Five
One hour passed, and then another, as Dallas wept beneath the shock of what she’d found. Even worse, she knew when this was revealed the authorities would immediately use it as the reason for his suicide and look no further. In her heart, though, despite learning of this debt, she could not believe he would have felt the situation was hopeless.
He already knew Dallas made good money, really good money. She had three times the amount of the outstanding loan in her own savings account and a healthy checking account. All he would have had to do was confess what was happening and she would have given it to him in seconds, and the farm would be saved. This debt was not the kind of “all is lost” incident that would precipitate suicide. He wasn’t so vain that he couldn’t face what had happened, either. There had to be more to it.
She drifted off to sleep, and when she woke up it was nearing sundown. Time to do chores all over again.
She got up and washed the tears from her face, changed her shoes and headed outside. The moment she felt the chill in the air she made a U-turn and went back for a jacket. Fall was a fickle time of year in West Virginia, and while she’d been sleeping¸ the weather had turned. The air was nippy, and the sky was laced with long, thin gray clouds.
The chickens bunched together, clucking almost anxiously. Before she would have chalked the noise up to them trying to get to the feed first, but since her dad’s death, nothing was the same. They watched her as she moved around inside the coop, some even following her a bit. She paused to look at them, wondering if they were anxious because some predator had spooked them. She quickly checked the perimeter of the coop, as well as the fenced-in area, but it was secure. When she put out the feed and the scratch, they were around her feet, clucking and pecking but still huddling together, their little squawks and clucks all running together until, in her mind, she imagined they were talking.
Do you see what’s happening? Do you see? Do you see? Winter will come. What will become of us? What will become of me?
She paused, her hand in a nest and the warm egg beneath her palm, and had a moment of déjà vu, remembering something from her childhood.
* * *
Dallas was squatting down beside the chicken feeder, petting an old hen, and her mother was standing in the spot where she was standing now. The hen seemed droopy, and Dallas was asking her mother if she might be sick. Her mother said the hen wasn’t sick, she was just old.
The moment Dallas heard that, she picked up the hen and started running out of the chicken yard.
“Dallas Ann! Where do you think you’re going with that hen?” her mother yelled.
Dallas stopped, her eyes welling with tears.
“I’m saving her life.”
Her mother frowned.
“What do you mean, you’re saving her life? I told you she wasn’t sick.”
“But Daddy says you always cook the old ones. She knows you’re going to eat her. She’s not sick. She’s sad, Mommy. She doesn’t want to die.”
* * *
A hen flew off the roost between the door and Dallas’s line of sight, startling her back to reality. She put the warm egg in the basket and moved on down the row of nests, taking the memory with her. She had been so shocked by her father’s death and the immediate need to prove that he’d been murdered that she hadn’t thought about what would happen to this place until today, when she’d come face-to-face with losing it. Would Charleston still hold as much glamour for her, knowing she’d given away her heritage and this way of life for something shiny?
Her heart was heavy as she started toward the barn. The cattle herd, which now consisted of less than twenty head, was at the far end of the pasture near the foot of the mountain. Thankful the grass was still good enough to sustain them, she had to think about what would happen to them, too. Did she want this life to disappear? Where would she go when she longed for the mountains again?
She was halfway to the barn when she heard a car coming up the drive. She waited beneath the oaks as the driver saw her and pulled up to where she was standing.
The old man behind the wheel was a neighbor, as familiar to her as her father.
“Hello, Mr. Woodley. Did you come for eggs?”
“Yeah...yeah I did, girl. That and to tell you how sorry I am for your loss. Dick was my friend. I’m sure gonna miss him.”
Dallas’s eyes welled. Their shared loss was true and touching.
“How many eggs might you be wanting?” she asked.
“Hazel said get three dozen if you have them to spare.”
“We have that and more. Drive on down to the barn. I’m heading that way myself.”
The old man eased his pickup past the trees and parked at the barn. By the time she got there, he was standing in the breezeway waiting.
“Just give me a second and I’ll bring your eggs right out,” she said.
Woodley was looking up at that rafter.
“Is that where they found him?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He kept looking and finally shook his head.
“I just can’t wrap my mind around him being able to do that.”
Dallas set the eggs down. “What do you mean?”
“He wrenched his right shoulder real bad last week. It was paining him something fierce. He even said he was thinking about going into town to see the chiropractor. So I don’t see how the hell, excuse my language, he managed to throw a rope over that rafter, then climb those stairs to tie the end off, put the noose over his head and hang on long enough to jump. That’s what I mean.”
“Oh, my God!” Dallas cried, then threw her arms around his neck and burst into tears. “You think he was murdered, too, don’t you?”
