Wild Hearts

Trey sighed. “I know, but here’s the deal. No need to hurt for him. He’s past concern. You need to be feeling sorry for Dallas. She’s the one who’s been left to suffer.”

And just like that, the mother in Betsy stepped in.

“Oh, Lord, Dallas. I didn’t even think.”

Trey turned around, wondering what had taken Earl so long, and how much of the crime scene his mother might have disturbed.

“Here comes Earl. We’re going down to the barn, and I need you to stay here, remember?”

“Yes, of course I remember,” she said shortly, and combed her hands through her hair. The hysteria was gone, and she was digging out a tissue to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.

“I need to ask you something,” he said.

“Ask.”

“Did you drive your car down to the barn?”

“No. I was heading toward the trees, looking for him, when I passed and saw him. I didn’t even go all the way in.”

“Okay, good,” Trey said, and then added, “Oh, don’t call anyone. I don’t want any locals out here in the middle of this investigation.”

“I won’t. I understand,” she said, and then slid off the hood, stumbled up to the house and sat down on the porch in the shade.

Trey frowned. He should have told her to go wait in the car, but it was too late now.

“Hey, Mom, don’t go in the house, just stay on the porch. I don’t want anything else disturbed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t think,” she said.

“It’s my fault. Just don’t go any farther,” he said.

She nodded.

Earl killed the siren and lights as he parked beside Trey, and then they started toward the barn.

“What took you so long?” Trey asked.

Earl looked embarrassed. “Gas gauge was sitting on empty. Had to stop and fuel up.”

Trey nodded, and then pointed to the area in front of the barn. “Look for fresh tire tracks or anything off,” he said.

Earl’s surprise showed. “I thought this was a suicide?”

“Until the investigation is over, nothing is certain. And when you hear sirens, run back to the house and stop the crew from the sheriff’s department from driving down here, too. They’ll want to see the crime scene intact.”

“Yes, sir,” Earl said, and followed Trey down to the barn.

Two

Trey’s gut knotted as he looked up at Dick Phillips’s body. Because of Dallas, he knew this man almost as well as he knew his own family. As his mother had said earlier, it hurt to see him this way.

He eyed the rope tied to the ladder leading up to the loft, then studied Dick’s clothing. The back of his shirt was very dirty, as was the back of his jeans, while the front of both was noticeably cleaner. It would take an autopsy to make sense of this.

The floor of the breezeway was concrete, so there weren’t going to be any footprints. If more than one person had been in here when this happened, it wouldn’t show up that way.

He walked all the way through the breezeway to the back of the barn and saw no sign of any footprints there, then walked back to the front, looking for signs of fresh tire tracks, but the ground was hard and graveled. Then he went into the egg room off to the right.

The shelves and tables were all in place; nothing appeared to have been moved. There was no sign of a fight or a disturbance of any kind. The deep sink where Dick cleaned the fresh eggs before sorting was clean, and the new cartons yet to be filled were all in place. There were at least a dozen large empty plastic boxes, about the same size as a child’s toy box, stored beneath the shelves, with a stack of lids to fit leaning up against the wall. There was nothing out of the ordinary but the body hanging from the rafter. Nothing made sense. He walked farther back into the cooler where Dick kept the eggs, and turned on the light.

There were shelves lined with cartons of eggs, each marked with the date they’d been gathered.

Earl came walking back from checking the perimeter.

“Find anything?” Trey asked.

“Well, if he killed himself, he fed the chickens before he did it. There’s still some fresh scratch out in the coop, and the eggs have been gathered. However, the cows weren’t fed. There’s no fresh hay or ground feed in the troughs.”

Trey frowned. “That’s weird. If he cared enough to feed the chickens before he took his own life, then he would have fed the cows, too.”

Earl shrugged. “Unless he counted on them grazing. The grass is a little short, but it’s still good.”

They began hearing sirens.

“Sheriff’s on the way,” Earl said, and took off toward the house on the run.

