If Looks Could Kill

“Why indeed?” Veda agreed.

“Reve Sorrell is Spencer Sorrell’s daughter,” Farlan said. “The Sorrels have been stockholders in MacKinnon Media for decades. I knew Sorrell slightly, but I never met his wife or his daughter. The man died ten years, ago and his wife took control of the family business, which his daughter now owns.”

“If this woman is Spencer Sorrell’s daughter, why on earth would she want to claim Jazzy Talbot as a long-lost sister?” Veda asked.

Brian scooted back his chair and stood. “As much as I hate to leave in the middle of such scintillating conversation, I’m afraid I need to go or I’ll be late getting into the office this morning.”

“Are you working on a Saturday morning?” Farlan asked.

“You often did, didn’t you, Father?” Brian said. “I wouldn’t want you to think I’m a slacker.”

“Will you be home for dinner?” Veda smiled warmly at her son.

“I’ll phone if I make other plans.”

Once Brian had left the dining room, Veda sipped on her coffee and half listened to Wallace as he launched into a blow-by-blow account of his early morning venture into town, where he went almost every day to eat breakfast at Jasmine’s. Her brother-in-law knew everyone in Cherokee County and associated with people of every social class. Since his teens, Wallace had spent his weekdays working up in the mountains at the Cherokee Pointe Nursery, now operated by the original owner’s granddaughter, that odd young woman, Genny Madoc, who’d recently married Dallas Sloan, the new chief of police. The girl was lovely— dark and exotic, a quarter-breed Cherokee. And said to possess the gift of sight, as her grandmother, the old witch woman, had.

“Veda? Veda!”’

Hearing Farlan calling her name, she snapped to attention and stared at her husband. “Yes, what is it?”

“Do you think perhaps we should invite Ms. Sorrell to stay with us while she’s in Cherokee Pointe?”

“What?”

“I’m simply thinking along the same lines you were,” he told her. “After all, Spencer Sorrell was a business associate, if not a friend. And his daughter is unlikely to find anyone, other than the Uptons, in these parts who are her social equal. She’ll have no place to stay other than one of those dreadful cabins. I hardly think she’ll choose to stay with Jazzy Talbot, at least not unless they do find out they’re siblings.”

“How old is Ms. Sorrell?” Veda asked.

“How old? I have no idea. The same age as Jazzy Talbot, I suppose, if they believe they’re twins.” Farlan rubbed his chin. “I’d say Jazzy is in her late twenties, early thirties.” He eyed Veda speculatively. “What sort of crazy notions have you got going on in that silly head of yours?”

“I don’t think it’s silly to want to see our son married and providing us with grandchildren, do you?”

“If you decide to invite Ms. Sorrell to stay with us, do not”—he stressed the word not—“try to play matchmaker for Brian and her. Do I make myself clear?”

“Brian needs a girlfriend,” Wallace piped in. “Ever since Miss Genny got married, he’s been so sad. He doesn’t like Miss Jazzy, but I think Veda’s right—Brian might like Miss Reve. She’s awfully pretty. Not quite as friendly as Miss Jazzy, but—”

Farlan shot to his feet, the move silencing his brother and bringing a soft gasp from Veda. “God help me!”

Farlan marched out of the room and went straight to his study. Veda knew without following him where he’d gone. He holed up in what he considered his private domain every morning and she’d yet to work up the courage to interrupt him. Though a good man at heart, her husband had a terrible temper.

“Is Farlan mad at me?” Wallace asked.

Veda patted his hand again. “No, dear, no. He’s upset with me. But he never stays angry with me, so don’t you worry about it.” Although she felt more like crying, she smiled. “Later on, why don’t you come outside with me and we’ll work in the flower garden. I always count on you to help me. You’ve learned so much about gardening over the years. First from Melva Mae Butler and in recent years from Genny.”

Veda loved gardening. It was one of the few passions left her in life. She’d been born with the proverbial green thumb, as had her brother-in-law. Most of the time, she considered Wallace a nuisance, a burden she and Farlan had to bear. But she genuinely enjoyed his company when they worked together in the yard.

“Veda, how’s it possible for Miss Jazzy and Miss Reve to be twin sisters and not grow up together or even know each other?” Wallace asked.

“That’s a complicated question with a very complicated answer.”

