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The Last To Die

Page 39

by Beverly Barton


  She tur­ned her he­ad and lo­oked at him. "Oh, Dal­las, we ha­ve to find Jaz­zy be­fo­re it's too la­te." 'Tell me ever­y­t­hing."

  "She-she… the wo­man who kil­led Jamie is go­ing to kill Jaz­zy. She shot Jaz­zy. I co­uld see Jaz­zy clut­c­hing her sto­mach, her hands co­ve­red with blo­od. And this wo­man was drag­ging Jaz­zy down an al­ley."

  "Is this hap­pe­ning now?" he as­ked.

  Genny sho­ok her he­ad. "I think it's al­re­ady hap­pe­ned. I think this wo­man has ta­ken Jaz­zy so­mew­he­re to kill her."

  "Do you ha­ve any idea whe­re?"

  "No. Not yet. But…"

  "But what?"

  "I'm go­ing to try lin­king with Jaz­zy. We ha­ven't do­ne that in ye­ars, not sin­ce we we­re kids." Genny gras­ped the front of Dal­las's shirt. "And Jaz­zy was ne­ver… ne­ver-" Te­ars glis­te­ned in Genny's eyes, li­ke stars in the black night sky. "She was ne­ver very go­od at it, at lin­king with me.''

  "I'll call Jacob and we'll form a se­arch party."

  "How co­uld this hap­pen? Ca­leb was sup­po­sed to be with her. And I didn't fe­el his pre­sen­ce an­y­w­he­re ne­ar Jaz­zy. All I felt was Jaz­zy's pa­in and fe­ar." Te­ars tra­iled down her che­eks. "She felt alo­ne. So alo­ne."

  Dallas kis­sed the top of Genny's he­ad, lo­ving her be­yond all re­ason, wan­ting des­pe­ra­tely to com­fort and re­as­su­re her. "We'll find Jaz­zy. I swe­ar we'll find her be­fo­re…"

  He sho­uldn't be ma­king prot­hi­ses to Genny that he wasn't a hun­d­red per­cent su­re he co­uld ke­ep. But damn it all, if Jaz­zy di­ed, it wo­uld des­t­roy Genny. And he co­ul­dn't-wo­ul­dn't-let that hap­pen.

  When she re­ga­ined con­s­ci­o­us­ness, Jaz­zy re­ali­zed she must ha­ve pas­sed out so­me­ti­me bet­we­en when the crazy bitch for­ced her in­to a car and when she wo­ke in­si­de this ca­bin. Jaz­zy glan­ced aro­und in the se­mi­dark ro­om and re­ali­zed she was in­de­ed in­si­de a Che­ro­kee Ca­bin Ren­tals. And she was lying on the so­fa. When she tri­ed to mo­ve, pa­in rip­ped thro­ugh her body, ra­di­ating from her sto­mach and out­ward. Oh, God, now she re­mem­be­red. She'd be­en shot. That wild-eyed wo­man who lo­oked va­gu­ely fa­mi­li­ar had shot her. Jaz­zy tri­ed to fe­el her wo­und, and sud­denly re­ali­zed she co­uldn't mo­ve her hands. Damn it, her hands we­re ti­ed be­hind her. She hi­ed to lift her legs and co­uldn't. Her fe­et we­re bo­und to­get­her. Not go­od. Ac­tu­al­ly bad. Very bad.

  Jazzy glan­ced aro­und the ro­om, se­ar­c­hing for the wo­man. That's when she saw the na­ked man lying on the flo­or, spre­ad-eag­led, his hands and fe­et ti­ed to so­me sort of me­tal spi­kes in the flo­or.

  Holy shit!

  When she ma­na­ged to roll over just eno­ugh to get a bet­ter lo­ok, she re­cog­ni­zed the man. Ce­cil Wil­lis. The crazy bitch had not only kid­nap­ped her, but La­ura's fat­her, too.

  "Please, why are you do­ing this?" a soft, qu­ive­ring vo­ice as­ked.

  Who sa­id that? Jaz­zy won­de­red. From whe­re she was trap­ped on the so­fa, she co­uldn't see the en­ti­re ro­om, only the ex­pan­se of flo­or whe­re Ce­cil Wil­lis lay spre­ad out li­ke a sac­ri­fi­ce to so­me an­ci­ent god.