Woodley didn’t seem to mind her emotional outburst and patted her in a consoling manner.
“Well, I sure don’t think he killed himself. Dick Phillips wasn’t a quitter.”
Dallas fished a tissue out of her pocket and began wiping her eyes.
“Did my dad ever confide in you about money trouble?”
Woodley frowned. “I knew he was struggling financially, but he knew that would happen once he quit growing tobacco.”
Dallas was floored, realizing she hadn’t known nearly as much about her father as she’d thought.
“I don’t think I knew that. When did that happen?”
“A couple of years ago. He woke up one day and said God told him he didn’t have any right to be angry that his wife had died, when he’d been partly responsible for making it happen.”
Dallas felt like she’d been punched in the chest.
“Oh, my God! Mom’s lung cancer! She got lung cancer because she smoked, and she didn’t quit even after she was diagnosed.”
Woodley nodded. “He said he didn’t have the heart to raise tobacco anymore. He didn’t want to feel responsible for another death from smoking.”
Her mind was racing. Two years. Right when he’d begun missing loan payments.
“Did he worry that he would lose the farm?”
Woodley frowned. “Oh, Lord, no! He said he was coming into big money soon, more than enough to pay off the loan, and his troubles would be over.”
Her eyes widened. “Big money? How was that going to happen?”
“He never said, but I believed him. Dick Phillips wasn’t a man who lied.”
“Thank you, Mr. Woodley. Thank you.”
“Why, shoot, girl, I didn’t do anything.”
“You did. You gave me hope. Hang on a second and I’ll get your eggs.” She ran into the cooler for three cartons of eggs and hurried back out.
“Here, and I won’t take anything for them. You’ve given me something far more valuable than money. You tell Hazel I said hello.”
He took the eggs and smiled. “I’ll do that,” he said.
“Oh...I’m having a memorial service for Dad day after tomorrow, 10:00 a.m. at the church. It’s not a funeral. It’s a celebration of Dad’s life, and whoever wants to speak about him will have the floor to do so. I’ll be looking for you and Hazel to come here for dinner afterward. It’s tradition in these mountains for friends and family to come eat, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
He smiled again. “We’d be proud to accept.”
She watched until he was gone, and then all but raced into the egg room to clean and carton up the ones she’d just gathered. As she was getting new cartons out, she noticed a bunch of large plastic boxes about the size of trunks. They were stashed beneath the lowest shelf, and she was curious as to what her father had been planning to do with them. They weren’t meant for anything but storage. She nosed around a little more and found a brand-new padlock and keys still in the packaging, but thought little of it. She wondered what he’d been planning, and then she let go of the thought and put the new eggs to the back to make sure she would use up the older eggs first. When she left, she carried all of the empty egg baskets and dropped them off at the coop on her way back.
She would never have believed that she could feel relief today, but she’d been wrong. The moment she reached the house she called the sheriff’s office, hoping he wasn’t gone for the day.
A different voice, a man this time, answered the phone.
“Sheriff’s office.”
“This is Dallas Phillips. Is Sheriff Osmond in?”
“I’m not sure if he’s still here. Hold, please.”
She waited, thankful there was no music in her ear, and moments later her call was picked up.
“Sheriff Osmond. How can I help you, Miss Phillips?”
“I found out something you need to know.”
“I’m listening,” he said.
“A neighbor of ours just stopped by to get eggs.”
“Eggs?”
“Oh, sorry. Yes, eggs. We sell them, remember? Anyway, he and Dad were really close friends, and when he went with me to the barn, he kept looking up at where Dad was hanged and finally said Dad wouldn’t have been physically able to manage it himself. He said Dad wrenched his shoulder pretty badly last week and was still in severe pain, which was something I didn’t know. He said Dad had been talking about seeing the chiropractor this week because he was hurting so much.”
The silence was telling.
“Sheriff Osmond? Are you there?”
“Yes, ma’am. Could you give me that man’s name and phone number?”
“It’s Otis Woodley. Just a moment while I get the phone book.”
She came back within moments and gave Osmond the information.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll make sure the coroner gets this information and see if he can verify it. If you learn anything else, like someone who might have held a grudge against him, give me a call. I’ll do the follow-up investigating on whether there’s merit to it or not. I don’t want you getting involved in something that could turn out to be dangerous for you.”
“Yes, sir, and thank you, Sheriff Osmond.”
He almost chuckled. “Thank me for what?”
“For listening. For not blowing me off.”
“I’ve been in law enforcement a long time. Just when I think I’ve seen and heard it all, something will pop up and make a liar out of me. I never write anything off until I know all the facts there are to know. Take care. I’ll be in touch.”
