Читать книгу If Looks Could Kill - BEVERLY BARTON, Beverly Barton - Страница 12

Chapter 6

He stood alone in the shadows of autumn twilight, the sky overcast with gold, and thought about Dinah. In the beginning, after she’d gone away that first time, it had been years before she came back to him. Years he’d been able to live in relative peace. And then she had reappeared un expectedly, still as beautiful and alluring as ever. He had stupidly thought they had been given a second chance to be together and that this time she would really love him. She had pretended not to know him, but he’d understood that she was simply playing a game. Being the whore she was, she’d made him pay her for her favors. He’d paid her handsomely those first few times, but unfortunately found the sex less than satisfactory. That was when he came to understand what he had to do. Only by repeating the past could he achieve the fulfillment he craved, the pleasure only Dinah could give him. So they had played out the same scenario that time and then again and again with every return visit, both of them acting out their parts from memory.

After half a dozen recurrences, he had considered keeping a diary, marking down the dates and places But he’d thought better of the idea, and the only record he kept was in his head. If anyone had ever accidently come across such a diary, they might not have understood. The police wouldn’t understand. They would think he had killed numerous women—over twenty in all—when he’d actually killed only one woman. Dinah. The authorities wouldn’t care that he’d been justified in killing her. They wouldn’t believe that it really hadn’t been murder. No one would understand that he had to keep killing her over and over again because she wouldn’t stay dead.

For the past few hours, he had been unable to get Becky Olmstead out of his mind, despite his best efforts to forget her. He always went with his heart in these matters, because his heart always knew when the woman he desired was Dinah. But allowing his mind to rule his emotions when it came to protecting himself was what had kept him safe all these years. No one had ever connected him with any of the bodies found in the river. Thankfully, Dinah had never come back to him in Cherokee Pointe, and he’d never sought her out in his home area. But he feared that things had changed, that Dinah had chosen to tempt him beyond all reason in his own backyard. He had hoped Becky wouldn’t turn out to be Dinah, but he was beginning to believe she was. Dared he risk going to her and confronting her?

What choice did he have? Once Dinah came back to him, she wouldn’t leave him alone. What he didn’t understand was why she’d returned so quickly, only a matter of days since they’d last been together.

Soon—very soon—he would have to seek Becky out. Once he’d fucked her, he’d know for sure whether or not she was Dinah.

Reba Upton parked her black Mercedes at the back of the mountaintop chalet so that anyone who happened to drive past wouldn’t see it. As nervous butterflies jittered in her stomach, she flipped down the sun visor and inspected her face in the mirror. She had taken special care with her hair and makeup and had worn her pink cashmere sweater set with a pair of winter white slacks. He’d told her she looked especially lovely in pink. She’d been wearing a pink silk bed jacket the first time he’d visited her in the hospital while she was recovering from her heart attack this past spring. That visit had been the beginning for them. Odd that she had known him for years, had been friends of a sort with his late wife, and yet she’d never thought of him as more than an acquaintance. In all the years Jim and she had been married, she hadn’t looked at another man, despite knowing Jim cheated on her frequently. She’d been so in love with her husband, so totally, devotedly in love.

Reba opened the door and got out of the car, then glanced at her wristwatch. She was early. But once Jim had left the house, supposedly to go to the club to have dinner with some of his political cronies, she’d been so eager that she’d dressed and left less than half an hour after he had. She suspected he wasn’t going to the country club. In fact, she was ninety-nine percent sure he was driving straight to Erin Mercer’s cabin, straight into the arms of his latest mistress.

But Erin wasn’t just another in a long line of women her husband had bedded. No, she was different and the way Jim felt about her wasn’t just lust. He was in love with this woman. He loved Erin as he had never loved her, his wife of over fifty years. She suspected that Erin was the first and only woman he’d truly loved since he’d been a very young man and mad about Melva Mae. She supposed that was why, when Dodd Keefer had begun showing an interest in her, she hadn’t rejected his advances. Oh, there had been nothing more than friendship between them at first, all during the spring and summer. He had come to the house several times on this or that pretense, and she’d shown up in various places she’d known he would be. After losing her grandson Jamie, she had desperately needed comfort. Although Jim and she had tried to offer each other comfort, they had both needed more. Jim had soon turned back to Erin, and once again she’d been alone. So alone. Then right after Labor Day, Dodd had made a confession that prompted her to search her heart.

