If Looks Could Kill

“I know you’re not Jamie.” When she sat up, the sheet dropped to her waist, exposing her breasts.

“Then stop assuming I’m going to treat you the way he did. I can’t stand it when you project his actions onto me.”

Caleb turned from her and hastily left the room. Jazzy flipped on the bedside lamp, then got up and headed for the bathroom. Usually they didn’t get up this early—and seven- thirty was early for people who didn’t go to bed until two in the morning—but she had an appointment to meet Reve Sorrell in Dr. MacNair’s office at nine. Galvin had explained to them that the results of the DNA test might take a few weeks, but Reve had informed him that she would pay any extra costs necessary to facilitate a speedy response.

Jazzy turned on the water, waited a couple of minutes for it to heat, and then stepped under the showerhead. As the warm spray doused her, she thought about her future. Her first concern was Caleb. She couldn’t keep putting him off. Sooner or later he’d get tired of waiting for her to marry him. The thought of losing him was too terrible to consider, yet she wasn’t ready to say yes. There were too many un answered questions in her life, too many loose ends she had to tie up before she could build a solid future with the man she loved. And she did love Caleb. More than she’d ever thought possible to love a man. But she had to convince him that he was the only man she loved. In order to do that, she had to let go of Jamie completely.

Since Caleb spent most nights at her apartment above Jazzy’s Joint, they usually closed the bar together and came upstairs for a late-night meal and then went to bed. She loved being with him, making love with him, sharing her life with him.

So why don’t you marry the guy? she heard Lacy Fallon’s voice inside her head. Lacy, the bartender at Jazzy’s Joint, treated Jazzy like a kid sister, giving her advice and watching out for her.

Don’t let what Jamie did to you keep you from finding happiness with Caleb, Jazzy’s best friend, Genny Sloan, had told her repeatedly.

Even her own heart advised her to reach out and grab the happiness Caleb offered.

Jazzy bathed hurriedly, washed her hair and emerged from the shower, fresh and clean and clear-headed. By the time she dried her hair and dressed, Caleb would probably be back in the apartment and in the kitchen fixing their breakfast. She smiled to herself. Her Caleb was a man of many talents.

The telephone rang. Who on earth would be calling so early? Everyone knew they slept late. After wrapping a towel around her, Jazzy rushed into the bedroom to answer the phone.

“Hello.”

“Jazzy, this is Reve Sorrell. I got an early start so I’m already in town. I’m over at Jasmine’s and have just ordered breakfast. Any chance you can join me?”

“Ah . . . I just stepped out of the shower, but—” Maybe it was a good idea to touch base with Reve before they went to see Galvin. After all, if it turned out they really were twin sisters, as they suspected, they’d be spending a great deal of time together in the upcoming weeks. They had agreed that if the DNA tests proved they were siblings, they would work together to discover the truth about their parentage.

“If you’d rather not—” Reve said.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll hurry and dress.” Jazzy peeked through the open bedroom door and into the living room. No sign of Caleb. She listened for any sound of him in the kitchen. None.

“It’s okay if I bring Caleb along, isn’t it?”

“Sure. After all, he is your fiancé, right?”

“He most certainly is. Unofficially.”

“Have you two set a date?”

“Not yet.” Everyone assumed that sooner or later she’d accept Caleb’s proposal—everyone except Caleb’s grandmother, one of Cherokee County’s grande dames, Reba Upton.

Damn the old bitch!

“Bring him along,” Reve said. “I’ll go ahead and eat, then have coffee when y’all arrive. Or would you like for me to order for you two and wait?”

“Yes, do that. Just tell Tiffany that Caleb and I will be eating at the restaurant this morning. She knows our usual order.”

“See you soon.”

“Mm-hm.” The dial tone hummed in Jazzy’s ear.

Reve Sorrell had been pleasant enough, but not overly friendly. The woman had erected some sort of emotional barrier around herself, one that effectively kept people at bay. If they were twin sisters, how was it possible that their personalities were as different as night is from day? She supposed it all boiled down to the old question about which dominated a person’s physical, mental and emotional makeup more—nurture or nature.

Reve Sorrell was a class act. A real lady. Jazzy Talbot was a dame, a broad, a good old gal.

“Jazzy?” Caleb called to her as he entered the living room.

