The Last To Die

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The Last To Die Page 5

by Beverly Barton


  Jazzy stop­ped se­ve­ral fe­et away as Re­ve tur­ned aro­und fully and the­ir ga­zes loc­ked. She no­ted the sa­me shock, the sa­me un­cer­ta­inty, and the sa­me unan­s­we­red qu­es­ti­ons in Jas­mi­ne Tal­bot's eyes that pla­gu­ed her. Gre­en eyes, not brown, she no­ted. But what had McCord sa­id? So­met­hing abo­ut Jaz­zy we­aring con­tacts.

  Caleb wal­ked over to Jaz­zy and ur­ged her in­to mo­ti­on. "Co­me on over and me­et anot­her one of Jamie's lady fri­ends. It se­ems you two ha­ve even mo­re in com­mon than just be­ing Jamie Up­ton's type."

  "What is this?" Jaz­zy,as­ked as she ca­me wit­hin a fo­ot of Re­ve and gla­red at her. "Who are you?"

  "Reve Sor­rell."

  Jazzy lo­oked at Ca­leb. "How do you know this wo­man?"

  "I just met her out­si­de a few mi­nu­tes ago. She men­ti­oned that Jamie had sug­ges­ted she co­me to Che­ro­kee Po­in­te and me­et you. It wo­uld se­em that Jamie fo­und an al­most per­fect sub­s­ti­tu­te for you in Chat­ta­no­oga."

  While Ca­leb wat­c­hed Jaz­zy spe­cu­la­ti­vely, Re­ve pic­ked up on a wild, angry ten­si­on smol­de­ring in­si­de him. God, what had she got­ten her­self in­to?

  "Look," Re­ve sa­id, "the re­ason I'm he­re re­al­ly has not­hing to do with Jamie, it's just that-"

  "Why don't you tell the lady that Jamie no lon­ger ne­eds a sub­s­ti­tu­te," Ca­leb sa­id, "that as of last night, he's got the ori­gi­nal back in his bed?"

  Jazzy glo­we­red at Ca­leb. Her che­eks flus­hed. "What we­re you do­ing, stan­ding out­si­de my apar­t­ment, wat­c­hing me in the mid­dle of the night?"

  Jazzy glan­ced aro­und, ap­pa­rently chec­king to see if an­yo­ne was lis­te­ning to the­ir con­ver­sa­ti­on. Sin­ce all eyes we­re fo­cu­sed on the three of them, it was ob­vi­o­us that an­yo­ne wit­hin he­aring dis­tan­ce was privy to what was be­ing sa­id. Re­ve knew for su­re and cer­ta­in she had inad­ver­tently wal­ked in­to the mid­dle of what se­emed to be a lo­ver's tri­an­g­le: Ca­leb McCord, Jaz­zy Tal­bot, and Jamie Up­ton.

  "I just hap­pe­ned to no­ti­ce Up­ton's Mer­ce­des at yo­ur pla­ce last night when I left work. I hel­ped Lacy clo­se up the pla­ce af­ter you left," Ca­leb rep­li­ed. "I don't gi­ve a shit who you screw, but from now on, don't pre­tend you want him out of yo­ur li­fe. You've was­ted my ti­me and energy by get­ting me to throw him out of Jaz­zy's Jo­int ti­me and aga­in, when ap­pa­rently all you we­re do­ing was ti­til­la­ting him, ma­king him want you all the mo­re. You know what that ma­kes you in my bo­ok?"

  Jazzy slap­ped Ca­leb McCord. Right the­re in the mid­dle of the res­ta­urant. Re­ve gas­ped, shoc­ked by the wo­man's ac­ti­ons. A lady ne­ver re­ac­ted in such a co­ar­se, cru­de man­ner. Cer­ta­inly ne­ver in pub­lic. But then, from all ac­co­unts, Jaz­zy Tal­bot was no lady.

  Being in­vol­ved, even as a bystan­der, to this sort of cru­de be­ha­vi­or was not what she'd bar­ga­ined for when she de­ci­ded to ma­ke this trip. Get the hell out of he­re now, she told her­self. Go ho­me to Chat­ta­no­oga and for­get the­re's a wo­man he­re in Che­ro­kee Po­in­te who might be yo­ur twin. You don't want to be re­la­ted to a wo­man li­ke Jaz­zy Tal­bot.

