Caleb nodded, then rushed toward the elevators. After he entered and punched the fourth floor button, he thought about what the nurse had said about his concern for Reba Upton being obvious. Yeah, he was concerned, but he wasn't sure why. She was his grandmother, but he didn't know her, had never actually met her. Maybe just knowing she was his grandmother was enough to make him care. When Miss Reba's image flashed through his mind, he saw his mother. That was why he cared. At some point in her life, his mother had loved Miss Reba and Big Jim. Otherwise when she was on her deathbed, she never would have told him to go to them. Okay, so his mother had died years ago and he was a little late in fulfilling her dying wish. But better late than never, right?
When the elevator doors swung open, he hesitated for a moment. Do it, he told himself. You aren't going to disturb her. You aren’t going to tell her who you are. Not yet. But maybe you can just take a look and see for yourself that she's going to be all right.
Caleb stepped out of the elevator and glanced left and right. Just how many private suites were up here on the fourth floor? And if there was more than one, how would he know which one Miss Reba was in?
If you run into anybody or if a nurse confronts you, just act like you know what you 're doing and where you 're going. And if there's a guard at Miss Reba's door, just walk on by.
It didn't take long for him to discover that the patient's name was posted on the outside of the door and there were only two private suites. One was empty. When he approached the other, the door stood halfway open. He took a deep breath and approached, then paused outside and looked into the room. A woman in a uniform-a private duty nurse, no doubt-sat near the foot of the bed, her back to Caleb. He had a clear view of his grandmother. Despite her blond hair and relatively smooth face, she looked old. A heart attack would age a person, he figured. But even though she was pale and looked terribly small and helpless in that hospital bed, she was still a pretty woman. Just like his mother had been, Years of drug use had taken a toll on his mother, but even at the end, when she'd been bone skinny, her once lustrous hair thin and dull, and with dark circles under her eyes, she had still been pretty. Or maybe he had just looked at her through a son's eyes. Melanie hadn't been the best mother in the world, but she'd been the only mother he'd had, and before the drugs took over her life completely, there had been some good times. Good memories.
He didn't know how long he stood there just staring at his grandmother, wondering how she would react when she learned that her daughter had left behind a child. Then, just as he decided it was time for him to leave, a big hand hooked over his shoulder.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Big Jim Upton's voice sounded like a rottweiler's ferocious growl.
Caleb turned around and faced his grandfather.
"If you're a damned reporter-"
"I'm not a reporter." 'Then what are you doing snooping around outside my wife's hospital room? Who told you where she was?"
''I wasn't snooping." Caleb jerked free of Jim's tight hold. "I stopped by to see how Miss Reba was doing."
Jim eyed him suspiciously. "Do I know you? You look familiar."
"You don't know me, Mr. Upton. But if I look familiar to you, it could be because I look quite a bit like my mother."
"Your mother? Do we know your mother? Is she a friend of ours?" Jim scanned Caleb from his overlong hair to his black leather boots.
If you're going to do it, do it! Caleb told himself. Maybe this is the wrong time and the wrong place, but you’ve put it off long enough.
"My mother was Melanie Upton McCord."
Jim glared at him as if he wasn't sure he'd heard him right. "What sort of game are you playing, boy? You re to try to take advantage of us when we're at our most vulnerable? Well, whatever you're up to, forget it. Our daughter died fifteen years ago of a-"
"A drug overdose in Memphis."
Jim frowned, squinting his eyes and scrunching his face. "How would you know that?"
"Because I was with her when she died. I'm the one who tried to save her. I'm the one who called for an ambulance."
Jim grabbed Caleb by the front of his shirt. "How old are you? Not old enough to have been her lover."
"I was sixteen when she died. She wasn't even forty, but she looked sixty. Drugs do that to people, even beautiful blonde women from good families. Beautiful blonde women who look just like their mothers."
Jim loosened his hold on Caleb's shirt, but didn't let go. He stared into Caleb's eyes- eyes that were not like his mother's. Jim studied his features. Slowly. Carefully. "You look a bit like her and I can see some of Jim Jr. in you-" Jim released Caleb abruptly and stepped away from him. "You can't be hers. If she'd had a child, the police would have told us when they notified us she had died."
"They didn't know about me," Caleb said. "When I knew she was dead, I split. I didn't hang around so some social worker could put me in a foster home."
"But if she had a child, why… why didn't she come home? She had a husband." Jim shook his head. "How old are you?"
"Thirty-two."
