There’s only one way to keep secrets buried…

If only it had been something else that brought Lissa Sherman and Mack Jackson back in touch after so many years. Something—anything—other than the murder of Mack’s father. Even worse, Lissa’s car had been used as the murder weapon.

Thirty-five years ago, four friends went out joyriding and ended up in a terrible accident that left one dead and the others with no memory of that awful night. Now two more people, including Mack’s father, have been murdered, and if the lone survivor knows why they’re being targeted, she’s not talking.

Even as Lissa and Mack find themselves drawn together in the midst of tragedy, the mystery deepens when someone comes after Lissa, too. Is the danger to her tied to the other deaths, or are two killers at work in town? Now Mack has to fight an unknown attacker as well as his feelings for Lissa, but it may be that he can’t win either battle.

Praise for the novels of Sharon Sala

“Sala is a master at telling a story that is both romantic and suspenseful…. With this amazing story, Sala proves why she is one of the best writers in the genre.”

—RT Book Reviews on Wild Hearts

“Skillfully balancing suspense and romance, Sala gives readers a nonstop breath-holding adventure.”

—Publishers Weekly on Going Once

“Vivid, gripping…this thriller keeps the pages turning.”

—Library Journal on Torn Apart

“Sala’s characters are vivid and engaging.”

—Publishers Weekly on Cut Throat

“Sharon Sala is not only a top romance novelist, she is an inspiration for people everywhere who wish to live their dreams.”

—John St. Augustine, host, Power!Talk Radio WDBC-AM, Michigan

“Veteran romance writer Sala lives up to her reputation with this well-crafted thriller.”

—Publishers Weekly on Remember Me

“[A] well-written, fast-paced ride.”

—Publishers Weekly on Nine Lives

“Perfect entertainment for those looking for a suspense novel with emotional intensity.”

—Publishers Weekly on Out of the Dark

Cold Hearts

Sharon Sala

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Compassion is the recipe for life. Take heed of kindness. Use liberally when necessary and omit judgment for others.

The coldest hearts beat in the bodies of those most wounded by life. It is not for us to judge a lifestyle when we are unaware of shattered dreams.

I dedicate this book to everyone who’s walking a path they didn’t see coming, with peace and grace to them for still finding their way.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Extract

Copyright

One

It began with phone calls in the night.

The moment Melissa Sherman answered, the connection would be broken. After a time, the calls escalated to heavy breathing and ugly laughter. It wasn’t until the caller began telling her in a slow husky whisper the disgusting things he was going to do to her that she finally broke, screaming obscenities in his ear, calling him an outright coward hiding behind walls and darkness, and hung up. Then she unplugged her landline and took comfort in the fact that he didn’t know the number to her cell phone.

She had less than two weeks of peace and quiet before the stalking began.

* * *

Lissa’s starfish night-light had seen her through most of elementary school, all of high school and a broken heart, four years of college and six years of teaching in Savannah, Georgia.

This past summer she and her night-light had returned to Mystic, West Virginia, to teach first grade. She’d never really thought about coming home to teach, but having her childhood home to live in free and clear had been too good to turn down. It was a hard trade-off, inheriting the house as she lost her last parent, but family memories were strong and vivid in every room.

Tonight the starfish was casting a faint yellow glow, lighting the way from her bedroom into the hall as she ran toward the living room, her footsteps making little slap-slap sounds on the hardwood floor.

It was after 2:00 a.m. and she’d already been up once, certain there was someone outside her house. The sound had been right beneath her bedroom window, a tapping sound, but nothing natural, because it had a very unnatural stop-and-go rhythm. It had taken all her nerve to look out, and then, when she did, she had seen nothing.

Uneasy, she’d gone back to bed and had just drifted off to sleep when she’d heard another sound that had had her on her feet in seconds. It was the sound of boots stomping heavily on the wooden surface of her front porch. Now she was running through the house in her old flannel pajamas. When she turned on the porch light to look out, she saw no one and nothing out of place. She thought about calling the police, but there was nothing to tell other than the fact she was scared out of her mind and the house that used to mean sanctuary now felt like a trap.

If her father was still alive he would have been sitting outside in the dark with a shotgun, waiting for the sucker to come back. And the longer she thought about that, the angrier she became, until she yanked the door open, letting it hit the wall with a bang as she stomped out onto the porch.

“You think this is funny?” she yelled. “You come back here again and we’ll see how hard you laugh with a load of buckshot in your ass.”

Then she strode back in the house with her head up and blond curls bouncing, slamming the door behind her. Just to punctuate the promise, she turned on every light in the house and then went to bed.

* * *

Across the darkened street her stalker, a man named Reece Parsons, was crouched in an alley, grinning.

She was a feisty little bitch, but that was how he liked them. He could tell she would be fine in the sack, but she wasn’t ready yet. He wanted her afraid for her life before he raped her because that, too, was how he rolled. As soon as she went back inside and closed the door, he slipped away.

* * *

The next time Lissa woke up it was 6:00 a.m. and her alarm was blaring. She rolled over and shut it off, facing the fact that it was not only time to get ready for work, but it was also raining.

She threw back the covers to get up, then winced as she stood. The floor was cold, and because of the rain, there would be no recess, which was a teacher’s worst nightmare. This day couldn’t get worse.

She headed for the bathroom to shower and paused at the sink to eye the knot of curls in her hair. Rainy days made her naturally curly hair go haywire, and today was no exception.

When her gaze landed on the little brown mole just above the right corner of her lips, she frowned. Mack Jackson, the boy from high school who’d broken her heart, used to kiss the mole for good luck before every football game. She had been trying to forget him for nearly ten years now but without much success. Such was life.

An hour later she was on her way out the door with hot coffee in one hand and a backpack full of games she would need for the indoor play periods, something they all had to get through before this miserable-ass day could come to an end.

But then the car wouldn’t start and she realized she’d been wrong. The day had already gotten worse. She turned the key again and again, until the engine finally fired. Mumbling a grudging thank-you to the universe, she turned on the wipers and backed out of the driveway. But the moment she put the car in Drive, the engine began sputtering.

“No!” Lissa shouted, and stomped the gas with the assumption that too much gas was better than not enough.

