Dark Hearts (8 page)

She glanced at the clock and then dropped the robe and went to get dressed. She had classes for two hours straight this afternoon and hoped to God she could remember the lesson plans. Right now she was so rattled she wasn't sure she could spell her own name.

* * *

Sam was at the hospital with Trina when Trey entered ICU. He paused at the door to her room to speak to the guard.

“How's it going, Mike?” he asked.

Mike Cantrell stood up. “It's good. No problems here. Everything is straightforward, and other than medical visits no one but you, Dallas, Sam and Lee visits. I'm off in a couple of hours, and Cain Embry will take over.”

Trey nodded. “And don't forget, if you see anything that strikes you as even the faintest bit off, don't hesitate to tell me.”

“Yes, sir. I understand,” Mike said, and then sat back down as Trey went inside.

Trey glanced at Trina, and then raised an eyebrow at Sam to ask how she was.

Sam just shook his head, indicating no change.

“Are you okay to leave?” Trey asked. “I need to run something by you.”

“Yes. I've been here ever since I got back from seeing Lainey.”

Trey heard something in Sam's voice that he hadn't heard in years. “So how did that go?”

Sam shrugged. “Just about how you'd expect. She slapped my face, threw a coffee mug at me and then cried. I won't go into details, but right now I guess I hate myself more now than I did when I was hurt.”

“I'm sorry,” Trey said.

“Yeah, so am I,” Sam said, then turned and gave Trina a kiss on her forehead. “Rest and get well, little sister. Know that you are safe.”

They left together, saving their conversation until they were outside the hospital, when there was no one around to overhear.

“Have you had lunch?” Trey asked as they exited the building.

“No stomach for food,” Sam muttered, then kicked at the melting snow. “At least this is going away.”

“You need to eat something, and I'm hungry. Meet me at Charlie's Burgers. You can eat pie. I want real food.”

* * *

As Sam was walking toward the café, the killer was walking out. He paused, hoping the expression on his face was one of concern and not panic.

“How goes it, Sam?”

Sam shrugged. “Okay.”

“So how's Trina? Is she still in a coma?”

“She's stable, and yes, they're still keeping her medicated.”

“Stable is good,” the killer said. “Just know my prayers will be with her.”

“Thanks,” Sam said and went into the café as the killer walked to his car.

He waved at Trey Jakes, who had just pulled up, and then got into his own car and drove away.

* * *

Trey walked inside, saw Sam at a booth and quickly joined him.

The waitress came with menus and coffee. As Sam began to relax with his brother, he decided to eat something after all. By the time the waitress came back, he was ready to order.

As soon as she left, Trey leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I need you to do something for me.”

Sam nodded. “Anything.”

“I need you to go to Mom's. I know you don't want to, but consider this part of the investigation. Go through the house with a fine-tooth comb. You know what to look for. She was keeping journals about her dreams. She brought me several, but I don't know if what I have is all she wrote. You know?”

“Yes, Mom was big on journals.”

“If you find anything even remotely referring to her memory issues, bring it.”

“I will, but I'll need a key.”

Trey took his key from the ring and handed it over. “Keep mine. Dallas has another. I can make a copy.”

“Are there still cats in the barn?” Sam asked.

“Yes, Dallas and I have been feeding them, but there's no livestock on the place anymore.”

“I'll check on them and feed them today,” Sam said. “Food still in the same place?”

Trey nodded.

Sam threaded the house key onto his key ring, and then reached for his coffee. It was hot and fresh, and it took the chill off his mood. As they sat, he watched Trey fielding texts and then turning the sound down on his handheld so the radio traffic wouldn't disturb the other diners.

“You are a good man, Trey. I don't think I ever thanked you and Trina for taking care of Mom.”

Trey's voice broke. “I didn't do a very good job of it. And I'm not doing a very good job of finding her killer, either.”

“Don't talk like that. From what I've heard, both the city and the county are at a loss on this case. After all that's happened, you still have next to no clues.”

