The Last To Die

by Beverly Barton

  Andrea had an un­can­ny fe­eling that Chi­ef Slo­an's pho­ne call had so­met­hing to do with them, with La­ura in par­ti­cu­lar. When he qu­ickly ca­me back to the open do­or and mo­ti­oned for the she­riff to step out­si­de, An­d­rea's na­ils bit in­to her hus­band's arm.

  "Get on the pho­ne and con­tact Jim Up­ton," An­d­rea sa­id. 'Tell him we're go­ing to ne­ed a lo­cal law­yer as so­on as pos­sib­le."

  "Why?" Ce­cil as­ked. "What ha­ven't you told me?"

  "It's abo­ut La­ura-"

  Before she co­uld ex­p­la­in to her hus­band, the she­riff and po­li­ce chi­ef re­tur­ned. Ce­cil ro­se to stand at An­d­rea's si­de. The two of them-wal­ked over and flan­ked the­ir el­dest child.

  "We've just re­ce­ived so­me rat­her in­te­res­ting in­for­ma­ti­on," the she­riff sa­id.

  Andrea held her bre­ath.

  When She­riff But­ler spo­ke aga­in, he lo­oked di­rectly at her. "Why didn't y'all tell us that when La­ura was six­te­en, she tri­ed to kill her boy­f­ri­end?"

  Chapter 25

  Caleb par­ked his T-bird in front of his ren­tal ca­bin, alon­g­si­de Genny's Tra­il­b­la­zer. He knew be­fo­re he emer­ged from his car that if Genny was he­re, that pro­bably me­ant one of two things: eit­her Jaz­zy had sent her or Jaz­zy was with her. Okay, so what did you ex­pect? he as­ked him­self. He'd left Jaz­zy be­fo­re she wo­ke this mor­ning and he­re it was la­te af­ter­no­on and he hadn't got­ten in to­uch with her all day. She was bo­und to be won­de­ring what the hell was wrong with him. Af­ter all, the two of them had sha­red an in­c­re­dib­le night to­get­her. A lady had a right to ex­pect cer­ta­in things from a man af­ter such an in­ti­ma­te ex­pe­ri­en­ce.

  If he was lucky, Genny was alo­ne and he wo­uldn't J ha­ve to fa­ce Jaz­zy. But when he ap­pro­ac­hed the ca­bin and saw Genny and Jaz­zy sit­ting on the porch, he knew his luck had run out. Whet­her he wan­ted to or not, he was go­ing to ha­ve to fa­ce Jaz­zy and ex­p­la­in his ac­ti­ons. He'd be­en ha­ving se­cond tho­ughts abo­ut to­tal ho­nesty. He didn't think he was re­ady to co­me right out and ask her if she was still in lo­ve with Jamie. Ac­tu­al­ly, he wasn't sure he'd ever ha­ve the guts to con­f­ront her abo­ut that god­damn hor­rib­le mo­ment he'd he­ard her whis­per Jamie's na­me. And4ie cer­ta­inly wasn't pre­pa­red to tell her that he was Jim and Re­ba Up­ton's gran­d­son-that he was, as Jamie had be­en, an Up­ton he­ir. Only now mat Jamie was de­ad, he was the only he­ir.

  Just what was he go­ing to say? What co­uld he tell her?

  "Afternoon, la­di­es." Ca­leb clim­bed the wo­oden steps le­ading to the porch that span­ned the length of the ho­use. He'd be­en ren­ting this pla­ce from Che­ro­kee Ca­bin Ren­tals sin­ce he'd go­ne to work as the bo­un­cer at Jaz­zy's Jo­int back in Janu­ary.

  Not be­ing one for sub­t­le­ti­es, Jaz­zy hop­ped out of the swing and ca­me char­ging to­ward him. ''Just whe­re the hell ha­ve you be­en?" Her bright gre­en eyes squ­in­ted di­sap­pro­vingly.

  Caleb cram­med his hands in­to his poc­kets and shuf­fled his fe­et. Now what? he as­ked him­self. "I to­ok a ri­de out of town." Gre­at res­pon­se, McCord. Do you think she's go­ing to ac­cept that wit­ho­ut any ot­her qu­es­ti­ons?

