The Last To Die

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The Last To Die Page 10

by Beverly Barton


  Caleb ma­de his way thro­ugh the crow­ded ro­om, pac­ked to ca­pa­city be­ca­use it was a Sa­tur­day night and lo­cals as well as to­urists fo­und Jaz­zy's Jo­int the ide­al pla­ce to let off a lit­tle ste­am. When he went be­hind the bar, Lacy nod­ded at the por­tab­le re­ce­iver she'd pla­ced by the te­lep­ho­ne ba­se. Af­ter pic­king up the re­ce­iver, he es­ca­ped in­to the hal­lway that led to the sto­re­ro­oms on one si­de and Jaz­zy's of­fi­ce on the ot­her. No way co­uld he ha­ve he­ard an­y­t­hing if he'd sta­yed in the bar. Bet­we­en the ga­mes go­ing on at the po­ol tab­les, the mu­sic blas­ting from the li­ve band, and the buzz of talk and la­ug­h­ter from the pat­rons, a guy co­uldn't he­ar him­self think.

  "McCord he­re."

  ''This is Dal­las Slo­an."

  "Yeah, Chi­ef, what can I do for you?"

  Dallas cle­ared his-th­ro­at. "Genny wan­ted me to call you."

  Puzzled, Ca­leb as­ked, "Why wo­uld-"

  "It's abo­ut Jaz­zy."

  "What abo­ut her?"

  "Hell, McCord, this is aw­k­ward for me," Dal­las ad­mit­ted. "But Genny had one of her vi­si­ons this mor­ning and she's wor­ri­ed abo­ut Jaz­zy."

  "Why call me?" Get re­al, Ca­leb told him­self. Don't you think Dal­las and Genny know you've got the hots for Jaz­zy?

  "Like I sa­id, it wasn't my idea to get in to­uch with you. But my fu­tu­re wi­fe can be very per­su­asi­ve when she's de­ter­mi­ned to get her way. I'm con­tac­ting you be­ca­use you and Jaz­zy are fri­ends and you two spend a gre­at de­al of ti­me to­get­her the­re at Jaz­zy's Jo­int. And be­ca­use Genny fe­els that you ca­re abo­ut Jaz­zy, eno­ugh to want to pro­tect her."

  "Protect her from what?"

  "Jamie Up­ton."

  "Look, tell yo­ur wi­fe-to-be that the­re's only so much I can do. If Jaz­zy cho­oses to be with Up­ton, then-"

  "Genny be­li­eves so­me­one is go­ing to kill Up­ton and that so­me­how Jaz­zy will be bla­med for his mur­der."

  "Are you shit­ting me?"

  "Look, McCord, the­re was a ti­me when I tho­ught Genny's vi­si­ons we­re a bunch of non­sen­se. But I've le­ar­ned bet­ter."

  "Why not call Up­ton and tell him he's a de­ad man wal­king?"

  "He's not go­ing to be­li­eve Genny. He's an ar­ro­gant fo­ol, and we both know it."

  "What do­es Genny want from me?"

  "She wants you to ke­ep an eye on Jaz­zy. If so­me­one do­es kill Up­ton, we don't want Jaz­zy in­vol­ved in any way."

  "Like I sa­id, the­re's only so much I can do. It's not as if Jaz­zy and I li­ve to­get­her. Hell, we aren't even da­ting."

  "Hey, I'm just the mes­sen­ger he­re. Genny do­esn't want to frig­h­ten or up­set Jaz­zy, but she do­es want so­me­one hel­ping us lo­ok out for her. Jacob's go­ing to do his part to watch out for her and we've dis­cus­sed ke­eping tabs on Up­ton, too. Unof­fi­ci­al­ly, of co­ur­se. Genny se­ems to think we can co­unt on you to help us watch over Jaz­zy. Is she wrong?"

  "No, she's not wrong."

  "Okay then, that's it."

  "Yeah, that's it." Ca­leb felt as aw­k­ward abo­ut this con­ver­sa­ti­on as Chi­ef Slo­an did. They'd co­me damn ne­ar clo­se to tal­king abo­ut the­ir fe­elings. God, what a man wo­uld do for the wo­man he lo­ved! And ever­y­body in Che­ro­kee Co­unty knew that Dal­las Slo­an lo­ved his fu­tu­re wi­fe abo­ut as much as a man co­uld lo­ve a wo­man.