"She left here over thirty-three years ago. Left us, left a good husband-"
"He's not my father."
"And my Melanie is not your mother." Jim hardened his gaze. "Whoever the hell you are, don't you dare ever go near Miss Reba telling her your crazy lies. That woman has been through way too much already."
"I don't want to hurt her… or you."
''Then get the hell out of my sight. Leave Cherokee Pointe, and don't you ever come back. Do you hear me, boy?"
Caleb looked the old man right in the eye. "I'll leave whenever I get damn good and ready to go."
"You know who I am. You know what I can do to you if I've a mind to."
"Yeah, I know. I know that you've seen to it that the DA has railroaded an innocent woman, had her arrested for a murder she didn't commit. I know all about how powerful Big Jim Upton is." Caleb grunted. "Hell, maybe you're right. Maybe I'm not your grandson. If Jamie Upton was the result of your parenting skills, then I'm damn lucky I didn't do what my mother wanted me to do and come to you and Miss Reba when I was sixteen."
Jim's face flushed. For a minute there Caleb thought Big Jim might hit him.
"My mother's favorite color was blue. Her favorite fairy tale was Sleeping Beauty. You used to read it to her every night when she was a little girl. She had a pony named Ruffles. Her sixteenth birthday present from you was a yellow Corvette. And Miss Reba gave her a gold locket surrounded by diamonds on her wedding day. She wore it all the time when I was a kid. She hung on to that necklace for a long time, but finally in the end she sold it to buy drugs."
Caleb turned and walked away. Let the old man digest all that information. If he ever wanted to talk to Caleb, he'd have to come to him. He wasn't going to beg the man to believe him. And he sure as hell wasn't going to let Big Jim Upton intimidate him.
Andrea didn't like
this one little bit. Although the had assured Cecil they didn't need their lawyer present, she felt uneasy walking into the sheriffs office without legal counsel. They had their murderer-Jazzy Talbot. Why did they need to question her family any further? She believed she could control Cecil. After all, she'd been doing it for years. But their daughters were another matter. Sheridan was headstrong, insolent, and might say anything. She'd taken her younger child aside before they left the Upton house and warned her to be on her best behavior. She probably had Sheridan under control, too. At least temporarily. But what about Laura? That poor child was so fragile that it wouldn't take very much pressure for her break into pieces. Pieces that might not ever go back together.
"Do not say anything about not remembering where you were the night Jamie died," Andrea had told Laura. "Do you hear me?"
Laura had nodded and promised to keep their secret, but Andrea knew that if she was pushed too far, Laura would crumble. And if that happened, there would be little that she and Cecil could do for the girl. God help them all if the whole truth ever came out.
What if she did kill Jamie? Andrea asked herself as the four of them entered the courthouse. Heads high, she'd told them. We have nothing to fear.
If Laura killed Jamie, no one must ever know. But what about the other man who had been murdered, that Watson man? Laura had been out again last evening. Sheridan had caught her slipping up the back stairs. Had she killed him, too? And if she had, why?
"Please come in." Jacob Butler met them at the door to the sheriffs department. "I sure do appreciate y'all coming in. I'll try not to keep you folks long. Just come on back to my office so we can talk in private."
Andrea nudged Cecil, who stood aside for his wife and daughters, then followed alongside the sheriff.
"I put in a call to Phillip Stockton, my lawyer, and he advised me as to what I should and shouldn't speak to you about," Cecil said. "But since neither I nor my wife and daughters have anything to hide, we're more than glad to cooperate."
"Just go on in and have a seat," Sheriff Butler said when they reached his office. "I've asked Police Chief Sloan and our district attorney, Wade Truman, to sit in on our conversation."
Andrea glanced at the other two men-the big blond police chief standing by the windows and Mr. Truman seated behind the sheriffs desk-but she didn't acknowledge their presence by speaking to them. Then she noted that four chairs were spread out over the room, so that no two people would be side by side. Had that been deliberate or just happenstance? She leaned over and whispered to Cecil, "Move one of the chairs next to this one"-she pointed-"where I'll sit."
He looked at her, a puzzled expression on his face, but did as she had asked. As soon as he placed the folding chair beside the one where Andrea sat, she called, "Laura, come sit by me, dear."
Sheridan eyed her mother, then grinned. She didn't like that cunning smile. What did Sheridan know? Probably nothing. But that girl had a mischievous streak a mile wide and seemed to enjoy causing trouble.