“Huh?”

“Want me to put on some coffee?”

Caleb might get upset with her, he might storm off in a rage, but he always came back. He never left her for more than a few minutes, an hour or two on a few occasions. He meant what he’d said about not ever leaving her. Not the way Jamie had done, time and time again.

“Reve Sorrell just called,” Jazzy said. “She wants us to meet her for breakfast over at Jasmine’s.”

“She got in early, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, she did. I guess she’s as anxious as I am to get our DNA samples sent off to the lab.”

Caleb appeared in the bedroom doorway. “Give me a couple of minutes to grab a quick shower.” As he moved past her, he paused, leaned over and kissed her cheek, then yanked off her towel before he went into the bathroom.

Jazzy hugged herself and sighed contentedly. Reve Sorrell might be a lady—a very rich and important lady—but who cared? Caleb didn’t. And it didn’t matter to him that Jazzy wasn’t some blue-blood with a lily-white reputation. He loved her just the way she was. And Caleb’s opinion was all that mattered.

Sally Talbot stood on her front porch, a tasty chaw of tobacco in her mouth. Peter and Paul, her old bloodhounds, lounged lazily under the porch, their heads barely peeking out as they snored. She wished she could sleep as easy as them two varmints did, but if they had the worries she had, they wouldn’t be sleeping so soundly either. After spitting a spray of brown juice out into the yard, Sally wiped her mouth and took a deep breath of autumn mountain air. There weren’t nothing like autumn in the Appalachians. The crisp, clean morning air. The bright colors nature painted the earth this time of year. No, sirree, weren’t no place on earth as near God’s heaven as these here mountains.

All her life—some seventy-one years now—she’d spent here in Cherokee County, most of it in this same old house her pa had built for her ma before he up and died of TB back in forty-nine. And all these years she’d been an oddball, different from folks hereabout. Not crazy, mind you, but not quite all there either. She had book learning. She could read and write and add up figures. And she knew these hills as well as anybody, better than most. She’d always been poor and hadn’t never cared a hoot about money. Not until Jazzy came into her life. She’d wanted to give that gal everything her little heart desired, but she’d failed miserably. She’d done the best she could. If she’d had a man bringing in a living, things might have been better, but she and Jazzy had made out all right. They’d had a roof over their heads and they’d never gone hungry. Jazzy had grown up to be a fine woman, a real smart woman who’d done all right for herself. Her gal owned a restaurant and a bar in Cherokee Pointe and she was a partner with some other people in Cherokee Cabin Rentals. Yep, she was damn proud of her niece.

A chill racked Sally’s body. “Winter’s coming,” she said to no one in particular.

But it wasn’t the cool morning breeze that had chilled Sally. It was thoughts of Jazzy. Her little Jasmine. She’d named Jazzy for them beautiful flowers that her sister Corrine had loved so. When she’d put Jasmine in Corrine’s arms thirty years ago, she’d never dreamed that within a few months Corrine would be dead—her and her lover—and she’d be left to raise Jazzy all alone. But there hadn’t been a day passed that she hadn’t thanked the good Lord for that gal. She loved Jazzy as if she were her own, and Jazzy loved her like a mother.

“God, forgive me and please help me,” Sally said softly. “You know I didn’t have no idea there was another baby, that Jazzy had a sister.”

Reve Sorrell might not be her sister Sally told herself. Could just be a coincidence that they look so much alike. But if that DNA test they was having done proved them to be twins, then Jazzy was going to be asking a lot more questions. She’d want to know how it was possible that her aunt Sally hadn’t known nothing about another baby.

All the lies she’d told Jazzy from the time she’d been a little girl would come back to haunt her—if that Sorrell gal turned out to be Jazzy’s sister. She knew what Jazzy would say to her, could almost hear her.

“You told me that my mama came back home to you right before I was born, that her boyfriend had run out on her and she had no place else to go. You told me that you delivered me and that you sent for old Doc Webster a few days later to record my birth and check me and Mama to make sure we were all right. Isn’t that so? Tell me, Aunt Sally, did you or did you not deliver another baby? Were you the one who threw my sister away?”

Them there DNA tests wouldn’t lie. If they proved them gals to be sisters, then Sally had some explaining to do. If I tell Jazzy the truth, will she hate me? I just couldn’t bear it if that gal hated me.

