If Looks Could Kill. BEVERLY BARTON

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 we should invite Ms. Sorrell to stay with us while she’s in Cherokee Pointe?”

      “What?”

      “I’m simply thinking along the same lines you were,” he told her. “After all, Spencer Sorrell was a business associate, if not a friend. And his daughter is unlikely to find anyone, other than the Uptons, in these parts who are her social equal. She’ll have no place to stay other than one of those dreadful cabins. I hardly think she’ll choose to stay with Jazzy Talbot, at least not unless they do find out they’re siblings.”

      “How old is Ms. Sorrell?” Veda asked.

      “How old? I have no idea. The same age as Jazzy Talbot, I suppose, if they believe they’re twins.” Farlan rubbed his chin. “I’d say Jazzy is in her late twenties, early thirties.” He eyed Veda speculatively. “What sort of crazy notions have you got going on in that silly head of yours?”

      “I don’t think it’s silly to want to see our son married and providing us with grandchildren, do you?”

      “If you decide to invite Ms. Sorrell to stay with us, do not”—he stressed the word not—“try to play matchmaker for Brian and her. Do I make myself clear?”

      “Brian needs a girlfriend,” Wallace piped in. “Ever since Miss Genny got married, he’s been so sad. He doesn’t like Miss Jazzy, but I think Veda’s right—Brian might like Miss Reve. She’s awfully pretty. Not quite as friendly as Miss Jazzy, but—”

      Farlan shot to his feet, the move silencing his brother and bringing a soft gasp from Veda. “God help me!”

      Farlan marched out of the room and went straight to his study. Veda knew without following him where he’d gone. He holed up in what he considered his private domain every morning and she’d yet to work up the courage to interrupt him. Though a good man at heart, her husband had a terrible temper.

      “Is Farlan mad at me?” Wallace asked.

      Veda patted his hand again. “No, dear, no. He’s upset with me. But he never stays angry with me, so don’t you worry about it.” Although she felt more like crying, she smiled. “Later on, why don’t you come outside with me and we’ll work in the flower garden. I always count on you to help me. You’ve learned so much about gardening over the years. First from Melva Mae Butler and in recent years from Genny.”

      Veda loved gardening. It was one of the few passions left her in life. She’d been born with the proverbial green thumb, as had her brother-in-law. Most of the time, she considered Wallace a nuisance, a burden she and Farlan had to bear. But she genuinely enjoyed his company when they worked together in the yard.

      “Veda, how’s it possible for Miss Jazzy and Miss Reve to be twin sisters and not grow up together or even know each other?” Wallace asked.

      “That’s a complicated question with a very complicated answer.”

      “If you explained, do you think I’d understand?”

      “Probably. It’s just that I really don’t know anything about it. Let’s just say that when they were born—twins are usually born within minutes of each other—for some reason their mother couldn’t keep them . . .” Veda grew silent as ancient memories invaded her thoughts. Painful memories.

      “Yeah, go on. If their mother couldn’t keep them, what?”

      Veda cleared her throat. “The girls would have been given to other people, people who couldn’t have their own child and wanted a baby to raise.”

      Wallace’s face screwed up in a pondering frown. “Is that what folks call adoption?”

      “Yes, that’s right.”

      “Miss Jazzy ain’t adopted,” Wallace said. “But I heard somebody say that Miss Reve’s mama and papa adopted her when she was a baby.”

      Not wanting to continue the conversation about babies— twins in particular—Veda rose from her chair. “I’m suddenly not very hungry. I—I think I’ll take my coffee”—she lifted the cup and saucer—“into the parlor and catch the morning news on WMMK.”

      “I’m sorry, Veda,” Wallace said, his voice trembling with emotion. “I just remembered that talking about babies makes you sad.”

      “It’s all right, dear. I—I’m perfectly fine. I’ll see you after a while. We’ll work in the garden together later this morning.”

      She escaped from her brother-in-law’s scrutiny as quickly as she could. She hated the way he often stared at her with such pity in his eyes. The poor old fool had such a kind heart. Wallace wasn’t very bright, but he wasn’t totally stupid either. Since he’d always lived with them, he’d been around when she had suffered miscarriage after miscarriage, trying again and again to have another child, not wanting Brian to be raised without at least one sibling. Perhaps if he’d had younger brothers and sisters, if she’d been able to fill this house with more joy and laughter, her son wouldn’t be such an unhappy man now. And maybe her husband would still love her.

       The mention of the word twins shouldn’t bother me the way it does. After all, just because Jazzy Talbot and Reve Sorrell might turn out to be long-lost twin sisters really has nothing to do with me, with what happened thirty years ago.