  As he pas­sed by the bar, Ca­leb han­ded the pho­ne to Lacy, who lo­oked at him qu­es­ti­oningly. Or­di­na­rily he didn't bot­her ex­p­la­ining him­self to an­yo­ne, but Lacy had be­co­me a fri­end sin­ce he'd be­en wor­king at Jaz­zy's Jo­int. The mid­dle-aged bru­net­te's li­fe­ti­me smo­ker's gra­vel­ly vo­ice, co­ar­se skin, and de­eply li­ned fa­ce be­li­ed her strong ma­ter­nal in­s­tincts. She lo­oked li­ke an old barfly, with her long, frizzy ha­ir, her do­ub­le set of big sil­ver ho­op ear­rings, and her flashy, skin­tight clot­hes, but at he­art Lacy Fal­lon was a mot­her. She'd ne­ver had any kids of her own. 'Three hus­bands and not one baby," she'd told him. "My fa­ult, not the­irs. My equ­ip­ment wasn't no go­od. I'm bar­ren as the de­sert." She'd la­ug­hed when she'd sa­id it, but he'd he­ard the hurt in her vo­ice.

  "Chief Slo­an sa­id Genny's wor­ri­ed abo­ut Jaz­zy. They want me to ke­ep an eye on her," Ca­leb told Lacy.

  ''They want you ta ke­ep Jamie Up­ton away from her, don't they?"

  Caleb nod­ded. "I told Slo­an I'd do what I co­uld, but if Jaz­zy wants to en­ter­ta­in the bas­tard in her apar­t­ment la­te at night, what am I sup­po­sed to do?"

  "You're sup­po­sed to go up the­re and run his ass off. That's what you're sup­po­sed to do. She do­esn't lo­ve him an­y­mo­re. She ho­nest to God wants things over with on­ce and for all. But he ke­eps co­ming aro­und and… well, Jamie's just a bad ha­bit she's had a hard ti­me bre­aking."

  Caleb le­aned ac­ross the bar and plan­ted a kiss on Lacy's che­ek.

  "What was that for?" she as­ked.

  "For be­ing Jaz­zy's fri­end."

  Jazzy lo­oked di­rectly at La­ura Wil­lis, ro­se slowly from her cha­ir, and sa­id, "Yes, of co­ur­se, ple­ase co­me in."

  Laura en­te­red the clut­te­red of­fi­ce, lo­oking to­tal­ly out of pla­ce. Jamie's fi­an­c­ée was a slen­der, de­li­ca­te girl with lu­mi­no­us blue eyes and gol­den blond ha­ir. The fa­iry prin­cess type, Jaz­zy tho­ught. But the­re was a fra­gi­lity to the yo­ung wo­man-a hint of it was ap­pa­rent in not only her pa­le, de­li­ca­te ap­pe­aran­ce, but in the way she mo­ved and tal­ked.

  "I told Jamie and my pa­rents I was go­ing to the la­di­es' ro­om," La­ura sa­id in a soft, hus­hed vo­ice.

  "What did you want to spe­ak to me abo­ut? "Jaz­zy as­ked, even tho­ugh she had a re­al­ly go­od idea. What el­se did the two of them ha­ve in com­mon ot­her than Jamie Up­ton?

  "I-I know Jamie ca­me to see you last night-"

  "Look, Ms. Wil­lis, I can as­su­re you that-"

  "He told me why he left our party and went di­rectly to you. He ex­p­la­ined that he felt last nig­ht-when we of­fi­ci­al­ly an­no­un­ced to the world that we're to be mar­ri­ed-was the right ti­me to say his go­od-byes to you, on­ce and for all."

  "Oh, yes, of co­ur­se." Why was she sur­p­ri­sed that Jamie had li­ed to this girl? She sho­uldn't ha­ve be­en. And why was she sur­p­ri­sed that La­ura Wil­lis had be­li­eved him? Hadn't Jamie tal­ked his way back in­to Jaz­zy's li­fe ti­me and ti­me aga­in, al­ways with pro­mi­ses that he ne­ver kept?

  "I'm well awa­re of yo­ur re­la­ti­on­s­hip with Jamie, that the two of you are… we­re lo­vers." La­ura sta­yed clo­se to the open do­or, as if she tho­ught she might ha­ve to flee at any mo­ment. "And I know the­re ha­ve be­en ot­hers. But Jamie wants our mar­ri­age to work. He lo­ves me and I lo­ve him."

