Authors: Beverly Barton
"A re-ason I sho-uld know abo-ut?"
McCord ga-ve Jacob a spe-cu-la-ti-ve lo-ok. "May-be you al-re-ady know why I'm he-re."
"Maybe I do."
"Why wo-uld it be any of yo-ur bu-si-ness?" 'Jaz-zy didn't kill Jamie and we both know it. That me-ans so-me-body el-se did."
''Ye-ah, so? Genny sa-id it was a wo-man who tri-ed to lo-ok li-ke Jaz-zy. What's that fact got to do with-"
"Maybe this wo-man had help."
"Are you ac-cu-sing me of so-met-hing, She-riff?"
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"Nope. Just spe-cu-la-ting. It was no sec-ret that the-re was no lo-ve lost bet-we-en you and Jamie be-ca-use of Jaz-zy. May-be you fi-gu-red the only way to get rid of the com-pe-ti-ti-on was to kill him.
That's one mo-ti-ve."
"And now you've fi-gu-red out that I might ha-ve anot-her mo-ti-ve as well."
"Seeing how you're Me-la-nie Up-ton's son, now that Jamie is de-ad, you're the he-ir to the Up-ton for-tu-ne. I'd say that's a damn go-od mo-ti-ve for mur-der."
Chapter 20
As one of the ma-in-te-nan-ce crew for Che-ro-kee Ca-bin Ren-tals, Stan Wat-son not only did yard work-mo-wing grass, trim-ming shrubs, and ra-king le-aves-but be-ca-use he was pretty much a jack-of-all-tra-des, he had keys to every ca-bin so he co-uld ke-ep a check on the he-at and air systems, the plum-bing, etc. Even tho-ugh it was sprin-g-ti-me, it still got chilly aro-und the-se parts so-me days and just abo-ut every night, so to-urists of-ten used the-ir fi-rep-la-ces. Chec-king on the Ho-ney Be-ar Tra-il ca-bin's fi-rep-la-ce was on his to-do list for this af-ter-no-on, but it was ne-arly six and he to-ok off work abo-ut that ti-me every day.
'The last te-nants com-p-la-ined that the dam-per on the fi-rep-la-ce flu wasn't wor-king right," his boss had told him. "Ma-ke su-re you check it re-al go-od be-fo-re the pla-ce is ren-ted out aga-in and so-me-body bu-ilds a fi-re and gets smo-ke all in the ca-bin."
When he par-ked his old Chevy truck in the dri-ve, he no-ti-ced the-re wasn't anot-her ve-hic-le an-y-w-he-re aro-und, so he as-su-med that no-body had ren-ted the pla-ce to-day.
Cherokee Ca-bin Ren-tals' po-licy was to do all in-si-de ma-in-te-nan-ce work when a ca-bin was va-cant.
Stan got out of the truck. Then, as he step-ped up on the front porch, he fis-hed aro-und in his pants poc-ket for the key ring. Just as he pul-led out the set of keys, he he-ard a pe-cu-li-ar no-ise. Co-uld it be a be-ar? he won-de-red. The black be-ars had co-me out of win-ter hi-ber-na-ti-on and so-me-ti-mes ma-de it this far down the mo-un-ta-in. He'd co-me fa-ce-to-fa-ce with mo-re than one be-ar sin-ce he'd be-en wor-king on the ren-tal ca-bins.
Damn, the-re the so-und was aga-in. Co-uld be a be-ar scrat-c-hing aro-und out back, but it so-un-ded mo-re li-ke so-me-body dig-ging. The-re wasn't anot-her ca-bin clo-ser than half a mi-le, and he was the only ma-in-te-nan-ce man who was sup-po-sed to be up he-re to-day.
Figuring no mat-ter whet-her it was a be-ar or a per-son ma-king the rac-ket, if he con-f-ron-ted him, he might at-tack. Best if he had so-me sort of pro-tec-ti-on. He went back to the truck and pic-ked up one of the he-avy me-tal ra-kes lying next to the lawn mo-wer and gas-po-we-red we-ed eater.
Cre-eping aro-und the si-de of the ca-bin, he felt his he-art be-ating ni-nety-to-not-hing. It wasn't that he was af-ra-id. Not exactly. Just ca-uti-o-us. When he got to the back of the ca-bin, he pa-used. He co-uld still he-ar the no-ise, but didn't see an-y-t-hing or an-y-body.
