Читать книгу Cold Hearts - Sharon Sala - Страница 10
ОглавлениеTrey finished writing up the report, and then printed it out and filed it. It was almost noon before he got the schedules rearranged and his officers back on duty. And he still hadn’t checked in with Dallas. He went back into his office and shut the door, then dropped into his chair and made the call.
* * *
Betsy was still sleeping when Dallas’s cell phone signaled a call. She’d put it on vibrate so it wouldn’t disturb Betsy and was relieved to see that it was Trey.
“Hi, honey,” she said, careful to keep her voice low.
“Hello, sweetheart. How are things going? Was Mom all right?”
Dallas looked over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone.
“I thought so at first. She was making bread when I got here, but she looked so tired...almost old. I’ve never thought of your mother as old before. We went into the living room to sit down. She leaned back and closed her eyes, then for no obvious reason jumped up so fast she knocked her coffee off the table. The mug broke and coffee went everywhere. I went to get something to clean it up, and she started screaming. I ran back and found her on her knees in the middle of the spilled coffee. It was the most frightening sound I’ve ever heard.”
Trey’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh, my God, did she fall?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Dallas said. “But she acted like she didn’t know where she was. I tried to get her up to go change her clothes, and she kept looking down at the floor telling me she couldn’t leave yet because she’d just thrown up in the floorboard of the car and she had to clean it up.”
The hair stood up on the back of his neck.
“The floorboard of a car? She said she threw up in the floorboard of a car?”
“Yes. It makes no sense,” Dallas said. “I was afraid she’d had some kind of seizure, because she went right to sleep after I got her cleaned up.”
Trey frowned. “I’m coming out. Don’t leave, I’ll be there soon.”
“Oh, I’m not leaving. I have to bake the bread dough she has rising. Have you talked to Trina?”
“Not yet. As for Mom, don’t tell her I’m coming,” Trey said.
Dallas felt sick. Would this turmoil never end?
* * *
Trina Jakes was taking inventory on the number of radiator hoses they had in stock and comparing it to the computer readout of stock on hand to make sure the numbers matched.
Freddie Miller, her boss at Miller Auto Parts, was beginning to suspect someone was selling inventory at a cut rate to certain customers and pocketing the money because he kept coming up short on parts when the computer said they were still in stock.
There were only three other employees besides her who could be doing it: Tony, Elton or George, and she had to guess that since she was the bookkeeper and never waited on customers, Freddie didn’t suspect her. That and the fact that he’d asked her not to mention what she was doing made his suspicions fairly obvious.
She was down on her knees in the aisle when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She looked up.
“Hey, Red, what are you doing?”
She frowned. Not only did she not like that Elton called her Red, but she’d just been confronted, something she’d hoped wouldn’t happen. She had to come up with an explanation fast.
“Oh, I’m checking some stock numbers against an invoice I got the other day. They don’t match, and I can’t cut a check to pay until I know for sure we got the right merchandise.”
“I can help,” Elton offered.
“Thanks, but I already have the numbers I’m looking for in my head, and it would take longer for me to make you a list than for me to just do it.”
“Whatever,” he said. He grinned, and then gave a lock of her hair a little tug. “So when are you gonna dump that Daniels dude and let a real man show you a good time?”
Trina stood up. It was a defensive move she’d used on the men before because she was taller than all three of them.
“I already have a real man, and quit calling me Red,” she drawled. She then strolled up the aisle and back into her office.
The phone was ringing as she walked in the door, and she hurried to answer.
“Miller Auto Parts. This is Trina.”
“Hey, sis, it’s me.”
Trina had already heard about Paul Jackson’s death, so she guessed why he was calling.
“Hi, Trey. Sorry about Mr. Jackson. You guys caught a bad one this morning, didn’t you?”
“Have you talked to Mom?”
She frowned. “Not since I left for work. Has something happened?”
“She freaked out again when she heard about Paul’s death, just like she did when she found Dick Phillips’ body. Dallas is with her, but I wondered if you could give me your opinion of how she’s been acting recently.”