  He do­esn’t lo­ve you, Jaz­zy wan­ted to say. Jamie isn’t ca­pab­le of lo­ving an­yo­ne ex­cept him­self. But you lo­ve him, don't you, you po­or girl? He's go­ing to bre­ak yo­ur he­art the way he bro­ke mi­ne, and it do­esn't re­al­ly mat­ter that you '11 be Mrs. Jamie Up­ton. He'll ne­ver be fa­it­h­ful to you. It's not in his na­tu­re.

  "I wish you well," Jaz­zy sa­id. "I ho­pe you'll be very happy."

  "I be­li­eve we will be, that we can be if…" La­ura's che­eks flus­hed. "Ple­ase, Ms. Tal­bot, let him go. Don't hold on to him. If he re­ma­ins ti­ed to you, in any way, he'll ne­ver be ab­le to com­mit him­self fully to me, to our mar­ri­age. Ple­ase, ple­ase… set him free."

  Undoubtedly Jamie had told his fi­an­c­ée that Jaz­zy was pur­su­ing him and not the ot­her way aro­und. That, too, sho­uldn't ha­ve sur­p­ri­sed her.

  "You lo­ve him eno­ugh to for­gi­ve him for ever­y­t­hing, don't you?" Jaz­zy u
n­der­s­to­od all too well that kind of fo­olish lo­ve.

  "I know you lo­ve turn, too, but he lo­ves me now. He wants to marry me. I'm sorry if-"

  Jazzy held up a res­t­ra­ining hand. "No, it's all right. I pro­mi­se you that I will ne­ver pur­sue Jamie aga­in. I did set him free. Last night." Only a lit­tle whi­te lie, Jaz­zy tho­ught. "He's all yo­urs. You ha­ve not­hing to fe­ar from me."

  Tears glis­te­ned in La­ura's eyes. She swal­lo­wed, then smi­led we­akly. "I'll be a go­od wi­fe to Jamie. I'll do ever­y­t­hing I can to ma­ke him happy."

  "Yes, I'm su­re you will. He's a very lucky man to ha­ve so­me­one li­ke you." 'Thank you, Ms. Tal­bot. Thank you." Bi­ting down on her lo­wer lip in an ob­vi­o­us ef­fort not to burst in­to te­ars, La­ura con­ti­nu­ed smi­ling as she nod­ded her he­ad, then tur­ned and all but ran from Jaz­zy's of­fi­ce.

  Jazzy sank down on the ed­ge of her desk, to­ok a de­ep, cle­an­sing bre­ath, and ex­ha­led. She felt li­ke crying her­self. Odd, she tho­ught, but she had truly me­ant what she'd sa­id to La­ura. Jamie was lucky to ha­ve so­me­one li­ke her lo­ve him. But La­ura was very un­lucky. It wo­uld ta­ke a mi­rac­le for Jamie Up­ton to chan­ge, to be­co­me the kind of man who co­uld be fa­it­h­ful to one wo­man. And in that one mo­ment, Jaz­zy ex­pe­ri­en­ced so­me sort of epip­hany. She had se­en her­self in La­ura, lo­oked right in the fa­ce of ho­pe­less, ill-fa­ted lo­ve, and knew that but by the gra­ce of God, she might be in La­ura's sho­es. How many ye­ars had she lon­ged to be Jamie's wi­fe? She had bla­med Jamie's gran­d­mot­her for ke­eping them apart. She had ra­iled at cru­el fa­te. She had ma­de co­un­t­less ex­cu­ses for Jamie's be­ha­vi­or and kept on lo­ving him, for­gi­ving him, ac­cep­ting him back in­to her li­fe.

  "Oh, God, if I had mar­ri­ed Jamie when I was a te­ena­ger or even a few ye­ars ago, it wo­uld ha­ve be­en the big­gest mis­ta­ke of my li­fe." Te­ars gat­he­red in the cor­ners of Jaz­zy's eyes as the hard, bit­ter truth hit her li­ke a ton of bricks.

