As Good as Dead (23 page)

As Jazzy zipped her shiny red Jeep around one sharp curve after another, Reve held her breath. When they reached a level strip of roadway, Jazzy glanced at Reve. "You look pa-le. What's wrong? Is it my*driving or my choice in music?"

"Truthfully?" Reve asked.

"Yeah, if nothing else, let's promise to always be honest with each other."

"It's both. I don't care for most country music. And although I've been known to drive fast myself, the steep dropoffs on each side of this road unnerve me."

Jazzy immediately slowed down to forty-five miles an hour and turned off the radio.

"Better?"

Reve breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, thank you."

"What kind of music do you like?"

"I have fairly eclectic tastes. There are a few older country songs I like, but for the most part I prefer cool jazz, classical and semi-classical."

"Hm-mm. Jazz is okay. And I like the blues, too." Jazzy kept her eyes focused on the road ahead. "I wonder what else we have in common, other than banana pudding and Caesar salad and liking jazz music."

"My guess would be not much."

Jazzy laughed, the sound deep-throated and entirely genuine. "Do you like movies?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I'm addicted to old movies. My favorites are those made in the thirties, forties and early fifties."

"You're shitting me."

Reve looked quizzically at Jazzy.

"Pardon my French, honey," Jazzy said jokingly. "I'm wild for old movies, too, especially love stories."

"It would seem we do have something else in common."

"What about collectibles? Do you collect anything in particular?"

"I collect Hummel figurines. I began collecting them when 1 was a child."

"I collect salt and pepper shakers," Jazzy said, excitement in her voice. "I have a display case filled with mem in my living room."

"Sometime you'll have to show them to me."

Smiling broadly, Jazzy cast Reve a quick glance. "Why don't you have supper with me mis evening in my apartment?"

Knowing that Caleb probably wanted to be alone with Jazzy tonight to present her with the engagement ring he'd gone to Knoxville to buy, Reve hesitated.

"It's okay if you don't want to have supper at my place." Jazzy couldn't hide the disappointment in her voice. "I'm probably pushing too hard. I tend to do that. Sorry."

"I'd really like to have dinner with you at your apartment tonight, if you don't think Caleb would mind." I'm sorry, Caleb, I realty am. I just can't let Jazzy think I don't want to get to know her better. I can't hurt her feelings.

"Why would Caleb mind? He told me that he thinks we'll wind up being really good for each other. He likes you, you know."

"I'll tell you what. I'll come for dinner, but I'll probably leave early. I have some business calls to make before I turn in." That wasn't exactly a lie. She did have to check in with her personal assistant, Paul Welby, who handled her social schedule and her business calendar.

"That's fine. You can leave as early as you need to. There will be other nights. And who knows, one of these days we might plan a sleepover."

Both of them laughed at the thought of thirty-year-old women having a slumber party.

A few minutes later, Jazzy drove the Jeep off the paved road and onto a bumpy dirt la-ne. Up ahead on a sloping hillside rested a small white structure inside a circular clearing surrounded by dense forest. A dirty black truck-an antique from the looks of it-was parked at the side of the house.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the west, sunset only an hour or so away.

"I had vinyl siding put on Aunt Sally's house a few years ago," Jazzy said. "His daddy built the house back when she was a young girl. The place used to look a lot like many of the other shacks up here in the mountains. It's just four rooms, a front and back porch and a bathroom. The bathroom was an addition in the late sixties."

When Jazzy stopped the Jeep in front of the house, two old dogs raised their heads from where they lay on the porch. One yawned and lay back down. The other got up and stood there staring at them as they emerged from the vehicle.

"That's Peter and Paul," Jazzy said. "They're Aunt Sally's bloodhounds. They're the best tracking dogs in the county. Sometimes the law uses them to hunt down criminals or search for a missing person."

As she passed the dogs, Jazzy reached out and petted the one standing. Reve stayed on the other side of Jazzy, away from the animals. She liked dogs well enough. She simply wasn't accustomed to being around big, foul-smelling country dogs that lived outside.

Jazzy grasped the doorknob with one hand and knocked with the other. "Remember, let me do all the talking. At least at first," she told Reve.

Reve nodded.

"Aunt Sally? Are you home? It's me, Jazzy. And I've brought somebody with me."

