If Looks Could Kill

by Beverly Barton

  “Come along, sweetie.” Max tugged on his wife’s arm. “I’m sure Dodd would like to finish his lunch in peace.” Max cast Dodd a grateful glance.

  Carrying a coffee pot in her hand, Tiffany Reid came over to his table just as Max dragged Claudia away. “Care for another refill, Judge?”

  “Yes, thank you. And I’d like a piece of apple pie. I think Sharon forgot that I always have apple pie on Sunday.”

  “I’ll get your pie right away. Sharon got waylaid by a takeout order.” Tiffany leaned in closer and said in a quiet voice so she wouldn’t be overheard, “Jacob and Dallas have ordered lunch for their people since they had to call a bunch in to work who were supposed to be off today.”

  “Is there some crisis I haven’t heard about?”

  Lowering her voice to a whisper, Tiffany said, “Just between us—and I overheard two of the deputies talking so I can’t swear it’s gospel—it seems we might have us another serial killer in Cherokee County.”

  Cold, deadly fear slugged Dodd in the pit of his stomach.

  “It seems they think a local prostitute’s been murdered by some guy hung up on killing whores and dumping them in the river. He dumped this one in Douglas Lake over in Jefferson County.”

  “How horrible.” Suddenly losing his appetite, Dodd laid his napkin on the table and stood. “I think I’ll forgo the apple pie today. My stomach’s not quite right.”

  Tiffany gave him a questioning look. “I sure hope you get to feeling better.”

  He nodded, then headed for the door where he picked up his coat and hat from the long wall rack stationed in the entryway. Once outside, he sucked in a deep breath of cool autumn air. Another serial killer? One who killed prostitutes? He doubted anybody else had been keeping track, as he had, of the reported deaths of prostitutes in northeastern Tennessee. He’d noted the first kill in the Elizabethton Star over ten years ago, when he and Beth Ellen had been visiting her family there. The victim had been a young woman from Johnson City. Not a prostitute, but a waitress with a reputation for sleeping around. They had run her photograph on the front page. Pretty. Sweet smile. Auburn-red hair. The reason he’d paid particular attention and had never forgotten was because she had reminded him of another young redheaded girl, someone he and Farlan had known long ago.

  After that, he’d started a scrapbook of similar cases. He subscribed to over a dozen northeast Tennessee and neighboring North Carolina newspapers. Whenever an article appeared about such a crime, he cut it out and pasted it into his secret book. Someday he just might write a novel based on these murders. There had been well over a dozen similar crimes in the past decade. Three women had been from the Johnson City area. And each time Dodd read about another “fallen angel,” he was forced to face an ugly truth about himself. He wasn’t especially sorry that these women had been killed.

  Chapter 12

  Reve felt right at home when she entered the Uptons’ antebellum-style mansion, which reminded her a little of her parents’ home in Chattanooga. The moment Miss Reba came forward to greet her, she sensed a kindred spirit. A woman of taste and good breeding. Caleb’s grandmother was dressed in a camel tan suit, her blond hair was styled to perfection, her makeup was flawless and a strand of pearls around her neck was similar to the one Reve had chosen to wear today with her navy blue dress.

  “We’re simply delighted that you could join us for Sunday dinner.” Reba Upton reached out and grasped Reve’s hands. “And before another moment passes, I want to issue you an invitation to stay here with us while you’re in Cherokee Pointe. We have loads of room”—she gestured with her hand in a sweeping motion—“and could make you quite comfortable. I’m afraid local accommodations aren’t up to your standards.”

  Realizing that in showering her with attention, Reba was ignoring Jazzy, Reve suddenly felt rather awkward. “I appreciate the invitation, Mrs. Upton, but—”

  “Please, call me Reba, my dear girl. You do know that your late mother and I worked on several Republican statewide committees together, and if that isn’t reason enough for me to feel kindly toward you, there is the fact that you were a friend of Jamie’s.”

  Jim Upton practically pushed his wife aside as he made his way to Caleb and Jazzy, who stood to Reve’s left. “I can’t tell you how happy we are that you two gals are here.” Jim laced Jazzy’s arm through his, then grabbed Reve’s arm and urged them into motion. “Come on into the living room and we’ll have a drink before dinner.” With Reve and Jazzy in tow, Big Jim glanced over his shoulder and said, “Caleb, escort your grandmother.”