* * *

Betsy watched her son walking down to the barn, then mentally rejected the sight of what she’d seen earlier and looked off toward the mountains for solace. She had always felt a measure of peace in being surrounded by the ancient peaks, but today it wasn’t working. Her head was throbbing, her eyes red and swollen from crying, and she felt like she’d been kicked in the gut. She shoved her fingers through her hair, absently rubbing the five-inch scar on the side of her head. Her hair hid its presence, but when she was upset it throbbed with every beat of her heart, and today was no exception. The shock of seeing Dick’s body had created a feeling of déjà vu, which made no sense. She’d never seen a traumatic death before.

She stood abruptly, unable to sit still any longer, and began to pace the length of the porch and back, anxious for the sheriff to arrive so she could give her statement and move on.

When her phone began to ring, she glanced at the caller ID and then let it go to voice mail. It was her daughter, Trina, and she would never be able to hide anything from her.

She heard a phone begin to ring inside the house and felt like crying all over again. Someone wanted to talk to Dick. Would they weep when they found out, or would they feel nothing more than a passing moment of regret for a good man gone, then forget he’d ever existed?

When she began hearing sirens, she actually breathed a sigh of relief. All she wanted to do was go home and be grateful for what she had.

The sirens grew louder, and she saw the officer come running toward the house. She glanced down at her blouse, and when she saw how dirty she was, she began brushing at the dust and grass on her clothes, then wondered if her hair was just as bad. After she took it down and shook it out, and then combed it back with her fingers, she once again fastened it at the nape of her neck. She was as ready as she’d ever be.

* * *

Sheriff Dewey Osmond arrived on the scene with a knot in his gut. Dick Phillips was a fishing buddy, and he couldn’t believe this had happened. When he saw the police officer waving for him to stop, he braked and rolled down the window.

“What?” he asked.

“Chief Jakes figured you would want to park up around the house so as not to mess up any tracks or stuff you might find on-site.”

Osmond nodded, wheeled up beside the city patrol car and killed the engine. He saw the woman on the porch when he got out.

“Who’s she?” he asked.

“Betsy Jakes, Chief’s mother. She came to buy eggs and found the body in the barn.”

Dewey broke out in a sweat. He was going to have to go down there, and he was dreading it in the worst way. He decided the best way to begin this investigation was to take the witness’s statement.

Unfortunately, as fate would have it, she had next to nothing to say that was going to help them figure this out. He took down her information and said for her to call him if she remembered anything else.

“Am I free to go?” Betsy asked.

“Yes, ma’am, and thank you for your help.”

Betsy shuddered. “I would give anything to have never seen that,” she said. “Will you tell my son I’m leaving now?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and headed for the barn as Betsy got in her car and drove back to town for eggs.

* * *

Trey watched the sheriff’s team work the crime scene without comment. It wasn’t his case and he didn’t want to step on toes, but he had a personal request, and as soon as the sheriff stepped outside of the barn to take a call, Trey followed him. He approached after the sheriff disconnected.

“Hey, Dewey, I need a favor,” Trey said.

Dewey turned around, eyeing him curiously. Dick had talked about Trey Jakes like he was family. He wondered if Trey felt as gutted as he did.

“Like what?” Dewey asked.

“Notifying the next of kin. I’d like to do that, if you wouldn’t mind. Dick’s daughter, Dallas, and I go back a long way, and this is going to hit her hard.”

Ah, the daughter. So that’s where the connection came in.

“I don’t mind,” Dewey said. “That’s the worst part of the job, isn’t it?”

Trey nodded. “I know the autopsy and your investigation will all play into the cause of death, but how do you want me to state it to her? Apparent suicide?”

“Yes, that’s how I read it, but make sure she knows the final ruling will depend on the autopsy. The coroner is on the way to claim the body. He should be here shortly.”

“I’ll give her your contact information if she has further questions, okay?”

“Yes, and give her my condolences. Dick and I were good friends. I can’t believe he did this. I don’t want to believe he did this,” he muttered.

“Are your men through inside the house?”

Osmond nodded. “There was no suicide note. The coffeepot was still on, and as usual, the house was spick-and-span.”

“Then it’s okay if I go inside?”

“Yeah, but why?” Osmond asked.

“I need to get a new contact number for Dallas. I haven’t talked to her in several years, not since she moved to Charleston.”

“Okay,” Osmond said, and then wiped sweat off his forehead and headed back into the barn as Trey went to the house.