The fact that she made it to the school parking lot without actually being late was a miracle. She didn’t even care that she had to run through the rain with a broken umbrella to get into the building. She was on the job, and the time to worry about the car and the stalker was after school was over.

* * *

Both bays at Paul Jackson’s garage and gas station were full, and his other mechanic was home sick with the flu. Paul had called in extra help to run the front while he worked on the repair jobs. He replaced a starter on the first car just before noon and sent the owner on his way. Now he was almost through putting new brake pads on a truck that reeked of marijuana. He wasn’t the kind to pass judgment on his fellow man, but when the young guy came to pick it up, Paul intended to give him the same lecture he’d given his own son years earlier.

He paused a moment to wipe sweat off his brow and pop a couple of painkillers. His knees throbbed, his elbow was aching where he’d whacked it on the concrete and his knuckles were bloody—all part of a mechanic’s job.

Just as he squatted back down, he heard a car pulling into the station and knew from the rough sound of the engine that something was wrong with it. He stood up, wiping his hands as he turned to meet the owner, and then smiled when he saw Lissa Sherman getting out.

She had been in the same class with his son, Mack, and they’d dated long enough that he’d wondered if one day she might become part of the family. Although that had never happened, he was still very fond of her. He noticed as she darted into the bay that she looked as exhausted as he felt.

“Hey, honey, it sounds like your fuel pump is starving the engine. It’s running pretty rough.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Paul, this has been the day from hell. I didn’t think the car was going to start this morning, and then, when it finally did, I headed straight for school. The rain kept the kids inside at recess, and they were wild and bored, so you can imagine how that went down.”

Paul laughed. He had always enjoyed having her around the house. She was as unaware of her beauty as a woman could be and had a great personality.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trade your day for mine. At least I know how to fix cars. I couldn’t wrangle a half dozen of those little rug rats, let alone a whole room full. However, that’s not why you’re here. Tell me more about your car.”

Lissa shrugged. “I don’t know. When it finally started, it ran rough all the way to school. A friend helped me get it started again, and here I am in need of your help.”

“Yeah, sure. Just leave the keys in it and I’ll get to it first thing tomorrow.”

“I don’t suppose you have a loaner I could drive?” she asked.

Paul frowned. “No, I sure don’t. Sorry.”

Her shoulder slumped as she managed a smile.

“That’s okay. How long do you think it will take you to fix it?”

“Might be the fuel pump. I can’t really say until I take a look at it to see exactly what’s wrong.”

Lissa wiped a shaky hand across her face and tried not to let her disappointment show. Even though she lived in town, since her stalker had stepped up his game she felt insecure about being without transportation.

Paul eyed her closely. For some reason she seemed uneasy, even afraid. He didn’t know what was going on with her, but he knew he would just spend another lonely night on his own when he went home. Or he could stay late and do his good deed for the day.

“Hey, how about I take a look at it this evening, and if it’s not a big fix and I have the parts, I’ll have it ready for you in the morning.”

Her relief was evident, which told him he’d read her mood correctly.

“That would be super, and I sure do appreciate it,” she said.

Paul glanced out at the downpour. “Do you have a ride home?”

She nodded, pointing to the car waiting at the curb.

“Okay, then. If I run into trouble, I’ll call and let you know it might take longer to fix. Are you in the phone book?”

She thought of the landline she kept unplugged and wrote her cell phone down for him on a slip of paper.

“Call this number. It’s my cell.”

He smiled. “I should have known. Not a lot of people still have landlines anymore. There are lots of things changing in this world.”

She thought of how calm her life had been before the harassment had begun.

“You are so right about things changing,” she said. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He smiled. “Yes, tomorrow.”

He watched until she made it to the curb, and then he pulled her car into the empty bay and hung the keys on the board by the phone.

* * *

Lissa was soaked by the time she got home. She changed into dry clothes before starting a load of laundry, then began making something for supper. Keeping her students inside today during the noon hour meant lunch hadn’t happened for her. She wanted something filling but quick to make, which took her straight to eggs. Within a short time she had a cheese omelet and a couple of slices of buttered toast on a plate, and was ready to dig in. She settled in front of the television to eat, enjoying the food and grateful for the roof over her head because the rain was really coming down.

Once she finished eating, she cleaned up the kitchen, switched the load of laundry from the washer to the dryer and took a cookie with her as she went back into the living room. She channel surfed for a couple of minutes until she happened on a country-music program highlighting hit songs from the past ten years. The moment she saw who was performing and heard the song he was singing, she froze.

Alan Jackson was singing “Remember When.”

She closed her eyes, but it didn’t stop the tears as the memory came flooding back.

* * *

Mack stood naked before her, his hand outstretched.

Lissa shivered once but took it without hesitation. They’d made love before, and she knew what it felt like to come apart in his arms.

He swung her off her feet and carried her toward the bed.

“I love you, Lissa. So much,” he whispered, as he laid her down and then slid onto the bed beside her.

“I love you, too,” she said, as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

The radio was playing softly in the next room, a song called “Remember When.” She sighed as he began leaving a trail of kisses from the base of her throat all the way down to her belly. She would remember this moment long after they grew old together. She wanted him inside her so bad that she ached, but she knew Mack would take his sweet time. When his fingers slid between her legs, she moaned.

“Do you like that, baby?” he said softly.

“Yes, yes, yes.”

His breath was warm against her ear, then her cheek, and then he kissed the little mole near her lips. When he did, Lissa turned to capture the next kiss for herself, but instead of kissing her, he gently bit the edge of her lower lip and rolled her nipple between his fingers just hard enough to send a sharp ache of longing through her body.

He pushed a knee between her legs, asking her to let him in, and when she did, in one fluid motion he slid inside her so fast that she gasped, unprepared for the suddenness of his actions. She began moving beneath him, already chasing the climax to come. They moved in rhythm without speaking, lost in the sensation of making love.

She went from the heat of passion to a full-blown climax so fast she almost screamed. She was still coming down from the high when Mack shuddered. The blood-rush shot through his body in gut-wrenching waves as he collapsed on top of her and then kissed the hollow at the base of her throat before he pushed up on one elbow to look at her.

“We’re so good together,” he whispered. Then he kissed her again.