Jazzy entered me house and motioned for Reve to follow. Before she could close the door, both dogs came loping in behind her. The larger of the two almost identical bloodhounds nuzzled her palm. Reve jumped when his cold, damp nose touched her skin.

"Peter, behave yourself," Jazzy scolded.

"Who've you brought with you?" Sally called from the kitchen.

Before Jazzy could reply, Sally Talbot entered what Reve assumed was the living room since it was furnished with an old floral sofa and two seen-better-days chairs. Scanning the area, Reve noted a round table covered with a plaid cloth between the two chairs, an aluminum coffee can on the floor beside one of the chairs and a small, black potbellied stove in the corner. The walls had been covered with inexpensive wood paneling. Three photographs of Jazzy were arranged in a triangle shape over the sofa-all three obviously school photographs. And above the door that led to the kitchen was a framed reproduction of The Lord's Supper.

The minute Sally saw Reve, she stopped dead still and her welcoming smile vanished.

"You should've called first. Me and Ludie was just fixing to go on over to her place."

As if on cue, a short, squat gray-haired woman appeared. Her expressive black eyes settled on Reve. "We ain't in no hurry. You two come on in. I'D put on a fresh pot of coffee and serve up some peach cobbler I brought over here for Sally."

'’Coffee would be great, Ludie," Jazzy said. "But I'll forgo the cobbler. Reve and I both had some of your carrot cake for lunch."

Ludie gave Sally a nudge. "Sit down and visit a while with Jazzy and Ms. Sorrell. I'll go fix that coffee right now."

Sally looked from Reve to Jazzy. "What brings y'all out here?"

"I think you know." Jazzy sat down on the sofa.

"Yeah, I guess I do." She turned to Reve. "Have a seat, gal."

"Thank you." Reve sat beside Jazzy.

Sally walked over to a pile of wood stacked in a rickety old crate, picked up a couple of split logs and carried them over to the cast-iron potbellied stove. After opening the hinged door, she rammed the wood inside and then closed the door. The stove gave off a great deal of heat so the room was toasty warm on this cool autumn day. After wiping her hands on the sides of her faded denim jeans, Sally sat in one of the ragged, slipcovered chairs.

"Reve has hired Griffin Powell to investigate the circumstances surrounding her adoption," Jazzy told Sally. "She wants to find out who tossed her into that Dumpster in Sevierville. She wants to know who her biological parents are."

Sally pulled a square of tobacco from her shirt pocket, bit off a chunk and began chewing. After a few minutes, she said, "I can think of better ways to spend money than paying that highfalutin private dick to meddle in things best left alone."

"Don't you think Reve has a right to know who her birth parents are?"

Sally picked up the coffee tin from the floor beside her chair, brought it to her lips and spit. After wiping her mouth, she narrowed her gaze and glared at Reve. "It seems to me that them Sorrells gave you a mighty good life. I'd think you'd be grateful and not have a hankering to cause other folks trouble."

"For whom am I causing trouble?" Reve asked. "You, Ms. Talbot?"

Sally spit into the can again, then set it on the floor. "I'll tell you what I told my niece.

My sister Conine come home to these hills when she was about ready to deliver her baby.

She said her husband deserted her, but I figured she weren't never married. She was still calling herself Corrine Talbot. Anyhow, I delivered her baby. A little girl. One little girl.

Not two. Not twins. And a few days later, old Doc Webster come up here to see about my sister and the little one. He recorded Jazzy's birth. Nine pounds, seven ounces. She was a big, healthy youngun."

"Aunt Sally, you know that Reve and I are expecting to get the results of our DNA tests back any day now." Jazzy leaned forward, a pleading look in her eyes. "We fully expect the results to show that we're twin sisters. Why won't you tell us the truth?"

Jumping to her feet, the old rawboned woman's ice-blue eyes burned with indignation.

"Are you calling me a liar, gal? Me, your own aunt?"

Jazzy shot off the sofa, rushed over to Sally and grabbed her hands. "Now, you listen

here, you crazy old woman-I love you. Do you hear me? No matter what, I love you. And nothing will change that fact."

Tears welled up in Sally's eyes. "I didn't know nothing about no other baby. I swear I didn't."