Trey entered through the back door of the utility room and, out of habit, cleaned his feet on the throw rug at the threshold. The layout was exactly as he remembered, and he headed straight through into the kitchen, then into the living room to the landline by the recliner. He could picture Dick kicked back in that chair and talking on the phone with the television on mute. He’d seen him do it a hundred times. He wondered if Dallas would keep the place. It had been in the Phillips family for over a hundred and fifty years. It would be a shame for that heritage to be lost.

He sat down in the recliner to use Dick’s phone book and turned to the back page where special numbers were listed. Dallas’s number was the first one.

He started to call her from that phone, then added it to his cell phone instead and left the house. It didn’t seem right to call the daughter on her daddy’s phone and then tell her he was dead.

He got in his cruiser, reached for the radio and told Avery he would be back in town shortly, then put in a call to his mom to make sure she was okay. He drove away while waiting for her to answer, and when she did she sounded breathless.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mom, I’m just checking in with you. How are you doing?”

“Honey, I’m fine. There’s a big knot in my stomach, and I wish to God I hadn’t been the one to find him, but it happened. It’s over. I’ll be sad for him and life will go on. I’m on my way home now. I went back to town to get eggs.”

“Okay, and don’t feel bad for freaking out. It rattled me, too, and don’t think it didn’t. I thought a lot of Dick, and I’m having a really hard time believing this happened.”

“Me, too,” Betsy said. “It’s unlike the man I thought I knew. Look, I haven’t said a word to anyone, and I’m not going to, but has anyone notified Dallas yet?”

“No, and that’s on me. Sheriff just gave me the green light, and I stopped in at the house to get her number. I’ll talk to you later.”

“I’m still making Italian cream cake for your birthday tomorrow,” she said.

Trey smiled. “In case I don’t tell you often enough, I think you’re the best mom ever, and I love you.”

He heard her giggle, which made him smile.

“Thank you, honey. I love you, too,” she said, and disconnected.

Trey topped a hill and drove up on an old man driving an equally old tractor in the middle of the blacktop. He couldn’t pass, so he took this as the opportunity to pull off the road to call Dallas.

* * *

Dallas Phillips left for the television station to begin her day in her favorite black slacks, white blouse and a black-and-white jacket. She enjoyed her work, particularly since she’d become one of WOML Charleston’s hottest on-the-spot reporters.

She was still in traffic when she got a phone call from the station to meet up with the film crew at the site of a twelve-car pileup on the I-90 outside the city.

Change of plans.

She took the next exit, and then drove under the freeway and headed back out of town.

She met up with the film crew a good quarter of a mile away from the pileup and, despite a stiff wind and thick smoke from the burning cars, began gathering information to go on air. When they signaled to her to get ready, she grabbed the mike, inserted her earpiece and took her stance, waiting for her cue. When it came, she shifted from Dallas the woman to the on-air personality she’d become, and began relaying what had happened with an urgent and somber mien.

“To date, fifteen people have been taken to local hospitals. The northbound lanes of I-90 will be closed indefinitely. Authorities are asking travelers to please take alternate routes. This is Dallas Phillips for WOML Charleston.”

“And cut!” her cameraman said. “Great shot with that smoke billowing up behind your head.”

Dallas frowned. “More like a shot of hell. Hard to believe it started with twelve cars and at last count there were twenty-five. This is a nightmare. There are people who will never make it home.”

“You didn’t cause it. You just report,” he said.

What a way to start a day, she thought, her shoulders slumping, and then her phone began to ring as she followed the crew back toward where the news van and her car were parked. She glanced down at the caller ID, but it just registered Out of Area.

“Dallas Phillips,” she said.

“Dallas, this is Trey.”

She closed her eyes, remembering the look on his face when she’d driven away. It was shocking to realize that it hurt just as much now as it had back then. Then she took a deep breath and turned on her on-camera charm.

“Trey! Wow! I haven’t heard from you in ages. How are you? How’s Betsy?”

“Honey, are you where you can talk?”

A chill of foreboding swept through her as she remembered he was the chief of police, a person who dealt with death and crimes as she did, but in a different way.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s your dad. Get somewhere so we can talk.”

