Dark Hearts Page 2

  “We’ve got her!” the doctor said. “Somebody grab the IV. There’s no time to stabilize her here. We’re heading straight to the OR.”

  They wheeled her out of the bay and began pushing the gurney up the hall. Trey went with it, running at her side. He grabbed her hand, desperate to give her one last message.

  “Trina, it’s me, baby! It’s Trey. I love you. I need you to fight to stay with me! Can you hear me? Fight to stay with me!”

  “Sorry, Chief, but this is as far as you can go,” the doctor said, as a pair of double doors swung open.

  Trey stopped. His heart was pounding as the doors swung shut behind them, and the quiet that swept through him at that moment made him weak. Whatever happened now was out of his control.

  He wondered how long it would take Sam to get to Mystic, then let it go. It wouldn’t matter when he arrived. Their mom was gone, and Trina would either live through the surgery or she wouldn’t. He took a slow, shaky breath and walked back to Dallas. Life as they’d known it was over. Whatever happened in the next few hours would be written on a whole new page.

  * * *

  Lee Daniels was happy for the first time in days. The fight he’d had with Trina was his fault; thinking she’d been cheating on him had been a knee-jerk reaction to his mother’s behavior when he was a child. Being able to see her and apologize at Paul Jackson’s funeral had made a bad week better. Everyone was keyed up over a second murder in their small town, and now, knowing it was connected to Dick Phillips’ murder as well, had left everyone uneasy. It was hard to believe, but it appeared there was a serial killer in Mystic targeting a trio of old friends.

  He was coming out of the supermarket carrying a bag of groceries in one hand and his car keys in the other when he heard an ambulance siren. Out of habit he paused to say a brief prayer.

  “God bless whoever is in need,” he mumbled, and then dumped his groceries into the front seat of his car and headed back to his apartment.

  He had been home about a half hour and had just put up the last of the groceries when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and frowned. The Jakes family hadn’t been all that happy with him lately, and he hoped Trey wasn’t about to read him the riot act.

  “Hey, Trey, what’s up?”

  Trey didn’t mince words.

  “Mom’s dead. She was murdered on the way home from Paul Jackson’s memorial service. The killer thought he took Trina out, too, but she was still breathing when I found her. They just took her into surgery. I thought you should know.”

  Lee grabbed on to the kitchen counter to keep from going to his knees.

  “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I’m so sorry about Betsy. Did they take Trina here to Webster Memorial?”

  “Yes. I’m in the waiting room outside the OR.”

  “I’m on my way,” Lee said, then grabbed his wallet and his car keys, and left on the run.

  All the way to the hospital he kept remembering those last moments with Trina and the sadness in her voice. She couldn’t die. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

  * * *

  Trey hung up the phone and looked at Dallas, but they didn’t talk. There was nothing for her to say. His mother’s body was on the way to the morgue. There would be an autopsy, and since the murder had taken place in Webster County, the county sheriff, Dewey Osmond, had taken charge of the crime scene, just as he had when her classmate Dick Phillips’ body was discovered.

  Dallas couldn’t quit shaking. This was a nightmare—a horrible, hideous nightmare. Both of their parents dead—murdered—for something that had happened when they were kids. When she reached for Trey, he grabbed her hand. She saw the shock in his eyes, and when she saw the tears, she cried with him.

  * * *

  The news of Betsy Jakes’ murder swept through Mystic like wildfire. There were plenty who’d been at the memorial service who hadn’t taken Trey Jakes’ comments all that seriously until now. He’d asked the members of that ill-fated graduating class to think back. He’d said there were some in Mystic who knew things. He’d asked them for their help. He’d mentioned a ten-thousand-dollar reward. Now every classmate left in Mystic, as well as everyone who’d been in high school then, was thinking back to the night of graduation, going through everything they could remember and every bit of gossip they’d heard.

  * * *

  Lainey Pickett lived almost ten miles outside Mystic, and after being dumped by Sam Jakes years earlier, she had purposefully shut that place and the people out of her life. She did her business and shopped in a neighboring town and coped with life the best that she could. She hadn’t been at the memorial service because she knew nothing about any of the murders, which meant she didn’t know anything about the announcement Trey Jakes made there, either. She made it a habit not to think about the Jakes men in any manner whatsoever.

  She’d spent four of the past ten years getting a PhD in history, and for most of the past six years she’d been teaching online classes for the University of West Virginia. Her life wasn’t perfect, but she had taken it for granted until last Christmas, when she’d found the lump in her breast.

  A double mastectomy and a round of chemo treatments later, she was now minus boobs but cancer-free and getting ready to begin breast reconstruction. Her once-thick red hair was growing back, and she was alive, and for that she was grateful.

  She had just finished her last class of the day and was getting ready to answer some student email when her cell phone began to vibrate. She had forgotten to turn the ringer back on, and when it began to rattle across the counter, she grabbed it before it fell off.

  “Hello?”

  “Lainey, this is Dallas Phillips.”