  Jazzy cros­sed her arms over her chest and coc­ked her he­ad to one si­de. "Wrong an­s­wer. Want to tell me what's go­ing on?"

  Genny ro­se from the roc­king cha­ir whe­re she'd be­en sit­ting. "I think you two ne­ed to talk pri­va­tely, wit­ho­ut an audi­en­ce."

  When Genny wal­ked past Jaz­zy on her way to­ward the steps, Jaz­zy grab­bed her arm. "Don't go. De­pen­ding on Ca­leb's an­s­wers, I might ne­ed a ri­de back in­to town."

  Genny glan­ced from Jaz­zy to Ca­leb, but didn't say an­y­t­hing. The in­ten­se ex­p­res­si­on in her black eyes spo­ke vo­lu­mes. If Ca­leb had le­ar­ned an­y­t­hing abo­ut Genny du­ring the­se past few months, it was that, by na­tu­re, the wo­man was a pe­ace­ma­ker.

  "I'll dri­ve you to town whe­ne­ver you get re­ady to go,"

  Caleb told Jaz­zy. ''The­re's no ne­ed for Genny to hang aro­und and lis­ten to our ar­gu­ment."

  Jazzy ga­ve him an aha lo­ok. "So we're go­ing to ar­gue, are we?"

  "Maybe. I don't know."

  Jazzy re­le­ased Genny. "Go ahe­ad. And thanks for co­ming with me and sit­ting out he­re for two ho­urs wa­iting on Ca­leb to fi­nal­ly co­me ho­me."

  "No prob­lem." Genny hug­ged Jaz­zy. "Gi­ve me a call la­ter. Okay?"

  Jazzy nod­ded.

  Two ho­urs? They'd be­en wa­iting he­re for him for two ho­urs, and that had gi­ven Jaz­zy mo­re than eno­ugh ti­me to work her­self in­to a po­wer­ful hissy fit.

  When Genny wal­ked past Ca­leb, she pat­ted his arm and smi­led at him, then hur­ri­ed on out to her SUV. Jaz­zy sto­od the­re on the porch, gla­ring at him. From se­ve­ral fe­et away, he co­uld fe­el the pul­sa­ting an­ger in­si­de her. She was pis­sed as hell. And he didn't bla­me her.

  "Want to co­me in­si­de and-" He didn't get the sen­ten­ce fi­nis­hed be­fo­re Jaz­zy bar­re­led for­ward, re­ac­hed out, and po­un­ded on his chest.

  "Damn you, Ca­leb McCord." She con­ti­nu­ed drum­ming her tight fists aga­inst his chest. "I tho­ught last night me­ant so­met­hing spe­ci­al to you. I tho­ught we…'' She gas­ped when he grab­bed her wrists and drew her hands up bet­we­en them.

  "I just to­ok a dri­ve to cle­ar my he­ad this mor­ning," he told her. When she strug­gled aga­inst him, he in­c­re­ased the pres­su­re, hol­ding her wrists se­cu­rely. "I had so­me things to think abo­ut and I ne­eded to be alo­ne-so­mew­he­re away from Che­ro­kee Po­in­te." What he told her wasn't a lie, at le­ast not com­p­le­tely.

  She cal­med eno­ugh so that he felt sa­fe to re­le­ase her. She sto­od only in­c­hes from him and lo­oked up at him, the­ir ga­zes clas­hing as she se­ar­c­hed his eyes for the truth.

  How the hell did you ad­mit to a wo­man that you we­re je­alo­us of her de­ad lo­ver?

  "What did you ne­ed to think abo­ut-you and me?" she as­ked, hug­ging her­self as if she'd sud­denly got­ten a chill.

  "Come on in­si­de and-"

  "Did I get it wrong?" she as­ked. "Did I re­ad mo­re in­to what hap­pe­ned bet­we­en us than was ac­tu­al­ly the­re?"