Genny Sloan stopped suddenly on her morning trek from the greenhouse to her back porch. Although she’d seldom been able to control the visions that came to her, she had learned what signs to expect, signs that forewarned her.

Drudwyn paused at her side, then licked her hand.

“It’s all right, boy. I think I can make it to the porch.” Genny stroked the half-wolf dog’s head. “But if I don’t make it, you let Dallas know that I need him.”

Drudwyn hurried ahead of her, then paused and waited at the door. Genny made it to the porch. Barely. She slumped down on the back steps and closed her eyes. She’d been born with the gift of sight, a God-given talent inherited from her grandma. More times than not, she’d found the gift could be a curse.

Lights swirled inside her head. Colors. Bright, warm colors. And then she heard Jazzy’s laughter mixing with softer laughter. Another woman’s laughter. Happiness. Beautiful happiness. Genny sensed a togetherness, a oneness, almost as if Jazzy and this other woman were a single entity. As that knowledge filled Genny’s consciousness, she understood she was receiving energy from Jazzy and from Reve Sorrell. She didn’t need to see the results of a DNA test to know they were twins. Identical twins. Individuals, yet forever linked from the moment of conception.

Suddenly the bright, cheerful lights inside Genny’s mind darkened. Black clouds swirled about in her consciousness, completely obliterating the beauty and happiness. Fear. Anger. Hatred. Jealousy! An evil mind concealed by a mask of normalcy.

Danger! Jazzy and Reve were in terrible danger.

But from whom? Who possessed this dark, viciously cruel heart? Who feared the truth? Who was willing to do anything—even kill—to keep the truth hidden?

Genny delved deeper into the black abyss, seeking the identity of this person, searching for any link between this evil and her dearest friend, Jazzy.

Oh, God, the hatred. Pure, wicked hatred.

“Genny!”

She heard Dallas’s voice as if it came from far away.

“Damn it, Genny, come out of it. Now! You’re going in too deep.”

He shook her soundly.

Genny groaned. Her eyelids flew open. She gasped for air.

Dallas pulled her into his arms. “What the hell happened? I thought you promised me that you wouldn’t go in that deep without my being there to—”

“I had to go as far as I could,” she said as she rested her head on her husband’s chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I had a vision about Jazzy and Reve Sorrell. I know they’re twins.” She lifted her head and looked at Dallas. “That was a vision filled with joy and light and beauty. But suddenly the darkness came. I—I’m not sure if there’s a connection between Jazzy and Reve and the evil I sensed.”

“The two visions might have nothing to do with each other,” Dallas told her as he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand.

“Maybe not, but usually, when two visions overlap that way, they’re somehow connected.”

“But not always.”

“No, not always.”

Dallas lifted Genny into his arms and carried her into the house. She snuggled close, loving the protective feel of this man she loved above all others, more than life itself.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Dallas said. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, I’m all right. But Jazzy and Reve may be in grave danger.”

Chapter 2

Veda MacKinnon had a slight hangover this morning, the second one this week. She’d realized months ago that she was drinking too much and had tried her best to cut back on the amount of alcohol she consumed. She had been succeeding to some extent, but twice this week she had succumbed to stress and worry. Outsiders might well wonder what she had to worry about considering she was married to one of the two richest men in Cherokee County. But her husband was one of her worries, as was their son and her husband’s brother. And truth be told, her own brother had lately given her a reason for concern. If only she’d had a daughter, someone who could understand, could see her side of situations. But she was a lone female in a family of men—unless you counted the servants, and she didn’t.

Donning her satin robe, Veda glanced at herself in the cheval mirror in her bedroom. God, she looked a fright. Dark circles under her eyes. Her mouth drooped with age. And without makeup, she looked every day of her sixty-eight years. She supposed she could do as Reba Upton did and have a facelift every five or six years, but instead she had opted to grow old gracefully.

Veda laughed softly.

Gracefully?

There had been a time when that adverb described the way she did everything. With grace and flair, with pomp and ceremony. When Farlan had brought her, as his bride, home to his parents’ Victorian mansion in Cherokee Pointe, she’d been twenty-two. Slender. Beautiful. Charming. An Atlanta debutante. And Farlan MacKinnon had been the envy of every man in town.