Following the so-und, he ma-de his way down the slo-pe at the back of the ho-use, then skid-ded to an aw-k-ward stop when he saw a wo-man down in the wo-oded sec-ti-on of the hol-low. At this
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dis-tan-ce, he co-uldn't ma-ke out much abo-ut her, ex-cept that she was de-fi-ni-tely fe-ma-le-and she had short red ha-ir.
What the hell's she do-ing
? Stan won-de-red.
Cu-ri-osity got the bet-ter of him, so in-s-te-ad of cal-ling °ut to her and war-ning her that she wasn't alo-ne, he de-ci-ded to get a lit-tle clo-ser so he co-uld ma-ke out what she was do-ing. When he got abo-ut twenty fe-et from her, he re-ali-zed she was dig-ging a ho-le. With her back to him, he co-uldn't see her fa-ce, but he didn't think he knew her. Still, she re-min-ded him of so-me-body. She wo-re blue je-ans and a dark pla-id shirt. And a pa-ir of cot-ton work/ glo-ves. Gu-ess she didn't want to put any blis-ters on her hands. Wo-men we-re funny abo-ut stuff li-ke that.
Just when he star-ted to hol-ler at her, ask her what she was do-ing on pri-va-te pro-perty, she stop-ped dig-ging. He to-ok se-ve-ral slow, ca-uti-o-us steps in her di-rec-ti-on and that's when he no-ti-ced two things: she'd al-re-ady dug a pretty de-ep ho-le, abo-ut three fe-et or mo-re, and the-re was a big black plas-tic gar-ba-ge sack a co-up-le of fe-et toe her right.
She's go-ing to bury that gar-ba-ge sack,
Stan tho-ught.
"Hey, the-re," he cal-led out. "You can't be bur-ying yo-ur gar-ba-ge down the-re. This he-re is pri-va-te pro-perty."
The wo-man fro-ze to the spot. For se-ve-ral mi-nu-tes she didn't mo-ve, didn't res-pond at all. She su-re was ac-ting li-ke so-me-body who'd got-ten ca-ught do-ing so-met-hing they sho-uldn't be do-ing.
Then all of a sud-den she whir-led aro-und and smi-led at him. Damn! She wasn't no bad-lo-oking wo-man. He didn't know her, but she su-re lo-oked fa-mi-li-ar. He tho-ught may-be he'd se-en her so-mew-he-re.
"Hello, yo-ur-self." She la-id the sho-vel asi-de and wa-ved at Stan. 'Who are you?"
"I'm the one as-king the qu-es-ti-ons," he told her. "Who are you?"
She la-ug-hed and when she did, he re-la-xed im-me-di-ately. Hell, she was just a wo-man. All soft and ro-und and dow-n-right fri-endly. Not-hing to be af-ra-id of, he told him-self. And the-re su-re wasn't no re-ason to be ha-te-ful to her.
"Call me Ho-ney," she sa-id. "All my fri-ends do."
He star-ted down the hill; she star-ted up.
''What are you bur-ying?" Stan eyed the plas-tic gar-ba-ge sack. '
"You'd ne-ver be-li-eve it if I told you."
''Try me."
She la-ug-hed aga-in and he fo-und him-self smi-ling as she ca-me clo-ser. "Well, I just got a di-vor-ce from a lying, che-ating son of a bitch. I ca-me up he-re with so-me of his fa-vo-ri-te things, and I in-tend to bury them whe-re he'll ne-ver find them. I want to piss him off, ma-ke him pay for be-ing such a lo-usy hus-band."
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Stan chuc-k-led. "Can't say that I bla-me you. That's what I sho-uld ha-ve do-ne with my ex-wi-fe's things."
The wo-man ca-me up to him and la-id her hand on his arm. "Well, han-d-so-me, you didn't tell me yo-ur na-me."
"Stan… Stan-ley Wat-son, ma'am." She squ-e-ezed his arm and bat-ted her eye-las-hes at him. Damn if she wasn't flir-ting with him. Lo-oking at her up clo-se, he re-ali-zed the-re was qu-ite a few ye-ars age dif-fe-ren-ce bet-we-en them, but what dif-fe-ren-ce did that ma-ke? No-ne re-al-ly.
"You know, Stan, I ha-ven't be-en with a man sin-ce I kic-ked my hus-band out ne-arly a ye-ar ago."
