The Fifth Victim (7 page)

Anger heated Jim’s face. The unmitigated gall of the boy! “We aren’t discussing my behavior.”

“Don’t get all huffy.” Jamie patted Jim on the chest. “You’re liable to give yourself a heart attack and we don’t want that. I didn’t mean any offense. I was just stating a fact. You’ve kept something on the side for as long as I remember, so don’t go getting all righteous on me just because I—”

Jim slapped Jamie soundly across the cheek, the force of the blow sending the boy reeling backward. Jamie caught hold of the counter behind him, then lifted his hand to his stinging cheek.

Jamie glared at his grandfather. “What’s the matter? Can’t stand to hear the truth, old man?”

“Your grandmother wants to see you married to Laura, so if you know what’s good for you, you won’t do anything to run that girl off the way you did the other two you brought home.” Jim swallowed, then took several deep, calming breaths. “If Laura finds out that you spent the night with—”

“I didn’t spend the night with Jazzy, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Jim cocked his eyebrows inquisitively.

“Jazzy was just punishing me by sending me away,” Jamie said. “She’ll give me a hard time for a week or two, then she’ll come around. She always does.”

“Then who were you with?” Jazzy had mentioned she thought Jamie had left her place with a woman named April or Amber.

“What difference does it make?” Jamie’s eyes widened with speculation. “Are you afraid I might have been diddling your latest lady love?” Jamie laughed right in Jim’s face. “Hell, unless your mistress hangs out at Jazzy’s Joint, I didn’t screw her last night.”

Damn fool boy! He didn’t know the first thing about keeping a mistress faithful. He thought most women were sluts who would spread their legs for any man. Jim knew better. If a man chose wisely and kept the lady content, she didn’t go to other men for satisfaction.

“Get your ass upstairs, take a shower and change clothes, then come back downstairs for breakfast with the family,” Jim said. “You tell your grandmother and Laura that you went into town to see one of your old high school buddies and got caught by the snowstorm. Tell them that you’re sorry you worried them, but by the time you realized you couldn’t get home, it was too late to call and wake everyone.”

Jamie grinned. “Yes sir. Whatever you say. And may I compliment you on your ability to weave a convincing tale.”

Jim grunted. With his stupid grin in place, Jamie turned and bounded up the stairs. Before he made it halfway up, he started whistling.

Jim heaved a deep sigh. That good-for-nothing boy was his legacy to the world. A sad and sorry thought. He’d wanted more children, but Reba had been unable to conceive again after Melanie’s birth. A cruel trick of fate had taken away the son he’d been so proud of and the daughter he’d loved to distraction. How was it that Jamie was so different from Jim Jr.? Had he inherited some weak genes from his mother? Or had Reba and he simply ruined the boy by overindulging him all his life? But they’d spoiled Jim Jr., hadn’t they? Yet he’d been a credit to his family.

Enough of this
, Jim told himself.
Can’t change a damn thing. A man makes do with the hand he’s dealt. Concentrate on the positive things
.

He poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot the housekeeper had prepared earlier, before she’d gone back to her quarters to get ready for the day. Mug in hand, he made his way down the hall and into his study. He closed the door securely behind him, crossed the room, and sat down behind his massive mahogany desk. After taking several sips of black coffee, he placed it on the leather coaster in front of him and lifted the telephone. He dialed her number and waited.

“Hello,” the sultry feminine voice said.

“How’d you make it through last night’s storm?” he asked.

“Just fine. But I’d have enjoyed being cooped up here a lot better if you’d been with me.”

“I probably won’t be able to make it out there today.”

“I figured you wouldn’t.”

“I wish you had come to the party last night,” Jim said. “You got your invitation, didn’t you?”

“I got it. But I didn’t think I’d enjoy seeing you with your wife. I’m quite jealous of her, you know.”

A warm feeling came to life in his gut. “You got everything you need out there to see you through a few days until the roads clear up?”

“I’ve got everything I need…except you.”

“You’ve got me. Got me wrapped around your little finger.”

“If only that were true.”

“Be careful, will you? I don’t like the idea of you being out there all alone with a killer on the loose.”

“I have the gun you gave me,” she said. “And I know how to use it.”

“Just be careful. And don’t let anyone inside the house you don’t know and trust.”

“Come see me just as soon as you can. I miss you.”

Jim’s penis twitched. She had a way of bringing him to life with just the sound of her voice. “I miss you, too…but I’ve got to go. I’ll call you this evening.”