  Jamie wo­uld ha­ve mar­ri­ed her, but ne­ver be­en fa­it­h­ful. He wo­uld ha­ve li­ed to her day af­ter day and bet­ra­yed her in every way pos­sib­le. Why had she ever tho­ught that mar­ri­age wo­uld ha­ve sol­ved the­ir prob­lems? Jamie was the prob­lem. He al­ways had be­en. Mar­ri­age to him wo­uld ha­ve chan­ged not­hing.

  Okay, so may­be men­tal­ly she'd known this fact for qu­ite so­me ti­me, but ne­ver be­fo­re had her he­art ac­cep­ted it. For the first ti­me sin­ce she'd fal­len he­ad over he­els in lo­ve at six­te­en, she fa­ced the truth emo­ti­onal­ly.

  Please, ple­ase… set him free. La­ura Wil­lis's words rep­la­yed them­sel­ves in her mind. Over and over aga­in.

  But it wasn't Jamie she ne­eded to set free. It ne­ver had be­en. She was the one she ne­eded to set free. Now she co­uld. Now she had.

  Jazzy hug­ged her­self as te­ars tric­k­led down her che­eks. She la­ug­hed alo­ud, the so­und re­ver­be­ra­ting in­si­de her he­ad, the swe­etest mu­sic she'd ever he­ard.

  She was free. Free of Jamie Up­ton. He co­uld ne­ver hurt her aga­in.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  Jazzy slip­ped in­to her fle­ece jac­ket, a light pro­tec­ti­on aga­inst the nig­h­t­ti­me chill so pre­va­lent in the mo­un­ta­ins du­ring the early spring. She'd le­ave Jas­mi­ne's in Tif­fany's ca­pab­le hands for the rest of the eve­ning and go whe­re she re­al­ly wan­ted to be to­nig­ht-at Jaz­zy's Jo­int next do­or, with a lo­ud, bo­is­te­ro­us crowd of fun-lo­ving folks. And with Ca­leb McCord. She'd kept the guy at arm's length for se­ve­ral months now for a co­up­le of very go­od re­asons. First and fo­re­most, she hadn't wan­ted to use him to try to get Jamie out of her system. She had do­ne that in the past and had bro­ken a co­up­le of he­arts in the pro­cess. Se­condly, she had wan­ted to pro­tect her­self by not get­ting in­vol­ved with a man she knew she co­uld pro­bably ca­re a lot abo­ut if she ga­ve her­self half a chan­ce. She'd ne­ver truly be­en in lo­ve with an­yo­ne ot­her than Jamie, and he'd be­en not­hing but a he­ar­tac­he. Even tho­ugh Genny had pre­dic­ted a new lo­ve for her, a man who wo­uld ma­ke her happy, Jaz­zy wasn't su­re she co­uld ever trust lo­ve aga­in. But that didn't me­an she co­uldn't ex­p­lo­re the pos­si­bi­li­ti­es, did it?

  Feeling as if a he­avy we­ight had be­en lif­ted from her he­art and from her sho­ul­ders, Jaz­zy smi­led to her­self as she left her of­fi­ce. May­be it was al­re­ady too la­te for a chan­ce with Ca­leb. May­be he'd al­re­ady got­ten sick and ti­red of wa­iting for her. She re­al­ly co­uldn't bla­me him if he told her she was of­fe­ring him too lit­tle, too la­te.

  Only a few steps in­to the hal­lway, she ran in­to a wo­man she in­s­tandy re­cog­ni­zed as the small, blon­de lady who had be­en fre­qu­en­ting Jas­mi­ne's for the past few we­eks. Star­t­led by Jaz­zy's ap­pe­aran­ce in the dimly lit cor­ri­dor, the wo­man gas­ped and jum­ped si­mul­ta­ne­o­usly.

  "May I help you?" Jaz­zy as­ked.

  "Yes, I-I'm lo­oking for the la­di­es' ro­om."

  "You went right past it," Jaz­zy sa­id. "It's the first do­or on the left"

  "How silly of me to walk past it. Thank you."

  When the wo­man tur­ned aro­und, Jaz­zy cal­led to her. "Hey, I'm Jaz­zy Tal­bot, the ow­ner of Jas­mi­ne's. I've se­en you he­re se­ve­ral ti­mes. Wel­co­me to Che­ro­kee Po­in­te. I ho­pe you're enj­oying yo­ur stay."

