Cold Hearts (3 page)

“Yes, sir,” Trey said, and reached for the control.

The hydraulics kicked in, and the lift began moving up without a hitch.

Mack caught a glimpse of his father’s body and turned his back. Trey had been right. He didn’t want this sight burned into his memory.

The coroner frowned, and then glanced up at Trey. “What made you think to do that?” he asked.

“My officers dusted for prints. There weren’t any,” Trey said.

Mack picked up that something was wrong. “What the hell is going on here?”

Trey held up a hand. “Come outside with me...please.”

Mack left without looking back, but as soon as they got outside, he stopped.

“Talk to me, damn it. That’s my father. I have a right to know what’s happening.”

“Get in my car, Mack. I don’t intend to advertise this, and I expect you to keep quiet about it, too.”

Mack got in the police cruiser, and as soon as Trey slid behind the steering wheel, despite the state Mack was in, he started questioning him.

“What do you know about the wreck your dad was in the night he graduated from high school?”

Mack was struggling with the notion that his father’s death wasn’t an accident and was clearly unprepared for such a seemingly random question.

“What the hell does that have to do with—”

“I don’t know,” Trey snapped. “Can you answer the question or not?”

Mack shoved a shaky hand through his hair. “Sorry. I...I know it happened. I don’t know much of anything else.”

“Do you know the other people who were in it with him?”

Mack was trying to focus on this conversation when his thoughts were on what was going on inside the garage.

“No, I don’t remember. I think there were a couple more, but I don’t know if I ever knew who they were.”

“You know Dick Phillips was murdered recently,” Trey said.

“Yes, Dad told me. He was really upset and—” Mack stopped. All of a sudden the questioning clicked. “Was he one of the kids in the car with Dad?”

“Yes, along with their girlfriends. Dick’s girlfriend, Connie, died that night. She was the driver. The other girl was your dad’s girlfriend, Betsy. The same Betsy who’s now my mom.”

Mack’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Your mom? Your mom was my dad’s old girlfriend?”

Trey nodded.

“What does she say about all this?” Mack asked.

“Nothing. You may or may not know that the survivors were injured so severely that none of them had a single memory of what happened after the actual graduation ceremony.”

“Are you saying someone is after the three of them?” Mack asked.

Trey shrugged. “I can’t say that the wreck has anything to do with why Dick died, but I’m a cop, and having one man murdered who was in that wreck is one thing. Having two dead within the same month feels like more than coincidence to me.”

Mack was stunned.

“Will the coroner be able to tell if my dad was murdered?”

“I don’t know. But if we can ascertain there’s no mechanical fault with the lift, we’ll have to assume someone lowered it on him.”

“I know the company Dad used to maintain it. The information is in his office at the house. I’ll get it to you,” Mack said.

“I’d appreciate that,” Trey said. “When you go through your dad’s things, if you see anything like a journal or a diary, I need to see it.”

“I’ll go through his things, but honestly I don’t expect to find anything. We got real close after Mom died, and I’d swear on a Bible there were no secrets between us.”

Trey nodded.

“I understand, but just keep it in mind, and remember, I don’t want a word of this repeated. If these deaths are related to that wreck, the last thing we want is for the killer to be forewarned that we’ve figured out the connection.”

Mack was shaken to the core. Here he’d thought the worst thing to happen was that his father had died, but to think he might have been murdered seemed worse, almost obscene.

“Understood,” he muttered.

“So I guess you’ll be around the rest of the day?” Trey asked.

“I’ll be staying in Mystic for sure until after Dad’s services,” Mack said.

Trey frowned. “I don’t know when the coroner will release the body.”

“I understand.” Mack glanced out the window at the crowd gathered on the other side of the street. “I never did get the need to witness other people’s grief.”

“Some thrive on being the first with the latest news, true or not,” Trey said.

It was the word
first
that made Mack wonder who’d actually found his dad.