  "Oh, La­ura, my swe­et baby girl," the crazy bitch sa­id. "You must know that ever­y­t­hing I've do­ne, ever­y­t­hing I will do, is for you. To pro­tect you."

  "I-I don't un­der­s­tand," La­ura sa­id.

  Jazzy clo­sed her eyes and ut­te­red a si­lent pra­yer, ple­ading with God for help. This nut­ca­se had kid­nap­ped La­ura, too. But why? / don't un­der­s­tand any of this. Okay, so may­be she wasn't thin­king stra­ight. May­be a com­bi­na­ti­on of the li­qu­or she'd con­su­med and the pa­in and loss of blo­od from the gun­s­hot wo­und had ma­de her de­li­ri­o­us. May­be she was hal­lu­ci­na­ting. May­be Ce­cil Wil­lis wasn't re­al­ly ma­nac­led to the flo­or, buck na­ked and gag­ged. And may­be La­ura wasn't re­al­ly he­re.

  A sha­dow pas­sed by the so­fa. Jaz­zy clo­sed her eyes and pre­ten­ded to still be un­con­s­ci­o­us.

  "I think yo­ur fat­her sho­uld ex­p­la­in to you who I am and why I ca­re so much abo­ut yo­ur hap­pi­ness," the wo­man sa­id.

  Jazzy eased one eye open. When she saw that the wo­man had her back to her, Jaz­zy ope­ned her ot­her eye. The wo­man's ha­ir was blond. Jaz­zy tri­ed to put the fa­ce she'd se­en in sha­dows in the al­ley be­hind Jaz­zy's Jo­int with blond ha­ir. Think. Try to re­mem­ber whe­re you've se­en her be­fo­re.

  As Jaz­zy wat­c­hed, hel­p­less to do an­y­t­hing el­se, she saw the wo­man drag an un­bo­und La­ura Wil­lis with her to­ward the pi­ti­ful man lying on the flo­or. When the wo­man re­le­ased La­ura's hand and drop­ped to her kne­es alon­g­si­de Ce­cil Wil­lis, La­ura sto­od the­re shi­ve­ring and whim­pe­ring.

  Run, you damn fo­ol, run. Get away now, whi­le you've got the chan­ce, jaz­zy scre­amed si­lently. What the hell was wrong with La­ura? Didn't she un­der­s­tand this might be the­ir only chan­ce to sur­vi­ve?

  The wo­man re­mo­ved the gag from Ce­cil's mo­uth, let­ting the cloth rag nes­t­le aro­und his thro­at. Smi­ling cru­el­ly, she ca­res­sed his che­ek. "Tell her who I am."

  With ter­ror in his eyes, he lo­oked up at his da­ug­h­ter. "This is Mar­ga­ret. My-my first wi­fe."

  She stro­ked his che­ek aga­in. That's a go­od boy. Now tell her why I lo­ve her and why I've co­me for her."

  "Laura, dar­ling…" Ce­cil lo­oked ple­adingly at his da­ug­h­ter.

  The wo­man kic­ked him in the ribs. Hard. He gro­aned in pa­in.

  "Daddy!"

  When La­ura star­ted to go to her fat­her, the wo­man flung a res­t­ra­ining arm out in front of her. 'Tell her, Ce­cil." She whir­led aro­und and ca­ught Jaz­zy sta­ring at her. "Or had you rat­her yo­ur who­re tell our da­ug­h­ter the truth-that she se­du­ced you, that she to­ok you away from me, that she sto­le my baby!"

  "Margaret, ple­ase-"

  She kic­ked Ce­cil aga­in to si­len­ce him. Lady, you're fuc­king nuts," Jaz­zy sa­id. "I told you be­fo­re that I've ne­ver se­du­ced a mar­ri­ed man"-least of all Ce­cil Wil­lis-"and I've ne­ver sto­len a baby. Cer­ta­inly not yo­urs."

  "Lying who­re!" She pro­pel­led her­self ac­ross the ro­om in a flash and slap­ped Jaz­zy so­undly. "He was my hus­band. Mi­ne! And La­ura was mi­ne, too. My baby."

  "Margaret, for pity's sa­ke," Ce­cil cal­led. ''This wo­man didn't ta­ke La­ura away from you. Lo­ok at her. She's only a few ye­ars ol­der than La­ura. You've con­fu­sed her with- Ce­cil gul­ped. "Ple­ase, let La­ura and Jaz­zy go. Do wha­te­ver you want to me, but don't hurt La­ura."