Here she was forty-six years later, fat and wrinkled, with a husband who no longer loved her—if he ever had. A son who was sad and lonely, despite his successful career running MacKinnon Media. His childless marriage had ended in a bitter divorce years ago. She suspected that her brother, Dodd, was on the verge of ruining his life—over a woman! And then there was Wallace. God, there had always been Wallace. Poor old soul. The first time she’d met him, she’d actually been afraid of him. But it hadn’t been her fault. After all, her husband’s younger brother had been the first mentally handicapped person she’d ever known. Wallace had the IQ of a six-year-old and the sweet innocence, too.

Studying herself in the mirror, Veda decided she needed her hair cut. The ends were a bit frizzy and weren’t curling under the way she liked. She’d worn her hair in the same neat chin-length pageboy most of her life, not changing as her hair went from dark brown to gray. And she really should lose a few pounds before the holidays. She tended to put on at least five pounds between Thanksgiving and New Year’s every year and had to struggle half the year to shed those unwanted extra pounds. Of course on a woman who weighed in at one-ninety-five and stood barely five-three, what was five more pounds one way or the other?

Five pounds would mean weighing two hundred, she reminded herself. She’d sworn she’d never reach that two- hundred pound mark.

Veda made a detour into her dressing room. After running a brush through her salt-and-pepper hair, she applied a touch of blush and lipstick. There, that’s better, she thought, then a moment later wondered why she’d bothered. It wasn’t as if Farlan would notice. He hadn’t paid much attention to her in years. They shared the same bedroom, the same bed, but he had not been a real husband to her in going on two years. She could remember the exact date they’d last made love. It had been on her sixty-sixth birthday.

If she didn’t know better, she’d think he kept a mistress. But not Farlan. Since that one woman, years ago, he’d been as faithful as an old dog. To this day she blamed Dodd for Farlan’s one and only indiscretion. But that was the past, water under the bridge. Best forgotten. After all, when she had strayed a couple of times after she hit forty, Farlan had forgiven her and they’d gone on as if nothing had happened.

As Veda made her way down the hall, she listened to the familiar sounds of morning in her home. Although this enormous house had seemed alien to her when she’d come here as Farlan’s bride, she had soon renovated the place and made it her own. Everything in this house—from the crystal and china in the dining room to the imported soap in the bathrooms, from the landscaped grounds to the wicker furniture in the sunroom—had Veda’s personal stamp on it. She ruled this house as if she were a queen. And she was. Queen Veda. Everyone in Cherokee Pointe either respected her or feared her just a little. She was known for being a vengeful bitch, and that pleased her. Let that silly, skinny, blond Reba Upton be the social grande dame. Who cared? She certainly didn’t. She much preferred being a power to be reckoned with. No one crossed Veda Parnell MacKinnon without paying a steep price.

When she entered the dining room, Farlan glanced up from the morning paper. The Knoxville News-Sentinel, she noted, not MacKinnon Media’s local Cherokee Pointe Herald. He made a habit of checking out other East Tennessee newspapers almost daily, such as the News- Sentinel, the Cleveland Daily Banner, the Chattanooga Times Free Press, and the Maysville Ledger Independent.

“Good morning, my dear,” Farlan said, his gaze quickly returning to the newspaper.

Brian rose from his chair and assisted her as she sat on the opposite end of the long dining table from her husband. Her son leaned down and kissed her cheek.

“You’re looking lovely this morning, Mother.”

She offered Brian a fragile smile. She loved her only child with all her heart. If only there was something she could do to make him happy. But he’d always been rather gloomy, even as a boy. Her father had been like that—a stern, gloomy man who had wandered in and out of her life after her parents’ scandalous divorce when she was an infant. Then, when she was fourteen, he’d killed himself. Veda had been the one who’d found his body, there in her mother and step-father’s library in their Atlanta home.

“Thank you.” Veda patted Brian’s ruddy cheek. Her son resembled her a great deal, which meant he was a handsome man. But the older he became, the more he looked like her father. Sometimes when she caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye, she’d shiver, somehow feeling as if she had just seen a ghost.

“Something interesting in the News-Sentinel?” Brian asked Farlan as he returned to his seat.

