The Fifth Victim. BEVERLY BARTON

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СКАЧАТЬ weatherman on TV said sleet and rain,” Ludie Smith corrected. “Who should I listen to—your old bones or an educated man who knows all about cumulus clouds and dew points and heat indexes?”

      “I swear, Ludie, ever since you took that adult education class at the junior college last fall, you done gone and got all uppity on me.”

      “Me uppity?” With large, expressive black eyes, Ludie glared at Sally. “You’re the one who’s been acting like rich folks ever since Jazzy had that white siding put on the outside of this shack of yours.”

      “Are you calling my house a shack? What do you call that place of yours—a palace?”

      “I call it a cottage,” Ludie replied. “That’s what I call it. A cottage. Like one of them pretty little places you see on calendars and in the movies about the English countryside before World War Two.”

      “Now what would an old Cherokee squaw from the hills of Tennessee know about the English countryside? Besides, your house ain’t no cottage. It’s a four-room, wooden sharecropper’s shack, the same as mine.”

      “Well, Miss Know-It-All, I know as much about the English countryside as you do. And who are you? Just a crazy old white heifer from the Tennessee hills.”

      Jazzy Talbot stood in the doorway that separated her aunt Sally’s kitchen from the living room where Sally and her best friend Ludie stood arguing together as they’d done as far back as Jazzy could remember. Any outsiders listening to the two old women would swear they hated each other, when in actuality the exact opposite was true. Ludie and Sally had been friends all their lives, but neither would ever admit how much they truly loved each other. Their favorite form of entertainment seemed to be debating a wide variety of subjects—everything from the weather to the proper way to cook collard greens.

      Jazzy cleared her throat. Both women hushed immediately and turned to face her. Rawboned, with big hands and feet, Sally stood nearly six feet tall, possessed a shock of short white hair and ice blue eyes. With black eyes and steel gray hair, Ludie, on the other hand, was barely five feet tall and round as a butterball. Jazzy had no idea exactly how old either woman was, but her best guess would be that her aunt and Ludie had both passed their seventieth birthday.

      “How long you been here?” Sally asked, a broad smile on her face.

      “Just got here. Didn’t you hear the Jeep?”

      “She was too busy caterwauling,” Ludie said. “She thinks it’s gonna snow, but the weatherman said plainly that—”

      “It’s going to sleet and ice over first, then snow,” Jazzy said.

      Both women stared at her with round eyes and wrinkled brows.

      “How do you—you’ve seen Genny today, haven’t you?” Sally lifted another piece of wood, then stuffed it into the stove. After shutting the door and trapping the fire inside, she wiped her hands off on her faded jeans.

      “Did Genny say it’s going to snow?” Ludie asked.

      Jazzy nodded. “I heard her tell Jacob that they’d better go over the crime scene with a fine-tooth comb now because of the bad weather we’ll get tonight. She thinks it’ll be really rough.”

      “Then we’d better get ready for it,” Sally said. “That gal ain’t never wrong about the weather. She’s just like her granny. Melva Mae had the sight, too.”

      “Ain’t it awful about that poor little Susie Richards.” Ludie shook her head. “What kind of person would do such a thing to anybody, least of all a seventeen-year-old girl?”

      “Why were you up at Genny’s?” Sally asked. “Did she have another spell?”

      Jazzy nodded. “She saw the Richards girl being killed. But that information is not to be broadcast by either of you.”

      Ludie keened. “Lord have mercy!”

      “She called Jacob and told him where he could find Susie’s body. Now, he’s got a murder case to solve and a county filled with scared people.”

      “Jacob ain’t got the manpower or the up-to-date equipment to handle a crime scene investigation.” Sally headed toward the kitchen. “You staying for supper, gal, or you heading back to your place before the weather turns bad on us?”

      “Guess I’ll head home,” Jazzy replied. “I just stopped by to see if you needed anything. With you out here so far away from town, you might not be able to make it in to Cherokee Pointe for several days if there’s ice under the snow.”

      “Got all I need.” Sally called from the kitchen. “Want a cup of coffee before you leave?”

      “Coffee and a piece of that custard pie I saw on the counter.” Jazzy winked at Ludie, knowing full well that Ludie had baked the pie and brought it over. Sally wasn’t much of a cook—never had been. If it hadn’t been for Ludie’s good cooking, Jazzy figured she’d have grown up on nothing but cornbread, fried potatoes, and whatever greens were in season. Ludie had a real talent for cooking and worked at Jazzy’s restaurant in town. Last year, she’d cut back from full-time to only a few days a week.

      When Jazzy and Ludie joined Sally in the kitchen, Sally had already sliced the pie and set three plates and forks on the table. She lifted an old metal coffeepot from the stove and poured steaming black coffee into mismatched earthenware mugs.

      As the three sat around the yellow oilcloth-topped table, Sally and Ludie got awfully quiet. Jazzy had an uneasy feeling that there was something wrong. Something other than the fact that there had been a murder in Cherokee County yesterday.

      “Business good?” Sally asked.

      “As good as it usually is in January,” Jazzy replied. “We’ve got a handful of tourists staying in the cabins and a few more stopping by the restaurant on their way to Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg.”

      “It’ll pick up in the spring,” Ludie said. “Always does.”

      “I’m ready for spring, myself.” Sally sipped on her coffee.

      “Me too.” Ludie sighed. “Nothing like spring birds chirping and buttercups and tulips blooming.”

      Jazzy caught her aunt and Ludie exchanging peculiar glances. “All right, what’s going on?”

      “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sally stared up at the bead-board ceiling.

      “Might as well tell her,” Ludie said. “I’m surprised she hasn’t already heard.”

      “Heard what?” A tight knot formed in the pit of Jazzy’s stomach.

      “Just ’cause he’s back don’t mean you gotta have anything to do with him.” Sally skewered Jazzy with a warning glare. “If he comes sniffing around, send him packing. That’s what you’ll do if you’re smart. He ain’t no good. Never was.”

      “Who are you talking about—my God! You don’t mean that—”

      “Heard it in town this morning, before the news about the Richards gal got out,” Ludie said. “Jamie Upton showed up at the farm two СКАЧАТЬ