The dial tone hummed in his ear. He was a damn old fool and he knew it. Erin Mercer was twenty-five years his junior, a fine-looking woman, and really didn’t need him to support her. He’d met her several years ago when she’d first moved to the area. And he’d known the minute he saw her that he wanted her. She was no whore, so paying her for her services had been out of the question. He’d figured he didn’t stand a chance with her. He’d been wrong. She had been the one who’d chased him, lured him into her bed and kept him coming back, begging for more. It couldn’t last. His affairs never did. He’d never wanted anything permanent from any of his mistresses. But Erin was different. He was halfway in love with her, and if he was ten years younger, he’d ask Reba for a divorce.

But he was seventy-five. He was able to keep Erin sexually satisfied because he kept a supply of Viagra on hand. But how many more good years could he possibly have—four or five? He was physically fit for a man his age, but even a healthy, tan, muscular body couldn’t stop the ravages of time.

Jim ran his open palms over his face and rubbed his eyes. If only he could be Jamie’s age again, he wouldn’t waste his life the way his grandson was doing. If he had it to do all over again…what would he do differently?

Everything! Starting with not marrying Reba.

Chapter 7

Dallas manned the wheel of Genny’s Chevy Trailblazer, taking it slow and easy on the freshly cleared road into town. He had deliberately kept quiet, uncertain how to deal with this woman whose beauty attracted him, but whose admission of having
visions
disturbed him. Knowing he’d gotten all hot and bothered over a woman who was probably the town kook didn’t sit well with him. Teri would laugh herself silly if she knew that the stoic Dallas Sloan was tied in knots over somebody like Genny. In the past he’d scoffed at people claiming to possess any type of sixth sense. Sure, there had been a couple of times when he’d come close to believing, when he’d been part of an investigation where a so-called psychic had been brought in and appeared to have helped trap the assailant. But in each of those cases, he’d been able to figure out a logical reason behind the person’s foreknowledge.

“Turn left where the road forks,” Genny said. “The right turn will take us back up the mountain.”

Grunting, Dallas nodded and kept a lookout for their turn. Within minutes, he saw the divided roadway and carefully veered to the left. Despite having been cleared and sanded, the pavement was still slick in a lot of places, and muddy slush covered the shoulders on each side of the road and filled the numerous potholes.

Up ahead on the left he noticed massive wrought-iron gates heralding the entrance to a country estate. Far in the distance, a good half mile, he saw a large mansion with towering white columns spanning the front of the house.

“That’s impressive,” Dallas said.

“That’s the Upton Farm,” Genny replied. “The Uptons are one of the wealthiest families in Cherokee County.”

“Old money?” Dallas asked.

“Not too old. Theirs is post—Civil War money.”

“You said they’re one of the richest. Anybody richer?”

“The MacKinnons are probably just as wealthy, maybe more so. They made their fortune post—Civil War, too. There’s quite a rivalry between the two families. They’re divided on just about everything, from politics to religion. The MacKinnons are Democrats and Methodists. The Uptons are Republicans and Congregationalists.”

“Don’t tell me—the son of one family fell in love with the daughter of the other family and they had a tragic Romeo and Juliet romance.”

Genny smiled. “Not exactly. When they were just boys, Big Jim Upton and Farlan MacKinnon, both now in their midseventies, fell in love with a young woman named Melva Mae Nelson, whose family was quite poor and lived up in the mountains.”

“And they’ve hated each other ever since,” Dallas said. “So, which man won Miss Melva Mae? Upton or MacKinnon?”

“Neither. Melva Mae married the love of her life, a half-breed Cherokee like herself. Jacob Butler.”

“Jacob…any relation to your cousin Jacob?”

“Jacob was our grandfather.”

“Then Melva Mae was—”

“Our grandmother.”

“The one who was—”

“Special,” Genny said.

“Quite a story. The two richest men in town in love with a girl everyone thought was crazy. And she proved them right when she chose a poor boy over either wealthy man.”

“You’re a cynic,” Genny remarked as if the realization had just come to her.

“If you were truly psychic, you’d have known that already.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. People who possess any type of sixth sense aren’t all-knowing or all-powerful. And most of us have a very difficult time controlling our special gifts, whatever they may be.”

“I’ve heard that explanation before. It gets people like you off the hook when they’re wrong.”

“People like me? People who possess a sixth sense?”

Dallas snorted. “People who claim to have a sixth sense.”

“Yes, of course. We only claim to be gifted, but none of us really are. Is that your take on it?”

“That’s what I know to be a fact.” He stole a quick glance at her, then returned his full attention to the road ahead.

“So you’ve known others like me?”

“A few who claimed to be psychic, telepathic, precognitive, whatever the hell you want to label it.” He paused for a couple of seconds, then said, “But none of them were anything like you, Genevieve Madoc.”