Dallas disconnected with a sense of satisfaction. It wasn’t a lot to pin her hopes on, since there was no obvious bad guy hovering in the wings, but it was something, and that was more than she’d had when she got up this morning.
* * *
Trey’s day had been beyond hectic, and having to bring Carly Standish, the local bank president’s daughter, into the station for shoplifting had only made it worse. She’d been defensive and then dissolved into tears when confronted with the security tape showing her stuffing a blouse into her oversize purse.
By the time her mother, Gloria, showed up with the family lawyer, he had also received a phone call from her father, Gregory. The call was rude, threatening and brief. When it was over, Trey was happy that he and his family didn’t owe that bank a dime. Gregory Standish was not a man who liked to be thwarted.
By the time Trey left town for his mother’s house, he had more than food on his mind. All day he’d kept thinking of Dallas. He hadn’t heard from her and wondered if she’d found anything in the house that would help the case. If he hadn’t stayed so busy at the office, he would have been hard-pressed not to call her just to hear her voice. But the day was over, and tonight he was not on call. He intended to enjoy every minute of the evening, even though the weather was turning nasty.
Halfway to the farm, it began to mist and the sky looked like more was imminent. He stepped on the gas, anxious to get to the house before the weather worsened. He turned on the windshield wipers and turned up the heater, thankful he’d thought to bring a jacket.
By the time he reached the farm, the mist had turned into a drizzle. He jumped out on the run, leaped over the front steps and onto the porch only seconds before the sky opened up.
“That’s timing,” he said, laughing at himself, and then opened the door and walked in. “I’m here!” he yelled, and hung his hat and jacket on the hall tree.
“We’re in the kitchen!” Betsy called back.
Trina was at the stove and his mom was at the cabinet when he walked in. Trina’s boyfriend, Lee Daniels, was at the table nursing a beer, and gave him a quick nod and a grin.
“Birthday boy is here,” Lee said.
The women stopped what they were doing to give him a hug.
“Happy birthday, big brother,” Trina said, and kissed him on the right cheek.
“Happy birthday, son,” Betsy said, and kissed his left. “Your presents are on the sideboard.”
Trey grinned. “You shouldn’t have.”
Trina poked him in the ribs. “That’s what I told Mom, but she said I had to.”
“Trina Lee Jakes, that’s uncalled for,” Betsy grumbled.
Trey grinned.
Trina rolled her eyes.
“I always knew you were her favorite,” she said.
“Oh, no way, little sister. Sam is her favorite, and she’ll tell you so herself. Am I right, Mom?”
Betsy looked over her shoulder. “Of course Sam is my favorite. He’s the only one who really left home.”
They all burst into laughter as Trey got himself a beer. Then he picked up his presents and sat down, chose one and began with the card. The first one was from Lee.
“Hey, man, you didn’t have to buy me a gift,” Trey said.
Lee shrugged. “I heard about what a great meal this was going to be. I thought if I sweetened the pot a little it might get me some seconds.”
Trey opened the package and found a half dozen of his favorite fishing lures.
“These are really nice! Thanks a lot.”
“You’re welcome. Trina put the bug in my ear.”
“She’s my favorite sister,” Trey said.
“I’m your only sister,” Trina muttered.
Trey arched an eyebrow and picked up the second package. It was from Trina.
“Since we’re home and she’s standing within spitting distance of me, I’m gonna assume it’s not rigged to blow.”
Trina giggled.
Trey opened the box and pulled out a new wallet.
“Trina! Thanks, honey. I needed this,” he said.
“Yeah, we know. You sewed your old one back together with fishing line.”
Trey grinned. “I’m into recycling. What can I say?” He was still smiling when he picked up the last one. “And this one is from Mom.”
“Hurry up and open it,” Trina begged. “She wouldn’t tell me what it was, and I want to see, too.”
Betsy was standing with her arms folded across her breasts, listening to all the teasing and wishing their father were still alive to see what great people they’d grown up to be.
Trey winked at his mom as he tore into the package, then he opened the lid and froze.
“Oh, hell. Oh, Mom.”
Lee leaned over and looked in the box. “Damn, that’s a Colt .45. Is that pearl inlay on the handle?”
Trina was in tears. “It was Daddy’s. I haven’t seen it in years.”
Betsy wrapped her arms around Trey’s neck and gave him a big hug.
“He would want you to have this, Trey. Happy birthday, son.”
Trey turned and hugged her close.
“Thank you so much, but you know Sam’s not gonna be happy about this.”
“Sam already knows. It was his idea,” Betsy said.
“This means a lot to me,” Trey said softly.