All of a sudden Trina felt anxious. “Secretive, weepy, a little frantic at times, and then most of the time she’s Mom. What’s going on?”
“Not sure. I’m going out to check on her shortly. If you feel worried about her at any time, night or day, call me, okay?”
Tears suddenly blurred Trina’s vision. “You’re scaring me, Trey.”
“Yeah, well, she’s scaring me, so that makes two of us. Listen, I’ve got to go. Remember, call if you need me.”
“Do you think we should call Sam?” she asked.
Trey thought of their oldest brother, an ex-military, hard-core private investigator and the last member of their family to put up with bullshit from anyone.
“Not unless we need someone to put out a fire or start a war,” he drawled.
Trina giggled. “Yes, you’re right. Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on Mom.”
“Good deal. Talk to you later.”
The click in her ear signaled the end of the conversation, but it had just begun a whole new set of worries. This stuff scared her. She needed to talk to Lee. She was having dinner with him tonight. He was the rational one in their relationship. He would make everything all right.
* * *
Betsy woke up to silence and for a few moments wondered why she was in bed, and then she remembered. She threw back the quilt and sat up on the side of the bed, absently rubbing the scar along her hairline. She distinctly remembered throwing up, but the bitter aftertaste was absent. And she’d been screaming. They were going too fast. That was it—they were going too fast! But that made no sense because she’d just woken up in bed, so had she dreamed it?
“Betsy?”
Startled by the sound of another voice, Betsy stood up as Dallas entered the bedroom.
“Dallas? Oh, yes, you were here, right? How rude of me to go to sleep.”
Dallas wanted to hug her, but there was something about the way Betsy was standing that told Dallas not to push her.
“It’s actually time to work your bread. I was going to do it, but since you’re up I thought you might want to do it yourself.”
Betsy blinked, and just like that she was back. She smoothed the hair away from her face and slipped into her shoes.
“Yes, the bread! I love that first rising when you go to punch it down, don’t you? It’s like popping a big rubber balloon! Let’s get that bread in the baking tins and then make something for lunch, okay? You can stay, right?”
Dallas smiled. “I’d love to have lunch with you.”
Betsy patted Dallas’s cheek as she sailed past her on her way back to the kitchen. She knew what to do now. She had purpose.
A short while later Betsy had the dough in the pans and was covering them up for the last rising. Dallas was heating up some soup Betsy had taken out of the freezer when they heard the front door open.
“It’s me!” Trey yelled.
“We’re in here,” Betsy called. Then she looked at Dallas and smiled. “Good thing we got the big carton out to reheat. Trey loves beef-and-barley soup.”
Dallas smiled and kept stirring. When Trey walked into the kitchen he went straight to her.
“Hey, honey, thanks for coming over,” he said softly, and kissed the back of her neck.
Dallas nodded and then glanced toward Betsy, who was already getting out the ingredients to make grilled cheese sandwiches to go with the soup.
“Something sure smells good,” Trey said. “I hope you made enough for me.”
“Always,” Betsy said. “One sandwich or two?”
Trey kissed her cheek and smiled. “One is enough, thanks. What can I do to help?”
“You can set the table. You know where everything is, right?”
“Sure,” Trey said. He began getting plates and bowls from the cabinet, and flatware from a drawer.
“Can you talk about the case?” Dallas asked.
Trey shrugged. “Not much to tell right now. It was a bad scene. Mack is in about the same shape you were when I called you.”
Dallas sighed. “I am so sorry. This is just a horrible thing to have happened.”
Trey glanced at his mother. She was far too cheerful. “Mom?”
Betsy flipped the two sandwiches on the grill and then looked up. “What, honey?”
Trey stopped what he was doing and walked over to the stove, took the spatula from her hand and then wiped away the tears running down her face.
“Come sit. I’ll do the last sandwich,” he said.
Betsy complied without comment.
Dallas turned off the heat under the soup.
“Should I dish up the soup or wait?” she asked.
“Wait until I get the last sandwich grilled,” Trey said as he took the finished sandwiches off the grill and put on the last one.
