm. She ducked backward, striking a hard wall with a walloping impact. The jarring collision sent her headache to new heights of misery.
"Look who's come to pay you a visit." Martin snapped on a flashlight. The searching beam found the body of a young girl lying prone on the floor. She turned her head toward the beam and blinked.
JoAnn Reed was tied hand and foot, and a gag was in her mouth. She blinked rapidly a few times as if she'd been without any light for several hours.
"Lucky for that Indian man that he was gone. I was going to throw him over the cliff to make room for my new guest," Martin said. "Little JoAnn. She loves me, Cassandra. She wanted to live with me, until she found out about the others. She's a jealous woman, aren't you, JoAnn? Jealous, and a liar. Tha
t's too bad, because liars have to be punished, don't they?" He turned to Cassandra. "You lied when you said you knew who the murderer was."
He nudged JoAnn with his toe. "I put a little sleeping potion in her wine and brought her up here. She was in the cave when you found that Indian. There's another small chamber." He nudged her harder. "Such an easy mark," he whispered.
"Adam's too smart to fall for such an obvious trick." Cassandra drew Martin's attention away from JoAnn. She was afraid he was going to hurt her there, tied on the floor of the cave.
"He already did. He went to the meeting place."
"But he isn't dead, yet." Cassandra smiled a defiant smile. "I'd know it if he were dead."
"Then you better pray he dies soon, because I'm sure he's in tremendous pain. A fall from one of those overlooks can do a lot of damage. Actually, strangulation is a far quicker, kinder death. And it's time we got on with it." He grabbed Cassandra and pushed her down to the floor. "Get JoAnn up and bring her with you."
When they were standing, Martin roughly thrust them out of the cavern entrance.
"Remember, keep your eyes on the stars," Martin whispered, and his lips were only inches from Cassandra's neck.
Goose bumps fluttered across her skin as she walked slowly toward the precipice. She had to do something. Each step she took moved her that much closer to death.
Chapter Nineteen
The pungent odor was a sharp pain in Adam's head.
"Take it easy, there," a voice ordered Adam. There was another whiff of acrid pain. Adam struggled to sit up.
"There you go," the voice said again.
Adam opened his eyes to see Sheriff Harvey Beaker peering down at him, a worried expression knitting his bushy eyebrows together. He held a broken capsule of ammonia.
"Can you stand?" Beaker asked.
Adam wasn't sure. He looked behind the sheriff's shoulder and saw the rope that disappeared up the steep side of the mountain. The sheriff had obviously gone to some trouble to get to him.
"What…" Adam didn't finish.
"Ken Simpson tried to kill you. I was tailing him, have been for several days, and when I saw you jump over the cliff, I waited until he went on, then I came down here to see what was left of you. More than I pictured, I'd say."
"Thanks." Adam slid into a sitting position. He took an inventory of his body and found not too much permanent damage had been done. By all rights, he should have been dead.
"I wouldn't be shifting around too much," Beaker said casually, then pointed his flashlight a foot behind him. The ground disappeared. "This ledge caught you. You're a lucky man."
The full realization of what had almost happened made Adam's body tighten. "I am indeed."
"Let's get back up this hill," Beaker said. "Simpson left you for dead, but he might come back. We'd both be sitting ducks."
"Why?"
"Why was I following Simpson, or why did he try to kill you?"
"Both," Adam said as he tested the rope with his weight. It was going to be a long, hard climb, but if he wanted to get back to the road— and Cassandra— he had to do it. The idea that he'd left her alone, unprotected, gave him the strength. The call from "JoAnn" had obviously been a setup. Just a bit more surprising than Sheriff Beaker's sudden rescue.
"I was following Ken when I noticed he was acting funnier than usual. He had a real burn for Ms. McBeth. Hated her. Ken's always been a rational man. It made me wonder, and when I gave up on you as the chief suspect, I had to have someone. Besides, he poked around my office and found out some details. Later I heard those details on that television show."
"You didn't tell Martin West?" Adam gripped the rope and started the climb. It was only about fifty feet, but it was going to be a test of his will.
"No lawman gives out things he's heard in confidence. Betty, that's the dispatcher, finally admitted that she let Ken in my private office on several occasions. He musta read my notes."
"Great," Adam grunted as he slowly went up, hand over hand. He kept Cassandra's face in his mind as he struggled. He had to get to her. Before Ken Simpson did.
"What do you know about Ray Elsworth?"
Beaker's unexpected question made Adam's hand slip on the rope. He caught himself with a curse, his bruised body complaining angrily. "I thought he might be involved in the murders."
"And?" Beaker prompted.
"I'm not so sure, now."
"I saw you and Cassandra with him at the fair. I also saw him in Sarah Welford's house, along with Ms. McBeth. We'd had the place staked out for several days. What was Ms. McBeth looking for?"