“Who discovered the body?”

“Melissa Sherman. That’s her car on that lift, and she took it really hard. She’s blaming herself because your dad offered to work overtime on it last night so she could have it this morning.”

Mack was in shock. He saw her face in his mind, the way she’d looked when they made love, the way she’d laughed, the way that little mole at the corner of her mouth had always drawn his gaze to the supple curves of her lips, and then the way they’d parted. It hadn’t been pretty, and he still held a serious grudge. It was inevitable that he would now be forced to see her whether he wanted to or not. How bizarre that they would be thrown together again like this.

“I didn’t know she’d moved back to town,” he said.

Trey nodded. “Just this year. She inherited the house she grew up in when her mother died. She’s teaching first grade at the elementary school.”

Mack hunched his shoulders against the sudden ache in his chest. He didn’t want to care about her, but he kept thinking how awful it must have been for her to be the one who found the body. She had always loved his dad, and now she was blaming herself. He couldn’t let that go.

“Will you talk to her about the lift?” Mack asked.

“At this point I’m not saying anything more until it’s been checked out, and you can’t say anything about what we talked about, either. Not even to make her feel better. We’ll know the truth soon enough.”

Mack nodded. “I understand, but I don’t think it’s fair for someone to be living with misplaced guilt, that’s all.”

“You can talk to her all you want, but not about this,” Trey said. “Again, I’m very sorry for your loss. I’ll make sure the coroner’s office has your contact information. They’ll notify you when they release the body. Here’s my card. Use either number if you need me.”

“Thanks,” Mack said, and quickly entered the information in his phone. He slipped a card out of his pocket and handed it to Trey. “This has my cell number in case you need to reach me.”

They looked up just as the coroner exited the building, followed by two men carrying a body bag. Once they put it into the van they slammed the doors and drove away.

Mack’s voice was shaking. “I guess I need to lock up.”

“Do you have keys?” Trey asked.

Mack nodded. “I assume you want everything left as is?”

“Yes, at least until after I get the lift inspected,” Trey said.

“I’ll text you the info after I get home.”

“I’ll seal the entrances after you lock up,” Trey said. “Tell your dad’s employees to stay off the premises until I give the all clear.”

Mack got out with his keys in hand, went straight to the front door and locked up, then circled the building, making sure the back entrances were locked, as well. When he returned to the front of the station, seeing the yellow crime-scene tape across the doorway seemed surreal. He felt the stares from the crowd across the street but never looked up as he got in his car and drove away.

* * *

Marcus Silver was pale and shaken as he came to the breakfast table. He dropped into his chair, and then waved away the maid and the plate of food she was carrying.

“Just coffee, please,” he said.

She set the plate on the sideboard and then quickly filled his cup before leaving the room.

His son, T.J., swallowed a bite of waffle then frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“I just got some bad news,” Marcus said. “Paul Jackson is dead.”

T.J. laid down his fork. “What happened? Heart attack?”

Marcus shook his head. “No, he was crushed beneath a car he was working on.”

T.J. gasped. “God, dying is a hell of a way to begin the day!”

Marcus looked up. “Oh. No, it didn’t happen this morning. They think he was working late on a car when the lift failed. The car belonged to Melissa Sherman. She’s the one who found him this morning.”

T.J.’s heart skipped. Lissa! How odd that she was mixed up in such an ugly death. They had shared a few dates right after she’d first come home, but then she’d refused further invitations. He’d stopped asking, but it still rankled that she’d quit him. He liked to be the one to call the shots.

“That’s terrible about Mr. Jackson. I’m sorry to hear that. He was one of your classmates, right?”

Marcus nodded.

T.J. reached across the table. “Is there anything I can—”

His father stood abruptly. “Excuse me,” he said, and left the dining room like a man on a mission.

T.J. stood as if to follow him and then paused. He didn’t know what he could have said to make this better, so he sat back down. He couldn’t help but think how fragile life was, and he was grateful his father was still with him; then he thought of Lissa and wondered how he could turn this to his advantage.