* * *

The song ended and so did the memory. She didn’t want to remember how good they were together. She didn’t want to remember how easily he could make her lose her mind. What she did remember was that six weeks later, when she’d found out she was pregnant, it had never occurred to her that Mack would let her down.

When she’d told him, the look on his face had been as panicked as she felt. But he’d immediately put his arms around her and told her that he loved her. It didn’t help that she’d felt him shaking even as he’d said the word marriage. He wasn’t the only one who was scared. Her future was changing, too.

And then she’d had the miscarriage. The fight they’d had afterward was almost bizarre. She’d never understood his anger or why they hadn’t spoken since, and just thinking about it made her lose her appetite. Unwilling to go down that road again, she changed channels and tossed the cookie in the trash.

Wind blew rain against the window in a rat-a-tat pattern that gave her the shivers, but the evening passed without incident. It appeared the inclement weather was serving as a deterrent to her stalker. Even creeps hated getting wet and cold. She went to bed, assuming when morning came that Paul Jackson would have her car back in order.

* * *

It was ten minutes after eleven—almost the witching hour. Paul had Lissa’s car on the hydraulic lift and was standing beneath it, finishing up the work. He’d replaced the faulty fuel pump but in the process had noticed an oil leak, and after a quick check he’d located a pinhole in the oil pan. After that he’d had to call Freddie Miller, the auto parts dealer, to open up so he could get a replacement and promise the dealer a mess of fresh catfish the next time he went fishing for his trouble. He hurried back to the garage so Lissa’s car would be ready for her as he’d promised.

He was giving the bolts a last check to make sure they were tight when he heard the bell jingle on the front door. He frowned, thinking he’d locked it, then realized that when he’d come back from getting the oil pan, he’d probably left it undone. It was odd that anyone would come in, though, because all the lights were off except the one here in this bay, so he watched the doorway, a bit uneasy.

But when he saw who was walking into the garage, his uneasiness disappeared.

“You’re out pretty late, aren’t you?” Paul asked.

“So are you,” the man said.

Paul glanced back up at the oil pan.

“Give me a second and I’ll be right with you.”

“Don’t hurry on my account.” The moment Paul turned his back, the man hit the control switch to the lift and dropped Melissa Sherman’s car on top of Paul’s head.

Paul was caught off guard by the initial blow and staggered a couple of steps back, unaware that the lift was still coming down. He didn’t realize what was happening until the next point of impact cracked his skull. His legs buckled as the car came down on him, crushing the rest of his body.

The killer never flinched. The ease of the whole process reinforced his belief that this had had to be done to get where he needed to go.

The silence afterward was as gripping as it had been the day he’d hanged Dick Phillips. He hadn’t planned on doing this tonight, but first driving by and seeing Jackson working late, then parking in the alley and finding the door unlocked, it had seemed as if fate had lent him a hand. The opportunity was too good to pass up. He was surprised by how easy this one turned out. He didn’t even have to get his hands dirty. No muss. No fuss. No noise. Only one thing left to do. He wiped his prints from the lift release and the doorknobs, and made a quick exit as the blood began to run out from beneath the car.

* * *

Lissa hitched a ride to the station to pick up her car with fellow teacher Margaret Lewis. They were bemoaning how muddy the playground would be as Margaret pulled up to the station to let her out.

“Thanks for the lift, Margaret. I’ll see you at school.”

“I’ll wait just to make sure Mr. Jackson is through. Otherwise you’ll still need a ride. Leave your things here until you know for sure,” Margaret said.

“Okay, give me a minute,” Lissa said.

Margaret grinned to herself as she watched Lissa hurry toward the station. That girl never walked when she could run. She saw Lissa enter the station, then move through the door leading into the garage. A couple of moments passed as she lost sight of her, and then she saw her running back.

At first she thought Lissa was only coming back to get her things. It took a few moments for her to realize her friend was screaming. Margaret jumped out on the run.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” she yelled, as Lissa came flying out of the station.

“He’s dead! Mr. Jackson is dead. Oh, my God, my car fell on him! Call an ambulance! Call the police!”

Margaret gasped and ducked back in her car to get her phone, while Lissa sank to her knees and covered her face, too shaken to stand.

* * *

Police Chief Trey Jakes was already on his way into Mystic when he got a call on his cell. When he saw it was from the dispatcher, he wondered why he hadn’t used the radio.

“Hey, Avery. What’s up?” Trey said, as he topped the hill just outside town.

“You need to go straight to Jackson’s gas station. A customer found him in the garage. Car fell on him. He’s dead.”

Now he understood the need to keep this news off the radio and as quiet as possible for the time being.

“Oh, hell. Who’s on duty?” Trey muttered.

“Earl had just clocked out, but he’s there now.”

“Tell him to secure the scene and not to touch anything until I get there. Did you call the coroner?”

“Yes, sir. They said it will be a couple of hours.”

Trey turned on the lights and siren. “I’ll be there in five, maybe less. Keep radio traffic vague.”

“Yes, sir.”

Trey disconnected and accelerated. This was going to be one hell of a hard day. Paul’s only son, Mack, was a friend. And with that thought came another that made the skin crawl on the back of his neck. Paul was his mother’s old boyfriend and one of the survivors of a bad car crash his mom had been in when they were teens. The investigation into the death of Dick Phillips, who’d been in that same wreck, was still ongoing. First Dick, now Paul. Trey had been a cop too long to be a big believer in coincidence.

He hit the city limits of Mystic running hot. The early hour automatically ruled out excess traffic, but as he pulled up at the gas station, it appeared by the size of the gathering crowd that word was spreading anyway. He sighed. The joys of small-town living.

He saw Melissa Sherman sitting on the curb as he got out. She was crying so hard she was shaking, and he wondered what part she had in this hell. Then he saw his officer putting up crime-scene tape around the area, blocking off access to the gas pumps and the station, and headed for him.

“Earl?”

Earl was tight-lipped, his expression grim.

“Damn, Chief! It’s an ugly sight. Looks like the lift failed. Blood is already drying, so it must have happened some hours back. Miss Sherman found him. She said he’d offered to work late on her car so she could have it first thing this morning. I took her statement. She’s convinced it’s her fault he’s dead because it was her car that fell on him.”

Trey felt sick. “Finish stringing up that tape and then disperse the crowd.”