“I’m alone now, damn it! What’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but he’s dead.”

She started crying, weak, helpless sobs of disbelief.

“No! Oh, God, no! What happened? Was there an accident?”

Trey hesitated. This was the part that was going to gut her.

“The sheriff is calling it an apparent suicide, but it will hinge on the autopsy.”

Dallas began to scream. “What? No! You’re wrong! You’re wrong! He would never do that, never! Do you hear me, Trey Jakes? Don’t say that! Don’t you ever say that to me again!”

Trey felt like crying with her.

“I’m sorry, Dallas, as sorry as I can be. At first glance, it was pretty obvious.”

“Why? What was obvious? I’m an investigative reporter, remember? What the fuck makes you think it was suicide?”

“Mom found him, Dallas. She stopped off at the farm this morning to buy eggs and found him hanging from a rafter in the barn.”

Breath caught in the back of Dallas’s throat as shock rolled through her.

“I’m coming home,” she said, and disconnected.

Trey ended the call, and then leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. He couldn’t imagine what she was feeling, but she was coming back to Mystic. If only it weren’t under such tragic circumstances.

* * *

Dallas alternated between numbness and uncontrollable sobs for the two-and-a-half-hour drive from Charleston to Mystic. Once she left the I-79 and turned west, she was surrounded by mountains and enveloped in a green so lush it made her homesick. It wouldn’t be long before the cold nights of fall would turn the trees to vivid shades of yellows, oranges and reds. Even though she’d left Mystic for the bright lights of the big city, she’d never completely weaned herself away.

She couldn’t believe her father was gone. It was unimaginable. How had this happened? Why had this happened? Over halfway there she stopped for gas and a bathroom break, and had to wipe her face and get her act together before she dared get out of the car. Her eyes were swollen, her nose was red from blowing and wiping, and she was sick to her stomach.

She filled up the car and then went into the truck stop to go to the bathroom. She stood out in her city clothes and her shiny red nails, and when she walked, she moved with a stride born of confidence rather than an awareness of her sex.

More than one man looked in appreciation until they saw the tearstained eyes, and then they looked away in embarrassment, as if they’d accidentally walked in on her while she was undressed. It was the naked pain on her face that said she’d been dealt a hard blow.

When she came out of the bathroom she stopped to get a cold drink and a bag of pretzels. She hadn’t eaten since her Pop-Tarts this morning and wasn’t sure any of this would stay down. Still, she had to try. Being light-headed while driving was not a wise decision, and after the major pileup she’d seen this morning, she didn’t want to become another statistic for the evening news.

When she went up to pay, the woman behind the counter kept staring, even as Dallas swiped her card and signed for her purchases. When the lady saw the name, her eyebrows shot up and she broke into a wide, happy grin.

“I knew you looked familiar! You’re Dallas Phillips, from WOML Charleston, aren’t you? I see you on TV when I go visit my mother. You’re really good.”

“Thank you,” Dallas said.

“Say, can I have your autograph?” the lady asked. “I mean, besides the one you just signed for your credit card.”

“Sure,” Dallas said. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Coralee. I really appreciate this.”

Dallas tried to smile but couldn’t make it happen as she slid the autographed paper back across the counter.

“Thanks again, and have a nice trip,” Coralee said.

Dallas shuddered. “Yeah, thanks,” she said, and then she was gone.

She took a big drink of the cold Dr Pepper, then opened the bag of pretzels and set it in the console so they wouldn’t spill as she took off down the road. She glanced at the clock on the dash and guessed she would be home around five. And the minute the thought went through her head, she cried again.

Home wasn’t there anymore, just the house that had sheltered her. She hated the thought of going into that place tonight worse than anything she had ever had to do. Daddy’s presence would be everywhere, but Daddy was gone.

* * *

The coroner left the crime scene with Dick Phillips’s body just after 1:00 p.m., and by late afternoon nearly everyone in Mystic knew Dick Phillips had hanged himself. The shock wave sparked all kinds of suppositions, none of which made any sense to the people who’d known him, but not a one considered it could be murder.