  The wo­man pa­used, glan­ced over her sho­ul­der and smi­led. "Yes, this is a lo­vely town. I'm plan­ning on sta­ying a whi­le lon­ger."

  When the wo­man star­ted wal­king away, Jaz­zy fol­lo­wed her, then mo­ved on past her when she en­te­red the rest-ro­om. Just as the wo­man en­te­red, Erin Mer­cer exi­ted.

  "How are you to­night, Ms. Mer­cer?" Jaz­zy as­ked.

  'Just fi­ne. How abo­ut you?"

  "Better than I've be­en in a long ti­me. Thank you for as­king."

  When Jaz­zy tur­ned to­ward the do­or le­ading out in­to the al­ley, Erin as­ked, "Are you le­aving for the night?"

  "Going next do­or to Jaz­zy's Jo­int to check on things the­re."

  "See you aro­und*" Erin stu­di­ed Jaz­zy bri­efly, then re­tur­ned to her tab­le in the res­ta­urant.

  Jazzy had sen­sed rat­her stran­ge vi­bes co­ming from Big Jim Up­ton's mis­t­ress. It was as if she'd wan­ted to say so­met­hing per­so­nal to Jaz­zy but tho­ught bet­ter of the idea. May­be Erin Mer­cer knew all abo­ut Jaz­zy and Jamie's tro­ub­led lo­ve af­fa­ir. Hell, who didn't? May­be Ms. Mer­cer tho­ught the re­ason Jaz­zy was le­aving her res­ta­urant so early in the eve­ning was to get away from Jamie, his fi­an­c­ée, and her pa­rents, who had so ob­vi­o­usly co­me to Jas­mi­ne's to­night so that Jaz­zy co­uld wit­ness the ce­leb­ra­ti­on. Did Ms. Mer­cer see her as a kin­d­red spi­rit? Did she be­li­eve Jaz­zy wo­uld even­tu­al­ly be­co­me Jamie's mis­t­ress?

  What dif­fe­ren­ce did it ma­ke what an­yo­ne tho­ught? She'd be­en dam­ned for so many sins du­ring her twen­ty-ni­ne ye­ars that she co­uldn't re­mem­ber which ones she was gu­ilty of com­mit­ting and of which she was in­no­cent. On­ce a wo­man ga­ined a bad re­pu­ta­ti­on in a small town, de­ser­ved or un­de­ser­ved, the­re was very lit­tle she co­uld do to chan­ge pe­op­le's opi­ni­ons. The task was as im­pos­sib­le as rec­la­iming yo­ur vir­gi­nity on­ce you'd had sex.

  Jazzy slip­ped out in­to the dark al­ley be­hind the adj­o­ining es­tab­lis­h­ments and hur­ri­ed down the une­ven brick wal­k­way that led to the back en­t­ran­ce of the hon­ky-tonk she ow­ned. The nippy night air pin­ked her che­eks and sent a chill thro­ugh her body. Even tho­ugh the lids we­re clo­sed, the lar­ge trash cans at the back of the res­ta­urant emit­ted an un­p­le­asant gar­ba­ge
odor and the ne­arby Dum­p­s­ter re­eked with the was­te from all the bu­si­nes­ses along the stre­et.

  Unexpectedly, a no­ise up the al­ley­way aler­ted her that she wasn't alo­ne. Al­t­ho­ugh Che­ro­kee Po­in­te didn't ha­ve many vag­rants, from ti­me to ti­me so­me ho­me­less bum wo­uld rum­ma­ge thro­ugh the trash cans lo­oking for fo­od and ot­her items of in­te­rest. She glan­ced left. Saw not­hing. Lo­oked right and ca­ught a glim­p­se of a dark sha­dow that di­sap­pe­ared so qu­ickly she won­de­red if she had ima­gi­ned se­e­ing it.

  A shi­ver that had not­hing to do with the we­at­her shim­mi­ed up her spi­ne. Jaz­zy rus­hed in thro­ugh the back do­or. If it hadn't be­en a fi­re exit, she wo­uld ha­ve loc­ked the do­or. Don't over­re­act, she told her­self. You're be­ing silly. Just be­ca­use you tho­ught you saw so­me­one in the al­ley do­esn’t me­an the­re are bo­gey men lur­king aro­und every cor­ner. And it cer­ta­inly do­esn't me­an you are per­so­nal­ly in any dan­ger.

 

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