Fear Familiar Bundle (39 page)

In the kitchen he made tuna salad and brewed a pitcher of fresh raspberry tea. He was cracking the ice trays open when the telephone rang. A moment later, he heard Cassandra coming down the steps. She was in a hurry.

"That was Martin West," she said evenly, but the corners of her mouth were tight. "He wanted to know if you'd be a guest on his show Friday. Something about how natural products are grown and refined for wholesale purposes. He said you'd called in to his show today." The look she threw him was an accusation.

"I did, but I didn't leave this phone number," Adam said.

"Then how did he happen to call here?" Cassandra asked.

"Good question, but I don't have an answer. Would they record the number automatically?"

"He knew who I was when I answered," Cassandra said. "In fact, he asked if I would appear with you, along with a nutritionist and a representative from a holistic clinic. He said the show this afternoon was 'very, very hot.' He said the networks had called again and he wants to do a follow-up show."

"Good for Martin West," Adam said.

"Well, he can count me out. I don't do that sort of public thing, and I don't like people like West calling my home."

"I'm sorry, Cassandra. I had no idea. I felt that I needed to comment on a remark one of his expert guests made, so I called in. I didn't mean to start something that dragged you into it."

Cassandra pulled out a chair at the big kitchen table. "It's just that my privacy is so important to me, and I can't think of anything worse than spending time doing one of those horrible shows with Martin West." She took the glass of iced tea Adam offered.

"It does sound pretty dismal, but from my point of view, it could be worthwhile."

"You have a product to market. I don't," Cassandra reminded him.

"In a way you do. Your books. And you have a duty to educate the public. The things you know could make a difference in someone's life. Don't you think you should teach them better?"

Cassandra put the glass down on the table in a very gentle way, but the gaze she turned on Adam was blazing with anger. "No, I don't. I don't owe people anything except that I live my life in a way that does as little harm as possible."

"I didn't mean duty like— "

"Yes, you did," Cassandra interrupted. "It's just like this dream business. I have to stop the killer. The responsibility is mine, whether I like it or not. I should go on television and try to convince people how to eat and live a healthy life. That's what you're saying, that I ought to do it."

Adam rubbed his hand over his chin. "I guess that was what I was saying, and I owe you an apology."

"I write books about natural foods," Cassandra said, her voice calmer. "I put the information out there for the public to read and learn about. That's enough."

"It is," Adam agreed. "But sometimes the public needs a little jolt to make them interested. You're a beautiful woman. You have presence. I think you could shake up a few people via television. That's all I meant to say, even though I worded it poorly."

Cassandra sighed. "I'm sorry, too. I flew off the handle. It's just that I'm feeling a lot of pressure with this killer, and the idea that Martin West had my telephone number is unnerving."

"I'll call back and tell him no."

"Wait a minute." Cassandra stood up. "By all means, you go ahead and do the show. Tell people about your cereal. Just keep me out of it, okay?"

Adam shook his head. "I'm not interested in a television appearance." He took the two steps that closed the gap between them. "And I agree with you, at this particular time I think it might be best if you avoided all publicity."

"Because of my dreams?" Cassandra didn't follow this abrupt change.

"Mostly because Sheriff Beaker already views you with some lack of credibility. If he sees you on West's television show, he might think you're a publicity hound."

"True," Cassandra said, unable to stop the smile that changed her face from angry to amused. "I'm such a publicity seeker!"

"He doesn't know you," Adam reminded her. "Now that we've settled this, I'm going to call West and find out how he got this telephone number."

"Forget it, Adam. It doesn't really matter."

"I want to know for certain how he found out I was here."

Cassandra shrugged. "Ask him."

"I intend to."

"The salad looks great. I'll slice some tomatoes and how about some corn?"

"Great. I'll be back in a minute."

Adam was prepared for the high voltage of Martin West's determined personality. The guy's show was popular because he got the guests he wanted, and for some reason he wanted Adam.