“I know, and it's hard to take,” Trey said.

Sam saw the dark circles under his brother's eyes. He was suffering the loss
and
dealing with guilt. Had to be hell.

“Life is hard sometimes, but we do the best we can with what we're given,” Sam said.

Trey looked away. Silence hung heavy between them until the waitress returned with their food.

They ate in comfortable silence, speaking now and then as brothers do, without concern for polite conversation, and when they were through, Sam picked up the check as Trey went back to the office.

When Sam exited the café, he glanced up at the sky. It was clear but gray, and still damn cold—a fitting day for the prodigal son to go home.

* * *

Lainey was set up and ready for the class to begin, but her head was throbbing. She'd cried harder this morning than she'd cried her whole life. What she couldn't get over was that Sam had cried with her. Despite the hopelessness of their situation, it had been healing to be held, to be loved. The really sad part was that she believed Sam still loved her. He'd known why they were apart when she had not. She wasn't sure how to feel about him. She would always love him, but love had to be shared to grow, and they hadn't shared so much as a conversation in years.

What she wanted was the past ten years of her life back. What she would have done was go back to that hospital again. What she should have done was ignore what Sam wanted. Maybe then he wouldn't have had such a hang-up about himself.

But there was also the PTSD. It wasn't all about the physical scars. He'd said he'd tried to kill his landlord. He'd said he hadn't been able to hold a job. She thought of being in the middle of that kind of chaos and wondered whether she would have been strong enough to cope at that age. It pained her to admit it, but there was a part of her that was coming to accept he'd been right—at least about that. So where did that leave them? Alone and apart. A completely ridiculous, unacceptable answer that was making her sick.

She popped a couple of painkillers, washed them down with water and clicked through to her “classroom.” It was time to earn her pay.

* * *

For Sam, the drive back out to the farm felt surreal. He'd dreamed of this moment so many times over the years but had never made it happen. Doing it now felt like betrayal. But if he could find something that would help catch the man who'd killed his mother, it would be worth the guilt.

When he came over the hill and looked down the slope to the mailbox on the side of the road, he realized that was where the attack had happened. That was where his mother had died. He could tell by the amount of grass that had been disturbed where the rescue vehicles had parked. A wave of emotion washed through him as he thought about how Trey must have felt when he found Mom and Trina.

“We'll find him, Mama, I promise you,” he said, and turned off the blacktop and down the dirt road to their house.

The porch light was on. He guessed Trey had done that. He was just about to get out of the car when his cell rang. It was Trey.

“Hey, Sam, where are you?”

“Just about to go inside.”

“Oh, wow...glad I caught you. I forgot to tell you there's a security system in the house now. The four digit key code is Mom's birthday. Do you remember the date?”

“December 13. So the code is twelve-thirteen?”

“Yes.”

“Glad you remembered. It would have sucked eggs to set that off.”

“Let me know how it goes,” Trey added.

“I will.”

Sam dropped the phone back in his pocket and unlocked the front door. The keypad was right beside the light switch, and he quickly deactivated the alarm.

Then he stood for a few moments, looking at the house in which he'd grown up. God, how he wished his mom would come running with that smile on her face and her arms wide-open. He could almost hear her voice.

Welcome home, Sammy, welcome home.

He locked the door behind him, and then turned up the thermostat as he shed his coat. He turned on lights as he went through the house, noticing the changes that had been made and checking where everything was before he began a real search. There was new carpet in the bedrooms, and the hardwood floors in the rest of the house had been refinished. Some of the furniture was unfamiliar, but it fit.

When he walked into his mother's room, the scent of her perfume still lingered. It was hard not to be angry that the scent of her perfume was still here but she was not.

He headed for the kitchen—not because he thought he would find any clues there, but because he remembered his mother's penchant for baking when she was bothered and wondered if he might find evidence of her state of mind.