  The wo­man lo­oked at Jaz­zy and smi­led. A cold shi­ver shoc­ked Jaz­zy's body as she sud­denly re­ali­zed who this wo­man was. She was the small blon­de wo­man who had eaten din­ner at Jas­mi­ne's of­ten du­ring the past month or so. What was her na­me? Not Mar­ga­ret. No, but so­met­hing si­mi­lar. Mar­gie. Ma­rj. Mar­go! Mar­go Ken­ley!

  "Margo, I'm Jaz­zy Tal­bot. Don't you re­mem­ber me? You've eaten at my res­ta­urant se­ve­ral ti­mes. I'm not the per­son who sto­le yo­ur baby." Jaz­zy lo­oked to La­ura for help. Snap out of it, girl, and do so­met­hing-an­y­t­hing. And do it now.

  "I know who you are. You're the slut that Jamie Up­ton co­uldn't le­ave alo­ne," Mar­go/Mar­ga­ret sa­id. "I had to kill him, to pu­nish him for hur­ting my baby." 'You-you kil­led Jamie?" La­ura's blue eyes wi­de­ned in shock, as if she'd only now re­ali­zed that this wo­man was a de­adly vi­per, a mur­de­ress who enj­oyed tor­tu­ring her vic­tims.

  "I did it for you, La­ura," Mar­go sa­id. "He bet­ra­yed you, just as yo­ur fat­her bet­ra­yed me. Men are we­ak cre­atu­res, re­al­ly. They put the­ir filthy hands all over you and ma�
�ke you fe­el li­ke not­hing. They fuck you and hurt you and… but I ma­de them pay. My fat­her. He ra­ped me the first ti­me when I was ele­ven. But I cut off his pec­ker and ram­med it down his thro­at. And then the­re was my first boy­f­ri­end, who che­ated on me with a perky lit­tle che­er­le­ader. I kil­led him, too. Kil­led them both when I fo­und them to­get­her."

  "Daddy… why do­es she… ke­ep sa­ying… I'm her baby?" La­ura gas­ped the words bet­we­en frig­h­te­ned, con­fu­sed sobs.

  "You are my baby." Mar­go tur­ned and re­ac­hed for La­ura, who shrank away from her. "Don't be af­ra­id. I'd ne­ver hurt you. I lo­ve you. I al­ways lo­ved you."

  "Daddy!"

  "Let her go. Ple­ase." Ce­cil strug­gled fru­it­les­sly aga­inst his res­t­ra­ints.

  Margo lo­oked at La­ura, who sto­od fro­zen to the spot. Then she pat­ted La­ura's che­ek. "See how he begs me to let his who­re go free? He do­esn't lo­ve me. He ne­ver did. And he do­esn't lo­ve you. He only ga­ve you to that slut of his be­ca­use he wan­ted to pu­nish me."

  "Daddy, ple­ase tell me the truth-is she my mot­her?" La­ura drop­ped to her kne­es be­si­de her fat­her.

  ''Yes. Yo­ur bi­olo­gi­cal mot­her." Swe­at co­ated Ce­cil's pa­le fa­ce and body. "But you're not­hing li­ke her, La­ura. I swe­ar. You're gen­de and kind and lo­ving."

  As if in a tran­ce, La­ura ro­se to her fe­et and sta­red at Mar­go. "If you lo­ve me the way you say you do, you won't hurt my daddy."

  Laura glan­ced at Jaz­zy, who knew she was on the ver­ge of pas­sing out aga­in. God only knew how much blo­od she'd lost. Jaz­zy fi­gu­red that if she didn't get to the hos­pi­tal so­on, she'd die long be­fo­re this crazy bitch sli­ced her to rib­bons. And she was pretty su­re that's what this Mar­go bro­ad had in mind. Do­ing so­me sli­cing and chop­ping on Ce­cil Wil­lis and her, the sa­me as she'd do­ne on Jamie and Stan Watson. Please, let Daddy and Jaz­zy go. And if you want me to. I'll stay with you."

  "No, La­ura, no!" Ce­cil cri­ed.

  Amazing, Jaz­zy tho­ught. What had hap­pe­ned to that pi­ti­ful, hel­p­less lit­tle girl who'd kept whim­pe­ring and cal­ling for her daddy? It was as if La­ura Wil­lis had tur­ned in­to a ma­tu­re, ca­pab­le wo­man in the blink of an eye.