“Your dad would be really proud, knowing you turned to law enforcement, too,” Betsy said.
For a moment the room was silent, all of them thinking about Beau Jakes, an eighteen-year veteran with the West Virginia Highway Patrol, who’d been shot and killed beneath an overpass when he’d stopped to write up a speeder.
A loud ding sounded behind them.
“That’s the casserole,” Betsy said. “Your birthday supper is officially ready. Trina, help me get food on the table. Lee, you’re assigned to putting ice in the glasses for sweet tea. Trey, please clean the wrapping paper off the table and grab that big metal trivet and put it in the middle.”
No one argued. They were used to taking orders from Betsy Jakes.
It wasn’t until they got to dessert that Trey brought up Dallas’s name.
“Hey, Mom, while you’re cutting the cake, would you please cut a big slice and wrap it up? I promised Dallas I’d bring her some before I went home tonight.”
Betsy smiled. “I sure will, and that’s real sweet of you, honey. I went to see her today. I took her some chicken potpie and that marinated salad she always liked.”
Trey stifled a pang of jealousy that his mom could go see her so much more easily than he could.
“How was she?”
“Oh, about like you’d think. We both had ourselves a cry and probably felt better for it afterward. I dreaded going. It still feels to me like I’m somehow attached to what happened to her father.”
Trey frowned, remembering what shape she’d been in yesterday. She’d gone from screaming uncontrollably to almost comatose by the time he’d found her.
“No, Mom. No. You found him. You did not kill him.”
Betsy sighed. “I know, but I can’t describe how blue I feel. It’s the same sad I had after Connie died. I know they said she was driving, but I was there—we were all there—only we lived and she died. Just like now. Dick is dead, and I was there. He’s dead, and I’m still alive. There’s a tragic connection between the four of us that will never go away.”
Lee frowned.
“Who’s Connie?”
“Oh, right. I forgot you wouldn’t know anything about my sordid past,” Betsy said.
Trey and Trina both yelled at her at once, “Mom! Your past is not sordid.”
Lee looked embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Betsy shook her head. “Oh, Lee, don’t worry. You didn’t do anything, and it’s not really a secret. You’re just too young to remember. It happened the night I graduated high school. All through school there were four of us kids who hung out. At first we were just friends. Dick and Paul were buddies. Connie and I were best friends. As we got older, we sort of paired up into boyfriend-girlfriend. Dick Phillips was sweet on Connie Bartlett. I was sweet on Paul.”
“That’s Paul Jackson. Mr. Jackson, who owns Jackson’s Auto Repair,” Trina added.
Betsy nodded. “Right after our high school graduation, the four of us took off in Connie’s brand-new pink Cadillac. What happened after that is still a mystery. They found the car wrecked three hours later. Connie was dead. The three of us were critical. No one expected any of us to survive, but we did. Only we have no memory of where we went or what happened to cause the wreck. They told us our blood alcohol level was off the charts, but we didn’t even remember drinking. Now Dick is gone, too, and I’m sorry I got off on such an ugly subject and ruined the party.”
“The party isn’t ruined,” Trey said. “We have you, and we have cake. Nothing bad about that.”
Betsy blinked back a few tears, and then laughed.
“Four pieces of Italian cream cake, coming up.”
“And one for Dallas.”
“Yes, and one for Dallas, which reminds me, I offered to stand in as the hostess at her house for the meal. She’s set the memorial service for 10:00 a.m. day after tomorrow, so I’m roping all of you into helping move tables and chairs, and anything else that might need doing at the dinner.”
Trina nodded. “I can do it, but Lee has to work.”
“I’ll be there, too,” Trey said. “We’ll make it happen.”
“Thanks, all of you. My life would be very empty without my babies...even if you’ve all gone and grown up on me.”
* * *
Dallas was still going through tax receipts and files of farm-related invoices, hoping to find something that would give her a clue as to where her dad’s big money was supposed to come from, but so far she’d had no luck.
It had been raining since before seven o’clock, and it was now after nine. She wondered if Trey was still coming by and secretly hoped he was. This would always be home, but it was incredibly lonely in this house without her father.
She’d gone through the last file of receipts and was putting them back when she saw car lights flash across the back wall. Trey was here! She tossed the rest of the stuff in the box, shoved it in a corner and then took the band out of her hair and combed her fingers through it to shake it out. The almost headache she’d been nursing began to dissipate the moment that band was released, and she made a mental note to take her hair down when she wasn’t working outside. When she ran to answer the knock moments later, she did it without thinking why she was suddenly so happy he was there.
“Come in,” she said. “I was about to give up on you.”