"Is that right?"
Go-od-lo-oking and horny. The per-fect com-bi-na-ti-on in a wo-man, no mat-ter
how yo-ung or how old
.
She ran her hand up and down his arm, then pla-ced her open palm over the cen-ter of his chest. His prick twit-c-hed. He hadn't got-ten la-id in se-ve-ral months, so he was pretty horny him-self. iou co-uld help me bury my hus-band's stuff. Then we co-uld get bet-ter ac-qu-a-in-ted."
"I'd be happy to help you, ma'am."
"Ho-ney. Call me Ho-ney."
"Well, Ho-ney, let's get that bag of stuff bu-ri-ed," he sa-id and star-ted fol-lo-wing her down the hill.
"I got a key to that ca-bin back up yon-der. And I know for a fact that the-re's a mighty fi-ne king-si-ze bed in-si-de."
Stan co-uldn't get that damn plas-tic gar-ba-ge bag bu-ri-ed fast eno-ugh. Af-ter he pat-ted the dirt in-to a ne-at mo-und, she re-ac-hed out and to-ok the sho-vel from him.
"I'll ta-ke this," she sa-id. "It's mi-ne, not my hus-band's. "
Stan nod-ded, then pic-ked up the ra-ke he'd set asi-de ear-li-er. To-get-her they clim-bed up and out of the wo-oded: hol-low be-hind the ca-bin. When they re-ac-hed the dri-ve-way, Stan told her, "I'll put this ra-ke in the back of the truck and then open up the ca-bin."
"Do you mind if I put my sho-vel in yo-ur truck?" She fol-lo-wed him to-ward the pic-kup. "I par-ked my car down the ro-ad api-ece. May-be af-ter-ward you co-uld drop me off the-re."
"Sure thing." All he co-uld think abo-ut was the fact that in just a few mi-nu-tes he was go-ing to be scre-wing a go-od-lo-oking wo-man.
He drop-ped the truck's ta-il-ga-te, le-aned over, and tos-sed the ra-ke on-to the bed. Just as he star-ted to turn aro-und and ta-ke her sho-vel from her, he felt so-met-hing hard and he-avy hit him on the he-ad. Stun-ned by the unex-pec-ted-ness and the hor-ren-do-us pa-in, he didn't ha-ve ti-me to re-act be-fo-re anot-her blow struck him. And then ever-y-t-hing went black as he lost con-s-ci-o-us-ness.
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Jazzy clo-is-te-red her-self in the of-fi-ce at Jaz-zy's Jo-int She co-uldn't de-al with cus-to-mers right now. Not when Ca-leb wasn't he-re. He'd cal-led to tell her he wo-uld be run-ning la-te for work, but that he'd try to be the-re by ni-ne. Sin-ce the pla-ce sel-dom got rowdy in the early ho-urs of the eve-ning, es-pe-ci-al-ly on a we-ek-night, she was su-re Lacy and the two wa-it-res-ses, She-ri and Ka-lin-da, co-uld hold down the fort. But she did ha-ve a bu-si-ness to run des-pi-te pre-sently be-ing Che-ro-kee Po-in-te's most no-to-ri-o-us cri-mi-nal.
Genny had spent the mor-ning with her, then Aunt Sally had ta-ken over aro-und one. The only way she'd be-en ab-le to get her aunt to go ho-me was to pro-mi-se she wo-uld stay put in he-re in her of-fi-ce un-til Ca-leb ca-me in to work. As much as she ap-pre-ci-ated the-ir con-cern, ha-ving them ho-ve-ring over her was al-re-ady get-ting on her ner-ves. She fi-gu-red they tho-ught to-day wo-uld be es-pe-ci-al-ly dif-fi-cult for her, con-si-de-ring Jamie Up-ton had be-en bu-ri-ed this af-ter-no-on. A part of her wis-hed she co-uld ha-ve go-ne to his fu-ne-ral.
A soft rap-ping on the clo-sed do-or ga-ined Jaz-zy's at-ten-ti-on. Ho-ping it was Ca-leb, she glan-ced up from the pa-per-work she'd be-en do-ing. "Yes?"
The do-or eased open and Re-ve Sor-rell wal-ked in. "May I spe-ak to you?"
