If Looks Could Kill. BEVERLY BARTON

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ 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?”

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