“Yes, sir,” Earl said. He then turned to look as officers Carl and Lonnie Doyle drove up in their cruisers. “Carl and Lonnie are here, Chief.”

“Good. You’re clocked out, so as soon as you finish up, go home and get some sleep. I might need you again soon, and you need some rest.”

Earl shuddered. “Oh, hell, Chief. I don’t wanna sleep. All I’ll see when I close my eyes is the body.”

Trey sighed. “When you’re through, go write up your report and go home anyway. I’ll call if I need you.”

Earl began tying off the crime-scene tape as Trey backtracked to where Lissa was sitting. When he touched her shoulder, she screamed, then leaped to her feet.

Trey sighed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Lissa’s eyes were swollen from crying.

“My car... It fell. He stayed...should have said no. Oh, my God, it’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Trey said. “Come sit in my car. I’ll take you home later.”

The suggestion seemed to shake her out of her hysteria. She began pulling herself together, wiping tears off her cheeks and pushing wayward curls from her forehead.

“No, no, I can’t go home. I need to get to school.”

“I don’t think you’re in any shape to—”

“I’ll be okay.” She shuddered, then drew a deep breath. “I don’t want to go home. I need to think of something besides what I saw,” she said, and dug a tissue out of her pocket and blew her nose.

“Then, for the time being, take a seat in my car.”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, before gathering up her things and moving toward the police cruiser on shaky legs as Trey headed back to the gas station. He went straight into the garage and then stopped, shocked to the core.

“Dear God,” he muttered. He gritted his teeth and began looking at everything but the body.

At the outset, it seemed obvious the lift had failed. It happened. He would have to check on the whereabouts of the other mechanics who worked for Paul to see if they’d been with him earlier. After a quick survey of the garage, he was disappointed to find out there was no security camera on the premises. It would have helped to know if Paul had been alone. He would send his officers to check if any cameras from surrounding businesses had a view of the station. He met Carl and Lonnie on his way out.

“Carl, is that department camera still in your cruiser?”

“Yes, sir,” Carl said.

“You know what to do. Get plenty of pictures from every angle, and dust the control to the hydraulic lift and the front door for prints. Lonnie, you make sure and keep this scene clear. The coroner will be showing up in a couple of hours.”

Lonnie’s eyes widened. “Are you saying—”

“I’m just covering all the bases,” Trey said.

“Yes, sir,” Lonnie said, adding, “This just feels so weird. We don’t have stuff like this happen here in Mystic, and now two of our locals are dead within a month, although Dick Phillips’ death wasn’t an accident.”

“Yes, and we need to make damn sure this was an accident before we close this case, understand?”

Both officers nodded.

“You and Carl stay on the premises until the coroner is finished, and make sure this place is locked before you leave. Since the lift failed, you may need to call in the fire department to help the coroner remove the body.”

“Yes, sir,” Lonnie said.

One issue dealt with, Trey thought. Now he needed to talk to Lissa.

Two

Trey’s phone rang as he was heading for his cruiser. He glanced at the caller ID and frowned as he answered.

“Hello, Mom. What’s up?” he asked.

Betsy Jakes’ voice was shaking. “Is it true Paul Jackson is dead?”

He paused near the back of his cruiser.

“Damn, bad news spreads fast in small towns. Yes, but I have yet to notify the next of kin, so I need to do that now before someone does it for me.”

He heard his mother gasp, then begin moaning as if in great pain.

Trey frowned. “Mom?”

When the line went dead, he realized she’d hung up on him. His frown deepened. When Dick Phillips had died, she had scared him with her behavior, although he’d chalked up her reaction to being the one who’d found his body. Now she seemed on the verge of going down that road again. Damn it. He needed to be in three places at once. Then he thought of his fiancée, Dick Phillips’ daughter, Dallas. She could go check on his mother.

He made a quick call home.

Dallas answered on the second ring. “Hey, honey, did you forget something?”

“No. Shit hit the fan early today. Paul Jackson is dead. Looks like the lift fell on him. Would you please go check on Mom, and if she’s acting weird, stay with her for a little while until I can get over there? I need to talk to her, but I can’t get over there for a while.”

Dallas was horrified. With her father’s murder still fresh in her mind, she immediately empathized.

“Yes, I’m on my way. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’ll stay with her until you can get there.”

“Thanks,” he said, then pocketed his phone and got in the car with Lissa.

It appeared she’d been doing a repair job on her makeup. Her eyes were still red and slightly swollen, but she had reapplied some makeup and seemed calmer.

“Are you sure you want to go to work?” Trey asked.

“Yes, I’m sure,” she said. “If I need to sign anything, just call the office and leave me a message. I can drop by the station after school.”

“Earl said you already gave him your statement?” he said as he started the car and pulled away.

She nodded. “There wasn’t much to tell. I went in to see if my car was ready and...” She swallowed around the lump in her throat, then took a deep breath. “I went in and saw what had happened. I ran back out crying. My friend Margaret Lewis called the police.”

“Did she go inside?” Trey asked.

Her voice was shaking again. “Oh, no, no one else did except your officer.”

“I’ll ask you not to talk about the details, okay?”

She shuddered. “Of course.”

A few moments later he turned the corner and pulled up to the front walk of the school building.

“So here you are. I still think you should have gone home.”

She gave him a brief smile. “Thank you for the ride,” she said, jumping out and fumbling with her things as she walked away.

Trey drove back to the station. He wanted the privacy of his office to call Paul’s son and was dreading this call almost as much as the one he’d made to Dallas when Dick Phillips’ body was discovered.

Inside, he sat down behind his desk, searched online for Jackson Lumber in Summerton and said a quick prayer.

* * *

Mack Jackson was outside in the breezeway of his lumberyard, watching one of his employees loading up an order. He eyed the short line of trucks and pickups behind it, four of which were also being loaded. After satisfying himself that all his customers were being helped, he headed back into the main building and then down the hall toward his office.

He was well liked by his employees and was one of Summerton’s most eligible bachelors. He had no interest in changing that. He stayed friendly but kept everything casual when it came to feminine companions. His bookkeeper, a middle-aged woman named Bella Garfield, had told him that he looked like a dark-haired Daniel Craig, which always made him grin. Being compared to the current James Bond wasn’t a bad thing.