  Wooziness sud­denly over­ca­me Jaz­zy. Her he­ad spun aro­und and aro­und. The pa­in wasn't so bad an­y­mo­re. Sort of a dull ac­he now. That's a bad sign, isn 't it?

  And that was the last co­he­rent tho­ught Jaz­zy had be­fo­re she pas­sed out aga­in.

  Jacob and Dal­las had ta­ken every pre­ca­uti­on to ma­ke su­re the se­arch party sta­yed un­der the­ir con­t­rol, and mat me­ant brin­ging along Jim Up­ton and An­d­rea Wil­lis. Mrs. Wil­lis had thre­ate­ned to call ever­yo­ne from the lo­cal TV sta­ti­on to the go­ver­nor. Jacob had told Big Jim that it was his job to ke­ep Mrs. Wil­lis calm, which he'd be­en do­ing-up to this po­int But the re­al prob­lem wasn't An­d­rea Wil­lis, it was the wild card in the deck, a man Jacob fi­gu­red no­body co­uld con­t­rol. Ca­leb McCord had be­en wim Jim when Mrs. Wil­lis had cal­led him to tell him abo­ut Ce­cil and La­ura's di­sap­pe­aran­ce. And when Jacob had con­fi­ded in Jim that Jaz­zy, too, was Mis­sing, he'd sha­red the news with his new­fo­und gran­d­son.

  Living clo­ser to the Up­tons, Dal­las had go­ne the­re, with Genny in tow, to spe­ak to Mrs. Wil­lis and se­arch the ho­use and gro­unds for clu­es. He'd fo­und not­hing of any sig­ni­fi­can­ce, ot­her than La­ura's bed­ro­om slip­per and a bro­ken te­acup. Ex­cept one ot­her pe­cu­li­ar item- a re­mo­te con­t­rol to the Up­tons' mas­si­ve front ga­tes. Big Jim had iden­ti­fi­ed it as Jamie's.

  "Each of us has a dif­fe­rent co­lor re­mo­te, "Jim had ex­p­la­ined to Dal­las, who had la­ter told Jacob when they'd be­en trying to put all the pi­eces of tins Mis­sing per­sons' puz­zle to­get­her. "Re­ba's is whi­te. Mi­ne is dark gre­en. Do­ra's is pur­p­le? La­ura's is red. Jamie's was blue."

  It didn't ta­ke a roc­ket sci­en­tist to put two and two to­get­her and co­me up with the ine­vi­tab­le fo­ur. The wo­man who had kil­led Jamie Up­ton had so­me­how ma­na­ged to kid­nap Ce­cil and La­ura. And pro­bably Jaz­zy, too, if Genny's sixth sen­se was cor­rect. And it was, a go­od ni­nety-eight per­cent of the ti­me.

  While Dal­las had ta­ken char­ge of the in­ves­ti­ga­ti­on at the Up­ton man­si­on, Jacob had go­ne in se­arch of clu­es in and aro­und Jaz­zy's Jo­int-the last pla­ce an­yo­ne had se­en Jaz­zy. He'd fo­und Lacy in te­ars, and whi­le he'd be­en qu­es­ti­oning her, Sally had stor­med in, along with Lu­die.

  "I'm he­ading ho­me to get Pe­ter and Pa­ul," Sally had told him. "I'm gon­na find that gal, and when I do, who­ever's got her had bet­ter run li­ke hell."

  Jacob had ma­na­ged to re­in Sally in by ex­p­la­ining the en­ti­re si­tu­ati­on to her and prot­hi­sing her that she and, if ne­ces­sary, her blo­od­ho­unds, wo­uld play a sig­ni­fi­cant part in se­ar­c­hing for Jaz­zy and La­ura and Ce­cil.

  "I don't gi­ve a shit abo­ut that Wil­lis fel­low and his da­ug­h­ter," Sally had sa­id.

  He'd sent her off to pick up her dogs and told her to me­et him at the Up­tons. In the me­an­ti­me, he and his de­pu­ti­es had sco­ured the al­ley be­hind Jaz­zy's Jo­int. What they'd fo­und had chil­led him to the bo­ne. Blo­od. Pro­bably Jaz­zy's blo­od. That me­ant she had be­en shot, just as Genny had se­en in her vi­si­on.