“If you explained, do you think I’d understand?”

“Probably. It’s just that I really don’t know anything about it. Let’s just say that when they were born—twins are usually born within minutes of each other—for some reason their mother couldn’t keep them . . .” Veda grew silent as ancient memories invaded her thoughts. Painful memories.

“Yeah, go on. If their mother couldn’t keep them, what?”

Veda cleared her throat. “The girls would have been given to other people, people who couldn’t have their own child and wanted a baby to raise.”

Wallace’s face screwed up in a pondering frown. “Is that what folks call adoption?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Miss Jazzy ain’t adopted,” Wallace said. “But I heard somebody say that Miss Reve’s mama and papa adopted her when she was a baby.”

Not wanting to continue the conversation about babies— twins in particular—Veda rose from her chair. “I’m suddenly not very hungry. I—I think I’ll take my coffee”—she lifted the cup and saucer—“into the parlor and catch the morning news on WMMK.”

“I’m sorry, Veda,” Wallace said, his voice trembling with emotion. “I just remembered that talking about babies makes you sad.”

“It’s all right, dear. I—I’m perfectly fine. I’ll see you after a while. We’ll work in the garden together later this morning.”

She escaped from her brother-in-law’s scrutiny as quickly as she could. She hated the way he often stared at her with such pity in his eyes. The poor old fool had such a kind heart. Wallace wasn’t very bright, but he wasn’t totally stupid either. Since he’d always lived with them, he’d been around when she had suffered miscarriage after miscarriage, trying again and again to have another child, not wanting Brian to be raised without at least one sibling. Perhaps if he’d had younger brothers and sisters, if she’d been able to fill this house with more joy and laughter, her son wouldn’t be such an unhappy man now. And maybe her husband would still love her.

The mention of the word twins shouldn’t bother me the way it does. After all, just because Jazzy Talbot and Reve Sorrell might turn out to be long-lost twin sisters really has nothing to do with me, with what happened thirty years ago.

Are you sure? Are you one hundred percent sure?

No, I’m not sure. And that’s the problem. I don’t have any idea exactly how old Jazzy Talbot is, and I need to know. If she’s older or younger than thirty, then I can breathe a sigh of relief However, if she’s the right age, perhaps I should find out more about her and Reve Sorrell.

Do you think they could be those twin girls?

Of course not. Those twins are dead. They’ve been dead for thirty years.

You didn’t see them dead, did you? You didn’t actually kill them yourself.

No, but—

You trusted someone else to dispose of them. You should have done the job yourself. That way you could have been certain.

They’re dead. They have to be dead.

And if they’re not? What if Jazzy and Reve Sorrell turn out to be those twins?

Then I’ll have no choice but to kill them. No one can ever find out the truth.

Chapter 3

The DNA samples had been taken quickly and easily—just a swab in the mouth. Such a simple thing that would determine if she and Reve Sorrell were indeed sisters. If it turned out to be true—that they were twins—the fact would irrevocably change their lives. Everything she had believed since she was a child would prove to be lies. How could she deal with knowing her aunt Sally had been deliberately lying to her all her life? How was that possible? She knew, deep inside her, that Aunt Sally loved her with all her heart. The two of them shared a mother/daughter bond stronger than most.

Don’t get ahead of yourself. Wait for the results. And even if you two are twins, maybe Aunt Sally will have an explanation as to why she never told you about having a sister.

But could there be a good reason for throwing away a baby, for tossing her into a Dumpster and leaving her for dead?

The few times since she’d met Reve that she’d brought up the subject to Aunt Sally, her aunt had sworn to her that Corrine Talbot had given birth to only one child, one baby girl, and that baby was Jazzy.

“I’m told we should have the results within a week,” Galvin MacNair said as he walked with them into the waiting room. He smiled warmly at Jazzy and then at Reve. “Your paying for a private lab to do the test will speed things up immeasurably.”

“What good is money if you can’t use it?” Reve said, but she didn’t smile.

Jazzy had been raised dirt poor, watching Aunt Sally scratch and scrape for every dime, so she’d grown up thinking all of life’s problems could be solved with money. She had longed to be rich. Rich like the Uptons and the MacKinnons, Cherokee County’s two families worth multi-millions. There had been a time when her dream had been to marry Jamie Upton, the heir to a vast fortune, but that dream had never come true. Thank God!