  The living room was as tastefully decorated as Reve had expected. A combination of expensive new furniture and priceless antiques. Glancing at Jazzy, she realized that Jazzy was as uncomfortable in this house as she was at ease. Reve and the Uptons lived in the same world, breathed the same rarified air, and associated with people of similar backgrounds. Jazzy, on the other hand, was an alien visiting in a foreign land. Even her choice of clothing for today’s dinner spotlighted those glaring differences. Reve had chosen a simple, navy blue dress with navy pumps, and her only jewelry was a single strand of pearls and pearl stud earrings. Jazzy wore a broomstick, calf- length skirt in a vivid purple with matching purple boots and a multicolored cotton sweater. Two pairs of large gold hoops dangled from her ears, six bangle bracelets circled her right wrist and a rhinestone wristwatch adorned the other.

  Noting how fidgety Jazzy was, Reve actually felt sorry for her and had the strange urge to grab her hand and squeeze it reassuringly. But she resisted the urge. Despite the fact that she was beginning to like Jazzy, she did not want to become emotionally attached to the woman, even if she was her sister.

  Once Reba had taken her seat across from the sofa where Jazzy and Reve sat side by side, she studied them closely for a couple of seconds. “Please forgive me for staring, but you two do look remarkably alike.”

  “Like two peas in a pod,” Big Jim said.

  “And yet two very different women.” Caleb, who stood directly behind Jazzy, reached down and placed his hands lovingly on her shoulders.

  Why was it that Reve felt as if she’d just been unfavorably compared to Jazzy, that Caleb was reminding his grandmother that though look-alikes, the two women weren’t interchangeable?

  “Yes, looks can be deceiving, can’t they?” Reba focused on Jazzy, who bristled, but managed to keep quiet. “Some people are not what they seem to be. They can fool us.”

  Reve had to bite her tongue to stop herself from reminding Reba Upton that Jazzy was a guest in her home and that it was always poor manners to belittle a guest. And besides that, Reve didn’t like to see anyone being mistreated. Yes, Jazzy might be socially inferior to Miss Reba, but that was hardly any reason to be so unkind.

  “We should share our good news with my grandparents.” Caleb’s devilish grin gained his grandmother’s full attention.

  “Good news?” Reba raised her eyebrows inquiringly.

  “Caleb, maybe now’s not the time.” Jazzy glanced nervously up at her fiancé.

  “No time like the present for good news,” Big Jim said as he poured white wine into crystal flutes. “If we have something to celebrate, give me a minute to distribute the wine and I’ll make a toast.”

  Caleb came around to the front of the sofa, took Jazzy’s hands and assisted her to her feet. While Big Jim handed out the wine, Caleb accepted his flute, put his arm around Jazzy’s waist, then lifted his glass and said loudly and distinctly, “Last night Jazzy accepted my marriage proposal and agreed to be my wife.”

  Silence.

  Apparently this bit of news had astonished Caleb’s grandparents so much so that they were at a loss for words.

  “Well, congratulations, boy.” Big Jim slapped Caleb on the back in a show of approval. He lifted his glass in a salute. “Here’s to Jazzy and Caleb. I wish you two all the happiness in the world.”

  Reve lifted her glass to her lips and sipped the wine just as everyone else did. Everyone
except Miss Reba.

  “Are you planning on getting married soon?” Reba set her glass on a coaster atop a small mahogany table to her right.

  Caleb hugged Jazzy. “I’d marry her today if she’d do it.”

  “Surely there’s no rush,” Reba said.

  When all eyes settled on her, Reba smiled weakly and added, “Every woman wants a proper wedding, and I’m sure Jasmine will want time to plan the perfect event.”

  “Do you want a big, elaborate wedding?” Caleb asked Jazzy.

  Looking right at Reba, a defiant, I’ve won/you’ve lost expression on her face, Jazzy replied, “Yes, as a matter of fact I do.”

  “If that’s what you want, then it’s what I want,” Caleb said.