“Who was it that closed your mind to the possibilities that there’s more to life than what we can perceive through our five senses?”

Dallas huffed. “There’s no point in our discussing this. We’ll just go around and around in circles. How about we simply agree to disagree?”

“All right, then. For now.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. He figured Genny believed she could change his mind. She couldn’t. Not unless she turned out to be exactly what she claimed to be. And that was highly unlikely.

Several minutes later they drove into Cherokee Pointe, population 10,483. He instantly got the feeling he was entering Mayberry, U.S.A. Moderate traffic flowed along the slushy streets, but only a handful of people trudged up and down the sidewalks. They drove past a remodeled hotel that had probably been built in the early part of the twentieth century. A myriad of little shops lined Sixth Street.

“Take a right at the next red light. We’ll go past my friend Jazzy’s restaurant and bar on the way. Then take a left off Loden Street and go two blocks. You can’t miss the courthouse on Main Street. It’s a big white building with huge white columns.”

“Your friend Jazzy, who believes you’re psychic, is a local restaurateur?”

“Jazzy’s a local businesswoman. She owns Jasmine’s, the best restaurant in town, as well as Jazzy’s Joint, which is Cherokee Pointe’s version of a cross between a pub and a roadhouse. And she’s part-owner of Cherokee Cabin Rentals.”

“Hmm…”

Dallas turned right, drove past the two establishments owned by Genny’s friend Jazzy, went two blocks and then took a left on Loden. He could see the courthouse up the street. A three-story brick structure painted white, with a bell-tower dome and impressive Ionic columns on three sides. The building sat in the middle of the block, flanked by the local fire and police departments.

“You can park in the rear,” Genny said. “Everybody knows my truck, so we won’t get a ticket.”

“Being the sheriff’s cousin gets you preferential treatment, huh?” Dallas said jokingly.

Genny laughed.

Dallas parked the Trailblazer alongside a department vehicle in the shaded parking lot at the rear of the courthouse. He killed the engine and turned to Genny. “I want to thank you again for taking in a stranded traveler last night. If you hadn’t been so gracious, I’d have been forced to sleep in my car.”

“You would have frozen to death,” she told him. “Anyway, you’re quite welcome.”

Dallas opened his door, stepped down, rounded the hood, and was standing by the passenger door by the time Genny opened it. He held out his hand, which she took, and helped her onto the icy pavement. He held her hand for a fraction longer than necessary, then released her abruptly.

“In case I don’t see you again after today…thanks, and…well, just thanks.”

“You’ve already said that.”

“So I have.”

She placed her hand on his upper arm. Damn! He actually thought he could feel her body heat through his shirt, jacket, and overcoat. Logic told him what he thought he felt was impossible, but his senses insisted it was true. The warmth in her palm spread up and down his arm. He stared into the depths of her black eyes and found himself unable to speak.

As if sensing his unease, Genny lifted her hand from his arm and said, “Let’s go talk to Jacob.”

Dallas simply nodded, then allowed Genny to lead the way into the courthouse. He followed behind her as she went inside the back door, down a marble-floored corridor, and to a rotunda with curving staircases that led upward to a second-story mezzanine and downward to the lower level.

“The Sheriff’s Department is this way,” Genny said. “It’s not far.”

Within minutes, they entered the outer office, where a clean-cut young redhead with a freckled face and a welcoming smile hopped up from behind one of the three desks and came rushing toward Genny.

“Hey there, Miss Genny.” The obviously smitten deputy grinned like an idiot. “What brings you into town in weather like this?”

“I came to talk to Jacob,” Genny said, then turned to Dallas. “Special Agent Sloan, this is Deputy Bobby Joe Harte.” She smiled at the boy. “We need to see Jacob right away. Is he in his office?”

“Yes ma’am.” Bobby Joe surveyed Dallas from head to toe, then swallowed hard. “But I guess since there’s been a second murder—”

“There’s been a second murder?” Dallas asked.

“Yes sir. Didn’t you know?”

“Another sacrificial murder?” Dallas’s heartbeat hummed loudly inside his head.

Genny grasped Dallas’s arm. “Let’s talk to Jacob. He can tell you what you need to know.”

“He’s on the phone with the crime lab in Knoxville,” Bobby Joe said. “Just knock before you go in.”

Genny smiled warmly, and Bobby Joe Harte melted like an ice-cream cone dropped on a red-hot sidewalk in July. Dallas felt sorry for the deputy because he understood all too well the lady’s spellbinding appeal.

