The Fifth Victim. BEVERLY BARTON
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But she doubted Jamie had ever loved anyone in his entire life—anyone other than himself, that is.
When Cindy reached the huge front parlor, she paused, licked her lips, smoothed her hands down either side of her clinging silk dress, and squared her shoulders. Back into the fray, she thought. Forcing a false smile, she entered the room where the Uptons were entertaining a variety of local society. Although the dinner party had been planned weeks ago, before Jamie’s return, the event had turned into a welcome home for the Uptons’ only grandchild. Miss Reba had quickly added a dozen more to the guest list, including Jerry Lee and Cindy, and changed the sit-down dinner into a buffet.
When she entered the room, Jerry Lee didn’t even notice her; he was deep in conversation with Big Jim Upton, the patriarch of the Upton family. Jerry Lee’s daddy had been friends with Big Jim, who had used his influence and wealth to help get Jerry Lee elected mayor of Cherokee Pointe for two terms, the second of which had just begun.
Big Jim stood six-four and probably tipped the scales at close to three hundred pounds. He possessed a shock of thick white hair and sported a dapper white mustache. The Upton family owned Upton Farms, which still provided dairy products to most of northeastern Tennessee. They were semi-old money. Four generations of wealth. And each Upton son had married class, making each successive generation a bit more refined than the previous one. But something had gone wrong with the only heir. Jamie Upton might be well-bred, but he was a worthless, heartless son of a bitch.
“Cindy, there you are,” Reba Upton called. “Come here, dear, and meet the Stowes.”
Cindy forced a smile and went directly toward Miss Reba, Big Jim’s petite blond wife. Her unlined face and sleek, slender body belied the fact that she was seventy years old. A visit to a skilled surgeon every six years or so kept the old biddy’s face as smooth as a baby’s butt, and daily workouts with her own personal trainer kept her body in shape.
Reba laced her arm through Cindy’s, her mauve lips spread wide in a hostess smile. “Cindy, this is Reverend and Mrs. Stowe. They’re new in Cherokee Pointe. The reverend has been assigned to the Congregational Church.” Reba patted Cindy’s hand. “And this dear girl is our mayor’s wife, Cindy Todd.”
The minister, a tall, slender man with thinning brown hair and washed-out blue eyes nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Todd. It would be an honor to have you and the mayor attend services with us this Sunday.”
Mrs. Stowe, though dressed conservatively in a simple beige linen dress, eluded an aura of sexiness—maybe it was the long, straight, platinum blond hair or the huge brown eyes framed by thick black lashes. She stood at her husband’s side, quiet and obedient, a bored expression on her face.
Cindy turned her attention to Mr. Stowe. “We certainly appreciate the invitation, but Jerry Lee and I are staunch Baptists.”
Before the minister could reply, Reba tugged on Cindy’s arm and said to the Stowes, “Y’all will excuse us, won’t you? I see Dr. and Mrs. MacNair over there all alone. I’ll just take Cindy over to meet them. Do mix and mingle. Enjoy yourselves. So glad y’all could come tonight.”
Reba rushed Cindy away, and when they were out of earshot of the Stowes, she said, “They’re the oddest people, don’t you think? She’s years younger than he is. I’d say no more than thirty, if that. And she acts as if she’s deaf and dumb. The woman hasn’t said a word since they arrived.”
“Maybe she’s shy,” Cindy said.
“Shy? I doubt it.”
Reba led Cindy toward a young couple standing off by themselves in the crowded room. The man had a stocky build, ruddy complexion, and a receding hairline, although he was probably in his early thirties. His wife was as tall as he, around five-nine, and was as willowy thin as he was stout. Although not really pretty, the strawberry blonde had a pleasant face. Cindy liked her instantly.
“Hello, there,” Reba called to the secluded twosome. Reaching them, she said to Cindy, “You must meet these lovely people. This is Dr. Galvin MacNair and Mrs. MacNair.” Reba stared at the wife. “What is your given name, dear?”
“Nina,” the young woman replied, a hint of a smile on her lips.
“Galvin has taken over Dr. Webster’s practice at the clinic,” Reba said. “He’s fresh from his residency in—where was it now? What city?”
“Bowling Green,” Galvin replied.
Cindy chatted with the MacNairs for several minutes after Reba moved on to charm more of her guests. She liked the young couple, the wife more than the husband, who seemed oddly quiet. She even made a date with Nina MacNair for lunch at the Country Club on Thursday.
Checking her watch, Cindy noted that it was nearly nine. She’d promised Dillon she would find a way to meet him tonight, even if only for an hour. When she’d made that promise she thought she would be able to fake a headache and stay home from the party, but Jerry Lee had seen through her ploy immediately.
“Get yourself dressed and be ready to go to the Uptons in twenty minutes,” Jerry Lee had told her, his round face red with rage. “If you aren’t ready by then, I’ll dress you myself—after I prove to you once again who’s the boss around here.”
Jerry Lee could be violent if pushed, and on several occasions he’d gotten rough with her. He’d never broken any of her bones, but he’d left her bruised and sore at least half a dozen times in the past four years. She thought about leaving him, dreamed of some other man whisking her away, but no one had come along to rescue her. Not until now. Not until Dillon. They’d been sleeping together for a month, ever since she’d joined the little theater group. He had moved to Cherokee Pointe late last summer after being hired by the city to oversee the local theater that produced plays to draw in the tourist trade.
What would Jerry Lee do if she went to him now and told him she had a splitting headache and needed to go home? He wouldn’t want to leave the party. Whenever either the Uptons or MacKinnons threw a party, Jerry Lee Todd was one of the first to arrive and the last to leave. Her dear husband knew how to suck up better than anyone she’d ever known. He was a brownnoser par excellence.
As she strolled out into the foyer, seeking relief from the incessant chatter that had reached a deafening roar in the parlor, Cindy noticed Dr. MacNair and his wife accepting their coats from the maid. They were leaving early.
Before she realized what she was doing, Cindy rushed toward Nina MacNair. “Would y’all mind giving me a lift into town? I have a dreadful headache and I don’t want to bother Jerry Lee. He loves these parties so.”
“Yes, certainly,” Nina reached out and patted Cindy’s arm. “We’d be happy to drop you off at your house. And if you’d like, Galvin can give you something for your headache.”
“Oh no, really, that won’t be necessary. I have something at home I can take.” She turned to the maid. “Would you get my coat, please? And once I’m gone, tell Mr. Todd that I wasn’t feeling well and caught a ride home with Dr. and Mrs. MacNair.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the maid said and hurried to get Cindy’s coat.
Half an hour later, Cindy stood outside Dillon’s apartment. She’d walked there in the freezing rain, the three blocks from her house on Chestnut Street to the two-story apartment building on Baker’s Lane. Drenched to the skin and out of breath from running up the stairs to the second floor, she punched the doorbell repeatedly. She had an hour at most. An hour to find comfort and caring before she’d have to rush home and feign sleep when Jerry Lee returned from the Uptons. With luck the party would go on until at least eleven, even if this was a Monday night.
Dillon threw open the door and surveyed her from head to toe. “My God, sugar, come on in and get out of those wet clothes.”
Dillon wasn’t a handsome man, but there was an inexplicable sexiness about him. He stood about six-one. Curly dark hair tumbled about his broad shoulders. And when he did nothing more than grin at her, her pussy moistened.
Smiling,