Jazzy in-s-pec-ted the wo-man from top to bot-tom. Damn, they did lo-ok a lot ali-ke. Re-ve Sor-rell was tal-ler than she and plum-per, but not by any me-ans fat. She cer-ta-inly didn't do much with what she had. Her ha-ir was the sa-me na-tu-ral auburn Jaz-zy's wo-uld be if she didn't use that fa-bu-lo-us sha-de of Hussy Red, and her eyes we-re the sa-me de-ep red-dish brown as hers we-re wit-ho-ut her gre-en con-tacts. Not only co-uld Ms. Sor-rell use mo-re ma-ke-up and a new ha-ir-do-who the hell wo-re the-ir ha-ir in bun the-se days?-but she sho-uld in-vest in so-me stylish fe-mi-ni-ne clot-hes. The navy blue slacks and jac-ket she had on, al-be-it pro-bably the best mo-ney co-uld buy, we-re al-most mas-cu-li-ne.
''I fi-gu-red you'd al-re-ady left town by now," Jaz-zy sa-id.
''I… uh… I'm on my way out of town, as a matter of fact. I had in-ten-ded le-aving by no-on to-day, but that was be-fo-re yo-ur boy-f-ri-end sho-wed up and thre-ate-ned me."
Jazzy sta-red qu-iz-zi-cal-ly at the ot-her wo-man. "My boy-f-ri-end?"
"Do you ha-ve so many boy-f-ri-ends that I ha-ve to na-me the spe-ci-fic one?"
"If you ca-me he-re to in-sult me, you can le-ave. I've he-ard all the in-sults la-tely that I want to he-ar."
"I apo-lo-gi-ze. I ca-me he-re to ask you… well, to ma-ke su-re that I ha-ve yo-ur word, as well as Mr. McCord's, that what y'all know abo-ut me-abo-ut the pos-sib-le con-nec-ti-on bet-we-en you and me-will re-ma-in bet-we-en us."
What the hell was she tal-king abo-ut? Ca-leb had thre-ate-ned Re-ve Sor-rell? And what was this con-nec-ti-on bet-we-en the two of them? "I don't know what you're tal-king abo-ut."
Reve ga-ve Jaz-zy a you're-lying sta-re. "Do you ex-pect me to be-li-eve that he didn't tell you he'd run a check on me… on my bac-k-g-ro-und, and is using that in-for-ma-ti-on to blac-k-ma-il me?"
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Jazzy grin-ned. So the sno-oty Ms. Sor-rell had so-met-hing to hi-de, did she? "It wo-uld se-em I'm not the only one with a shady past. Just what are you gu-ilty of, Re-ve?" She em-p-ha-si-zed the wo-man's gi-ven na-me.
"He hasn't told you?" Re-ve in-ha-led and ex-ha-led slowly.
"I ha-ven't se-en Ca-leb sin-ce early this mor-ning, but I'm su-re he'll tell me ever-y-t-hing when he co-mes in to work la-ter."
"Mm-hmm. Yes, I'm su-re he will."
"Look, wha-te-ver it is, yo-ur sec-rets are sa-fe with me. Wha-te-ver de-al you wor-ked out with Ca-leb"-and Jaz-zy in-ten-ded to find out exactly what that was all abo-ut-'Is okay with me. Be-si-des, I'm hardly in a po-si-ti-on to throw sto-nes at an-yo-ne el-se."
Narrowing her ga-ze, Re-ve sta-red at Jaz-zy, her ex-p-res-si-on pen-si-ve and un-cer-ta-in, as if she co-uldn't qu-ite fi-gu-re Jaz-zy out. "I ha-ven't mur-de-red an-yo-ne, if that's what you're thin-king."
"Neither ha-ve I," Jaz-zy told her.
Reve nod-ded. "Per-haps not, but you we-re ar-res-ted for Jamie Up-ton's mur-der, and that's so-met-hing I'd pre-fer my fri-ends and as-so-ci-ates not know."
"Why wo-uld you ca-re if yo-ur-just what sort of in-for-ma-ti-on did Ca-leb dig up on you?" What was it that Re-ve had sa-id a few mi-nu-tes ago? So-met-hing abo-ut a pos-sib-le con-nec-ti-on bet-we-en us. Bet-we-en Re-ve and Jaz-zy? "What's the con-nec-ti-on bet-we-en us that you don't want an-yo-ne to find out abo-ut?"