He paused in the hallway to get a can of Coke from the machine and had just popped the top when Bella stepped out into the hall and waved him down.

“Mack! Phone call for you on line four.”

“Thanks,” he said, lengthening his stride. He shut the door behind him and set the can on his desk as he picked up the call. “This is Mack. How can I help you?”

“Mack, this is Trey Jakes.”

Mack smiled as he plopped down in his chair. “Well, hello, stranger. What can I do for you?”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news. Are you alone?”

Mack’s smile disappeared. “Yes, I’m alone. What’s happened?”

“I’m so sorry to have to tell you, but your father was found dead in his shop this morning.”

Trying to make sense of what he’d been told, Mack reeled as if he’d been slapped.

“What? No! Oh, God, no! Was it a heart attack? Did—”

“No, Mack. No heart attack.” Trey braced himself for the rest. “He was working on a car late last night, and it appears the lift failed and crushed him beneath it.”

When Mack went silent, Trey didn’t know what to think. “Mack? Mack?”

Mack’s voice was shaking, and his eyes were so full of tears he couldn’t see his desk. “I’m on my way.”

“Look, Mack, the coroner isn’t here yet and—”

“Are you telling me he’s still there? Under the car?”

“It’s procedure in an unattended death. The coroner has to see the scene intact.”

“Are you implying it wasn’t an accident?” Mack asked.

“No, I’m not implying anything, but it’s my job not to assume anything, either.”

“I hear you—now you hear me. I’ll be there.”

“No, man, you don’t want—”

The line went dead in Trey’s ear. He sighed. This was the second time that morning someone had hung up on him. He left the police station through the back door and returned to the scene of the accident.

* * *

It took Mack less than thirty minutes to put the lumberyard into his sympathetic manager’s hands and go home and pack. He’d made the drive from Summerton to Mystic countless times, but never like this. This time he was scared to go home.

Once, when he was six, he got mad because he couldn’t go to his grandparents’ house and ran away. He didn’t get far before he realized he didn’t know how to get there, so he stopped, then was scared to go home because he was afraid of the consequences. He felt like that now, afraid to go home because of the consequences awaiting him.

He was also bothered by how his father had died. He had been such a stickler for safety in the garage that this scenario seemed improbable. Of course hydraulic lifts could fail, but he’d never imagined them dropping so fast a man couldn’t escape. The horror-filled image in his head kept getting worse with each passing mile. Had his dad cried out for help and no one had heard? Had he suffered?

He didn’t know he was crying until his vision finally blurred to the point that he couldn’t see the road. He pulled over onto the shoulder, slammed his SUV into Park and then laid his head down on the steering wheel and sobbed. One image after another swept through his mind from when he was a child. All the nights when he was little and his dad had read him a story to put him to sleep. The countless holidays spent together with his parents. The year the front porch had collapsed from a heavy snow and they couldn’t use the front door for two months. Losing his mother when he was only ten. Mack and his father had become inseparable afterward. Now the thought of his father dying alone in excruciating pain was horrifying. His dad had been there for him when he’d needed him most, but in Paul’s darkest moment, he’d died alone.

Overwhelmed with grief and guilt, Mack lost track of time.

It wasn’t until a semi rolled past him so fast it shook his car that he pulled himself together and resumed his journey. He had always thought the worst thing that could ever happen to him had been when he’d found out Melissa Sherman, the girl he’d loved more than life, had aborted their baby, but he had been wrong. Today was, without question, even worse.

* * *

Trey was at the garage with his officers, absorbing the implications of what they’d just told him, when Mack Jackson arrived. Trey could tell he was in shock as he got out of his car, and his hesitant steps bore witness to how much he dreaded going into the garage, yet he kept moving forward.

Trey went to meet him. “Mack. I’m so sorry.”

Mack couldn’t look at the sympathy on Trey’s face without breaking down again, so he nodded without meeting his friend’s gaze.

When he started into the garage, Trey stopped him. “I’m telling you again, you don’t want to go in there.”

Mack looked up then, with anger in his eyes. “Hell no, I don’t want to go in there, but he’s alone, damn it! He’s alone! That’s not right. It’s just not right.”

Trey stepped back. “Then, I have to go with you. You can’t move anything. You can’t touch anything.”

“I know,” Mack said.

Mack kept his eyes on the back of Trey’s head until they were inside the garage, and then he looked down.

He saw the car, then the pool of drying blood, and then he saw a work boot, and that was enough. He turned away, and his voice was trembling with shock and emotion when he spoke.

“I see and still don’t believe. He was all about safety measures. He was careful, so damn careful,” he whispered. And then he looked up at Trey, unaware that he was crying again. “I need to stay with him. Show me where I can stand.”

Trey sighed. “Just stay where you are. The less we move around, the less likely we’ll disturb anything vital.”

“I won’t move,” Mack said, taking a stance not unlike a soldier standing guard at his post.

Trey kept his distance, giving Mack the space he obviously needed to keep his emotions contained, but at the same time he was worried. He hadn’t heard back from Dallas, so he didn’t know if his mother was okay or if she had flipped out like she had before. He didn’t know if his sister, Trina, had left for work or if she was still at the house, too. Something was up with the two men dying so close together. He could feel it.

* * *

Mack kept his gaze fixed on a dirty spot on one of the windows directly across from where he was standing and didn’t look away. He’d spent countless hours in this place growing up. It used to be his favorite place to spend time with his dad, but once they took his father’s body away, there would be little need to come back other than to tie up loose ends.

He and Trey stood without talking while the world went on around them. Through the window he could see cars driving past, people on their way to somewhere else. A kid rode by on his bicycle. A couple of men parked a few doors down and went into a used furniture store. Mack didn’t understand how life could be so ordinary out there and a living nightmare in here.

Trey kept an eye out for the coroner’s vehicle. When a blue car wheeled in and parked, and a black van with a county logo on the doors pulled in beside it, Trey pointed. “They’re here.”

Mack blinked.

“I’ll be right back,” Trey said as he strode out.

Mack watched the men getting out of their vehicles. When they opened up the back of the van, a chill swept through him. He could almost feel his father’s presence.

“They’re here, Dad. Just hang on a little longer and we’ll get you free.”

Moments later Trey came back, accompanied by a trio of men, one of whom Mack recognized as Pryor Addison, the county coroner.