"JoAnn Reed's whereabouts." Adam concentrated on the conversation. His ribs were screaming. He didn't believe they were broken, but they were badly bruised. The top of the cliff was only five yards away.
"I picked Ray up. He denies any connection with the murders. He did own up to some dealings with Simpson, though. It seems he left some papers in Sarah Welford's house. When he went to get them, they were gone."
"What kind of deals?" Adam could almost reach the top.
"Bids, contracts, city business. It would seem Simpson has been using his office for personal gain for quite some time. My best guess is that he's somehow been led to believe that Cassandra knows about his illegal activities. That's why he's after her."
Adam crawled over the stone wall and dropped, panting, into the dirt. In a moment he reached down to give Beaker a hand over the wall, but the lawman was managing on his own.
"Anyway, Ray's in custody." Beaker gave Adam a long, hard look. "Simpson's got to be stopped. My guess is that he's headed home to plan an attack on Ms. McBeth."
"Cassandra is all alone." Adam realized he'd even taken her car keys. "I have to get back to her."
"Go on," Beaker said. "I'll check at Simpson's house and hope to catch him there. In the meantime, I'll radio for some deputies. Unless you call the dispatcher with a change in plans, I'll meet you at Ms. McBeth's. We might have time to set a trap."
Adam didn't wait for further confirmation. Cassandra was asleep, alone. He had to get back to her.
* * *
"CHAMPAGNE?" Martin West asked. He held two glasses. "You deserve the best, Cassandra."
"Champagne would be lovely," Cassandra answered. She nudged JoAnn to take the second glass, but her hands were still tied. "JoAnn wants some, too."
"Such a pity," Martin said. He flicked a pocketknife open with a practiced gesture. Feinting and thrusting, he moved around them. "I always wanted to be tough, but I was afraid my face would get cut." In one quick flash of the blade, JoAnn's hands were free. She quickly removed the gag. At Cassandra's nudge, she took the champagne glass from Martin.
"So sorry, JoAnn. I should have disposed of you sooner and saved you all of this…inconvenience. You are a bit of a mess. That lovely hair is all matted."
"You bas…"
"You're taking a foolish risk." Cassandra put a restraining hand on JoAnn's arm as she spoke calmly to Martin. "There are two of us. We could take you on."
"Two women?" Martin laughed. "Hardly a risk, unless you have supernatural strength along with your psychic abilities." He laughed harder. "I thought you knew who the killer was," he taunted.
"I could see the victims, not the killer," Cassandra admitted. She watched his face in the moonlight as he sipped the champagne. "That was my advantage. I was in your mind. I could sense the turmoil and the insecurities. That was the reason I couldn't identify you. See, I thought you were a real man— confident and assured. You're so afraid, Martin. You're terrified of women. Why?"
"You shut up," Martin answered. He put his glass down on part of the rock formation where Cassandra had found the hair.
"You're taking the hair from women for some kind of silly power, aren't you?" Cassandra was guessing, but she had to keep him talking. Once he decided to kill them, he might get lucky and get at least one of them.
"I told you to shut up," he said.
She picked up her own hair and hel
d a thick strand of it out to him. "Take it. Once you cut it from my head, it's nothing more than dead hair. It won't give you any kind of magic."
Martin took a short step toward her. "I told you to shut up." He darted to the side and grabbed JoAnn. "Or she's going to die."
"Please, don't let him hurt me," JoAnn said through her tears. "He's already done enough. He told me about the others. While I was lying on the floor of that cave, he told me how he did it to the others."
"I dreamed this night," Cassandra said softly. "Except it's different. It isn't happening the way I dreamed it at all." She looked at Martin. "We were alone in my dream. Just the two of us. We were drinking champagne, and you told me how you'd been watching me."
Martin's grip on JoAnn loosened, and she twisted away. He didn't bother to go after her.
"That's the way it should be," he agreed. "See, I knew who you were long before this. I'd heard stories about you and your abilities. After you went to Beaker and said you could identify the killer, Ken Simpson told me your name. He said you lived up here alone. I was going to pay you a little visit the day I cut your phone lines, but Adam Raleigh showed up."
"It's been you, all along. The earrings dropped in the yard, the scarecrow at Adam's car, the barricade. Why?"
"It dawned on me— I could get the networks interested in me again with the right show. A serial killer on the loose. A psychic who claims she can identify the killer. She appears on television. Everyone knows she's after the killer, then she dies, just like the others. It's perfect."
Cassandra felt the fear rise up in a huge wave, and she held firm against it. Now wasn't the time to lose her grip. So far, she'd managed to distract and confuse him. JoAnn was edging away. If there was a chance, she might be able to make a break for it.
As if he read her mind, Martin lunged to the right, grabbed JoAnn and slammed her into the huge rock. She went down in a heap. "She was going to escape," he said. He turned to Cassandra. "Now it's like it should be. Just me and you."
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