“I find that I’m falling in love with you, Reba,” he’d said.

She’d stared at him, surprised by his admission, but strangely, giddily happy. “I’m flattered, Dodd, really I am,” she’d told him. “But surely you’ve mistaken a deep liking for love. After all, I’m several years older than you and I—I am a married woman. Besides, a man like you could have his pick of women.”

“I’ve picked you.” He had caressed her face tenderly. “I’ve admired you from afar for many years and when you almost died, I promised myself that I would go to you and—”

“Don’t say anything else. Please.”

She had tried to stay away from him, tried to concentrate on the joy of having a new grandson in her life, tried to remain faithful to her unfaithful husband. During the past six weeks, whenever Dodd had called her, she’d put him off, telling him she wasn’t ready for an affair. But a few days ago, she realized that her feelings for Dodd Keefer were stronger than her will to resist infidelity. She wasn’t quite sure when it had happened or how, but she had fallen out of love with Jim and in love with Dodd.

Reba owned a rustic chateau high in the mountains. This had been a place where her son, Jim, Jr., and his young friends used to come to let off steam, and then later on he and his wife had used it for weekend getaways. After their deaths, Reba had thought about selling it, but instead she’d handed it over to a Realtor to lease as a rental property. Then this past summer, when she’d been recuperating, she’d hired a contractor to update and remodel the A-frame mountain house. They had finished up a few days ago, so the place hadn’t been rented again.

After fishing the key from her purse, Reba climbed the wooden steps to the front entrance, unlocked the door, opened it and walked into the two-story great room. A shiver of uncertainty mixed with a large dose of anticipation rippled up her spine. Could she do this? Could she really follow through with her plans for an intimate tryst with Dodd? She hadn’t been with a man in years. Knowing about all of Jim’s affairs, she had finally reached a point where she couldn’t bear for him to touch her and had requested they have separate bed-rooms. What if when Dodd made love to her, she couldn’t respond? What if she couldn’t feel anything sexual? After all, she was past seventy and those fiery hormones of youth had long ago died down. What she didn’t know was if her sexual desire was now cold ashes or simply dying embers waiting to be stoked back to life.

The room was cold. She felt the chill even through her white wool coat. Originally there had been a wood-burning fireplace in the chateau, but ten years ago, on her Realtor’s advice, she’d had it converted to propane gas. A fire would add a touch of romance. If she’d had more time to prepare, she’d have brought candles and champagne. Maybe next time.

If there was a next time.

Nervously, Reba shed her coat, tossed it onto a plaid armchair and quickly reset the thermostat on the heating unit and turned on the gas logs in the fireplace. Glancing around, she decided that if she was going to spend any time here in the future, she needed to make some changes. The decor was much too rustic country to suit her tastes, but tourists who rented the cabins and chateaus in the mountains often preferred this old-timey look—at least that’s what the Knoxville decorator she’d hired had told her.

Going through the selection of CDs stacked beside the entertainment center, she found that it was comprised of mostly older country hits. She didn’t care much for country music and doubted seriously if Dodd did. As she continued perusing the stack, her gaze stopped on one particular CD that stood out from the rest. The Romantic Piano. She removed it from the stack, opened it and inserted it in the player. When she heard the soft, sweet strains of Schuman’s “Dreaming,” she sighed.

Only moments after she relaxed on the sofa, she heard a car outside. Her heartbeat accelerated. Forcing herself not to jump up and run to the door, she rose from the sofa and walked slowly toward the entrance. By the time she reached the door, she heard footsteps on the porch. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

Dodd Keefer was an elegantly handsome man, his grayish- brown hair neatly styled, his attire a sports coat, dress slacks and lightweight turtleneck sweater. He paused the moment he saw her and smiled. His sparkling blue eyes devoured her. A tingle of some sort fluttered in her belly. Suddenly she felt like a young girl meeting secretly with her first beau.

He held up a bottle of wine. “I brought champagne. Dom Perignon. It’s been chilled, but we might want to—”

Reba boldly grasped his free hand and tugged, urging him toward her. Lowering his hand holding the bottle to his side, he stepped over the threshold and eased the door closed behind him. Acting purely on instinct, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him fully on the mouth. He responded instantly, returning the kiss with gentle force. A feeling of pure euphoria filled her body, unlike anything she’d experienced in ages.