Jamie’s wealth had not made him happy, and it certainly hadn’t helped make him a better man than those without so much money. He’d been a heartless bastard. And now here she was practically engaged to his cousin, the new heir to the Upton fortune. But Caleb McCord was as different from Jamie as night from day. He hadn’t been raised in the lap of luxury, hadn’t even known about his mother’s wealthy family when he’d grown up on the streets of Memphis. But now he’d been crowned the heir apparent by his grand- parents—by Big Jim and Miss Reba. As much as she wanted to believe that Caleb’s new station in life wouldn’t change him, she lived in fear that it would.

Jazzy glanced at Reve and wondered if she was happy with all her millions. She sure didn’t act like a happy person. To her way of thinking, her might-be twin was an uptight, bossy snob. How was it possible that two people who shared the same genes were nothing alike?

But looking at Reve, Jazzy once again got that guttightening reaction. The woman was her spitting image. Except for a few minor differences. Reve was slightly taller, maybe fifteen or twenty pounds heavier and she didn’t wear green-colored contacts over her brown eyes or dye her auburn hair a bright red.

“You’ll call us the minute you receive the results,” Reve said, her words a commanding statement, not a question.

“I certainly will,” Dr. MacNair assured her.

“Thank you.” Reve shook hands with Galvin, then turned to leave.

“Thanks,” Jazzy added and rushed to catch up with her sister.

Damn, don’t do this. She’d already begun thinking of Reve Sorrell as her sister. And it was apparent to anyone with the least bit of perception that the last thing Ms. Sorrell wanted was to find out she was biologically linked to a person like Jazzy Talbot.

“Hold up, will you?” Jazzy grabbed Reve’s arm just as she headed out the door of the Cherokee Pointe Clinic.

Reve skewered her with a narrowed gaze. “What?”

“Are you staying in town until we get the results or—”

“I’m staying.”

Jazzy released her hold on Reve’s arm. “Where?”

“I reserved one of your cabins.”

Jazzy shrugged. “I see. You could have stayed with me.” “I didn’t want to inconvenience you.” Reve wasn’t a very good liar. Just a hint of color darkened her cheeks. Jazzy knew right away that her look-alike hadn’t even entertained the idea of staying with her.

“If you need anything while you’re here—”

“I think we need to become better acquainted,” Reve said. “Perhaps we should have lunch together today and figure out the best way to approach this problem.”

Jazzy swung open the door and held it. “You first.”

Just as Reve exited the clinic and set foot on the sidewalk, Jazzy directly behind her, she came face to face with the one person in Cherokee Pointe she’d told Jazzy she hoped she would never see again.

Jacob Butler, all six-feet, five-inches of him, blocked Reve’s path. The man’s size alone was intimidating, but adding to his tough-guy image were the hard, chiseled features, the pensive green eyes and the long black hair. His appearance screamed dangerous savage.

“Morning, Jacob.” Jazzy tried to control the grin spreading across her face. She glanced from Reve to Jacob. She wasn’t sure whose expression conveyed more shocked dismay. These two had despised each other on sight when they’d met back last spring. “You remember Reve Sorrell, don’t you?”

Jacob tipped his Stetson. “Ma’am.”

Reve’s spine stiffened. “Sheriff.”

When Jacob tried to walk past them, Jazzy jumped in front of him. “What’s your hurry?”

“I need to talk to Dr. MacNair. I’ve got an appointment.”

“Are you sick?”

“You sure are nosey,” Jacob said.

“You know me—always concerned about my fellow man.”

Jacob’s lips twitched in a hint of a smile. Ever since they’d been kids, she’d been able to make Jacob smile, even when Genny couldn’t. And he loved Genny more than anybody on earth, her being his cousin who’d been raised like a sister to him.

“I’m setting up a time for flu shots for all my employees,” Jacob explained. “It’s getting to be that time of year. With the small force I have at the sheriff’s department, I can’t afford to have anybody laid up with the flu for a week.”

“I hear your staff is going to be decreasing by one pretty soon,” Jazzy said. “Just as soon as Tewanda gets her law degree and passes the bar.”

Jacob nodded. “Yeah, and we’re all right proud of her, but we’re sure going to miss her. She’s been a topnotch deputy.”