There was a pie in the refrigerator that hadn't been cut and a cookie jar half full of oatmeal cookies. It was as he'd expected. His vision blurred as he put the lid back on the cookie jar, and then walked to the kitchen window to look out at the mountain behind the farm. So many memories...

He turned away.

“Okay, Mama, I'm about to put my investigative skills to the test. If you left messages, I
will
find them, so forgive me for any trespasses along the way. We need to keep Trina alive.”

Seven

S
am began searching the kitchen and found nothing written down but a partial grocery list. He moved into the living room, going through his dad's metal desk, through his grandfather's antique secretary, through the tables at both ends of the sofa.

He was digging through the hall closet when he suddenly paused, then pulled out his dad's old rifle. It used to be in his parents' bedroom. She'd moved it closer to the front door, and it was loaded. He thought of her being nervous enough about her own safety to do that, and felt sad all over again as he set the rifle back in the closet and walked away.

When he got to the bedrooms, he searched Trina's first, although he didn't expect to find anything. If his mom was keeping any secrets, this room would have been her last choice.

Trey's old room was across the hall. He dug through the drawers, the closet and then under the bed but found nothing.

When he walked into his mom's bedroom, he started with her dresser, then went from there to the bedside tables. There were a journal and a pen inside the drawer closest to the phone, but the journal was new, with only a couple of pages used. He could almost hear her talking as he read through what she'd written, but none of it was relevant, so he slipped the journal back into the drawer and continued the search, but with no luck.

The only room left other than the utility room was his old bedroom at the far end of the hall, and as he started toward it, he began to feel as if he was entering a time warp. He'd walked this way so many times before that when he opened the door, he almost expected to see his stuff still sitting around the room.

But he was wrong.

His high school things had been packed away. The bedspread was blue. The curtains white. It looked nondescript and appeared to be a guest room now.

He started digging through the drawers without expectations and found nothing. He continued moving through the room, looking through books on the shelf, then inside the closet. He glanced at his old desk and started to pass it by, then out of curiosity opened the front drawer.

Seeing his name in his mother's handwriting on the outside of a small padded envelope gave him a chill. It was a message from the grave. He sat down on the side of the bed, then hesitated before he finally opened the envelope.

A tiny jewelry box fell out, and when he opened it he flashed on a moment from the past: his mother taking him aside before he left for boot camp and showing him this same ring. He could still remember the tears in her eyes when she'd cupped his cheek.

This was your grandmother's wedding ring, Sam. It's been handed down to the eldest son in my mother's family for at least one hundred and fifty years. I want you to know it's here for you when you need it.

Sam put the ring in his pocket and pulled out the letter next. God, he didn't want to be reading this.

Sam,

If you're reading this, then I guess the worst has happened. I have become the killer's last victim. Trey has been trying so hard to figure this out. I've tried to remember but my dreams were all disjointed. Nothing made sense. And other things were beginning to happen when I was awake. I had a couple of hallucinations, and I was beginning to lose track of time. It's a scary way to feel, and I thought of all my children, you would be the one to best understand what it's like to live with that kind of fear.

I love you so much, but you know that. I wish I knew how to make you happy. I wish you'd give Lainey a second chance. She's still on the family farm. I think she's waiting for you, but I don't talk to her anymore. She ended our relationship, and I honored that.

I already gave Trey my journals before I wrote this, so I can't remember now if I mentioned one specific dream. I dreamed it again last night, so I'm going to tell you, just in case.

I keep seeing a body, and it's down in a hole. A very deep hole, like a mine shaft. Tell Trey about the mine shaft.

Give the world a chance. You are a survivor. You deserve to be happy. And just so all of you know, I'm fine with this. By the time you're reading this, I am back in my Justin's arms. I missed him so much, Sam. I am not sorry I am gone.

I love you all,

Mom

He was stunned. His hands were shaking as he folded the paper and put it back in the envelope. There was a message in there for all of them. But this wasn't the time to share.

His heart was pounding as he sent Trey a text.

Call me.

The phone rang within moments.

“What did you find?”