  “Damn right about that.” Big Jim looked at his wife. “A big, fancy wedding with all the trimmings is just what this family needs. Hell, it’s what Cherokee County needs. You two plan whatever you want. Spare no expense. Consider this wedding a gift from Reba and me.”

  “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Upton,” Jazzy said, but she remained focused on Reba’s pale face. “I would absolutely love a Christmas wedding. Miss Reba, do you think we could pull off an elaborate affair like I want in less than two months?”

  “I doubt two months will give us enough time,” Reba replied. “I believe a June wedding would be more suitable. That would give us eight months. I’d prefer to have a year, but—”

  “I can’t wait eight months,” Caleb said. “I don’t want this lady changing her mind.”

  “Is there any reason for such a rush?” Reba asked.

  Deadly silence. Reve sensed the sudden chill that filled the air. And once again she felt terribly sorry for Jazzy, being all too aware of Reba Upton’s barely disguised animosity.

  “You’re wondering if I’m pregnant, aren’t you?” Jazzy glared at Reba.

  “Good God, Reba, that’s none of your business,” Big Jim said.

  “Jazzy and I are getting married because we love each other and for no other reason,” Caleb told them.

  “I’m sorry,” Reba said. “But under the circumstances, I believe it was a perfectly reasonable question.”

  “What circumstances?” Caleb dared his grandmother to reply.

  Reba blushed. “I didn’t intend to bring up the past, but—”

  “Then don’t!” Big Jim bellowed.

  “I’m not pregnant,” Jazzy said very calmly. Too calmly. “And I’m not sixteen years old. You don’t intimidate me, Miss Reba. Not now. Not ever again.”

  “Do I need to remind you that I’m not Jamie?” Caleb asked his grandmother. “Nothing and no one is more import ant to me than Jazzy. Do you understand?” He glanced back and forth from Jazzy to his grandmother. “Do both of you understand that fact?”

  Jazzy’s eyes moistened with tears. She reached down, took Caleb’s hand and held it tightly. “I understand.”

  Reba stood, lifted her wineglass and held it up; then she cleared her throat and said, “Here’s to Caleb and Jasmine. I wish them well.”

  On the drive back from Jefferson County, Jacob listened to a favorite from his CD collection—The Best of Jim Reeves. His tastes were simple. He preferred old country to modern country. Looking back at the past few hours, he sure was glad Becky Olmstead’s stepfather had insisted on driving his wife to Jefferson County to identify the body that had been dragged out of Douglas Lake early this morning. If her husband hadn’t been at her side, the woman would probably have dropped over in a dead faint when she saw her daughter’s body. And who could have blamed her?

  Few people ever have to go inside a morgue, where the smell of death overrides the combined scents of astringent cleaner and tissue preservative. And even fewer people had to see their child’s dead body on a stainless steel autopsy table.

  “That’s her,” Becky’s stepfather had said; then he’d quickly ushered his wife out of the room.

  As he drove along Highway 411 heading toward Sevierville, Jacob went over the basic facts Sheriff Floyd had shared with him. The girl had been strangled, presumably with the black braided satin ribbon still tied around her neck when she was dragged out of the lake. When found, she was naked. And there was evidence of sexual intercourse, but the local coroner found no evidence of semen, which meant the killer had used a condom. Law enforcement in Jefferson County was no more prepared to find a serial killer than Cherokee County had been earlier this year. The Knoxville crime lab, with up-to-date equipment and highly trained personnel, could accomplish more than the county sheriffs. But even by using an experienced team and state- of-the-art equipment, this puzzle might remain unsolved.

  With his headpiece in place, Jacob punched in Dallas’s home number on his cell phone. Dallas answered on the fourth ring and Jacob immediately asked, “Got anything for me?”

  “Yeah, and none of it’s good.”

  “Shoot.”

  “First tell me if the girl found in Douglas Lake—”

  “Genny was right. It was Becky Olmstead.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Yeah, but what I need to know now is if we’ve got another serial killer on our hands.”

  “When I contacted the authorities in each county, I just inquired about the recent past,” Dallas said. “I questioned them about any similar crimes in the past few years.”

  “And?”