Three

W
ill Porter was finishing breakfast and preparing for an early meeting at school. His wife, Rita, was sitting at the other end of the breakfast table nursing a cup of coffee spiked with a shot of the bourbon she’d gotten drunk on last night. It was all he could do to look at her these days. She was such a disappointment and hardly the wife he needed if he was going to get himself elected state superintendent of schools. His dreams were big, but Rita’s daily hangovers were bigger. He still wasn’t sure what he was going to do about her, but he wasn’t going to let anything derail his aspirations to get out of this one-horse town.

When his cell phone rang, he was actually relieved. It saved him from having to tell her goodbye. Instead, he just waved at her as he stood up and walked away, talking as he went.

“This is Porter. Yes, Suzette. I’m on my way. What? Heard what?” He paused in the hall. “Really! That’s terrible. So is everyone there? Good, tell them I’m on my way.”

He dropped his phone in his pocket and reached for his briefcase just as Rita picked it up and handed it to him, tilting her cheek in a flirtatious manner.

“You almost forgot my goodbye kiss.”

“I didn’t forget anything,” Will said as he took the briefcase out of her hands.

She grabbed his coat sleeve. “Who was that on the phone? I heard you say something was terrible. What happened?”

“It was Suzette. She called to tell me the parents I’m supposed to meet with this morning are waiting on me, so turn loose of my sleeve, I need to go.”

Rita frowned. “What’s so terrible about that?”

“Oh, that. She said Paul Jackson was dead. Crushed by a car he was working on.”

Rita shrieked. “Oh, my God! That’s terrible! And he was such a sweet man.”

Will frowned. “Really? Did you fuck him when you were in school like you did Dick Phillips? Are you going to throw
that
in my face, too?”

Rita slapped his face.

He returned the slap and sent her reeling.

“There, now, if you needed an excuse to get shit-faced drunk again today, I just gave it to you.”

He walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Rita was still screaming obscenities as he drove away.

* * *

Gregory Standish was on his way to the bank when his cell phone rang. He glanced down at caller ID and frowned. He’d just sat through a silent breakfast with his wife and daughter, and now his wife wanted to talk. He gave a long-suffering sigh and answered.

“What is it, Gloria?”

“Gregory! I just heard the most terrible news,” she said. “Paul Jackson is dead. They found him crushed beneath a car this morning. There will be a funeral for sure, and I don’t have a thing to wear. Carly and I are going shopping in Summerton, so I won’t be home for lunch. You’ll have to pick something up in town.”

His heart skipped a beat. Those two were going to bankrupt him yet, and a bankrupt banker would never be mayor of Mystic. It was a small dream in comparison to some, but it was his, and every day his family’s spending habits drew him further away from realizing his goal.

“Don’t spend money, Gloria. I told you—we’re already strapped as it is.”

“Don’t be silly, Gregory. You’re president of the bank. You have plenty of money.”

He groaned as the line went dead in his ear.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, dropping the phone back in his pocket.

Now his stomach was in knots. Jackson’s death had given his wife had a new excuse for a shopping spree. He hadn’t seen that coming.

* * *

Mack pulled into the driveway and stopped beneath the carport, taking care to leave room for his dad’s truck, and the moment he thought that, he groaned. His dad wasn’t coming home. The knot in his belly grew tighter as he killed the engine. He grabbed his suitcase and headed for the house in slow, hesitant strides, reluctant to go inside. Today he’d been robbed of all he held dear.

When he unlocked the door and walked in, he was struck by the quiet familiarity of the house. How dare the world keep spinning when he was in free fall? He closed his eyes, and when he took a deep breath, he knew by the lingering scent of stale coffee and bacon grease what his dad had eaten for breakfast the day before. He dropped the suitcase by the door and turned the lock before going into the kitchen.