“She wrote me a letter. I found it in the desk in my old room. Damn, Trey, it almost felt like a suicide note. She was so passive about being in danger. She also wanted me to ask you about her journals.”

“What about them?” Trey asked.

“She couldn't remember if she'd already written about a specific dream, so on the off chance she hadn't, she put it in the letter.”

“What was it about? I've read them all several times so I should remember.”

“Did she mention a dream about seeing a body in a deep hole, like a mine shaft? She made a specific point about the mine shaft.”

“No! Oh, my God! Are you serious?”

“That's what she said. So about that wreck they were in...where was it?”

“Going west...toward the Colquitt Mining site.”

“How long has the site been inactive? The wreck happened in 1980. If they were working mines then, someone would have found a body if it was there,” Sam said.

“I don't know. I'll have to check, and I need to let Sheriff Osmond know, too, but this is big, Sam. Thank you. Thank you for doing this. I know it wasn't easy.”

“Oh, hell, Trey, I don't deserve easy. I'm going down to the barn to feed the cats, and then I'm leaving. I assume I set the alarm with the same code that deactivated it.”

“Yes, there's a ninety-second delay, so set it, then just lock the door on your way out and it's good to go.”

“Talk to you later,” Sam said and disconnected.

He put the letter in his pocket, and then paused on his way out of the room and looked back. There was nothing of him in here anymore, and that was okay. Like he'd told Lainey, the boy who'd grown up in this room was dead. He went back through the house turning out lights, lowering the thermostat, then put his coat and hat back on and set the alarm as he left.

As he circled the house toward the barn, he stopped to look up at the mountain, remembering all the years he'd spent playing on it. It had been a large part of his childhood, but it had been there long before a Jakes ever set foot on this land and would endure long after all of them were gone. Even though the emotions that came from being here were inevitable, he felt a sense of sadness with them—a loss of one thing as he moved on to another, like a torch being passed. On impulse, he took off his hat. It was an odd thing to do, but in his mind it was an honoring of the boy who never made it home.

When he was about halfway to the barn a few cats appeared in the doorway. As he got closer, a couple more appeared, along with a litter of kittens.

He thought about teasing Betsy about becoming an old lady with too many cats, and then a brief moment of heartache reminded him she was gone.

He hastened his steps, anxious to be gone. By the time he got to the barn and found the cat food, they were meowing at his feet.

“Chill out, guys,” he said shortly.

After a quick look around to see his mother's setup, he carried the sack over to the aluminum feeding pans near an old granary. The dry cat food rattled as it hit the metal, but it was obviously music to their ears. The meowing ceased.

He could still hear them crunching as he walked away.

* * *

Beth Powell was a born-and-bred resident of Mystic, and she had a dilemma, which she was about to fix with food. She was in the kitchen dipping into a bowl of ice cream. She ate sweets when she was nervous. Actually, she ate a little too much regardless of her mood, but right now her future felt dark and scary.

Yesterday she'd learned about the class of 1980 cheating scandal coming to light. She had been told by more than one person about what Chief Jakes had said. Anyone who knew something and didn't tell might go to prison for aiding and abetting in a murder. Well, she didn't believe that would happen, and she wasn't going to get involved. All of that was in the past, and she had nothing to do with what was happening now, so mum was the word. To punctuate that, she added one more scoop of ice cream to her bowl.

* * *

Trey was in his office waiting for Dewey Osmond to return his call. The dispatcher had told him the sheriff was at a dentist appointment but was expected back at any time.

While he was waiting, he'd pulled up a county map on his computer and was looking at the locations where all the Colquitt Company mines had been. According to the internet, the company had ceased mining on the property west of Mystic in 1978. That would explain how a body could have been dumped there and never found.

If the missing graduate, Donny Collins, turned out to be the body his mother had seen—the one to whom the bloody tassel found in Paul Jackson's safety deposit box belonged—then why had no one ever reported him missing? He needed to do some more research on the kid. Maybe go back to the school and talk to Will Porter. He'd graduated with Donny and would know some personal history. Then he glanced at the time. School was already out for the day. Maybe he could catch Will Porter at home. He picked up the phone.