“Betsy, honey, would you like a cup of coffee?” Dallas asked.
Betsy wrapped her arms around herself and began rocking in her chair.
“Does it feel cold in here to you? For some reason I’m freezing,” she said.
“I’ll turn up the heat,” Dallas said, and headed for the thermostat in the hall.
Trey glanced toward the table. His mom had lost all color in her face.
“Mom?”
Betsy looked up. “Hmm?”
“What’s happening?”
She shivered again. “I don’t know, Trey, but I think I’m losing my mind.”
Trey flipped the sandwich and turned off the grill, then handed Dallas the spatula as she walked back into the kitchen.
She moved to the grill as Trey sat down beside his mother and took her hands. Her skin was clammy, and he could feel the tremor in her muscles.
“Talk to me, Mama. You told Dallas you threw up in the floorboard of a car.”
Betsy touched the scar again. “I just dreamed that, didn’t I?”
Trey shrugged. “I don’t know. Was it a dream, or were you remembering something that already happened?”
Betsy pulled her hands away and covered her face. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
He’d never seen her like this, but she seemed so fragile, he was afraid to push her.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”
Betsy swiped the tears off her cheeks, took a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose as she stood. “It’s time to put the bread in the oven.”
“And lunch is ready,” Dallas said as she carried the sandwiches to the table.
“I’ll pour the coffee,” Trey said.
“I’ll dish up the soup,” Dallas added. She headed back to the stove while Betsy set the timer for the bread.
“That bread is going to smell so good,” Betsy said.
Trey watched her turn back into the mother he knew and felt a chill run up his spine. He didn’t know what had happened the night she graduated, but he would bet his retirement that they’d either been a part of something illegal or they’d witnessed something bad. What he couldn’t figure out was why they were being eliminated now. What was happening that made getting rid of them so important? If his theory about these deaths was correct, she would be next, and he couldn’t let that happen. He needed to find that old accident report. Maybe there was something in it that would help him make sense of all this.
* * *
Mack had gone through the desk, the computer files, the old lockbox his dad kept in the back of the closet, the shoe boxes full of old income tax papers and every place he could think of looking for anything resembling a journal or a diary. If there was nothing wrong with the lift, then they needed answers to this nightmare, but he couldn’t find a thing.
He sat down on the corner of his dad’s bed and closed his eyes. The faint scent of diesel, probably from an old pair of his dad’s work shoes, coupled with some manly aftershave, was so reminiscent of his father that he kept thinking the man was going to walk in at any moment. Mack took a deep breath, choking back tears, but before he could gather his thoughts, someone was knocking at the front door.
He got up with a heavy heart, and when he saw one of the ladies from his dad’s church on the porch holding a covered dish, he sighed.
Feeding the grief stricken had begun.
* * *
Lissa, standing in the hall outside her bedroom, was bordering on what felt like a full-blown panic attack. The thunder of her heartbeat was so loud in her ears that at first she didn’t hear her cell phone ringing. By the time it dawned on her what was happening the call had gone to voice mail. Since she didn’t want to talk to anyone, she didn’t bother checking to see who it had been.
The only person she needed to talk to was God. She mouthed the proper words, and then cried until her eyes were so swollen it hurt to blink before she dropped to her knees. Despair was heavy, weighing her down as she stared at the floor in disbelief.
Why had this happened?
She felt like she was being punished, and yet Paul Jackson was the one who had died. So was it his punishment and she’d just become the tool, or was it hers and his life was gone because of it?
Sick at heart and too exhausted to get up, she slid forward, stretching out facedown on the cold hardwood floor, and closed her eyes, wishing she could disappear forever.
* * *
Along about 6:00 p.m. Jim Farley, the pastor from Paul Jackson’s church, stopped by to express his condolences. By Mack’s count he was visitor number seven, and when this one left, Mack was leaving, too. He couldn’t take any more well-wishers and didn’t want anyone else to pray for him. He didn’t want prayers. He wanted answers.
Mack took a deep breath, bracing himself for yet another painful conversation. “Pastor Farley, thank you for coming,” he said.