Addison knew the Jacksons and was disturbed to learn what had happened to Paul, but he frowned when he saw Mack. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

“And he shouldn’t be under that car,” Mack said.

Addison sighed. “You need to step outside, son.”

“No, sir, with respect.”

Addison shrugged and went to work directing his crew as to which pictures he wanted and from what angles, and then circled the car several times trying to decide which side they needed to jack up to remove the body. Until it was out from under the car, there was nothing definitive to see. “So the lift failed?” he said.

“So we assume,” Trey said. “We haven’t moved or touched anything since the body was discovered.”

Addison looked around for the lift controls and had pictures taken of that, too. “Okay, we need to get this car off the body without causing further damage.”

Trey couldn’t get the thought out of his mind that this wasn’t an accident. Carl had already told him there were no prints on the lift control, which made no sense. There should be prints galore. Every time it went up or down someone had to use the control. Now was a good time to test it.

“Do you have a problem with me trying out the lift?” Trey asked.

Mack looked at Trey as if he’d lost his mind. “What are you saying?” he asked.

“I’m not saying anything,” Trey said. “I just need to make sure the lift is inoperable before I call in the fire department to help remove the car.”

Addison shrugged. “I have no problem with that. Either it will work or it won’t, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Trey said, and reached for the control.

The hydraulics kicked in, and the lift began moving up without a hitch.

Mack caught a glimpse of his father’s body and turned his back. Trey had been right. He didn’t want this sight burned into his memory.

The coroner frowned, and then glanced up at Trey. “What made you think to do that?” he asked.

“My officers dusted for prints. There weren’t any,” Trey said.

Mack picked up that something was wrong. “What the hell is going on here?”

Trey held up a hand. “Come outside with me...please.”

Mack left without looking back, but as soon as they got outside, he stopped.

“Talk to me, damn it. That’s my father. I have a right to know what’s happening.”

“Get in my car, Mack. I don’t intend to advertise this, and I expect you to keep quiet about it, too.”

Mack got in the police cruiser, and as soon as Trey slid behind the steering wheel, despite the state Mack was in, he started questioning him.

“What do you know about the wreck your dad was in the night he graduated from high school?”

Mack was struggling with the notion that his father’s death wasn’t an accident and was clearly unprepared for such a seemingly random question.

“What the hell does that have to do with—”

“I don’t know,” Trey snapped. “Can you answer the question or not?”

Mack shoved a shaky hand through his hair. “Sorry. I...I know it happened. I don’t know much of anything else.”

“Do you know the other people who were in it with him?”

Mack was trying to focus on this conversation when his thoughts were on what was going on inside the garage.

“No, I don’t remember. I think there were a couple more, but I don’t know if I ever knew who they were.”

“You know Dick Phillips was murdered recently,” Trey said.

“Yes, Dad told me. He was really upset and—” Mack stopped. All of a sudden the questioning clicked. “Was he one of the kids in the car with Dad?”

“Yes, along with their girlfriends. Dick’s girlfriend, Connie, died that night. She was the driver. The other girl was your dad’s girlfriend, Betsy. The same Betsy who’s now my mom.”

Mack’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Your mom? Your mom was my dad’s old girlfriend?”

Trey nodded.

“What does she say about all this?” Mack asked.

“Nothing. You may or may not know that the survivors were injured so severely that none of them had a single memory of what happened after the actual graduation ceremony.”

“Are you saying someone is after the three of them?” Mack asked.

Trey shrugged. “I can’t say that the wreck has anything to do with why Dick died, but I’m a cop, and having one man murdered who was in that wreck is one thing. Having two dead within the same month feels like more than coincidence to me.”

Mack was stunned.

“Will the coroner be able to tell if my dad was murdered?”

“I don’t know. But if we can ascertain there’s no mechanical fault with the lift, we’ll have to assume someone lowered it on him.”

“I know the company Dad used to maintain it. The information is in his office at the house. I’ll get it to you,” Mack said.

“I’d appreciate that,” Trey said. “When you go through your dad’s things, if you see anything like a journal or a diary, I need to see it.”

“I’ll go through his things, but honestly I don’t expect to find anything. We got real close after Mom died, and I’d swear on a Bible there were no secrets between us.”

Trey nodded.

“I understand, but just keep it in mind, and remember, I don’t want a word of this repeated. If these deaths are related to that wreck, the last thing we want is for the killer to be forewarned that we’ve figured out the connection.”

Mack was shaken to the core. Here he’d thought the worst thing to happen was that his father had died, but to think he might have been murdered seemed worse, almost obscene.

“Understood,” he muttered.

“So I guess you’ll be around the rest of the day?” Trey asked.

“I’ll be staying in Mystic for sure until after Dad’s services,” Mack said.

Trey frowned. “I don’t know when the coroner will release the body.”

“I understand.” Mack glanced out the window at the crowd gathered on the other side of the street. “I never did get the need to witness other people’s grief.”

“Some thrive on being the first with the latest news, true or not,” Trey said.

It was the word first that made Mack wonder who’d actually found his dad.

“Who discovered the body?”

“Melissa Sherman. That’s her car on that lift, and she took it really hard. She’s blaming herself because your dad offered to work overtime on it last night so she could have it this morning.”

Mack was in shock. He saw her face in his mind, the way she’d looked when they made love, the way she’d laughed, the way that little mole at the corner of her mouth had always drawn his gaze to the supple curves of her lips, and then the way they’d parted. It hadn’t been pretty, and he still held a serious grudge. It was inevitable that he would now be forced to see her whether he wanted to or not. How bizarre that they would be thrown together again like this.

“I didn’t know she’d moved back to town,” he said.

Trey nodded. “Just this year. She inherited the house she grew up in when her mother died. She’s teaching first grade at the elementary school.”

Mack hunched his shoulders against the sudden ache in his chest. He didn’t want to care about her, but he kept thinking how awful it must have been for her to be the one who found the body. She had always loved his dad, and now she was blaming herself. He couldn’t let that go.

“Will you talk to her about the lift?” Mack asked.

“At this point I’m not saying anything more until it’s been checked out, and you can’t say anything about what we talked about, either. Not even to make her feel better. We’ll know the truth soon enough.”