Jazzy squeezed her aunt's hands tightly. "I believe you. Now, please, tell us… tell me the truth. Am I your sister Corrine'sbaby?"

"Ah, hell, gal." Sally jerked free of Jazzy's tenacious hold. "I couldn't bear it if you hated me. I just couldn't-"

Sally lumbered to the front door, flung it open and went out onto the porch. Jazzy and Reve exchanged nervous glances, then Jazzy followed her aunt outside. By the time Jazzy reached the porch, Sally had already gone out into the yard and was heading for the woods, both old bloodhounds lumbering along behind her.

"Aunt Sally, wait!"

Ludie came scurrying out of the kitchen, shaking her head and wringing her fat little hands. When Ludie hurried onto the porch, Reve got up and followed her. The old woman grabbed Jazzy's arm just as Jazzy headed down the steps. She stopped, turned and glared at Ludie.

"Leave her be," Ludie said. "She ain't going to tell you nothing right now. Give her ti-me. Wait until you got them test results in your hand to show her."

Jazzy hesitated, then nodded. "What do you know, Ludie? And don't you dare tell me you know nothing."

"I know that Sally's been everything a real ma could have been to you. You're lucky, you know, mighty lucky that she found you and took care of you."

Reve's heartbeat accelerated. Had the old woman said that Sally Talbot had found Jazzy?

"What do you mean she found me?" Jazzy asked.

"I ain't saying no more. It's Sally's place to tell you. Not mine."

"Please, Ludie-"

"All I'll say is this-Sally thought she did the right thing. For you and for her sister Corrine. She didn't know there was another baby. How could she have known?" Ludie glanced back at Reve. "You really was found in a Dumpster over in Sevierville, right?"

"Yes."

Ludie turned back to Jazzy. "You weren't in no Dumpster in Sevierville."

"Are you saying Aunt Sally found me somewhere else, that I'm not Corine's baby?"

"I can't say. I just can't."

Jazzy covered her mouth with both hands, closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

When she opened her eyes, she focused on Ludie and said, "Please, if you'll answer just one more question, I promise I won't ask anything else. And I promise that I'll wait to question Aunt Sally again until the DNA test results come back."

"You swear?"

"Yes, I swear."

"What's the question?" Ludie asked.

"Am I Corrine Talbot's child, and if I'm not, what happened to her baby?"

"That's two questions."

"Please, Ludie."

Ludie didn't reply immediately, instead she seemed to be thinking, considering her op-tions. "You love Sally? You'll never walk away and leave her? Not ever? You promise?"

"Oh, Ludie, you know Aunt Sally will always be my family, no matter what."

Ludie nodded. Her keen black eyes settled on Jazzy. "Corrine's baby was a little girl.

Tiny little thing. Never'. breathed the first breath. The cord was wrapped around her neck.

Sally blamed herself, but I told her it weren't her fault that her sister's baby was born de-ad."

He had to think of a way to get to Jazzy. The problem was, the woman was never alone. Her lover lived with her, and when he wasn't around at Jasmine's or at Jazzy's Joint, other people were. And to complicate matters, now that her long-lost sister had shown up, she seemed to be stuck to the woman like glue. Besides, there was the added problem of Jazzy being friends with both the sheriff and the chief of police. What if they had shared confidences with her? What if they had warned her someone had already killed one redheaded Cherokee Pointe slut?

How could he trick Jazzy into meeting him? Because she knew him, if he just called her up and made an excuse to see her alone, she was bound to tell someone. Calling her was out of the question. There had to be a way of bringing her to him, of luring her into a trap. It was only a matter of time before he figured out what would work, how he could bring Jazzy to him without anyone ever finding out-until it was too late. He had to keep his identity a secret.

He'd never faced a challenge such as this. Knowing that this time there would be heig-htened danger in killing Dinah excited him unbearably.

He'd been watching Jazzy earlier today when he'd had lunch at Jasmine's and she and Reve Sorrell had walked out of the restaurant with Griffin Powell. According to what he'd overheard the waitresses saying, Ms. Sorrell had hired the renowned investigator to search for her birth mother. A crazy thought had gone through his mind when he'd seen the two women together, but he'd quickly vanquished it. It wasn't possible that Jazzy and Re-ve had any connection to his past.

Think about the future, he told himself, about the pleasure that lies in store,for you.