Jacob Butler crossed his arms over his massive chest and sat on the edge of his desk. "As you folks probably already know, we've had another murder here in Cherokee County."
Yes," Cecil said. "A handyman of some sort, wasn't "A maintenance man for Cherokee Cabin Rentals," Jacob said. "His name was Stanley Watson. Did y'all by any chance know him?"
"Certainly not," Andrea replied. "Why would you ever think we might know such a person?"
"Just asking, ma'am. Just asking."
"Cecil could have answered that question over the phone-" Andrea stopped mid sentence, realizing she was overreacting.
"Stan Watson's murder has similarities to Jamie Upton's. Only this time the body was burned inside the vehicle, so we don't know whether she tortured him or not."
Laura gasped. Andrea put her arm around her daughter's shoulder. "Really, Sheriff," Andrea scolded.
"Sorry, ma'am, but you see, we figure that the person who killed Jamie killed Stan."
''Then you already have your murderer," Andrea told him. ''Jazzy Talbot killed Jamie." She looked directly at the district attorney. "Isn't that right?"
''Jazzy's case will go before a grand jury, if we can't find the real murderer, "Jacob said. "You see, Jazzy has an ironclad alibi for the time Stan Watson was killed, so there’s no way she could have committed the second murder."
Andrea swallowed. Don't think about it, she told herself. If you think about it, something might show on your face that would make the sheriff suspicious.
"We need to know exactly where each of you was between six yesterday evening and midnight last night."
"We were at the Upton home," Andrea replied.
"All four of you? "Jacob Butler asked.
"Yes-"
"Don't lie for me, Mother." Sheridan boldly stared at the sheriff. "I had a date that lasted for hours and hours. I was with this gentleman from about six-thirty until sometime after midnight."
Jacob cleared his throat. "We can verify your whereabouts, Ms. Willis."
Andrea snapped her head around and glared at her younger daughter. Good God, surely she hadn't been with the sheriff. No, not the sheriff, but certainly someone he knew. She scanned the room, studying each man, wondering if Sheridan had been with the chief of police or even the district attorney.
"Cecil and I were together during that time and Laura was either with us or with her nurse," Andrea said, wanting to protect Laura. The sheriff must never know that Laura had drugged Mrs. Conley and disappeared for hours yesterday evening. If necessary, she would pay off the nurse, give her an enormous bonus for keeping quiet.
Jacob walked over to Laura, squatted down in front of her and asked in a kind, gentle voice, "Laura, is there anything you can tell us that might help us solve Jamie's murder… and Stan Watson's murder?"
Laura looked to her mother, her blue eyes wide with fear and pleading for help. "I-I don't know… sometimes I can't remember things. I want to help, but…"
"Please, don't do this," Andrea said to the sheriff. "Laura is by nature very delicate and Jamie's death has unsettled her, not to mention the unfortunate miscarriage. She's under a doctor's care." Andrea looked at Cecil. "We should have Dr. MacNair here. He can explain how easily the least little tiling might-" She cleared her throat. "Please… Laura can't help you. Believe me, she can't."
The sheriff eyed Andrea suspiciously and for a split second, she couldn't breathe. Fear smothered her. Butler rose to his full, impressive height. Andrea imagined that this man's size and savage features often frightened criminals into making a full confession. But she wasn't a criminal and she wasn't easily intimidated, especially by someone as inferior as this backwo�
�ods Indian sheriff.
The sheriff opened the office door and called to one of his deputies, "Contact Dr. MacNair and ask him if he can come over here as soon as possible. Tell him we're questioning the Willis family and that I have some questions for Laura, but her mother feels questioning her any further might jeopardize her health."
Andrea felt the blood rush to her face, heard it pounding through her head. She stood, walked over to Cecil and said quietly, "Do something!"
"What would you have me do?" Cecil sighed. His shoulders sagged.
"Laura shouldn't be questioned." Andrea laid her hand on her husband's arm and squeezed tightly. "Do you understand?"
His eyes opened wide with realization. He nodded. "I'll call Phillip."
Just as Andrea started to respond, to tell Cecil they needed more immediate help than Phillip could give them since he was hundreds of miles away in Lexington, a telephone rang. She glanced around inside the sheriffs office and through the open door into the outer office and noted one of the deputies on the phone calling Dr. MacNair, as he'd been instructed to do. Then she saw the chief of police remove his cell phone from its belt clip and flip the phone open. She watched him as he hurriedly walked into the outer office area.
The Last To Die Page 33