Mack nodded. “I understand, but I don’t think it’s fair for someone to be living with misplaced guilt, that’s all.”

“You can talk to her all you want, but not about this,” Trey said. “Again, I’m very sorry for your loss. I’ll make sure the coroner’s office has your contact information. They’ll notify you when they release the body. Here’s my card. Use either number if you need me.”

“Thanks,” Mack said, and quickly entered the information in his phone. He slipped a card out of his pocket and handed it to Trey. “This has my cell number in case you need to reach me.”

They looked up just as the coroner exited the building, followed by two men carrying a body bag. Once they put it into the van they slammed the doors and drove away.

Mack’s voice was shaking. “I guess I need to lock up.”

“Do you have keys?” Trey asked.

Mack nodded. “I assume you want everything left as is?”

“Yes, at least until after I get the lift inspected,” Trey said.

“I’ll text you the info after I get home.”

“I’ll seal the entrances after you lock up,” Trey said. “Tell your dad’s employees to stay off the premises until I give the all clear.”

Mack got out with his keys in hand, went straight to the front door and locked up, then circled the building, making sure the back entrances were locked, as well. When he returned to the front of the station, seeing the yellow crime-scene tape across the doorway seemed surreal. He felt the stares from the crowd across the street but never looked up as he got in his car and drove away.

* * *

Marcus Silver was pale and shaken as he came to the breakfast table. He dropped into his chair, and then waved away the maid and the plate of food she was carrying.

“Just coffee, please,” he said.

She set the plate on the sideboard and then quickly filled his cup before leaving the room.

His son, T.J., swallowed a bite of waffle then frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“I just got some bad news,” Marcus said. “Paul Jackson is dead.”

T.J. laid down his fork. “What happened? Heart attack?”

Marcus shook his head. “No, he was crushed beneath a car he was working on.”

T.J. gasped. “God, dying is a hell of a way to begin the day!”

Marcus looked up. “Oh. No, it didn’t happen this morning. They think he was working late on a car when the lift failed. The car belonged to Melissa Sherman. She’s the one who found him this morning.”

T.J.’s heart skipped. Lissa! How odd that she was mixed up in such an ugly death. They had shared a few dates right after she’d first come home, but then she’d refused further invitations. He’d stopped asking, but it still rankled that she’d quit him. He liked to be the one to call the shots.

“That’s terrible about Mr. Jackson. I’m sorry to hear that. He was one of your classmates, right?”

Marcus nodded.

T.J. reached across the table. “Is there anything I can—”

His father stood abruptly. “Excuse me,” he said, and left the dining room like a man on a mission.

T.J. stood as if to follow him and then paused. He didn’t know what he could have said to make this better, so he sat back down. He couldn’t help but think how fragile life was, and he was grateful his father was still with him; then he thought of Lissa and wondered how he could turn this to his advantage.

Three

Will Porter was finishing breakfast and preparing for an early meeting at school. His wife, Rita, was sitting at the other end of the breakfast table nursing a cup of coffee spiked with a shot of the bourbon she’d gotten drunk on last night. It was all he could do to look at her these days. She was such a disappointment and hardly the wife he needed if he was going to get himself elected state superintendent of schools. His dreams were big, but Rita’s daily hangovers were bigger. He still wasn’t sure what he was going to do about her, but he wasn’t going to let anything derail his aspirations to get out of this one-horse town.

When his cell phone rang, he was actually relieved. It saved him from having to tell her goodbye. Instead, he just waved at her as he stood up and walked away, talking as he went.

“This is Porter. Yes, Suzette. I’m on my way. What? Heard what?” He paused in the hall. “Really! That’s terrible. So is everyone there? Good, tell them I’m on my way.”

He dropped his phone in his pocket and reached for his briefcase just as Rita picked it up and handed it to him, tilting her cheek in a flirtatious manner.

“You almost forgot my goodbye kiss.”

“I didn’t forget anything,” Will said as he took the briefcase out of her hands.

She grabbed his coat sleeve. “Who was that on the phone? I heard you say something was terrible. What happened?”

“It was Suzette. She called to tell me the parents I’m supposed to meet with this morning are waiting on me, so turn loose of my sleeve, I need to go.”

Rita frowned. “What’s so terrible about that?”

“Oh, that. She said Paul Jackson was dead. Crushed by a car he was working on.”

Rita shrieked. “Oh, my God! That’s terrible! And he was such a sweet man.”

Will frowned. “Really? Did you fuck him when you were in school like you did Dick Phillips? Are you going to throw that in my face, too?”

Rita slapped his face.

He returned the slap and sent her reeling.

“There, now, if you needed an excuse to get shit-faced drunk again today, I just gave it to you.”

He walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Rita was still screaming obscenities as he drove away.

* * *

Gregory Standish was on his way to the bank when his cell phone rang. He glanced down at caller ID and frowned. He’d just sat through a silent breakfast with his wife and daughter, and now his wife wanted to talk. He gave a long-suffering sigh and answered.

“What is it, Gloria?”

“Gregory! I just heard the most terrible news,” she said. “Paul Jackson is dead. They found him crushed beneath a car this morning. There will be a funeral for sure, and I don’t have a thing to wear. Carly and I are going shopping in Summerton, so I won’t be home for lunch. You’ll have to pick something up in town.”

His heart skipped a beat. Those two were going to bankrupt him yet, and a bankrupt banker would never be mayor of Mystic. It was a small dream in comparison to some, but it was his, and every day his family’s spending habits drew him further away from realizing his goal.

“Don’t spend money, Gloria. I told you—we’re already strapped as it is.”

“Don’t be silly, Gregory. You’re president of the bank. You have plenty of money.”

He groaned as the line went dead in his ear.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, dropping the phone back in his pocket.

Now his stomach was in knots. Jackson’s death had given his wife had a new excuse for a shopping spree. He hadn’t seen that coming.

* * *

Mack pulled into the driveway and stopped beneath the carport, taking care to leave room for his dad’s truck, and the moment he thought that, he groaned. His dad wasn’t coming home. The knot in his belly grew tighter as he killed the engine. He grabbed his suitcase and headed for the house in slow, hesitant strides, reluctant to go inside. Today he’d been robbed of all he held dear.