* * *

Rita Porter was lying facedown in the hall on her belly when Will found her. For a fraction of a second he hoped to God she was dead, but then he saw the spilled bottle of liquor and guessed she'd passed out. He couldn't leave her like that, so he began trying to wake her. When he couldn't rouse her, he thought to feel for a pulse and was horrified to discover it was irregular and slow.

He leaped to his feet, ran back into the kitchen to get his cell phone and quickly called 911. A few minutes later Rita was on her way to the emergency room and Will was in the car, following the ambulance.

He was just pulling into the parking lot when his cell phone rang. He wasn't going to answer, then saw the call was from the police department and picked up. “Yes? Hello?”

“Mr. Porter, Trey Jakes here. Do you have a minute? I need to ask you a question.”

The ambulance was already backing up into the bay to unload their patient, and in that moment Will Porter chose a phone call over being with his wife.

“Yes, how can I help you?”

“Remember how no one at the meeting knew anything about where Donny Collins went after graduation? We're still investigating him so we can eliminate him from our list. What do you remember about his home life?”

“Not much, why?” Will asked.

“I'm still in the elimination process here and don't want to focus on someone who may not have anything to do with this case. No one seems to know where Donny is currently, but if he really went missing back then, why wasn't it reported? See what I mean?”

“Oh. Right. I do see. Well, let me think. I know he was a year older than the rest of us because he got held back in first grade. Don't know why. He was smart enough. Maybe it had to do with social skills. Donny was a small kid in elementary school. He was about average size by the time we graduated.”

“What about his family?” Trey asked.

“I can't really remember if— Oh, wait. I remember one thing. He was a foster child. I think he lived with the Harpers. But you know how when kids are eighteen they leave the foster system? Donny would have been close to nineteen when he graduated. Maybe the Harpers could give you some more details.”

“Are you referring to the Harpers who live across the creek from my family farm?”

“Yes.”

“I'll give them a call. And thanks.”

“No problem,” Will said. “Glad to help.” Then he let out a big sigh, hung up and headed for the hospital. It was time to go pretend he gave a shit what happened to Rita.

* * *

Back at the precinct, Trey was searching for a phone number for the Harpers but couldn't find one, and he didn't want to have to drive all the way out there to question them. Then Sam walked in.

“What's going on?” Sam asked.

Trey explained.

“I'll go out and talk to them,” Sam said. “I saw them at the hospital when I was visiting Trina.”

“That would be great,” Trey said. “I'm still waiting to hear back from Sheriff Osmond.”

“I'll be in touch,” Sam said, and went back to his car.

* * *

Glad to have purpose, Sam left Mystic behind, winding along the rural roads and then turning onto the blacktop that led toward the Harper farm, and then, a half mile on, crossing Possum Creek and taking the first turn right over the bridge.

The road was rough and full of ruts, and the weeds and grass on both sides were overgrown. An old swayback mare behind a sagging three-wire fence was nibbling at the sparse grass in the pasture. And as he neared the house, his appearance roused a blue-tick hound lying against the wheels of the family car.

The dog didn't get up but began to bay and kept it up until the front door opened and Wilma Harper walked out.

“Shut the hell up, Buddy!” she yelled, and then folded her arms across her breasts as Sam approached the porch. The door opened behind her, and Wynona came out in tight jeans and an even tighter button-up shirt, threw her leg over the porch railing like she was sitting a horse and grinned at him.

“Well, hello, neighbor,” Wynona drawled.

He nodded at the two women. “I'm sorry to come without calling, Mrs. Harper, but we couldn't find a phone number for the family.”

“I ain't no missus. Never married. Just call me Wilma, and you can't find a number because I don't have a phone. Can't afford it. My girls have cell phones for when we need to call someone. What're you here for anyway?”