Trey had nothing to argue the point except his own personal belief that Dick had never struck him as the kind of man who would just quit. The only unexplainable thing he’d seen at the whole crime scene was that Dick’s clothes had dirt all over the back but none on the front. He didn’t know what to make of that. Mostly, though, he just didn’t want to consider that a friend he’d known all his life had become that despondent and no one had seen it coming.

Along about three, his sister, Trina, came running into the police station, bypassing the dispatcher as she burst into his office with her red hair flying and her eyes wide with shock.

“Trey! Is it true? Did Mom find Dick Phillips’s body?”

“Come in and shut the door,” he said.

Trina was shaking as she dropped into a chair on the other side of his desk.

“You want something to drink?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Not unless there’s liquor in it. Is it true? Did Mom find him?”

He nodded.

“Oh, my God,” she moaned, and then started to cry. “They were in the same graduating class, remember? Mom and Dick and Paul Jackson were in that wreck together the night they graduated.”

Trey frowned. “I’d almost forgotten about that. One girl died, right?”

Trina nodded. “A girl named Connie Bartlett. Mom had her picture circled in the yearbook with a heart beside it.”

“How do you remember all that?” Trey asked.

“I was the only girl in the family, that’s how. I played with Mom’s makeup and went through all of her stuff while you and Sam were out trailing after Daddy. Is Mom okay? I tried to call her earlier this morning but she didn’t answer.”

“I told her not to tell anyone anything, so she probably just didn’t answer any of her calls. We couldn’t have locals crawling all over the place out of curiosity, and Dallas had the right to be notified first.”

Trina gasped. “Dallas. Oh, my God! I’d completely forgotten about her. This is going to break her heart. I guess she’s on her way home?”

Trey frowned. He already had the same fears but wasn’t going to let on.

“Yes.”

She shuddered. “I can’t imagine staying in that house by myself after what happened.”

“It’s still her home, Trina, and don’t go making it into something bad.”

“But her dad killed himself there.”

“Technically, he died in the barn, but I happen to know that both her paternal grandparents died in that house in their time. In the old days, generations of people lived on in the family home long after the elders were gone. Death doesn’t taint a place. People do.”

Trina slumped. “Yeah, okay, I get it. Sorry. I’m just overwhelmed by Mom’s involvement, however minimal.” She took a tissue, wiped her eyes and blew her nose, and then wadded it up in her hands with the bad news as she shifted to a conversation she could handle. “So, I’m on the way home. You’re still coming to supper tomorrow evening, right? It’s our family tradition, coming home on your birthday to all of your favorite things to eat.”

“Yes, I know and I’m coming,” Trey said. “And whatever cake isn’t eaten tomorrow night is going home with me.”

“Hey! Italian cream cake is my favorite, too.”

“So tell Mom to make one on your birthday, too. Stop whining.”

Trina grinned. “Yeah, whatever. Give Dallas my love and condolences when you see her.”

“What makes you think I’ll see her?” he asked.

Trina rolled her eyes. “Puh...leese. Don’t even go there with me, okay?”

Trey changed the subject.

“Are you still dating that Lee guy?”

“Lee Daniels is his name and you know it, and yes, I’m still seeing him, so leave him alone.”

She blew him a kiss and flounced out.

Trey shook his head and then glanced at his watch. He wanted to call Dallas and check on her whereabouts, but she would probably view that as stepping over a line. The relationship they’d once had was over, and she was already angry at him for what he’d told her. He’d heard it in her voice and understood. Until the coroner said the words, he wasn’t fully buying Dick’s suicide, either.

Three

Dallas always knew the trip home was almost over when she could see the burned-out shell of Herman Wagner’s cabin sitting on the promontory of the cliff outside Mystic. After that, it was a matter of navigating the big S curve and then seeing a small green sign: Mystic, WV—Population 6,788.

Usually it made her heart skip a beat, knowing she was almost home. Today she got physically sick to her stomach. There was a moment when she thought she was going to have to pull over, but a couple of deep breaths helped the nausea pass. This was an ugly, horrifying trip for many reasons, not the least of which were funeral arrangements. But she knew enough about unattended deaths to realize they might not release her father’s body as quickly as she would hope, and there was no way to know when to plan the service until they were through.