Dodd ended the kiss somewhat reluctantly. Reba gazed up at him. He smiled.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a very long time,” she admitted, then took a step back, putting some space between them.

“So have I.” He studied her for a moment. “This isn’t something we have to rush. I’ll be perfectly content this evening to sit here in front of the fire with you and drink champagne, listen to music and talk.”

She nodded. “I’d like that very much.” He’s a rare man, she thought, a man who understood that she wasn’t quite ready to make that big step into a full-fledged affair.

“And perhaps you’ll allow me to kiss you again.”

“I’ll be disappointed if you don’t kiss me. Several more times.”

Reve found herself at Genny Sloan’s kitchen sink removing the shells from a dozen boiled eggs. If her Chattanooga friends could see her now, they’d be shocked. Reve Sorrell doing a menial task! She had rolled up the sleeves of her silk blouse and donned a white apron her hostess had provided, then had listened carefully as Genny explained how to prepare deviled eggs. It had seemed simple enough, but she was having more than a little difficulty. Some of the eggs shed their shells without a problem, but some shells stuck as if they were glued on, and the only way to remove them was to tear the egg apart.

“I’m afraid I’m not very good at this.” Holding one of the tattered eggs in her hand, Reve glanced across the kitchen to Genny, who was lifting pieces of fried chicken from the heavy iron skillet filled with hot grease.

“Oh, you’re doing fine,” Genny told her. “The whites that mess up, just save for Drudwyn. That dog loves eggs. And put the yolks with the other ones. I always like to have more yolks than whites. It makes for overflowing deviled eggs.”

Reve forced a smile. She felt as out of place here in this old mountain farmhouse helping prepare dinner as Genny and Jazzy would probably feel at one of her elaborate dinner parties. And it’s not dinner here in Cherokee County, she reminded herself. These people call the evening meal supper.

These people? Watch out, Reve, your snobbery is showing again. These people are two very kind women who have done their best to make you feel as if you fit in. Since that crazy “reading” Genny had done a couple of hours ago, both Genny and Jazzy had bent over backward to soothe Reve’s ragged nerves. Considering how she’d reacted to Genny’s dire prediction that both she and Jazzy were in grave danger, Reve supposed she was lucky they hadn’t asked her to leave and never come back. She had jumped up from her chair in the corner of the darkened bedroom and screamed for them to stop.

“This is total insanity and I want no part of it!” After yelling this, she had run from the room, leaving Jazzy to deal with Genny, who had either fainted or had done a great job of acting as if she had. As skeptical as Reve was about Genny’s sixth-sense abilities, she didn’t think the woman was a fake. Maybe sometime in Genny’s childhood, her crazy old witch woman grandmother had convinced her she was psychic. It seemed obvious that Genny truly believed she was gifted.

Later on, the two women had found her outside on the porch. Neither mentioned the “reading” or Reve’s outburst. Instead, Genny suggested she give Reve a tour of her greenhouses, which turned out to be a rather interesting excursion. It seemed that Genny owned a successful local nursery and specialized in herbs she also sold by mail order.

As soon as Jazzy removed a skillet of cornbread from the oven and turned it out onto a brown earthenware plate, she came over and eased the hot skillet down into the soapy water on the left side of the double sink. The minute the skillet hit the water, it emitted a sizzling sound.

“Need some help?” Jazzy asked Reve.

“Yes, I’m afraid I do.”

“Looks like you’ve managed to keep about six of the whites intact.” Jazzy lifted a tray from the counter and set it down to Reve’s right. “Clean your hands and then arrange the whites on the tray in a circle. While you do that, I’ll prepare the yolks.”

Reve sighed with relief. “Thanks.”

Jazzy patted her on the back. “It’s okay. Really. You’re just new to this kind of stuff. Any time I try something new, I feel as if I’m all thumbs.”

Before Jazzy could take over, a phone rang. Reve knew instantly from the musical ring that it wasn’t her cell phone or Genny’s residential line.

“That’s mine.” Jazzy wiped her hands on her apron, then grabbed her purse from the back of the kitchen chair and retrieved her cell phone. “Hello.” Jazzy’s eyes widened in surprise. “I’m doing just fine, Miss Reba. How are you?”

Genny stopped dead still and looked inquiringly at Jazzy, who shrugged and grinned. Genny eased up beside Reve and whispered, “That’s Caleb’s grandmother. She’s always hated Jazzy. I can’t imagine why she’s calling her.”