  "If you tho­ught so­met­hing spe­ci­al hap­pe­ned, it did," he told her. "If you think it was the most in­c­re­dib­le ex­pe­ri­en­ce of my li­fe, you're right. It was." 'Then I don't un­der­s­tand-"

  Caleb wal­ked away from her, pul­led his key cha­in from his poc­ket, in­ser­ted the ho­use key in the lock, then tur­ned the knob and ope­ned the do­or. When he glan­ced back at her, he sa­id, "Let's talk in­si­de. I ne­ed a drink. How abo­ut you?"

  "Is what you ha­ve to tell me that bad?"

  Her vo­ice held a to­uch of hu­mor, which he tho­ught was a go­od sign. They'd both ne­ed a sen­se of hu­mor and a who­le he­ap of un­der­s­tan­ding and for­gi­ve­ness if they we­re go­ing to we­at­her this storm. Just how ho­nest sho­uld he be? Dip­lo­ma­ti­cal­ly ho­nest? Bru­tal­ly ho­nest?

  "I'm not su­re how to an­s­wer that qu­es­ti­on," he told her trut­h­ful­ly as he he­aded for the kit­c­hen and the bot­tle of whis­key he kept in the cup­bo­ard abo­ve the sink.

  After clo­sing the do­or, she fol­lo­wed him thro­ugh the li­ving ro­om and in­to the small kit­c­hen area. He set two glas­ses on the tab­le, then fil­led each with a shot of Crown Ro­yal. He pic­ked up one glass and held it out to her. She lo­oked at him and then at the glass. As so­on as she ac­cep­ted her drink, he pic­ked up his. what are we drin­king to?" she as­ked.

  "How abo­ut to hap­pi­ness in the fu­tu­re," he sa­id. "And to bur­ying the un­hap­py past."

  Sh
e exa­mi­ned his fa­ce, his ex­p­res­si­on. "I tho­ught that's what we did last night. You hel­ped me bury my past and ga­ve me a re­ason to think I had a chan­ce to be happy in the fu­tu­re."

  "Did we bury yo­ur past last night?" Ca­leb gul­ped down the li­qu­or, slung back his he­ad and let the whis­key siz­zle down his thro­at. One drink wo­uldn't be eno­ugh to! era­se the me­mory of Jaz­zy whis­pe­ring Jamie's na­me.. Hell, a hun­d­red drinks wo­uldn't be eno­ugh.

  Jazzy set her glass down on uie kit­c­hen tab­le, the li­qu­or un­to­uc­hed. "I don't know what's go­ing on. Stop avo­iding gi­ving me a di­rect an­s­wer. Cut to the cha­se."

  Caleb fi­nis­hed off his drink and po­ured him­self anot­her. "How do you fe­el abo­ut Jamie Up­ton? And I want the truth."

  She sta­red at him, a puz­zled lo­ok in her eyes. "Whe­re is this co­ming from? I tho­ught I ma­de myself per­fectly cle­ar last night. Jamie is my past. Be­fo­re he di­ed, I'd set myself free from him. I knew that I didn't lo­ve him, that wha­te­ver frag­ments of ca­ring we­re left in my he­art I co­uld de­al with and mo­ve on."

  Caleb to­ok a sip of whis­key. "Was last night abo­ut Jamie? Or was it abo­ut me?"

  She sta­red at him, her ga­ze tran­s­fi­xed, as if his qu­es­ti­on stum­ped her. Af­ter a long, tor­tu­ro­us si­len­ce, she fi­nal­ly sa­id, "Both, I gu­ess."

  Caleb nod­ded, then dow­ned the se­cond shot of whis­key.

  She re­ac­hed out and to­ok the glass from his hand, then re­cap­ped the li­qu­or bot­tle and set it asi­de. "Be­ing with you was un­li­ke an­y­t­hing I'd ever ex­pe­ri­en­ced. Bet­ter than an­y­t­hing."

  God, how he wan­ted to be­li­eve her. Not just for his mas­cu­li­ne pri­de. He lo­ved Jaz­zy. He wan­ted her to lo­ve him. Lo­ve him best. Lo­ve him mo­re.