Farlan grunted. “Nothing much.”

“You seem quite absorbed in nothing much,” Veda said, knowing her comment would evoke a reaction from her husband. It seemed the only way he’d talk to her these days was if she provoked him.

Farlan folded the newspaper and laid it on the table beside his plate, which was empty except for biscuit crumbs. He glanced at Veda, a somber expression on his face, his faded brown eyes skimming over her quickly before his gaze settled on his coffee cup. He seldom smiled at her anymore. In fact, he seldom smiled at all.

“The news seems to remain the same, just the people and places change,” Farlan said. “A fire in a low-rent apartment complex in Oak Ridge, two policemen accused of racial profiling in Cleveland, the mayor in Harriman fighting with the city council and a prostitute’s body fished from the river outside Loudon.”

“Another one?” Veda said. “I seem to recall that about six or seven months ago, they found a prostitute’s body in the river south of here. I don’t remember where.”

“Downstream from Watts Bar, I believe.” Brian picked up his fork and speared the scrambled eggs in his plate.

“You have an excellent memory,” Farlan said. “I used to. Never forgot anything. But lately . . . I suppose it comes with growing old.”

Veda motioned to Abra, their cook, to pour her a cup of coffee. Abra Trumbo had been with the family for the past twenty-five years and was the only servant who actually lived on the premises; all the others, even the new housekeeper, Viv Lokey, chose to come in at seven each morning and required Sundays off. Servants just weren’t what they used to be.

“You blame everything on old age,” Veda said, her tone scolding. She didn’t mean to always be so critical, but couldn’t stop herself where Farlan was concerned. Over the past few years, it seemed they brought out the worst in each other. Perhaps they always had. She wasn’t sure.

“Old age is—” Farlan began, but was interrupted by the rumble of thundering footsteps.

Wallace MacKinnon, a towering bear of a man, came barreling out of the kitchen and into the dining room, his eyes bright, his fat cheeks pink from having been exposed to the cool morning air. He still wore his heavy gray sweater, the one Veda had thrown away several times only to have him drag it out of the garbage again and again. With his faded overalls, ratty sweater and scuffed leather boots, her brother-in-law looked like a bum.

“She’s here!” Wallace clapped his huge, calloused hands together, the way an excited child might do when exclaiming he’d just seen Santa Claus.

“Calm down,” Farlan said. “Who’s here?”

“Miss Jazzy’s sister. I told you she was coming in from Chattanooga today, didn’t I?” Wallace grinned. “I saw her over at the restaurant. She and Miss Jazzy were eating breakfast together. They look just alike.”

“For the life of me, I can’t understand why you go into town to eat breakfast at that restaurant so often when you could eat at home with your family.” Veda frowned dis approvingly.

“Let him be,” Farlan said. “He enjoys the company at Jasmine’s. He’s especially fond of Miss Jazzy, who he tells me is always very nice to him. And he gets a chance to run into all sorts of interesting people.”

“Interesting indeed. As I recall, this Jazzy person is the town trollop.” Like most other Cherokee County residents, Veda knew all about that woman’s shameful reputation. “She was accused of killing Jamie Upton a few months back, wasn’t she?”

“Jazzy Talbot didn’t kill him. You know as well as I do that it turned out she was innocent.” Farlan stood and walked over to his brother. “Take off your sweater and have a seat. Tell us all about seeing Jazzy and her sister.” With Farlan’s assistance, Wallace removed his heavy sweater, handed it to Abra and then sat next to Brian.

“They’re twins. They look just alike,” Wallace repeated. “Except Miss Jazzy’s got short hair and Miss Reve’s got long. Only she wears it done up. Everybody at the restaurant was talking about them and saying that they had to be sisters, that two people don’t look that much alike unless they’re twins.”

Veda reached over and patted Wallace’s hand. “Have you already eaten, dear? Or should I have Abra—”

“I ate over at the restaurant,” Wallce replied. “I had pancakes.”

“Very well, do go on with what you were saying.” Veda offered her brother-in-law an approving smile.

“Must we hear all of this? You shouldn’t encourage him, Mother,” Brian said. “It’s just the latest Cherokee Pointe gossip. Jazzy Talbot and some woman named Reve Sorrell may turn out to be long-lost sisters. Why should this concern us?”