more, needed more than four walls and a roof. Something inside her yearned to be a lady, and to her that meant being wealthy.
Jazzy swallowed the emotions lodged in her throat, laughed out loud, then gunned the motor and raced through the intersection. Maybe this time Jamie wouldn’t come looking for her. But if he did, maybe this time she’d find the strength to turn him away.
Jacob Butler zipped up his brown leather jacket, positioned his brown Stetson on his head and headed out of his office. He hadn’t had a bite to eat since he’d wolfed down a scrambled egg sandwich at seven this morning while he’d been heading toward Scotsman’s Bluff. It had been a long, tiring day. He was now facing his first murder case since he’d been elected sheriff.
Deputy Bobby Joe Harte called out as Jacob passed by his desk, “That FBI guy just called. He said to tell you he’s in Knoxville and has rented a car. Said he was heading out soon and wanted to talk to you tonight when he gets in.”
“Did you tell him it was going to snow tonight?” Jacob asked.
“No sir. I figure the guy had checked the weather.”
“I’m not going by what the weathermen are predicting. Genny said heavy snowfall tonight.”
“Funny how she’s always right about things like that.” Bobby Joe grinned.
“Look, if he shows up—this Sloan guy—before I get back, tell him I’m over at Jasmine’s eating supper.”
“Just curious, Jacob, but what interest do the Feds have in a local murder case?”
“The Feds don’t have an interest,” Jacob replied. “It’s a personal matter with Sloan. He had a niece who was killed the same way Susie Richards was—slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb.”
“Ah, man, that’s gotta be rough.”
Jacob left the Sheriff’s Department, located on the first floor of the south side of the Cherokee County courthouse, closed the door behind him, and walked out onto the street. A frigid evening wind whizzed around him, blowing tiny new-fallen snowflakes up from the sidewalk. When he looked at the dark sky, he saw snow dancing downward in the glow from the nearby streetlight.
As he walked up Main, he thought about the young girl who’d died at the hands of a monster early this morning. Pete Holt, the coroner and owner of Holt’s Funeral Home, had said she probably hadn’t been dead more than a couple of hours when he’d examined her at the site. He and Pete had done their best to make sure proper procedures were followed, that all the evidence was gathered, and nothing was left undone. He’d called in Roddy Watson for advice. Roddy had been the Chief of Police in Cherokee Pointe for the past fifteen years, and what he lacked in brains he partly made up for with experience. Roddy had told Jacob that with a case like this, they’d have to send all the evidence over to Knoxville to the crime lab there.
Jacob rounded the corner onto Florence Avenue and headed straight for Jasmine’s, the best restaurant in town. As he drew near the front entrance to the renovated two-story building, he sensed he was being followed. When he glanced over his shoulder, he didn’t see anyone, but he couldn’t shake the notion that someone was watching him.
Damn, Butler, get a hold of yourself. Just because there was a gruesome murder in your county this morning doesn’t mean there are boogeymen lurking in the shadows.
He stood across the street and watched the sheriff as he entered Jasmine’s.
Jacob Butler. Got elected by a landslide. Local boy done good. Jacob had left Cherokee Pointe when he’d been eighteen and joined the navy. The big guy—he stood six-five and had to weigh in at no less than two seventy five—had joined a special ops group in the U.S. Army and become a SEAL, been decorated for bravery, and got wounded bad enough on his last assignment to end his career at the ripe old age of thirty-five. Despite his quarter-breed heritage, he’d been welcomed home by the whole town and talked into running for office six months after his return.
He knew all about Jacob, which would make everything so much easier. Knowing one’s enemy was wise. What was the old saying about keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer. He intended to know every move Jacob made concerning the Susie Richards case.
There was no reason for anyone to ever suspect him. His reputation was above reproach. So when the next murder occurred, the local authorities would be stumped again, unable to figure out who and why. All he had to do was the same as he’d done countless times before—be diligent and patient and careful. With each death, his strength increased. But this time it would be different. This time he had found the perfect fifth victim.
Chapter 2
Genny had spent the day recuperating, and now she was restless. A winter storm was brewing—an unexpected storm. By morning there would be several inches of ice beneath a thick layer of newly fallen snow. There were things she needed to do to prepare for the isolation that lay ahead for her here in the mountains. Although she hadn’t regained all her strength after her dream vision, she had recovered enough to care for herself without any assistance. Jacob had called to check on her twice, and Jazzy had even driven up Cherokee Mountain late in the afternoon to see about her for the second time today. Jacob and Jazzy were the only two people to whom she could turn in moments of crisis, especially if the crisis was a result of her inherited second sight.
Having shared a childhood bond with Jacob, who was like a brother to her, and with Jazzy, with whom she’d been best friends since they were in diapers, she trusted them both implicitly. They understood she was different—Jazzy said she was special—and each stood by her, supported her, and loved her. They might not understand fully what she went through, but they understood better than anyone else ever had … anyone except Granny.
Some people didn’t believe in a sixth sense of any kind, and half of those who did believe in it were afraid of anyone they thought might have it. During her twenty-eight years, she’d been called some terrible names, as her maternal grandmother before her had been. Granny Butler had been ridiculed by those who didn’t understand she had little or no control over her psychic gifts. The ability to see things, to know things that should be impossible for her to see or know had been a mixed blessing, even a curse sometimes. Narrowminded folks in Cherokee County had called her grandmother “the witch woman”, and many had been deathly afraid of her. But just as many had come to Granny, seeking her out for her special powers. And now those same people, as well as their children and grandchildren, often came to her. Sometimes she could help them; other times she either frightened them or sent them away without the help they’d been seeking.
She thanked the good Lord every day of her life that she’d had Granny to teach her, guide her, advise her, and protect her for so many years. Granny’s death six years ago had left a huge hole in Genny’s heart. She’d been two and Jacob eight when her mother had died in the same car wreck that had killed Jacob’s mother, leaving both children motherless. And since her own father had deserted her pregnant mother before Genny’s birth, Jacob’s father, Uncle Marcus, had been the only father she’d ever known.
During her years at Cherokee County High School, she’d tried to hide her abilities, had tried to fit in and be just one of the gang. But everyone had known about her grandmother. People had whispered behind her back, saying that Granny and she were witches. Jacob had gotten into numerous fist-fights defending their honor. How did you explain to people that you weren’t a witch, that you didn’t practice any type of magic, black or white?
The blood of a Cherokee shaman and a Celtic Druid princess had run in Granny Butler’s veins.
“Both my grandmothers had the sight. It skipped over your mother and your uncle Marcus and came right to you, just as it skipped over my mother and her siblings and came directly to me.” Granny had explained her unique inheritance to Genny when at six she had experienced her first vision.
Never a gregarious person and always one who enjoyed being alone, Genny had gravitated more and more to living a solitary life here in the massive