It was just as he suspected. An unwashed skillet was still on the stove, the bottom covered with congealed bacon grease, and the carafe in the coffeemaker was half-full. His dad would have reheated it last night and finished it off with his supper as he cleaned up, only last night he hadn’t gone home. He’d stayed to do a customer a favor, just as he’d done countless times before, but this time something had gone tragically wrong.

His hands were shaking as he poured the coffee down the sink and refilled the carafe. Once the coffee began to brew, he took his suitcase back to his room, tossed it on the bed and then turned around to hang up his jacket. As he did, his gaze went straight past the open door of his room to the one across the hall. How many times had he awakened at night as a kid and taken comfort from that open door, knowing his dad was so close? He had been convinced nothing could hurt him then because Dad would protect him from nighttime monsters. He’d known that as surely as he’d known his own name. And yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that a real monster had come and taken his father’s life.

As soon as he hung up his clothes, he went straight to the desk, found the name and phone number of the company that serviced the hydraulic lift, then texted it to Trey.

Next order of business was to call the employees. There were only two, and he was sorry for their circumstances, but as of today they were out of a job. The best he could do, if they wanted to move or make the daily drive to Summerton, was to offer them a job at his lumberyard. If not, they were on their own.

* * *

Betsy Jakes was making bread, and with her daughter, Trina, already at work, she had the house to herself. Kneading the dough was good therapy. The dough was a physical thing she could hold on to, which was vital for a woman losing her grip on reality. It was bad enough learning yet another of her friends was gone, but something else was happening that caused her concern.

She was losing track of time, and it had happened again this morning.

She had no memory of hanging up the phone or going to the kitchen after talking to Trey, no memory of gathering up the ingredients to bake, and yet here she was, making bread. There was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, along with the bitter taste of bile. She was on the verge of throwing up but afraid if she gave in to the feeling something terrible would happen, so she kept working the dough with slow, rhythmic movements, pushing out air bubbles with each downward thrust from the heel of her hand.

She was elbow-deep in flour and yeast, the radio playing loudly enough in the background that she didn’t hear Dallas’s car as she pulled up outside.

* * *

Dallas drove around to the back of the house. After Trey’s concern about his mother’s state of mind, she was anxious as to what she might find. She got out on the run, peered through the window in the back door and saw Betsy at the cabinet. Relieved that she seemed to be doing okay, Dallas tried the door. It was unlocked. Instead of knocking, she opened it.

“Knock, knock,” she said, standing on the threshold holding a carton of eggs and waiting for an invitation.

Betsy was smiling as she turned around. “Come in, sugar! It’s good to see you!” Flour flew in every direction as Betsy lifted her hand to wave, and they both laughed when some of it settled back on her face. “I guess I should qualify that. Come in, but don’t get too close. I seem to be making a bigger mess than usual this morning.”

Betsy seemed just fine. Dallas breathed a sigh of relief. “My little hens are laying up a storm. I brought you some fresh eggs,” she said.

She put the eggs in the refrigerator, hung her jacket on the back of a chair, then gave Betsy a hello kiss.

“Thank you for the eggs,” Betsy said. “Coffee is fresh. Help yourself.”

“Thanks. So I see you’re making bread. That will be yummy.”

“Yes. With that nip in the air, it seemed like a good thing to do today,” Betsy said.

“I haven’t made yeast bread in ages,” Dallas said as she brushed the flour from Betsy’s cheeks and then poured herself a cup of coffee.

Betsy’s smile widened. She was beyond happy that Trey and Dallas were back together. She thought it was a ridiculous waste of life when people who loved each other as they did couldn’t find a way to work out their differences so they could be together.

“Oatmeal-raisin cookies are in the cookie jar if you want one with your coffee,” Betsy said.

“I never turn down any of your cooking,” Dallas said. She grabbed a cookie, and then pulled up a kitchen stool and sat down.