  "Look he­re, She­riff," Mo­ody Ryan had cal­led af­ter he'd pic­ked so­met­hing up off the gro­und. Af­ter hold-lng it up in his glo­ved hand so that the glow from the ne­arby stre­ethght il­lu­mi­na­ted the obj­ect, the de­puty had bag­ged the evi­den­ce. "It's a set of keys. Got blo­od on them."

  "Let me ta­ke a lo­ok. "Jacob had re­ac­hed for the plas­tic bag and stu­di­ed the red-sta­ined keys. Tur­ning the bag this way and that, he'd no­ti­ced so­met­hing writ­ten on the oval key ring. "Che­ro­kee Ca­bin Ren­tals," he'd sa­id alo­ud.

  Was it just a co­in­ci­den­ce that what was pro­bably Jaz­zy's set of mas­ter keys to the ca­bin ren­tals had be­en fo­und in the al­ley­way? With blo­od on the keys? He didn't think so. It was as if Jaz­zy had de­li­be­ra­tely left the keys be­hind, as a clue. What had she be­en trying to tell him? Jamie Up­ton had be­en kil­led in a ca­bin, al­be­it a de­ser­ted ca­bin. But wasn't it pos­sib­le, may­be even pro­bab­le, ui­at the wo­man who had kid­na­ped Jaz­zy-as well as La­ura and Ce­cil-had ta­ken her to a ca­bin? One of the Che­ro­kee Ca­bin Ren­tals.

  Scrunched to­get­her in Jacob's Dod­ge Ram-he, Genny, and Dal­las in the front se­at and Ca­leb and Sally in the bac­k­se­at-they dro­ve up the long, lo­nely stretch of hig­h­way, to­ward the si­te whe­re Re­ve Sor­rell'sj­ag and Stan Wat­son's truck had be­en bur­ned. He and Dal­las had com­pa­red no­tes and dis­co­ve­red they both had a hunch the wo­man they we­re trac­king might be in one of uie ne­arby ca­bins. And if she was, that me­ant her three cap­ti­ves we­re pro­bably with her.

  "Wait!" Genny cri­ed.

  Jacob slam­med on the bra­kes. Ever­yo­ne to­ok a col­lec­ti­ve de­ep bre­ath and wa­ited for Genny to con­ti­nue. She'd be­en trying for the past ho­ur to men­tal­ly con­nect with Jaz­zy, but wit­ho­ut suc­cess.

  "Did you do it?" Ca­leb lur­c­hed for­ward, his hand grip­ping Genny's sho­ul­der. "Did you ma­ke con­tact with Jaz­zy? Do you know whe­re she is?"

  Dallas knoc­ked Ca­leb's hand asi­de and grow­led at him.

  "Nearby," Genny sa­id. "She's drif­ting in and out of con­s­ci­o­us­ness. We must hurry. If we don't get to her.. if we don't help her so­on, she'll die!"

  * * *

  Chapter 30

  Caleb lis­te­ned whi­le Jacob and Dal­las is­su­ed or­ders to the se­arch party, com­p­ri­sed of the­ir com­b
i­ned per­son­nel. Pa­iring up, the of­fi­cers and de­pu­ti­es we­re to check each ca­bin in the vi­ci­nity and ra­dio back af­ter each check. Sin­ce the num­ber of se­ar­c­hers was li­mi­ted, they'd be ab­le to check only half the ca­bins at a ti­me, even with Jacob and Dal­las jo­ining the hunt.

  Big Jim and An­d­rea Wil­lis sto­od ne­arby, Mrs. Wil­lis bra­vely hol­ding it to­get­her, with Jim at her si­de for sup­port. Jacob rat­tled off the na­mes of the pre­sent oc­cu­pants in each ca­bin, one ca­bin empty. But he in­s­t­ruc­ted his men to in­c­lu­de the unoc­cu­pi­ed ca­bin, al­so. When Jacob sa­id the na­me Mar­go Ken­ley-that her ca­bin wo­uld be one of the ca­bins chec­ked on the se­cond ro­und of in­s­pec­ti­ons-Mrs. Wil­lis gas­ped, but no one ot­her than Ca­leb and Jim he­ard her.

  Caleb eased clo­ser to his gran­d­fat­her and as­ked, "Did Mrs. Wil­lis re­cog­ni­ze the na­me Mar­go Ken­ley?"

 

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