If Looks Could Kill. BEVERLY BARTON

his grandparents’ golden years happy and still live his life on his own terms.

      On the ride up the mountain, Reve let Jazzy do most of the talking, just as she had during their lunch together at Jazzy’s downtown Cherokee Pointe restaurant, Jasmine’s. This was yet another striking difference between them— Jazzy was an extrovert, who could and did talk non-stop. Apparently the woman never met a stranger. On the other hand, Reve was more of an introvert; and although she enjoyed good conversation, she never talked just to be talking.

      Reve wished she could relax around Jazzy, wished she could look at the woman and not cringe at the thought that they were probably twin sisters. Jazzy had done nothing to make Reve dislike her. The exact opposite was true. She seemed determined to make Reve feel comfortable about their potential relationship as siblings and was working overtime to achieve that goal.

      Maybe she could learn to like her. She really haven’t given her a chance. Whenever she looked at Jazzy, all she saw was the woman’s wild, bright red hair, her abundance of dangling jewelry and her rock star clothes. And listening to Jazzy’s silly, non-stop chatter about nothing that she could even vaguely relate to made Reve assume Jazzy was un sophisticated and uncouth. The words redneck, hillbilly and white trash instantly came to mind. Besides, Reve couldn’t quite get past her private investigator’s initial report that concluded Jasmine Talbot was considered the town tramp. However, Reve had learned at an early age that some things were not what they seemed. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Jazzy was sorely misjudged by the local populace. Is that really a gut feeling? she asked herself. Or is it that you just want to believe Jazzy isn’t a slut?

      As Jazzy maneuvered her red Jeep up the steep driveway to the side of Genny Sloan’s house, Reve took in her surroundings. The large old farmhouse sat way up off the road on a rise, nestled into the mountain. Woods surrounded the place on three sides. Colorful, towering trees reached high into the clear blue sky. An old rock-wall fence marked the front yard and rock steps led from the road to the rock sidewalk. Already, in mid-October, the foliage had begun changing from green to deep, vivid shades of red, yellow and orange. Leaves covered the ground and pine cones dotted the landscape. Jazzy pulled her vehicle alongside the SUV parked in the drive.

      “There’s Genny,” Jazzy said. “She’s expecting us. You’ll like her. Everybody does.”

      “She’s the . . . the psychic, isn’t she?” Glancing through the windshield, Reve saw Genny standing on the wide front porch, waiting for them. “She’s lovely.”

      The woman was breathtakingly exotic, with creamy tan skin, long, straight, jet-black hair and a small, slender body.

      “Yeah, Genny’s a beauty.” Jazzy opened the driver’s door. “She and Jacob have similar coloring, but Genny looks a lot like her Granny Butler and I’m told Jacob looks a great deal like their Grandpa Butler.”

      “Oh, yes, I’d almost forgotten that Genny and the sheriff are first cousins.” Don’t dislike Genny Sloan just because she’s Sheriff Butler’s cousin, Reve told herself. It wouldn’t be fair to assume this woman was anything like her unpleasant relative.

      “Actually, they’re more like brother and sister. They were raised together after their mothers were killed in a car wreck when they were just kids.” Jazzy got out of the Jeep, then motioned to Reve. “Come on. Genny’s eager to meet you.”

      Reluctantly, Reve emerged from the vehicle. She had tried to beg off making this trip up the mountain to meet Jazzy’s best friend, but Jazzy had insisted. “I’ve asked her to give us a reading,” Jazzy had said. “She might be able to pick up on whether or not we’re twins. And if she can, I’m hoping she’ll be able to help us find out what happened when we were born.”

      Reve was not looking forward to this visit—to becoming acquainted with a backwoods witch. For the sake of civility, she’d do her best not to voice her opinion on people who professed to have a sixth sense. But if Genny started foretelling her future, she’d have to find a courteous way to let Genny know she wasn’t interested in any predictions or prophecies.

      “Come on. Don’t drag your feet,” Jazzy said. She reached out and grabbed Reve’s arm. “You act like you’re going to your own hanging. I promise you won’t regret coming here with me today.”

      “I’ll hold you to that.” Reve tugged free, but let her lookalike lead the way.

      Genny scurried off the porch and met them in the yard. She hugged Jazzy with great affection. “It’s turned out to be such a gorgeous day, I’ve set up apple cider and tea on the porch. And I baked one of Granny’s apple dapple cakes. I’ll bring some out later.”

      “Genny, this is Reve Sorrell.” Jazzy presented Reve as if she were introducing her to royalty. “Reve, this is my dearest friend on earth, Genny Madoc Sloan.”

      Reve extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Sloan.”

      “My goodness, you two do look remarkably alike.” Genny grasped Reve’s hand firmly. “Please, call me Genny.” She shook Reve’s hand, then held it for a brief moment.

      Reve jerked her hand away.

      “Sorry, I didn’t mean . . .” Genny smiled. “Most people don’t mind if I probe just a little. And I must admit that I’m curious about you.”

      “Did you pick up on anything?” Jazzy asked.

      Reve glared at Jazzy. She wanted to beg them not to include her in any of their forays into the psychic world, a world in which Reve did not believe.

      “Only that Ms. Sorrell isn’t comfortable making this visit.” Genny spread her arm out in invitation. “Why don’t we go sit on the porch and relax?”

      Be polite, Reve told herself. Make an effort to get along with these people. “Genny, you must call me Reve. And I apologize for—”

      “No need to apologize,” Genny said. “You don’t know me and you’re skeptical. You have every right to be. I don’t expect you to accept my gift of sight as a natural, God-given talent. Nor do I expect you to like me instantly just because Jazzy and I are best friends.”

      An odd feeling of relief eased Reve’s tension. She wasn’t quite sure why or how it happened. There was something strangely comforting about Genny’s voice. She projected a gentleness that seemed to encompass everything around her.

      Once the three were seated in big wooden rockers, Genny’s chair turned so that she could face the other two, Genny asked, “Tea or cider, Reve?”

      “Neither, thank you.”

      Genny poured hot liquid from an earthenware teapot that looked hand-painted, then gave Jazzy a cup. “Well, I’m going to come right out and say it. I had a vision this morning.”

      Reve sighed. Here we go, she thought.

      “Was it about us? About Reve and me?” Jazzy asked.

      “Part of it was. The good part. The happy part.”

      “Tell us,” Jazzy all but begged.

      “I sensed laughter,” Genny said. “And wonderful happiness. A oneness as if the two of you were a single entity. You are separate and yet together. Individuals, but linked from birth.”

      “Then you sensed that we’re twins, didn’t you?” Jazzy asked.

      Genny smiled at her friend, but Reve picked up on something not quite right about the smile. She sensed a sadness in Genny. Stop doing that! Reve scolded herself. You’re playing right into Genny’s hands by letting your imagination play tricks on you.

      “Yes, I believe you and Reve are twin sisters,” Genny said. “I have no doubt about it.”

      “That’s good enough for me.” Jazzy looked at Reve as if she expected her to respond by grabbing her, proclaiming them sisters and hugging her. Instead Reve stiffened her spine and sat up straighter in her chair.