“I suppose Trey sent you to check on me,” Betsy said. “It’s terrible about Paul, isn’t it? The news took me aback, I can tell you. Such a horrible thing to have happened. I’ve been thinking about Mack ever since I heard.”

Dallas ignored the twinge of sadness she felt. Her dad’s murder had been such a shock, and it was still unsolved. She could empathize with what Mack must be feeling.

“Trey did suggest I stop by to make sure you were okay.”

“Losing people we love, no matter how it happens, is a terrible thing,” Betsy said, and then paused in her kneading to give Dallas a long look.

“Are you doing okay? I mean, are you finding ways to stay busy and happy since you decided to move back home? I know you had an exciting life in Charleston.”

Dallas took a sip of coffee, and then set the cookie and the cup aside.

“I had a busy life, but it quit being exciting years ago. I just didn’t know it until I was forced to face what I’d given up to get it. Trey and I are fine. Don’t worry any about us, okay?”

Betsy gave the dough one last flip on the bread board and then covered it with a clean white cloth so it could rise.

“I’m not worried about any of my kids,” she said. She washed her hands and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Let’s go sit where I can put my feet up. I’m feeling my age today.”

Dallas followed her into the living room without comment, although there was something about the unfamiliar stoop to Betsy’s shoulders and the dragging steps that gave her some concern. When she saw the way Betsy eased herself down in the chair, she knew something was off.

“Are you in pain?”

Betsy stifled a sigh. “No, honey. I just haven’t been sleeping well.”

Dallas frowned. “But you’re not in pain?”

“Oh, no! Not a bit. Just tired. I’ll take a nap this afternoon and be good to go. Now, tell me, how’s the egg business?”

Dallas smiled. “Not slacking off, that’s for sure.”

Betsy leaned back and momentarily closed her eyes, and as she did, everything went black. She heard the sound of screeching brakes and someone praying, and jumped out of her seat so fast she knocked the mug off the table. It broke, splashing hot coffee all over the legs of her pants and the hardwood floor.

“Oh, good grief!” she said. “I am so clumsy.”

“I’ll get a rag to clean it up,” Dallas said, as she ran to the kitchen.

Betsy got down on her knees to pick up the broken pieces of the cup, and all of a sudden she was on her hands and knees in the floorboard of a car and flying down the road so fast she could feel the vibration beneath her fingers. The scent of vomit was up her nose and burning the back of her throat, and someone was screaming. She didn’t realize that it was her making all the noise until Dallas dropped down to the floor beside her, calling her name.

“Betsy! Betsy! What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did you fall?”

Betsy rocked back on her heels. Her hands were shaking, and she kept brushing at her face and the front of her shirt, expecting it to be covered in vomit. She looked down at the broken cup and spilled coffee, and shivered.

“I don’t know,” Betsy mumbled. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

Dallas was scared. The way Betsy was acting, it was almost as if she had suffered some kind of seizure.

“You have coffee all over your pants. Let me help you to your room. You can change and then lie down for a while. I’ll stay and finish off your bread, okay?”

“I have to clean up the car,” Betsy muttered, pointing down at the floor. “I threw up, and I have to clean it up.”

Dallas’s heart skipped a beat.
Clean up the car? Because she threw up in it?

“It’s okay, honey. I’ll clean it,” Dallas said, and she all but pushed Betsy down the hall to her room.

It took a few minutes for Dallas to get Betsy into clean clothes, but as soon as she did, Betsy crawled up onto her bed and rolled over. She closed her eyes so fast it gave Dallas the impression that she was seeing something she couldn’t face and wanted it all to go away.

Dallas took a quilt from the quilt rack and covered Betsy up to her chin, then hurried back into the living room to clean up the floor. As soon as she was through, she picked up her phone to call Trey, and then stopped. He was certain to have his hands full right now, and he couldn’t do anything for his mother that she wasn’t already doing. He would call when he got time, and she would talk to him then.