  While the at­ten­ti­ve cli­en­te­le ab­sor­bed the sce­ne bet­we­en Jaz­zy and Ca­leb, Re­ve pic­ked up her pur­se from the bo­oth, then tur­ned and all but ran from the res­ta­urant. Be­fo­re she re­ac­hed the do­or, she he­ard a man's vo­ice cal­ling her na­me, but she didn't slow down, didn't lo­ok back to see who it was.

  Just as she got out­si­de and to­ok a de­ep bre­ath, a fa­mi­li­ar hand clam­ped down on her sho­ul­der. "Don't run off," Ca­leb sa­id.

  Reve swal­lo­wed, then tur­ned to fa­ce him. "Ple­ase, le­ave me alo­ne." * "I apo­lo­gi­ze for what hap­pe­ned back the­re. Jaz­zy and I tend to ig­ni­te sparks off each ot­her. And I did de­ser­ve that slap she ga­ve me. Co­me on back and-"

  "No, thank you. I've se­en qu­ite eno­ugh of Jas­mi­ne Tal­bot."

  "Don't jud­ge Jaz­zy by what hap­pe­ned in the­re. If you'd gi­ve yo­ur­self a chan­ce to get to know her, you'd li­ke her. She's all right, you know. Her only prob­lem is that she's ad­dic­ted to Jamie Up­ton. And I sus­pect you might ha­ve that sa­me ad­dic­ti­on."

  "I as­su­re you, NfeM­c­Cord, I do not."

  Caleb la­ced Re­ve's arm thro­ugh his. "If that's true, then may­be I've be­en trying to sco­re po­ints with the wrong red­he­ad."

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  The mi­nu­te Jim Up­ton he­ard his gran­d­son's Mer­ce­des zo­om in­to the cir­cu­lar dri­ve in front of the ho­use, he stom­ped out on­to the ve­ran­da to he­ad the boy off. He had a few cho­ice words to say to Jamie, and he didn't want any of the la­di­es to over­he­ar the­ir con­ver­sa­ti­on.

  Reba had be­en so up­set with the­ir gran­d­son's out­ra­ge­o­us di­sap­pe­aran­ce from his own en­ga­ge­ment party last night that she'd go­ne to bed with a mig­ra­ine. When he'd chec­ked in on his wi­fe this mor­ning, she'd still be­en sle­eping. He and Re­ba hadn't sha­red a bed in ye­ars. Her cho­ice, not his.

  Jim hadn't se­en an­y­t­hing of the Wil­lis fa­mily-La­ura, her mot­her and fat­her and yo­un­ger sis­ter. He as­su­med they we­re all still in bed. Of co­ur­se, he wo­uldn't bla­me Ce­cil Wil­lis if he in­sis­ted his da­ug­h­ter call off the wed­ding. Damn sha­me that such a swe­et, fra­gi­le So­ut­hern bel­le had fal­len in lo­ve with Jamie. The lo­ok on de­ar lit­tle La­ura's fa­ce last night when she re­ali­zed Jamie had just up and left had be­en eno­ugh to bre­ak a man's he­art.

  Jim sto­od on the ve­ran­da, his arms cros­sed over his chest, and wat­c­hed his gran­d­son me­an­der up the steps, all the whi­le whis­t­ling. When Jamie saw Jim, he threw up a hand and smi­led bro­adly. Dam­ned go­od-for-not­hing sco­un­d­rel, Jim tho­ught. What the boy lac­ked in every ot­her as­pect, he of­ten ma­de up for in charm. But charm was wor­t­h­less in and of it­self. Just abo­ut as wor­t­h­less as Jamie. Why the Go­od Lord had se­en fit to ta­ke away Jim's son and da­ug­h­ter and le­ave him with not­hing but Jim Jr.'s only child, he'd ne­ver know. If only Jamie was mo­re li­ke his fat­her. But he wasn't.

  And to think that Jamie had be­en such a swe­et, pre­co­ci­o­us child. Lo­ving, be­gu­iling, and se­emingly as de­vo­ted to his gran­d­pa­rents as they we­re to him. But with each pas­sing ye­ar, from twel­ve ye­ars old to the pre­sent, at twen­ty-ni­ne, Jamie had be­co­me mo­re and mo­re of a di­sap­po­in­t­ment.