“I don’t go back on my word,” he said, resisting the urge to kiss her. “Here’s your cake. Mom says hello and hopes you enjoy it.”
Dallas smiled as she took the little bag.
“I love this, and you know it. Will you help me eat it?”
“Oh, Lord, no. I can’t eat another bite,” he said. “But don’t let me stop you. You get a fork. I’ll get something to drink and join you.”
“I have stuff to tell you,” she said, as she grabbed a fork and slid the cake onto a plate.
“Want to sit in here?” he asked, as he got a cold pop from the refrigerator.
“Let’s go back to the living room. I have a spot already warmed up on the couch.”
He followed with the Dr Pepper, happy with his view of her backside. She was tall and leggy, with a very shapely butt, and he ached, thinking of how good it felt to make love to her.
She sat, took the first bite and rolled her eyes. “Mmm, just as good as I remembered.”
Trey watched her for a few moments before it hit him what was different. She wasn’t on the verge of tears.
“You said you had stuff to tell me,” he prompted.
She took another bite and then set the cake aside. A blast of wind rattled the storm door and made the damper pop inside the fireplace.
“Sounds like that storm is getting worse,” she said.
“Are you uneasy here?” he asked.
“Not really. It’s lonely here now, but it’s still home, and I’ve learned a lot of new stuff today about Dad. I’ve already passed the info on to Sheriff Osmond, but I want you to know, too.”
“Did you find out something in your Dad’s papers?”
“Yes, and I came so close to calling and crying on your shoulders. As it turned out, I’m glad I waited.”
He set his pop aside and leaned forward. “Tell me.”
“Dad mortgaged the farm to put me through school, and I never knew it.”
Trey was shocked. The land had been in the family forever, free and clear. “You’re kidding!”
“No, and I wish I were. I would have happily worked my way through college. If they’d only said they couldn’t afford it, I would have figured another way to make it happen.” She looked at him, and then looked away. “I was so dead set on getting out of Mystic, I didn’t pay close enough attention to the people who loved me.”
Trey didn’t comment. There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t start a fight.
“So he owed money on the farm,” Trey said. “Lots of people are in debt and don’t kill themselves.”
“Did you know Dad quit raising tobacco a couple of years ago?”
Trey frowned. “I don’t guess I did. That’s not something we ever raised, so I wouldn’t have necessarily noticed if someone else quit growing it, especially since I didn’t come out here anymore.”
She wouldn’t let herself think why that had happened. She felt guilty enough as it was.
“Well, I didn’t know, either, and it’s worse on me, because this was home, he was my dad and I was so caught up in my world I never knew how his was changing. I wouldn’t have known any of this if Mr. Woodley hadn’t come by for eggs this morning.”
“So he’s the one who told you about the tobacco.”
“Yes, but that’s not all. I called the bank. Mr. Standish told me that Dad was two years in arrears and we’re losing the farm in twenty-seven days.”
Trey took a deep breath and then shoved his fingers through his hair in frustration.
“Sweet Lord, Dallas. Are you saying you think that’s why—”
“Oh, hell, no,” she said. “I make good money, and he knew it. I have three times the amount in my savings account that he would have needed to pay off the loan, and a decent amount in my checking. I would have paid it off with a smile, and he would have known it. He might have been a little embarrassed, but he would never have thought it was the end of the world, or that he’d done something so unforgivable that he had to be too ashamed to face me. He would never have lost the farm.”
“Then what? I don’t get the big revelation. If anything, the debt makes a stronger case that your dad did commit suicide, despite what you think.”
“Mr. Woodley had something else to tell me. He didn’t believe Dad killed himself because he said Dad hurt his shoulder pretty badly last week. Badly enough that he was barely able to use it and was talking about going to the chiropractor this week. Mr. Woodley went down to the barn and looked at where Dad’s body was found. He said there was no physical way Dad could have hanged himself.”
Trey jumped to his feet and began to pace.
“This is exactly the kind of evidence you need to make your case. If the coroner can verify that injury when he does the autopsy, this will pretty much end the supposition that it was suicide.”
Dallas nodded. “That’s what Osmond said. But there’s one more thing. Woodley said Dad wasn’t bothered by the loan coming due because he said he was coming into big money very soon, enough to get him completely out of debt, with some to spare.”
“Money from where?” Trey asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve been looking through his papers all evening, trying to find something that explains it.”
“If you can figure that out, if you can prove that money wasn’t an issue for him, and the coroner can verify the shoulder injury, then we can officially say we have a killer in Mystic. The downside of that is that the big money your Dad claimed was coming could be connected to the killer. In a way it makes everything even more mysterious—and maybe more dangerous.”