by Sharon Sala
“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.
It was just after 5:00 p.m., and she began thinking of all the chores that would need to be done out on the farm: checking on the cows, putting up the chickens. But she wasn’t going any farther through town until she found out where they were with the case. She didn’t believe for a minute that her father had killed himself, and it frightened her to think someone would want him dead. Whether she liked it or not, she needed to talk to Trey, so when she got to the first stoplight she took a right and drove straight to the police station.
* * *
Trey was on the phone when he heard her voice up at the front desk.
“Listen, I need to call you back,” he said, and hurried out of the office, only to meet her coming down the hall. “Hey, did you have any trouble on the drive down?”
“Can I talk to you?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said, and led her back into his office and then shut the door. “Can I get you anything? Something cold to drink? I have Dr Pepper.”
It was the sympathy on his face, and the fact that he remembered what she liked to drink, that did her in. She had so many questions, but all she could think to do was cry.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he said, and took her in his arms.
Everything she’d been holding back buckled beneath the weight of her grief. She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face against his chest.
“Oh my God, oh my God, I cannot believe this is happening,” she said, the tears coming faster.
There was nothing to say, nothing to do that would make this better. All Trey could do was be there for her in any way she needed, and right now she just needed to know she wasn’t in this alone.
Dallas cried until her heart was racing and her head felt like it was going to explode. When Trey reached around behind her and grabbed a handful of tissues from his desk, she took them.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, and began wiping away mascara and blowing her nose.
“What can I do? How can I help?” Trey asked.
She looked up. “What can you tell me?”
“Come sit,” he said, and led her to a sofa against the wall. As soon as she settled, he took a notepad from his desk and began writing, then tore off the sheet and handed it to her. “Sheriff Osmond is handling the case. This is his contact info.”
“Thanks,” she said, and dropped it in her pocket. “I don’t suppose you know when they’re doing the autopsy?”
“No, I’m sorry. That’s all being handled at the county level.”
“I guessed as much, and just so you know, I still do not believe he committed suicide.”
“I find it hard to believe myself. When was the last time you talked to him?” Trey asked.
“Three days ago. We talk at least two times a week, sometimes more. We stayed close, Trey. He never sounded upset. He never seemed down or depressed. I know my father, damn it!”
He reached for her hand, but she yanked it back.
“I want to see his
body.”
Suddenly Trey was all business.
“No. No, you don’t. You do not want that to be your last memory of him. Do you hear me?”
She shuddered, vulnerable all over again.
“Was it that bad?”
“Yes.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Oh, my God, this feels like a horrible nightmare. I...I should be going. I need to get the chores done before it gets dark. Sundown comes early in the mountains this time of year. Not that I need to tell you that.”
“I can do them for you,” he offered.
“No, but thank you. I do them all the time when I’m home. I know where everything is.”
He didn’t push the issue. And then it hit him.
“Are you going to be all right at the house by yourself?”
Her eyes narrowed sharply.
“Why would you ask that? Do you think I’m in danger? Do you think whoever killed Dad wants to harm me, too?”
“I didn’t ask because I think there’s a killer on the loose. I asked because you suffered a horrific shock today and you’re going to be on your own there.”
“I’m not afraid of ghosts, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Damn it, Dallas. I’m not trying to pick a fight with you. I’m offering help in any way you need, whether it’s doing chores or sleeping on your couch so you’ll feel easy in the night.”
“I know I’m being defensive, but I feel like I’m in this corner all by myself. Everyone thinks Dad committed suicide but me. Did he have a run-in with someone recently? Did anything happen out at the farm, like a theft? Was he being threatened?”
“I haven’t heard about anything like that, and he didn’t report trouble of any kind.”
“I’ll get answers,” she said, and then slipped the strap of her purse across her shoulder. “If you hear anything, I would appreciate a call.”
Trey resented the brush-off.
“I’ll be calling whether there’s anything new or not. You’re not going through this by yourself. I’ve known you my whole life, and regardless of how we parted company, that history gives me the right to say this. Understand?”