  If it hadn't be­en for Re­ba's ple­ading de­fen­se of the boy, Jim wo­uld ha­ve writ­ten him off as a lost ca­use a co­up­le of ye­ars ago. But Jim re­ali­zed that lo­sing Jamie wo­uld bre­ak Re­ba's he­art, and even if he didn't lo­ve his wi­fe-had ne­ver re­al­ly lo­ved her the way a man sho­uld- he ca­red abo­ut her and be­li­eved she de­ser­ved what lit­tle hap­pi­ness she de­ri­ved from the­ir gran­d­son.

  Reba had her he­art set on Jamie's mar­rying La­ura. And by God, if it me­ant be­ating sen­se in­to the boy to get him to stra­ig­h­ten up, at le­ast un­til af­ter the wed­ding, then Jim was re­ady to whip his gran­d­son's ass.

  "We ne­ed to talk," Jim sa­id as Jamie ap­pro­ac­hed him.

  "Ah, now, Big Daddy, what go­od is tal­king go­ing to do? You'll chew me out, I'll say I'm sorry, then-"

  Jim grab­bed Jamie's arm, twis­ted it be­hind his back and sa­id, "March yo­ur sorry ass aro­und to the si­de of the ho­use and in­to the ga­ze­bo. You and I are abo­ut to ha­ve a ma­j­or co­me-to-Jesus-talk, boy."

  Grunting in pa­in, Jamie strug­gled. Fru­it­les­sly. Des­pi­te 1 be­ing se­ven­ty-fi­ve, Jim had the ad­van­ta­ge of not only su­pe­ri­or strength, but su­pe­ri­or si­ze. He was half a fo­ot tal­ler and fifty po­unds he­avi­er th
an his gran­d­son. "Hell-fi­re, Big Daddy, you're go­ing to bre­ak my arm."

  "I'd li­ke to bre­ak yo­ur neck." Jim tig­h­te­ned his hold on Jamie's arm and mar­c­hed him down the steps and on­to the dri­ve­way.

  Jamie stop­ped strug­gling, re­la­xed, and fell in­to step with Jim's pa­ce. As so­on as they drew ne­ar the lar­ge, or­na­tely de­co­ra­ted ga­ze­bo at the si­de of the ho­use, Jim ga­ve Jamie a sho­ve in­si­de and mo­ti­oned for him to sit down. Jamie sat in one of the two hu­ge wic­ker cha­irs. Jim pa­ced back and forth in front of his gran­d­son, then to­ok a de­ep bre­ath and sat down in the ot­her cha­ir.

  "Look, it's no big de­al," Jamie sa­id. "I'll apo­lo­gi­ze to I La­ura and to Big Ma­ma and to Mr. and Mrs. Wil­lis."

  Jim clen­c­hed his te­eth. No big de­al. I'll apo­lo­gi­ze. 'The­re co­mes a ti­me when apo­lo­gi­es just aren't eno­ugh. How the hell are you go­ing to ex­p­la­in to La­ura why you left yo­ur en­ga­ge­ment party be­fo­re it en­ded? Are you go­ing to tell her that you had to go see Jaz­zy Tal­bot, that yo­ur hun­ger for anot­her wo­man was so po­wer­ful that-"

  "I can't gi­ve Jaz­zy up. Not en­ti­rely. Su­rely you, of all pe­op­le, un­der­s­tand that."

  "Don't com­pa­re the two of us, boy. I ha­ve ne­ver do­ne an­y­t­hing that I knew wo­uld hurt yo­ur gran­d­mot­her. I res­pect her too much, ca­re abo­ut her too-"

  "What abo­ut Erin? Don't you think that if Big Ma­ma I knew abo­ut yo­ur la­test mis­t­ress, she'd be hurt?"

  "She do­esn't know and she ne­ver will."

  "And La­ura has no re­ason to ever-"

  "Hell, boy, La­ura knows abo­ut Jaz­zy. Ever­y­body in Che­ro­kee Co­unty knows abo­ut Jaz­zy."

  Jamie glan­ced away, a sul­len lo­ok mar­ring his hand so­me fe­atu­res. "I'll marry La­ura, just li­ke Big Ma­ma wants. And we'll gi­ve y'all so­me gran­d­ba­bi­es. That sho­uld ma­ke Big Ma­ma happy. But J can't lo­ve La­ura. Not the way I lo­ve Jaz­zy."