  She put her arms aro­und his neck. His body stif­fe­ned, and he knew he co­uldn't re­sist her. "After be­ing with you last night…" When he con­ti­nu­ed lo­oking away from her, she kept one arm aro­und his neck and, with her free hand, gras­ped his chin and for­ced him to lo­ok right at her. "Even if Jamie we­re ali­ve, you'd ha­ve no re­ason to be je­alo­us. If he we­re he­re right this mi­nu­te, I'd cho­ose you."

  Caleb cup­ped the back of her he­ad and bro­ught her fa­ce up to his. And whi­le he kis­sed her, he tri­ed to for­get abo­ut Jamie Up­ton. What dif­fe­ren­ce did it ma­ke who­se na­me she whis­pe­red in her sle­ep? It didn't me­an she lo­ved Jamie.

  Keep tel­ling yo­ur­self that and may­be one of the­se days you'11 be­li­eve it!

  While the Wil­lis fa­mily met with Dr. Mac­Na­ir and the yo­ung hot­s­hot law­yer Jim Up­ton had sup­pli­ed them, Jacob and Dal­las wa­ited in Jacob's of­fi­ce. Des­pi­te An­d­rea's co­ol, up­pity at­ti­tu­de, Jacob had se­en be­low the sur­fa­ce and fi­gu­red An­d­rea Wil­lis had so­met­hing to hi­de. His first gu­ess was that she was trying to pro­tect her el­der da­ug­h­ter, that she eit­her knew La­ura had kil­led Jamie or sus­pec­ted she had. His se­cond sup­po­si­ti­on was that Mrs. Wil­lis was the one who'd kil­led Jamie.

  "So who's this law­yer?" Dal­las as­ked.

  ''Trent Lan­g­ley," Jacob told him. "He's yo­ung and eager. And from what I he­ar, pretty darn sharp. He's from Jef­fer­son City and was re­com­men­ded by the most Pres­ti­gi­o­us law firm in Knox­vil­le. Ho­bart, Ric­hards and En­g­lish."

  "Mm-hmm."

  "Big Jim wo­uld ha­ve sent Ma­xie, if we hadn't al­re­ady hi­red him for Jaz­zy. Ma­xie's the best law­yer in Che­ro­kee Po­in­te."

  "But not Big Jim's bu­si­ness at­tor­ney?"

  "Nope. That wo­uld be Ho­bart, Ric­hards and En­g­lish."

  "Out of Knox­vil­le."

  Jacob grin­ned. "Ye­ah."

  Dallas wal­ked over to the open do­or and glan­ced ac­ross the outer of­fi­ce to a qu­i­et cor­ner whe­re Dr. Mac­Na­ir sat hol­ding La­ura Wil­lis's hand and tal­king to her, so­ot­hing her. The yo­ung law­yer, Lan­g­ley, sto­od se­ve­ral fe­et away, de­ep in con­ver­sa­ti­on with Mr. and Mrs. Wil­lis. Dal­las's ga­ze scan­ned the ro­om and fo­und the yo­un­ger Wil­lis da­ug­h­ter per­c­hed on the ed­ge of De­puty Bobby Joe Har­te's desk. Bobby Joe lo­oked dow­n­right mor­ti­fi­ed.

  Glancing over his sho­ul­der at Jacob, Dal­las sa­id, 'What abo­ut She­ri­dan Wil­lis? Think the­re's any chan­ce she might ac­tu­al­ly know so­met­hing? She told Bobby Joe she be­li­eves her sis­ter might ha­ve kil­led Jamie, but that co­uld be co­nj­ec­tu­re on her part."

  "She might know so­met­hing. But my gu­ess is that Mrs. Wil­lis told her to ke­ep her mo­uth shut. And I'd say Ma­ma ru­les the ro­ost."

  "I ag­ree." Just as Dal­las star­ted to clo­se the do­or, his cell pho­ne rang aga­in. His ga­ze met Jacob's. He ret­ri­eved the pho­ne and hit the on but­ton. "Slo­an he­re." Jacob wa­ited pa­ti­ently, so­met­hing not easy for him. Dal­las didn't say much, just "uh-huh" a few ti­mes and "inte­res­ting" twi­ce. Then Dal­las's eyes wi­de­ned in sur­p­ri­se and he lo­oked at Jacob. So­met­hing was up. So­met­hing mo­re im­por­tant than the fact La­ura Wil­lis had at­tem­p­ted to run down her high scho­ol boy­f­ri­end with her six­te­enth bir­t­h­day pre­sent-a Mus­tang con­ver­tib­le.