Outside the sheriff’s office door, Genny lifted her hand and knocked softly several times. Dallas stood tensely at her side, wondering just how forthcoming Butler would be to an agent on unofficial business.

“May we come in?” Genny asked. “I have Agent Sloan with me.”

In two seconds flat, the door opened all the way, and standing there was one of the most intimidating-looking men Dallas had ever seen. Jacob Butler had to be at least six-five. With shoulders that spanned the width of the door and arms and legs like tree trunks, his weight would probably tip the scales somewhere between two-fifty and three hundred. Add to his impressive size a pair of slanting green eyes set in a leather-tan face that looked like it had been chiseled from granite, and shoulder-length jet black hair pulled back in a ponytail, and you had a man whose mere presence cautioned others to tread lightly.

“Genny.” Jacob’s deep baritone voice sounded like sandpaper being scraped over metal. His face softened ever so slightly. “Are you all right? What are you doing in town, with the roads in such bad shape?”

Before she could reply, Jacob glanced over her shoulder at Dallas. His eyes narrowed speculatively and his brow furrowed.

“Jacob, this is Dallas Sloan, the FBI agent you spoke to on the phone last night before—”

“Where did you stay last night?” Jacob asked.

“He stayed at my house,” Genny replied. “His car skidded off in a ditch and he couldn’t get into town last night, so he stayed in one of the guest rooms.”

Dallas could swear he heard a feral growl coming from the sheriff. Hell, this was no way to start things off, having Butler go all protective about his cousin’s honor.

Genny leaned over and kissed Jacob’s cheek. He cleared his throat. “Bobby Joe said there’s been a second murder. Can you tell us what happened?”

“Come on in and sit down.” Jacob stood aside until Genny and Dallas came into the office and took the chairs in front of his desk. He closed the door.

Jacob braced his hips on the edge of his desk, crossed his massive arms, and laid them over his chest. “That new minister over at the Congregational Church discovered a woman’s body strapped across the altar when he arrived there this morning. He called us immediately.”

“That church has stained-glass windows, doesn’t it?” Genny asked.

“Yeah, why? Did you have another…” He glanced at Dallas.

“Dallas knows. He was there at the house when I woke screaming at dawn this morning. I told him what I saw.”

“What did you see?” Jacob asked.

“A young woman’s naked body on a fancy altar. The early morning sun. Multicolored lights. And—and the sword.”

“Did you see the guy’s face?”

Genny shook her head. A lone tear trickled down her cheek.

“Are you all right? Did you rest afterward?”

“Dallas was there. He was very kind.”

Dallas listened to the conversation as if he weren’t there. He heard what was said, but somehow he couldn’t get past how easily Jacob Butler believed every word Genny told him. How could he deal with a lawman who believed in all this hocus-pocus stuff? Then again, how the hell could Genny have known the second victim was murdered in a church?

Jacob eased off the edge of the desk, reached out, and took both of Genny’s hands in his. “
I gi do…
”

Dallas sensed the tension hit Genny the moment her cousin spoke to her in a language Dallas didn’t understand. What had he said to her?

“When you call me sister, I know what you have to say is very serious.” Genny looked Jacob square in the eyes.

“The victim was Cindy Todd.”

“Ooh…” The word rushed out of Genny on a released breath. “Poor Cindy.”

“You knew the victim?” Dallas asked as he inexplicably leaned toward Genny.

She shook her head. “We were acquaintances. Friendly acquaintances. She was such an unhappy soul.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Jacob said. “Why don’t you head home before it gets dark? Or better yet, spend the night in town with Jazzy.”

“I plan to see Jazzy while I’m in town, but I’ll go on home tonight.”

“I don’t like the idea of your traveling up the mountain alone at night. Not with a killer on the loose. I’ll follow you home when you get ready to go.”

Genny nodded agreement. “There’s nothing I can tell you that will help you, except…this man, he enjoys what he does. It excites him.”

“Sexually?” Jacob asked.

“Yes.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“He has no conscience. I felt no conflict within him, no sense of right and wrong.”

Dallas watched her closely as she spoke, wishing the hard knot in his stomach would dissolve. He forced his attention away from her to the sheriff.

“Were both victims raped?” Dallas asked.

Jacob eyed him quizzically. “You’re not here in any official capacity, Agent Sloan, and that information is—”

“Tell him,” Genny said. “He can help you.”

Dallas clenched his teeth. He was torn between wanting to thank Genny and telling her to stop this idiotic psychic nonsense.

Jacob eased back and sat on the side of his desk. He grasped the edge with both hands. “According to Pete Holt, our coroner, Susie Richards and Cindy Todd were sexually assaulted.”