  Lainey froze. She and Dallas had once been close friends because they were dating the Jakes brothers, but that had all gone by the wayside with her dreams. The urge to hang up was strong, but curiosity won out.

  “Well, it’s been a while,” Lainey said.

  Dallas heard the chill in Lainey’s voice but didn’t take it personally. She knew Sam had left her high and dry, which was why she was calling.

  “I know, and the reason I’m calling isn’t pretty, but I wanted you to know. From one woman to another, you need to be forewarned that Sam is coming home.”

  Pain shot through Lainey so fast she could barely focus.

  “Well, hell must have finally frozen over,” she snapped.

  Dallas winced. Lainey was still angry, and she couldn’t really blame her. Sam had abandoned all of them.

  “No, it’s worse. Betsy and Trina were shot on their way home from Paul Jackson’s memorial service. Betsy is dead, and Trina’s condition is critical.”

  Lainey gasped. “Dear Lord! What happened? Why?”

  Dallas frowned. “Surely you know about the recent murders of my father and Paul Jackson?”

  Lainey was shocked. “No! I had no idea, and I’m so sorry. I rarely go to Mystic. I do most of my business in Summerton. What happened?”

  “My dad was the first. The killer tried to make it look like a suicide, but they figured out pretty quickly it was a homicide. Then Mack Jackson’s dad, Paul, was killed. Same thing. The killer tried to make it look like an accident, but it was determined to be a homicide.”

  Lainey couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  “I am so sorry. I didn’t know. I just didn’t know, but...why Betsy?”

  Dallas quickly explained about the connection to the night of their graduation.

  “Now all of them are dead,” she added. “Trey has been working day and night trying to run down leads, but to no avail, and now this. That’s why Sam is coming home. No one’s seen him in ages. I don’t know what to expect, but I thought it was only fair that you should know.”

  Lainey’s voice was shaking. “I am so sorry for
...for all of you. And, Dallas, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Dallas said, then hesitated. “Uh...when I asked Trey if I should call you, he said yes. He’s sorry about how Sam treated you...how he treated all his friends and family. The war did something to him. He’s not the same Sam anymore.”

  Lainey’s eyes welled, but the tone of her voice was angry.

  “Yes, life does that. None of us are the same as we once were. Thank you for calling.”

  She hung up the phone and burst into tears.

  Two

  Sam drove I-75 northbound for almost two hours without remembering a single mile of the trip. It wasn’t until his gas gauge began to signal a need to refuel that he finally had to stop. His head was throbbing and his belly was growling as he went inside the station. He knew he should eat but wasn’t sure if anything would stay down.

  The woman behind the register was reading something on her cell phone and didn’t bother to look up as he walked in.

  “How’s it goin’?” she mumbled.

  Since he guessed that was her standard greeting, he didn’t bother answering.

  One quick scan of the fried food inside the deli case was all it took to send him on the hunt for something with a longer shelf life, which turned into sweets. He chose a box of doughnuts and a honey bun, and then got a large coffee to go before going to the register to pay.

  “Will that be all?” the clerk asked, still focused on her phone.

  Sam reached across the register and laid his hand over the phone.

  “Ring me up, please,” he said softly.

  There was a frown on her face as she looked up. The look in his eyes startled her, and she quickly totaled his purchases.

  He paid her with cash, waited for his change and then walked out, drinking the coffee as he went. It was too strong and bitter as hell, but it served the purpose, and slowly his belly began to settle.

  He put the food in the SUV and began to refuel. As he did, he glanced at his watch. Almost 5:00 p.m. Even though it would be dark soon he was driving straight through. On a good day, the trip was at least an eight-hour drive, but driving in the mountains in the dark was going to slow him down. Still, it didn’t matter. No matter where he was, he wouldn’t be sleeping.

  Once the gas tank was full, he got back inside and called Trey to check in.

  His brother answered on the second ring. “Hey, Sam, where are you?”

  “About two hours closer to you than I was when I started. Is there any word on Trina?”

  “No. She’s been in surgery a little over an hour and a half. I’ll call when I know something, I promise.”

  “Would you do me a favor?” Sam asked.

  “Sure,” Trey said. “What do you need?”

  “Get me a room at Grant’s Motel.”

  “It burned down six years ago,” Trey said.

  “Well, hell. Is there another one?”

  “Yes, but you could stay at the farm.”

  Sam’s voice had a don’t-argue tone.

  “No, I can’t stay at the farm. I wouldn’t go home when Mom was still alive, and I’m not going back there now. I’ll take the motel, please.”

  Trey took the cue not to argue.

  “I’ll give them a call. It’s at the north end of Main.”

  “Thanks. I’ll drop off my stuff as soon as I get in, and then see you at the hospital.”

  “Okay,” Trey said, and then added, “Hey, brother.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It will be good to see you again.”

  Sam sighed. He felt like crying.

  “It will be good to see you, too,” he said.

  He disconnected, opened the box of doughnuts and then started the car. He took a bite out of the first doughnut as he was driving away. It was the first of three he would eat before he ran out of coffee to wash them down.