  ''Thanks, Te­ri," Dal­las sa­id. "I can't tell you how much Jacob and I ap­pre­ci­ate yo­ur une­ar­t­hing this in­for­ma­ti­on so qu­ickly." Af­ter he rep­la­ced his cell pho­ne on its belt clip, he fa­ced Jacob. "You might want to ask Mr. and Mrs. Wil­lis to co­me in he­re alo­ne."

  "What's up? What did Te­ri find out?"

  "She fo­und out why La­ura was born a ye­ar be­fo­re her pa­rents mar­ri­ed."

  Jacob frow­ned. ‘’I don't see how that in­for­ma­ti­on co­uld af­fect Jamie's mur­der ca­se, not the way kno­wing La­ura tri­ed to run down her te­ena­ge boy­f­ri­end co­uld go to pro­ve she might be un­s­tab­le eno­ugh to kill so­me­one."

  "What if I told you that La­ura's mot­her was dec­la­red le­gal­ly in­sa­ne when La­ura was an in­fant and it's pos­sib­le La­ura in­he­ri­ted her mot­her's men­tal il­lness?"

  Andrea he­si­ta­ted when the she­riff as­ked to spe­ak to Ce­cil and her. She didn't want to le­ave La­ura. But se­e­ing how calm La­ura was, what a so­ot­hing ef­fect Dr. Mac­Na­ir se­emed to ha­ve on her, An­d­rea ag­re­ed. Ho­we­ver, she in­sis­ted Trent Lan­g­ley ac­com­pany them. She didn't trust She­riff But­ler. He sus­pec­ted La­ura had kil­led Jamie and sin­ce he was Jaz­zy Tal­bot's fri­end, he wo­uld no do­ubt do ever­y­t­hing pos­sib­le to lay the bla­me el­sew­he­re.

  "Have a se­at." The she­riff in­di­ca­ted the two cha­irs in front of his desk.

  Cecil lo­oked to her be­fo­re do­ing an­y­t­hing. When she sat, he sat. The­ir law­yer sto­od di­rectly be­hind the two of them.

  ''What's this all abo­ut, She­riff?" Mr. Lan­g­ley as­ked.

  ''First, I ne­ed to pre­fa­ce what I'm abo­ut to say by tel­ling y all that La­ura is a sus­pect in both mur­ders, "Jacob told them.

  See he­re, She­riff But­ler, you can't re­al­ly be­li­eve that y La­ura"-Cecil's vo­ice bro­ke. "She is the swe­etest, de­arest child. She lo­ved Jamie. She wo­uldn't ha­ve… she's not ca­pab­le of such a he­ino­us cri­me."

  "Maybe not, but her mot­her was ca­pab­le of it, wasn't she?" Jacob But­ler ma­de the pro­fo­und com­ment and wa­ited for a re­ac­ti­on.

  All co­lor dra­ined from Ce­cil's fa­ce. An­d­rea tri­ed her best not to gasp or cry out a de­ni­al. She la­id her hand over her hus­band's, then lo­oked from the she­riff to the po­li­ce chi­ef. "Exactly what do y'all know?"

  "We know that Ce­cil Wil­lis was mar­ri­ed to a wo­man na­med Mar­ga­ret Ben­t­ley and that she ga­ve birth to a da­ug­h­ter na­med La­ura," Dal­las sa­id. "And we know that Mar­ga­ret
Ben­t­ley was fo­und gu­ilty of at­tem­p­ted mur­der, but in­s­te­ad of go­ing to ja­il, she was pla­ced in a pri­va­te sa­ni­ta­ri­um when the jud­ge ru­led her le­gal­ly in­sa­ne."

  "Laura do­esn't know," An­d­rea sa­id. "She must ne­ver know."