The little man smiled, which made the scar across his upper lip—the result of a hockey puck gone wild during his youth—pull sideways just the tiniest bit.
“Good afternoon, Mack. I came without calling. I hope that’s all right,” Farley said.
“Of course it’s all right. No one stands on ceremony here,” Mack said, as he led the way to the living room.
The pastor took a seat in the recliner as Mack said, “I have coffee. Would you like a cup?”
“That would be wonderful. It’s a bit chilly outside today. As for the coffee, I take mine black,” the pastor added.
“I’ll be right back,” Mack said and headed for the kitchen. He came back a couple of minutes later carrying two mugs.
Pastor Farley took his mug, then cupped it in his hands to warm them as he took the first sip.
Mack set his aside and waited.
The pastor was just as off balance as Mack. The horrific nature of Paul Jackson’s death was the elephant in the room. He took a second sip of the coffee and then set his cup aside, too.
“Of course I came to offer my condolences,” the pastor said. “The news of your father’s death is heartbreaking. I am so very sorry for your loss.”
Mack swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Thank you.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Farley asked.
Mack shrugged. “I appreciate the offer. Of course I’ll have a memorial service, but I can’t think about that just yet.”
“Of course, of course,” Farley said. “You just let me know your wishes and we’ll make it happen for you.” He took another sip of coffee and then leaned forward. “Know that prayers are being said for you, son. Know that we weep with you. Your father was my friend.”
Mack tried to swallow past that lump again, but it didn’t happen. He put his head down as tears welled once more. He heard the pastor saying a prayer, but he wished that Farley would just leave. He wanted this to be a terrible nightmare, so that all he needed to do was wake up.
Fifteen minutes later Pastor Farley was gone and Mack was on his way out the door. He wasn’t exactly running away from home. He just needed distance from the pain of being here without his dad. He had no destination in mind when he got in his SUV and drove away, but it didn’t take long to realize he was retracing the paths of his youth, from the park where his mother used to take him to play, then past the elementary school where he’d lost his first tooth and broken his arm two years later when he’d bailed out of a swing.
He turned down the street that led to the baseball field, parked behind home plate, and then stared past second base to center field and the fence beyond.
The sun appeared to be hovering atop the trees, setting them ablaze with the color of late fall. His hands were shaking as he gripped the steering wheel. Once again, he felt his dad’s presence.
“I lived half my childhood in this dirt, didn’t I, Dad? And you sat on the third row of the bleachers watching it happen. I don’t know if I ever said thank-you, but I’m saying it now.”
Tears blurred his vision as he closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. He sat until the sunlight was fading and the fire was gone from the sky before he started the car and drove away, heading north out of Mystic. He didn’t care where he went, as long as it was out of there.
* * *
Reece Parsons woke with a hard-on and a rumble in his empty belly. He thrust muscular arms over his head, stretching like a big cat and arching his back just enough that the covers pushed against his erection. He thought about jacking off for the pleasure of it, then remembered a prior commitment with Melissa Sherman and decided to save the good stuff for her.
He got out of bed and peed off his erection, then walked naked through the darkened house with Bobo at his heels, irked that Louis always left all the lights off. Just once he could at least leave the one on in the kitchen. Then he shrugged. Louis was just like Mama. She was as tight as a bowstring and had gone behind them turning out lights when they were growing up, like wasting a second of electricity was going to put them in the poorhouse when they were already there.
He let the dog out in the backyard and then glanced at the windows, making sure the blinds were pulled and the curtains drawn before he turned on the lights. He liked being naked, but he didn’t want to call attention to himself. He’d come to learn as he grew up that flying under the radar was far safer.
He read Louis’s note, then dug out a couple of covered dishes from the refrigerator and stood at the counter, eating the food cold with a fork. He covered up what he didn’t eat and put the dishes back, and then popped the top on a longneck beer and drank it standing at the sink.
Bobo scratched at the door, and Reece opened it just enough for the little terrier to squeeze in, then locked it behind him, tossed the bottle in the trash, burped, farted and went to get dressed. He thought about logging on to the computer and checking the NASDAQ or maybe seeing how his international investments were doing but changed his mind. He didn’t want to keep the little lady waiting.
