Don't Look Back

“A 1966 red Ford Mustang.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard to spot. At least not until it gets dark.”

“We’ll be on the outskirts of Savannah by that time.” Which was probably about thirty minutes away.

As silence engulfed the car again, Cassie searched her mind for a new topic of conversation. There was so much she wanted to know about Jameson, now that she had him as a captive audience. “So, where are you from originally? Where were you a reporter?”

“New York City.”

“One of the big papers?”

He nodded. “The Times.”

She whistled. “What made you give it up?”

“It was time to move on.” His tone indicated he wasn’t going to offer more information than that.

“Why did you come to Magnolia College?”

“It has a good journalism department.”

“A lot of colleges do. How’d you hear about the school?”

Cassie couldn’t help noticing his stiff posture and tight grip on the steering wheel. “I thought I was the reporter. Are you sure you don’t want to be one?”

Realizing she sounded as though she were interrogating him, she laughed, hoping to ease his strain. “I guess my brother has rubbed off on me more than I thought.” Although she attempted to lighten the mood, she was aware of the growing awkwardness in the car. Jameson was hiding something. Did it have to do with his deceased wife? She peered at his gold wedding band, barely visible in the dim dashboard lights.

“Now it’s my turn. What made you come back to Magnolia Falls after living in Savannah for years?”

“As you saw tonight, Mom isn’t well. Both Scott and I felt she needed someone to look after her. I was the one who could move the easiest.”

“Did you mind coming back?”

She thought for a moment about the question. At first she had resisted Scott’s suggestion, but it hadn’t taken her long to realize she’d loved growing up in the small college town, and coming home would be good for her as well as her mother. “No, it was time for me to come home.”

“How does your mother feel about it?”

“She was relieved, which made me realize she was sicker than both Scott and I originally thought. Are your parents alive?”

“Both alive and well in Florida. Retired and having a ball.”

The lights of Savannah lit the dark horizon. Soon they would be at Scott’s apartment, and there was a part of Cassie that wanted this drive to last longer. She’d found out more about Jameson than she ever had before, but really it was only facts. She wanted to know so much more. But first she needed to check on her brother and put her mother’s mind at ease.

“Where does your brother live?”

She gave him Scott’s address, then the direction to his apartment. Silence fell between them again when they hit Savannah. The closer she got to her brother’s, the more the tension built inside her. She remembered the times she’d find him drunk and barely able to stand. With the Lord’s help she’d managed to get Scott to attend his first AA meeting. Thankfully he’d now been sober for more than a year and focused on his job at the paper. Scott was a pit bull when working on a story, and she was sure he’d just gotten sidetracked—that this one time her mother’s hunch was wrong.

Jameson parked out in front of the large white house that had been converted into apartments in an older section of the city. The serenity of the neighborhood appeased Cassie’s anxiety. Soon she would discover they had overreacted and have to explain their sudden appearance to her brother.

Standing on the sidewalk in front, Cassie pointed down the driveway. “Scott’s place is over the garage.” She started for the back. “He likes his privacy.” Which reminded her instantly of the man walking beside her.

She mounted the stairs on the back of the building and knocked on her brother’s door. Nothing, although the lights blazed from his windows.

“Do you have a key?”

“No. I used to with the old apartment.” There hadn’t been a need since Scott had stopped drinking.

Jameson glanced around, saw a window a few feet from the landing and stretched over the railing to peer inside. “Try the door.”

Panic bolted through her at the urgency in his words. She tried turning the knob. “It’s locked. What’s wrong?”

“He’s on the floor. A bottle of whiskey is on the coffee table nearby. Almost empty.”

“No!” Scott’s drinking again? If so, how can he be so drunk that he passed out this quickly?

Jameson straightened. “Does the manager have a key?”

“Yes.” She tried to look in the window and wasn’t tall enough to reach it. “Mrs. Alexander has an apartment on the first floor.”

“Let’s go get her.”

Cassie hurried down the stairs and ran toward the house. Inside the large foyer, she quickly crossed it and pounded on the manager’s door. A minute ticked by. Her heart beat a maddening pace. She lifted her hand to knock again when the door opened, and Mrs. Alexander greeted her with a smile that faded quickly when she stared at Cassie.

“Sugar, what’s wrong?”

“Scott’s hurt in his apartment, and I can’t get in.”

“Let me get my keys.” The older woman disappeared inside her place for a long moment before returning. “Sorry. I had a hard time finding his. It wasn’t where I usually keep it, which is strange. I must get more absentminded as I get older.”

Jameson’s presence behind Cassie soothed her as they rushed back to Scott’s as fast as Mrs. Alexander could go. Beads of sweat popped out on Cassie’s forehead as the older woman inserted the key into the lock.

Please, Lord, let Scott be all right.

As Mrs. Alexander shoved the door open, Cassie and Jameson hurried past her. The scent of whiskey—and something else she couldn’t identify—hung in the air. Sprawled on the floor by the coffee table lay Scott on his left side, not moving. As she knelt by her brother, Cassie noticed the amber liquid in the bottle. So little left.

With a trembling hand, she reached out to turn Scott over, faceup. Blood covered the left side of his head from a deep gash. For a few seconds her gaze stayed riveted to the red stain on the carpet before she could drag her attention away. When she caught sight of his open eyes staring lifelessly at her, she put her quivering fingers on the side of his neck to find his pulse.

“Please be alive. Please,” she whispered.

His skin had a bluish tinge and felt cold. She couldn’t find a pulse. “Call 911.” She looked up at Jameson. “Do you know CPR?”

He squatted on the other side of Scott. His expression, full of concern, filled her vision. He took her hand and held it.

“Cassie, it’s too late.”

“No, we can save him,” she said while Mrs. Alexander shuffled toward the phone to call 911.

“He’s dead.” Jameson stood, bringing her up with him.