  “You’re not going to like what I found out.”

  “Damn, Dallas, why do you like to build these things up? You’re too fucking dramatic. Just cut to the chase, will you?”

  “Sorry. It’s a bad habit of mine.” Dallas paused a moment, then continued. “Okay, here it is. In the past three years there have been a total of seven murders involving a redheaded woman being strangled with a black ribbon and her body tossed in either a river or a lake, or in one case, a creek. That’s seven counting Becky Olmstead and the woman found near Loudon Dam a couple of days ago. And the bad thing is that, until now, nobody had connected these crimes.”

  “The killer’s been moving around, right?” Jacob said. “How many counties are involved?”

  “Four of the seven women were Knoxville prostitutes, but each body was dumped in a different location—Loudon, Knox, Blount, to name only three. Two others were Johnson City girls, both with less than sterling reputations. Both were considered easy pickups in any local bar, although neither was a professional. The seventh victim was Cherokee County’s own Becky Olmstead.”

  “Do you figure he made his first kill three years ago?”

  “Maybe,” Dallas said, “but it’s possible that if we dig deeper, we’ll find evidence that he’s been around even longer. And it’s also possible that not all the victims have been found. If he’s tossed all of them into bodies of water, could be what’s left of some is still at the bottom of the Tennessee River.”

  “So where do we go from here?”

  “Since it’s an area-wide problem, covering numerous counties, we’re going to need federal help.”

  Jacob groaned. The Feds tended to take over when they got involved.

  “I’ll go through the Knoxville field office. Chet Morris is still the special agent in charge there, and as you know, he and I go way back.”

  “How much do I tell the press?” Jacob didn’t like dealing with the local media. Brian MacKinnon had it in for Jacob. The two had never liked each other, but when Jacob had discouraged Brian’s romantic interests in Genny before and after she met Dallas, Brian’s dislike had turned to hatred.

  “Basic facts. Local prostitute murdered. Strangled. Tossed into Douglas Lake.”

  “Right. Noland Floyd told me he’s keeping a tight lid on certain facts—such as her being a redhead, that she was strangled with a black ribbon and that she was raped.”

  “I suggest you call a press conference as soon as you get back to Cherokee Pointe. Genny and I will drive into town and we’ll meet up afterward for supper over at Jasmine’s.”

  “How’s Genny feeling?”

  “Better.
But I’ve got my hands full. She still wants to try to connect with the killer’s mind.”

  “Sooner or later she’ll wear you down,” Jacob said. “I know Genny. If she’s determined to do something, she eventually does it. Maybe you should quit trying to stop her and just help her.”

  “Look, she wanted to wait to tell you herself . . . later. But I think you need to know now.”

  A trickle of uneasiness jingled along Jacob’s nerves. “What is it?”

  “Genny’s pregnant.”

  “What!”

  “About five weeks along. She hasn’t even seen a doctor yet. We did one of those home pregnancy tests a few days ago.”

  Genny, his little sister of the heart, was going to have a baby. A sense of elation swelled up inside Jacob. “Congratulations. This is great news. Genny must be very happy.”

  “She is. We both are.”

  “This changes everything. No way in hell can you let her try to psychically connect to the killer. We have no idea how it might affect the baby.”

  “I agree, but try telling that to Genny.”

  “I will. At supper tonight.”

  Reve couldn’t remember enduring a social occasion as stressful as this simple Sunday dinner at the Uptons’. Although when Miss Reba had toasted the engaged couple, the tension in the room had waned slightly, and an atmosphere of uneasy truce settled over the assembly. Big Jim did his best to be jovial and went out of his way to compliment Jazzy and make her feel welcome in his home. Caleb hovered over his fiancé as if afraid his grandmother would attack again at any moment. But Reba Upton put on a happy face, even though everyone knew her cheerfulness was fake. However, her interest in Reve seemed genuine, and despite the woman’s treatment of Jazzy, Reve found that she liked Caleb’s grandmother very much. In fact, she reminded Reve a great deal of her own mother, whom she’d loved dearly.

  When Dora served dessert, Reve smiled. “Banana pudding? How wonderful. Cook used to prepare it just for me because she knew it was my favorite.”