“Lunch tomorrow?” Jazzy asked. “I—yes, I suppose so. Hold on just a sec, will you?” Jazzy looked at Reve. “Miss Reba has invited us to Sunday dinner. What do you say? Want to go?”

Not really, Reve thought, but when she noted the hopeful expression on Jazzy’s face, she replied, “Yes, certainly, if you’d like to go.”

“Miss Reba, we’ll be there.” Jazzy sucked in a deep breath and slowly released it. “And thank you.”

The minute she hit the off button on her phone, Jazzy whirled around, grabbed Reve and hugged her. Reve stiffened. She was unaccustomed to physical displays of emotion. Her parents had been kind and caring, but neither of them had been the type to shower hugs and kisses on anyone, not even their only child.

“Hot damn!” Jazzy released Reve and danced jubilantly around the room. “I guess hell has done froze over, gals. Miss Reba not only was civil to me, she honest-to-God invited me to Sunday dinner.”

The sound of a dog’s friendly barks alerted them that someone was outside several minutes before they heard tromping on the back porch. The kitchen door swung open, and a huge wolf-looking dog came barreling in, followed by Caleb McCord and Dallas Sloan. The dog came straight to Reve and sniffed her. Oddly enough, she wasn’t afraid of him, even though she’d never owned a pet. When he finished sniffing, the dog lifted his head and stared at her with golden eyes.

“I believe Drudwyn likes you,” Genny said. “You should take that as a compliment. He’s usually a very good judge of character.”

Chief Sloan slid his arm around his wife’s waist, leaned down and kissed her on the mouth. Reve glanced away, somehow feeling as if she was a voyeur. Her line of vision just happened to turn to Jazzy, who was in the middle of an equally loving exchange with Caleb. Reve’s cheeks burned with an embarrassing blush.

Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself, you have nothing to be embarrassed about and you know it. If people chose to make spectacles of themselves, she was hardly to blame. Not once had she ever seen her parents kiss each other. They considered such public displays of affection vulgar and low class.

With shaky hands, Reve placed the halved boiled egg whites in a circle on the plate, deliberately avoiding making eye contact with anyone else in the room.

“You’ll never guess in a million years who called and invited Reve and me to dinner tomorrow,” Jazzy said.

“My grandmother,” Caleb responded.

“You did it, didn’t you? Somehow you twisted her arm into—”

“Didn’t do any arm-twisting,” Caleb said. “I simply told Miss Reba that I loved you and intended to marry you and it would please me greatly if you two could get along.”

“You actually said that to her?”

“Sure did. And I mentioned that I’d hate to think she’d force me to choose between the woman I loved and my grandmother because I’d choose the woman I loved.”

Reve glanced up just in time to see Jazzy throw her arms around Caleb’s neck and kiss him again.

“You’re the most wonderful man in the world,” Jazzy told him.

“Then why don’t you accept my proposal? Say you’ll marry me.”

Jazzy pulled away from him, but held on to both of his hands. With tears misting her eyes, she looked right at him and said, “I’ll marry you.”

“Glory hallelujah.” Genny clasped her hands together in a prayer-like gesture.

Reve grew more uncomfortable with each passing minute. She should never have agreed to come here with Jazzy today. It had been a mistake from the very beginning. These people were little more than strangers to her, and yet here she was, not only helping prepare a meal they would soon share, but being privy to a marriage proposal and acceptance.

These two couples were close friends. She was an outsider who was unaccustomed to feeling out of place. Even if she and Jazzy were twin sisters, she doubted she’d ever be able to fit into Jazzy’s world. No more than Jazzy could fit into hers.

While the foursome were sharing this happy moment, Reve eased toward the back door. She could hardly escape and go back into town to her rental cabin, considering she’d ridden out here with Jazzy. Besides, none of them would understand why she felt so uncomfortable around them. But she needed a few moments alone, to compose her thoughts. She could step out on the back porch. Just for a couple of minutes. Several deep breaths of cool evening air might do her nerves a world of good. She seriously doubted anyone would miss her, at least not immediately.

Reaching the door without being noticed, Reve grasped the knob. Just as she opened the door and took her first step, she came face-to-throat with a wide-shouldered man wearing a brown suede jacket. Her heart all but stopped when she lifted her gaze and looked into the slanting green eyes of her worst nightmare—Sheriff Jacob Butler.