  Jim gro­aned. A part of him ac­tu­al­ly felt sorry for his gran­d­son. Jamie truly be­li­eved that what he felt for Jaz­zy Tal­bot was lo­ve. Hell, may­be it was. May­be he lo­ved Jaz­zy as much as he was ca­pab­le of lo­ving anot­her hu­man be­ing. But Jamie's lo­ve was we­ak and spi­ne­less, just the way he was.

  "I tho­ught Jaz­zy had pretty much told you to get lost," Jim sa­id. " Is that what this is all abo­ut-you just can't ta­ke no for an an­s­wer? Her not wan­ting you ma­kes you want her all the mo­re?"

  "She wants me." Jamie ro­se to his fe­et and wal­ked over to the ed­ge of the ga­ze­bo ra­iling that cir­c­led the twen­ty-fo­ot cir­cu­lar bu­il­ding.

  "Did she let you stay the night?"

  Jamie tur­ned, a wic­ked grin on his fa­ce. "I sta­yed a co­up­le of ho­urs. We tal­ked. We sa­id our go­od-byes. But I know that so­oner or la­ter, she'll ta­ke me back. She al­ways has."

  "Not this ti­me. She wants mar­ri­age, do­esn't she? She knows you'll ne­ver marry her. I he­ar she da­ted Jacob But­ler for a whi­le. He's a fi­ne man who'd ma­ke her a go­od hus­band. And I've be­en told that the new bo­un­cer at Jaz­zy's Jo­int is very pro­tec­ti­ve of her. He's thrown you out of the pla­ce mo­re than on­ce, hasn't he?" 'Jaz­zy bro­ke it off with But­ler… that big, ugly In­di­an. And as far as Ca­leb McCord-she wo­uldn't marry him an­y­mo­re than she'd marry But­ler. Ne­it­her man has what Jaz­zy wants."

  "And that wo­uld be?"

  "Money."

  Jim snor­ted. "May­be that's what she wan­ted when she was six­te­en and got her­self preg­nant with yo­ur baby, but Jaz­zy's grown up and tur­ned in­to a damn fi­ne bu­si­nes­swo­man. My gu­ess is her pri­ori­ti­es ha­ve chan­ged."

  Jamie tur­ned and gla­red at Jim. "Is this con­ver­sa­ti­on over? I ne­ed so­me bre­ak­fast and a few ho­urs' sle­ep."

  Jim grab­bed Jamie by the front of his fancy tu­xe­do shirt and ha­uled him clo­ser. "Be­fo­re you do an­y­t­hing, you find La­ura and you fix things with her. You get down on yo­ur kne­es and beg her to for­gi­ve you, if that's what it ta­kes. Co­me Sa­tur­day, three we­eks from now, you're mar­rying that girl. And if you do an­y­t­hing-and I me­an an­y­t­hing-to bre­ak yo­ur gran­d­mot­her's he­art, I'll bre­ak yo­ur damn fo­ol neck. I've had all I'm go­ing to ta­ke from you."

  Jamie trem­b­led. Go­od, Jim tho­ught. It's abo­ut ti­me I ma­de him af­ra­id of me. He re­le­ased Jamie and sho­ved him to­ward the exit. "When you apo­lo­gi­ze to La­ura, you'd bet­ter be con­vin­cing."

  Locking his ga­ze to Jim's, Jamie smi­led. "I didn't spend the night with Jaz­zy, but I did find so­la­ce in a lo­vely lady's arms. I think you might be in­te­res­ted in who I sha­red cof­fee and a kiss with less than half an ho­ur ago."

  "I co­uldn't ca­re less what po­or, stu­pid slut en­ter­ta­ined you last night."

  "Now is that any way to talk abo­ut Erin Mer­cer?"

  Every ner­ve in Jim's body ri­oted, every mus­c­le fro­ze. 'Try anot­her lie, boy, be­ca­use I don't be­li­eve that one."

  Jamie shrug­ged. His grin bro­ade­ned to show a set of per­fect, pe­arly whi­te te­eth. "If you don't be­li­eve me, call her and ask her if we didn't sha­re bre­ak­fast cof­fee and a smol­de­ring go­od-bye kiss this mor­ning."