  * * *

  Rita Porter was pouring herself a drink when her husband, Will, came in the back door. Startled by his sudden appearance, she jumped as if she’d been shot and dropped the glass into the sink. Booze and glass went everywhere.

  “Now look what you made me do!” she screeched, and then staggered toward the utility room.

  Will wanted to strangle her. He had a very short time in which to declare himself a candidate for the state superintendent’s job, and everything in his life was going to hell in a handbasket. He wished Rita to hell, too, and headed for his office, picking up the mail from the front hall table on the way and leaving her to clean up the mess.

  But Rita wasn’t finished with him. She came back, and then followed him all the way through the house carrying the broom and dustpan.

  “I guess you heard about the Jakeses,” she said.

  Will turned around, still holding the stack of mail in one hand and a paperweight from his desk in the other.

  “Everybody in town is talking about it, so yes, I heard.”

  Rita kept staring without saying a word.

  “What?” Will snapped.

  She shrugged. “I was just wondering. You graduated with all three murder victims.”

  His frown deepened. “Yes, and your point is...?”

  “I don’t know. Just wondered if you knew anything about what’s happening.”

  A wave of rage shot through him so fast he threw the paperweight straight at her, missing her head by inches.

  She shrieked.

  “You nearly hit me! What are you trying to do? Kill me? That’s it, isn’t it? You wish I was dead.”

  Will glared, so angry he was shaking.

  “What I wish is that you weren’t a fucking drunk. That’s what I wish. Now go clean up that broken glass and whiskey before you pass out. I don’t want to have to clean up another one of the messes you make on your drunken binges.”

  She screamed, then threw the broom and dustpan at him, and ran to their bedroom, stumbling and bawling all the way.

  “Damn it all to hell,” Will said, and then sighed.

  He took off his suit coat, rolled up his sleeves and took the broom and dustpan with him as he headed for the kitchen.

  “Damn bitch. I wish she was dead, all right. I just don’t want to be the one accused of doing it.”

  * * *

  Greg Standish entered the bank through the back entrance and slipped into his office unnoticed. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone right now. In fact, he was thinking of all the ways he could fake his death and disappear. His life and his dreams were pretty much over, and if that wasn’t enough, between his wife, Gloria, and his daughter, Carly, he was bordering on bankrupt. Once the directors got wind of his situation he would be out of a job, and then that would be that.

  He saw a cop car go flying past and frowned. So the last survivor from that wreck was gone. He heard Trey found his mom. And Trina. He couldn’t believe she was still alive after being shot at point-blank range. His eyes narrowed. He’d never given much thought to dying, and now he was wondering if it hurt.

  * * *

  T. J. Silver was in the game room playing “Call of Duty” on his Xbox when his dad walked in.

  “Hi, Dad,” he muttered, without taking his eyes from the screen.

  Marcus stood in the doorway, staring at his son and wondering exactly where he’d gone wrong. T.J. was handsome and intelligent, a college graduate, and had yet to turn a finger at anything resembling work. Marcus had been born into money, but he’d always worked. He’d always wanted his dad to be proud of him. T.J., on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered to be living an idle life of wealth.

  When Marcus didn’t answer him, T.J. realized his dad was pissed about something, and immediately stopped the game and stood up. “I guess you heard about Betsy Jakes,” he said.

  Ma
rcus’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I heard. I also heard her daughter got shot, too. She’s not dead, though.”

  T.J. shrugged. “They say she’s not going to make it, though. Injuries were too serious.”

  Marcus pointed at the Xbox. “Have you done anything today that could remotely qualify as work?”

  T.J.’s eyes widened. This wasn’t like his dad. Something had him all hot and bothered.

  “Yes, I have, actually. I was in the office here all morning, working on details for your announcement party for the senate seat. Then I went to the Jackson memorial—as did you, because I saw you there, but you didn’t bother to acknowledge me. So what’s your problem, Dad?”

  “My problem is that at your age, you should have more to do than play video games. In my day, my father expected me to toe the line.”

  T.J.’s eyes narrowed as he responded in a tone that was just shy of disrespectful.

  “Well, in my day, my father encouraged...no, expected me to make a splash all over my college campus, and after I graduated be sure I was mentioned regularly in the society pages by showing up at all kinds of local benefits and things. I thought he was grooming me for something special, like maybe following in his footsteps once he got into politics. That’s what I thought my father expected.”

  Marcus grunted as if he’d just been punched in the gut. Twice he started to respond and then couldn’t, because he’d realized T.J. was right. He’d never looked at his behavior in that vein before, but everything T.J. had said was the truth. His son was the product of his own raising, and he had no one to blame but himself. He shook his head and walked away.

  T.J. was still a little pissed as he watched his father leave. The old man was obviously amped up about another classmate being murdered. Shit happened.

  He checked the time. Cook was probably finishing up dinner, and he wanted to shower and change before he sat down to eat. As he headed upstairs to his room, he was debating with himself about what he wanted to wear. He decided on something sporty but comfortable. It didn’t pay to be lax about one’s appearance—ever. A person never knew when it would matter to make a good impression.