“Hey, if you’re not doing anything special for lunch today, why don’t you come over to Jasmine’s and join Reve and me.” She swallowed a chuckle and clamped her teeth together to keep from laughing out loud. “We’re going to get acquainted. You know . . . just in case we turn out to be sisters. You could fill her in on what I was like as a kid. And you could give her some insight into me as a woman.” She turned to Reve. “You know Jacob and I even dated for a while, and I’m here to tell you that this man”—Jazzy wound her arm around Jacob’s arm—“is one great kisser.”

Reve gasped. Jazzy laughed. Jacob seared Jazzy with his tight gaze.

“Ah, lighten up, you two,” Jazzy told them. “Relax. I’m just having some fun with y’all.”

“I’m afraid I don’t see the humor in this situation,” Reve said.

“Look, I don’t know why you two decided instantly that you can’t stand each other, but we need to do something to change this. Right now. If Reve is my sister, I can’t have one of my oldest and dearest friends and my newly found twin hating each other.”

“I haven’t got time for this,” Jacob said and tried to move past Jazzy.

She stood stubbornly in his way. “Agree to have lunch with us and I’ll—”

“I have other plans for lunch,” he said.

“Then supper tonight—you two with Caleb and me.”

“Don’t do this,” Jacob told her, a strained expression on his face.

“I’m not available for dinner,” Reve said.

Jazzy heaved a deep sigh. “Okay, I give up. For now. But don’t think this is the end of it.” She moved aside and allowed Jacob to pass.

Once they were alone, Reve snapped around and glared at Jazzy. “I do not—under any circumstances—wish to be engaged socially with Sheriff Butler. I’d appreciate it if you’d give up any plans you have that involve my becoming better acquainted with that man.”

Jazzy let out a long, low whistle. “He really punched all your buttons, didn’t he?”

“All the wrong buttons.”

Jazzy shook her head. “I just can’t figure it out. I’ve never seen Jacob have a negative effect on a woman before. Usually, a woman takes one look at him and swoons at his feet. After all, honey, let’s face it—the man is to die for.”

“I’m afraid I fail to see whatever it is that makes him so irresistible.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Let’s end this ridiculous conversation.” Reve started walking toward her Jaguar in the side parking lot next to the clinic. “I can drop you back by Jasmine’s, if you’d like. I made plans for an early check-in at my cabin. I’d like to get settled and freshen up before lunch.”

“I’ll walk,” Jazzy said. “It’s only a few blocks.”

“Very well. What time shall I meet you for lunch?”

“How about one o’clock?”

Reve nodded agreement.

Jazzy didn’t press the matter—getting Reve and Jacob together—but she had no intention of letting it drop. She suspected that although Reve disliked Jacob and probably found him intimidating, she wasn’t as immune to his obvious masculine charms as she professed to be. Maybe Reve just didn’t know how to deal with unwanted sexual attraction. And unless she missed her guess, that was what was going on between Jacob and Reve.

Jazzy couldn’t contain her laughter, amused at the thought of sexual sparks igniting between Jacob and Reve. Talk about a mismatched couple.

“Dare I ask what you find so amusing?” Reve asked.

“Nothing really. I was just thinking how you stick out like a sore thumb around here. Unless you hobnob with the Uptons or the MacKinnons, all you’re going to run across around here are just common folks. Hill people. Rednecks. And a few breeds, like Jacob and Genny.”

“I suspected the sheriff was part Native American. Doesn’t he mind being referred to as a breed?”

“He and Genny are both a quarter Cherokee and damn proud of it. And I’m practically family to them, so my referring to them that way is the same as the two of them calling themselves breeds.”

“At least they know their heritage. Whereas you and I . . .” Reve let the sentence trail off into silence.

“You really are worried about it, aren’t you? Poor Reve. What if you find out I’m your twin and that our parents were really white trash? Me, I’ve got nothing to lose. I’ve always been white trash. But you—”

“I am a Sorrell, regardless of my genetic heritage.”

“Yeah, I guess you are, aren’t you?”

Jazzy turned and walked away, not glancing back, but sensing that Reve was watching her. She wanted to be friends with this woman, to find some common bond between them other than the likelihood they were sisters. But the chances of that happening appeared to fall into the snowball’s chance in hell category.