"Since you're here in town, it would give the show some broader-based interest," West said. "Your company will get exposure in this part of the country you couldn't buy with advertising dollars."

"I realize all of that," Adam said, "but the answer is still no. My visit to Gatlinburg is personal, not business."

"You and Ms. McBeth going to collaborate on some product?" Martin had a nose for news.

"I wouldn't attempt to speak for Ms. McBeth," Adam said carefully, "and she doesn't care to speak at all right now."

"How'd you two meet?" Martin pushed.

Adam hesitated. The questions were harmless, but he didn't want to say anything that might jeopardize Cassandra. "I've admired her work for years," he said. "We're both sorry to decline, but we must. First, though, I'd like to ask you a question."

"Let's meet for a drink," Martin suggested. "I'm sure we can iron out this issue. If you don't come on the show Friday, I'm going to have a hard time filling that hole."

"Sorry, Mr. West," Adam said carefully. "I can't do it."

"Not even a drink?"

"My question was, how did you happen to call me at Cassandra's number?"

"Sheriff Beaker told me where to find you," Martin said quickly. "It's no secret that you're staying with the mountain witch." He laughed. "And it's no secret that several guys are envious of you."

Adam was astounded. He'd never lived in a small town where gossip was battered back and forth like a shuttlecock.

"Beaker told you this?"

"Sure, when he was on the show the other day. He said Ms. McBeth had been in his office to tell him about her dreams." West laughed. "It did make her seem a little…eccentric."

"Cassandra may be a lot of things, such as bright, intelligent, and sensitive, but she isn't eccentric." Adam clenched the telephone cord.

"No offense, I was quoting the sheriff. So, if you'll come on the food show, maybe we could get Cassandra, uh, Ms. McBeth, to do a show on her dreams. Now that would provoke some interest!"

"No." Adam's refusal was adamant and cold.

"Beaker said she thinks she witnesses the murders before they happen."

"Beaker has an extraordinarily big mouth."

"He's a lawman, and he's pushed to the brink right now. Two young women dead and the summer season hasn't really started yet. He's desperate."

"Desperate and not very discreet," Adam said. "I can tell you without consulting Ms. McBeth that there is absolutely no way she'd consent to that television show. Forget it."

"She might be able to save the lives of several young women— "

Adam cut him off abruptly. "It isn't Ms. McBeth's responsibility. She told Sheriff Beaker everything she knows. He chose to ignore it, and even worse, repeat it. That's as far as her responsibility goes, Mr. West."

"I didn't mean to imply that she should do anything else." Martin backpedaled. "You're sure you won't reconsider the food products show? It would make my Friday."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Adam said firmly. "Maybe another time."

He hung up the phone to find Cassandra standing in the doorway. Although she was leaning against the door frame, her posture was tense. "Beaker told him about the dreams, didn't he?"

"Yes," Adam said. "He wanted you for a show on that subject. I took the liberty of telling him no."

"Thanks." She focused her attention on a pattern in the rug.

"Are you okay?"

"Sure." She looked at him, her eyes clouded. "I'm like some freak in a carnival."

"That isn't true. West was genuinely interested."

"I've seen how interested the people around here are. Three years ago, when two little girls disappeared in the woods near here on a picnic, the locals came out and threw bricks through my windows. They found the children three hours later playing near a stream five miles from here. But the first assumption was that the mountain witch had taken them."

She took a deep breath and continued before Adam could say anything. "The year before that, someone chopped trees across my driveway, all the way down. The year before that, someone painted a hex sign on my front porch."

Adam was still. He'd never realized to what lengths the local people had gone to isolate and punish Cassandra. Her trip to the sheriff had taken tremendous courage. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight.

"The only thing that matters is that you know you're a good person," he whispered into her silky hair. "You and me. We both know it."

"I don't want to be blamed for the deaths of these women," Cassandra said. Her body grew still in his arms. "I'm afraid I'm going to."

"Beaker wouldn't be that irresponsible. He wouldn't let the things you've told him get out to the general public."