  Balling his hands in­to fists to ke­ep from hit­ting his gran­d­son, Jim in­ha­led de­eply and ex­ha­led slowly. "Get out of my sight. Now!"

  Jamie la­ug­hed as he tur­ned and sa­un­te­red la­zily to­ward the ho­use. Jim, who wat­c­hed un­til the boy di­sap­pe­ared from vi­ew, won­de­red what he'd ever do­ne to de­ser­ve a gran­d­son li­ke Jamie.

  Sally Tal­bot and her best fri­end Lu­die emer­ged from Jas­mi­ne's and he­aded up the stre­et to­ward Jones's Mar­ket Sally had a han­ke­ring for so­me cat­fish and she knew Jones's was the best pla­ce in town to get fresh cat­fish. They bo­ught stra­ight from Si­las Mon­roe, who ow­ned a pond-ra­ised cat­fish farm he­re in Che­ro­kee Co­unty. When they cros­sed the stre­et, Sally gat­he­red a mo­ut­h­ful of to­bac­co ju­ice and pur­sed her lips. She spit out a stre­am of brown li­qu­id just as they step­ped up on the si­de­walk.

  "I wish you'd gi­ve up that nasty ha­bit," Lu­die sa­id. "You're go­ing to wind up with can­cer of the mo­uth, mark my word. One of the­se days-"

  "My God, lo­ok over the­re…" Sally grab­bed Lu­die's arm. She co­uldn't be­li­eve her eyes. But su­re eno­ugh, right the­re ac­ross the stre­et, only half a block from Jas­mi­ne's, a wo­man sto­od tal­king to Ca­leb McCord. A wo­man who lo­oked a hell of a lot li­ke Jaz­zy. A cold fe­ar sur­ged thro­ugh Sal­ly-a hid­den fe­ar that had pla­gu­ed her for ne­arly thirty ye­ars.

  "Where?" Lu­die as­ked, glan­cing up and down the stre­et.

  "Over the­re by that fancy gre­en car. I think it's one of them Jag-u-wars. Lo­ok at that wo­man tal­king to Ca­leb."

  Ludie's ke­en black eyes ze­ro­ed in on the wo­man. Lu­die gas­ped. "De­ar God in he­aven. She lo­oks li­ke… she co­uld be Jaz­zy's twin. But how's that… oh, lordy, Sally, do you think she might be-" '’Ye­ah, I think she just might be. And if she is, you know what that me­ans."

  "It me­ans our Jaz­zy is go­ing to be as­king a lot of qu­es­ti­ons."

  "You got that damn stra­ight." Sally mun­c­hed on her to­bac­co, then spit on the si­de­walk. "And just what do I tell her?"

  "You co­uld tell her the truth."

  "She might ha­te me."

  "She might," Lu­die rep­li­ed. "But kno­wing our Jaz­zy the way I do, I fi­gu­re she lo­ves you eno­ugh to for­gi­ve you."

  "Come on." Sally mo­ti­oned to her fri­end. "I got to see her up clo­se. Let's go over the­re and get Ca­leb to in­t­ro­du­ce us. I might ask that lady a few qu­es­ti­ons be­fo­re I worry too much. May­be she don't know-"

  "If
she do­esn't know she lo­oks li­ke Jaz­zy, she will so­on eno­ugh. You know Ca­leb will tell her."

  Sally yan­ked on Lu­die's arm, then all but drag­ged her short, plump fri­end back ac­ross the stre­et. As they drew ne­ar and we­re ab­le to get a bet­ter lo­ok at the wo­man, Sally's he­art sank. This gal had to be Jaz­zy's sis­ter. Lord, help me. I had no idea the­re we­re two ba­bi­es. If I'd known…

  "Morning, Miss Sally." Ca­leb McCord, al­ways cor­di­al and man­nerly, nod­ded in his fri­endly way. "Miss Lu­die. How are you la­di­es this mor­ning?"

  "We're just fi­ne," Lu­die rep­li­ed, all the whi­le si­zing up the wo­man be­si­de Ca­leb. "Who's this pretty lady you got with you?"

  Caleb chuc­k­led. "Miss Lu­die, Miss Sally, I'd li­ke for y'all to me­et Ms. Re­ve Sor­rell, from Chat­ta­no­oga, Ten­nes­see."

 

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