Becky Olmstead had graduated from high school in the spring and was working as a gofer at MacKinnon Media headquarters to earn enough money to pay for college. At least, that was what she’d told her mother. But she had no intention of going to college, and her job here was just a smoke screen to keep her old lady off her back. Combining what she earned here with what she picked up at night on her other job, she should be able to leave Cherokee Pointe before New Year’s and begin a new life in Nashville. More than anything, she wanted to get away from home—from her nagging mother and her mean, drunken stepfather. If anyone had told her two years ago that she would have gone from being a teenager who just liked to have fun, to one of half a dozen hookers in Cherokee Pointe, she wouldn’t have believed it. But when, at sixteen, she’d been offered fifty bucks to go down on a guy, she hadn’t been able to refuse such easy money.

If folks knew the men she’d screwed during the past couple of years, they’d be surprised. Hell, they’d be shocked. Her first john, the one who’d given her fifty bucks to give him a blow job, was old enough to be her grandfather and was a prominent citizen. He still came to her occasionally, but not so often lately. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t serviced him in nearly two months. But he wasn’t the only big spender. Not by a long shot. Actually, if she wasn’t just a little bit afraid of getting into some bad trouble, she’d try blackmail. She sure could ruin a few lives if she named names.

Nah, better not go that route, she told herself. She’d been saving steadily for her big escape, and pretty soon she’d have a sizable nest egg, enough to live on until she could hook up with the right people in Music City. Who knew, could be she’d wind up married to some famous country singer and get to live in one of those fancy mansions that would put the Upton house and the MacKinnon house to shame.

“Becky! Go over to Jasmine’s and pick up Mr. MacKinnon’s lunch, right now!” Glenda Motte, Brian MacKinnon’s secretary, called out to her.

“Right away, Ms. Motte.”

Becky hurried to the employee’s lounge, where she’d left her jacket that morning, and glanced at the wall clock above the coffeemaker. She hoped the meal was ready when she got to Jasmine’s; otherwise, Mr. MacKinnon would take a strip off Ms. Motte’s hide. The man was a tyrant. She figured that nobody who worked for him really liked him. But who had the balls to tell the man to go to hell? He ruled over MacKinnon Media like a damned dictator, and if anybody crossed him, he saw to it that they lost their job. Since starting work here in June, she’d had to run errands throughout the complex that housed the Cherokee Pointe Herald as well as WMMK TV and radio stations, so she’d heard plenty of grumbling about the big boss.

“He’s not half the man his father is.”

“Farlan MacKinnon is one of the best men I know. A fair and honest man. Brian runs a poor second best to his father.”

“Brian is such a shithead. Too bad he’s not more like the old man. Or even more like that loony uncle of his. At least Wallace MacKinnon is likable.”

Becky buttoned up her jacket as she rode the elevator from the fifth floor to the first. The MacKinnon Building was the tallest building in town, with the boss’s office taking up a large section of the fifth floor. When she went outside, the autumn sun warmed her despite the chilly north wind stirring up leaves from the sidewalk and scattering debris. She quickened her pace as she sauntered up the street.

He watched Becky Olmstead as she strode up the street, her slender hips swaying seductively in her skin-tight jeans. The girl was a tramp. None of her fellow employees at MacKinnon Media knew what she did to earn extra money at night. But he knew. He knew all about her. For months now, he’d made a point of learning everything he could about Becky without drawing any attention to himself.

He didn’t intend to do anything about his attraction to her, even though he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about her, from watching her. Of course, the first thing he’d noticed about her had been her red hair. It wasn’t quite the same shade as Dinah’s, but then again, she didn’t always choose to come back as a redhead. However, when she came back as a blonde or a brunette, he always asked her to dye her hair. And she always obliged.

If Becky didn’t live here in Cherokee County, he would approach her, get to know her and see if there was a pos sibility that Dinah might come back through her this time. Dinah always came to him in the bodies of women who reminded him of her, women who attracted him physically. But whenever he was drawn to a hometown woman, he never acted on that attraction. He didn’t want to run the risk of becoming involved with someone this close to home. Over the years, he’d always found Dinah outside Cherokee County. In Knoxville. In Sevierville. In Johnson City. In Kingsport. In Oak Ridge. Even down in Cleveland and Chattanooga. And once as far east as Asheville, North Carolina.