"He already has," Cassandra pointed out in that same dull voice. "The consequences are going to be even worse, this time."

"I shouldn't be doing this." Delight in her own mischief rippled through the young woman's voice.

From beneath the murky depths of the heavy water, Cassandra tried to reach out to the young woman. She had to get her attention, to warn her.

"It's only for an hour or so. You'll be back before anyone notices."

Cassandra strained to catch the inflection in the man's voice. He was smooth, practiced in his lines as his hands gripped the steering wheel of the car. She could feel the strength in his fingers. His nails were immaculate.

"They'll notice. But I did Sarah a favor the other night. She'll cover for me as long as she can."

"Sarah's the blonde, isn't she?"

"Right."

"She's older?"

"That's her. She's a great person. Really a good friend."

"Did you tell Sarah where you were going?" His voice teased.

"I said I was meeting a handsome prince," the girl answered.

Cassandra screamed in her mind.
No! No! No! Tell him you told someone. Tell him everyone knows.

"How flattering. Do you really think I'm handsome?"

The girl laughed softly. "That's really fishing, mister. You know women find you attractive."

"It's always nice to hear, though. Just like I'll bet all the men tell you you're beautiful. What hair! I love hair."

Cassandra could feel the silky strands as he ran his hand through the chestnut lengths. She knew the hair. She'd seen it before. Shoulder-length, straight and heavy.
Oh, please let me wake up! Please!

"Better keep both hands on the wheel," the girl said. She was handling the situation with ease. "Where are we going?"

"Eagle's Roost. It's the best view in the entire area. You'll love it."

"I have to be back at nine."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about your job."

Cassandra heard the sinister tones, the threat in his voice. The water held her prisoner, frozen in the thick depths. She could see the car, feel the evening wind against her face. She turned to look at the girl, and for the first time she saw her clearly. Nice profile, smooth skin. Her brown hair tangled behind her head as the wind blew. She wore a blue cotton blouse with a pointed collar and short sleeves. The glimmer of a necklace could be seen against the collar, and in her ears were small pearl studs. Very conservative attire.

"Where do you come from, Ellen?"

"Georgia. My folks have a small farm down below Atlanta. I got a scholarship to the University of Georgia for my senior year, but I have to earn some money this summer for rent and food."

"Here we go." He turned the car to the right down a tree-covered path.

Cassandra could see it, but it was like looking through an ancient telescope. There was the center of vision, which was fairly clear, but the edges were blurred and foggy.

"This is pretty isolated."

For the first time Cassandra could hear unease in the girl's voice.

"That's why it's such a special place. You wouldn't want me to take you somewhere that everyone went."

"I don't know."

The man knew she was getting nervous. His grip on the steering wheel tightened and he pressed the gas a fraction harder. The car moved under the canopy of trees, headlights cutting through the darkness to reveal a jungle of trunks and heavy foliage on either side.

Cassandra knew the car had taken one of the thousands of isolated paths that cut along the mountains. It was one of the most beautiful things about where she lived, the ability to find solitude. Now, though, her heart was pounding with fear for the girl.

The man was watching. No, not exactly watching. He was coveting her fair skin, her luxurious hair. His fingers reached out to touch the silken lengths again. "So soft," he whispered.

The girl knew then that he had lost sight of her as a person. Her fingers clutched on the door of the car, as if she wanted to open it and jump into the forest that grew so close to the road.

Jump!
Cassandra commanded, but the girl did nothing except tighten her grip on the door.
Jump! The farther into the woods you go, the less your chances.

But the girl was too afraid to try.

The car jounced and bumped. Suddenly it cut to the left, crashing through small shrubs and underbrush. Headlights illuminated a heavily overgrown clearing as the car blazed though the night and the high grass.

"Take me back," the girl said softly, pleading. "I'm afraid."

"You haven't seen the sights, yet," the man said. His foot pressed a little heavier; the car lurched forward. He turned to her and gave a smile. "Fear gives an experience a little edge, doesn't it?"