* * *
It was just after midnight, and Lissa still couldn’t sleep. Her heart was so heavy that even taking a deep breath seemed impossible. The weight of her guilt was more than she could bear.
And she kept thinking about Mack.
He would come home, if he wasn’t already here. Sometime she would have to face him, if for no other reason than to get her car before she could get rid of it. Their lives had been so intertwined and then shattered in a way she would never have expected. Now, knowing she would most likely see him again as the owner of the instrument of his father’s death seemed the height of all irony.
She gave up trying to sleep and sat in the dark with the TV remote in her hand, watching a sci-fi classic with the sound on mute.
Even after she began hearing footsteps on the porch, she was so numb she didn’t react. If it was the stalker who’d been bothering her, she was going to pretend she wasn’t home.
But then she heard a knock at the door. She glanced at the clock and threw back the covers. Her heart was pounding as she moved barefoot through the house. Surely this wasn’t a real visitor—not at this time of night. It had to be her stalker! Didn’t he know what had happened? Wasn’t there a rule in the universe that if one really bad thing was happening to you, then you were no longer fair game for anything else? If there wasn’t, there should be.
The house was bathed in shadows of varying shades of darkness, broken only by the faint glow of the streetlights showing through the blinds. When she got to the living room she peeked out, but there was no one in sight. She turned on the porch light and peered through the small window in the door, but the yard was empty. Hesitantly, she turned the dead bolt and then opened the door.
Still focused on looking for someone, she stared intently into the shadows beyond the yard before she happened to look down. Breath caught in the back of her throat as she saw a stream of blood seeping out from under the overturned rattrap. When she realized the feet of the dead rat were still twitching, the world tilted. She began to scream and was still screaming when she slammed the door and ran for the phone.
* * *
When Mack left Mystic, he drove straight back to Summerton and holed up at his home. He’d spent years remodeling the old two-story house into the showpiece it was now, and it represented everything he loved about architecture.
The interior was also a reflection of the things that made him comfortable: oversize sofas with accents of dark wood and rich oxblood leather upholstery, heavy damask draperies hanging floor to ceiling. He had a king-size bed, large walk-in closets and wide plank hardwood flooring in a warm walnut stain.
It was not only a source of great pride that it was his, but he’d come back to it because it was his safe place to fall. Only, once he got here, nothing had changed. There was nowhere to go to get away from the fact that his father was dead. The last time he’d felt this sad and empty was the day he’d found out Melissa had aborted their child. And knowing he would have to see her again at some time during this nightmare didn’t make him feel any better. He had lost all faith in women after that day. But he knew his heart and, while she’d shattered it completely, after the years in which they’d loved without boundaries, she was still under his skin.
Now that he was home, he changed clothes, brought in the mail and began going through some phone messages regarding work before he dug through the refrigerator for something to eat. He wasn’t really hungry, but he felt empty and it was all he could think to do to fill up the space.
When he began looking at his options, his stomach turned. There was a refrigerator full of food at his dad’s house, but he didn’t want any of that, either. He wound up eating a piece of leftover cake and emptying the entire pot of coffee he’d made.
As time continued to pass, the urge to stay here was overwhelming, but the last thing he could do for his dad was stay strong and see this through. So he cleaned up the mess he’d made, locked up the house and headed back.
It was past midnight when he drove into Mystic. The sky was overcast, and the moon that had been high in the sky hours earlier was hidden somewhere behind gathering clouds. He was wondering if Chief Jakes had been in contact yet with the people who serviced the lift down at the garage when he braked suddenly for a cop car. It went flying through an intersection with lights flashing and the siren screaming. The sound made the hairs rise on the back of his neck.
Someone was in trouble.
He started to accelerate through the intersection when another police car appeared at the far end of the street and took a sharp left, obviously heading to the same location. He frowned. It wasn’t his practice to be a siren chaser, but since this was where he’d grown up and he knew almost everyone in town, he turned and followed the disappearing lights.