When he unlocked the door and walked in, he was struck by the quiet familiarity of the house. How dare the world keep spinning when he was in free fall? He closed his eyes, and when he took a deep breath, he knew by the lingering scent of stale coffee and bacon grease what his dad had eaten for breakfast the day before. He dropped the suitcase by the door and turned the lock before going into the kitchen.

It was just as he suspected. An unwashed skillet was still on the stove, the bottom covered with congealed bacon grease, and the carafe in the coffeemaker was half-full. His dad would have reheated it last night and finished it off with his supper as he cleaned up, only last night he hadn’t gone home. He’d stayed to do a customer a favor, just as he’d done countless times before, but this time something had gone tragically wrong.

His hands were shaking as he poured the coffee down the sink and refilled the carafe. Once the coffee began to brew, he took his suitcase back to his room, tossed it on the bed and then turned around to hang up his jacket. As he did, his gaze went straight past the open door of his room to the one across the hall. How many times had he awakened at night as a kid and taken comfort from that open door, knowing his dad was so close? He had been convinced nothing could hurt him then because Dad would protect him from nighttime monsters. He’d known that as surely as he’d known his own name. And yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that a real monster had come and taken his father’s life.

As soon as he hung up his clothes, he went straight to the desk, found the name and phone number of the company that serviced the hydraulic lift, then texted it to Trey.

Next order of business was to call the employees. There were only two, and he was sorry for their circumstances, but as of today they were out of a job. The best he could do, if they wanted to move or make the daily drive to Summerton, was to offer them a job at his lumberyard. If not, they were on their own.

* * *

Betsy Jakes was making bread, and with her daughter, Trina, already at work, she had the house to herself. Kneading the dough was good therapy. The dough was a physical thing she could hold on to, which was vital for a woman losing her grip on reality. It was bad enough learning yet another of her friends was gone, but something else was happening that caused her concern.

She was losing track of time, and it had happened again this morning.

She had no memory of hanging up the phone or going to the kitchen after talking to Trey, no memory of gathering up the ingredients to bake, and yet here she was, making bread. There was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, along with the bitter taste of bile. She was on the verge of throwing up but afraid if she gave in to the feeling something terrible would happen, so she kept working the dough with slow, rhythmic movements, pushing out air bubbles with each downward thrust from the heel of her hand.

She was elbow-deep in flour and yeast, the radio playing loudly enough in the background that she didn’t hear Dallas’s car as she pulled up outside.

* * *

Dallas drove around to the back of the house. After Trey’s concern about his mother’s state of mind, she was anxious as to what she might find. She got out on the run, peered through the window in the back door and saw Betsy at the cabinet. Relieved that she seemed to be doing okay, Dallas tried the door. It was unlocked. Instead of knocking, she opened it.

“Knock, knock,” she said, standing on the threshold holding a carton of eggs and waiting for an invitation.

Betsy was smiling as she turned around. “Come in, sugar! It’s good to see you!” Flour flew in every direction as Betsy lifted her hand to wave, and they both laughed when some of it settled back on her face. “I guess I should qualify that. Come in, but don’t get too close. I seem to be making a bigger mess than usual this morning.”

Betsy seemed just fine. Dallas breathed a sigh of relief. “My little hens are laying up a storm. I brought you some fresh eggs,” she said.

She put the eggs in the refrigerator, hung her jacket on the back of a chair, then gave Betsy a hello kiss.

“Thank you for the eggs,” Betsy said. “Coffee is fresh. Help yourself.”

“Thanks. So I see you’re making bread. That will be yummy.”

“Yes. With that nip in the air, it seemed like a good thing to do today,” Betsy said.

“I haven’t made yeast bread in ages,” Dallas said as she brushed the flour from Betsy’s cheeks and then poured herself a cup of coffee.

Betsy’s smile widened. She was beyond happy that Trey and Dallas were back together. She thought it was a ridiculous waste of life when people who loved each other as they did couldn’t find a way to work out their differences so they could be together.

“Oatmeal-raisin cookies are in the cookie jar if you want one with your coffee,” Betsy said.

“I never turn down any of your cooking,” Dallas said. She grabbed a cookie, and then pulled up a kitchen stool and sat down.

“I suppose Trey sent you to check on me,” Betsy said. “It’s terrible about Paul, isn’t it? The news took me aback, I can tell you. Such a horrible thing to have happened. I’ve been thinking about Mack ever since I heard.”

Dallas ignored the twinge of sadness she felt. Her dad’s murder had been such a shock, and it was still unsolved. She could empathize with what Mack must be feeling.

“Trey did suggest I stop by to make sure you were okay.”

“Losing people we love, no matter how it happens, is a terrible thing,” Betsy said, and then paused in her kneading to give Dallas a long look.

“Are you doing okay? I mean, are you finding ways to stay busy and happy since you decided to move back home? I know you had an exciting life in Charleston.”

Dallas took a sip of coffee, and then set the cookie and the cup aside.

“I had a busy life, but it quit being exciting years ago. I just didn’t know it until I was forced to face what I’d given up to get it. Trey and I are fine. Don’t worry any about us, okay?”

Betsy gave the dough one last flip on the bread board and then covered it with a clean white cloth so it could rise.

“I’m not worried about any of my kids,” she said. She washed her hands and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Let’s go sit where I can put my feet up. I’m feeling my age today.”

Dallas followed her into the living room without comment, although there was something about the unfamiliar stoop to Betsy’s shoulders and the dragging steps that gave her some concern. When she saw the way Betsy eased herself down in the chair, she knew something was off.

“Are you in pain?”

Betsy stifled a sigh. “No, honey. I just haven’t been sleeping well.”

Dallas frowned. “But you’re not in pain?”

“Oh, no! Not a bit. Just tired. I’ll take a nap this afternoon and be good to go. Now, tell me, how’s the egg business?”

Dallas smiled. “Not slacking off, that’s for sure.”

Betsy leaned back and momentarily closed her eyes, and as she did, everything went black. She heard the sound of screeching brakes and someone praying, and jumped out of her seat so fast she knocked the mug off the table. It broke, splashing hot coffee all over the legs of her pants and the hardwood floor.

“Oh, good grief!” she said. “I am so clumsy.”

“I’ll get a rag to clean it up,” Dallas said, as she ran to the kitchen.

Betsy got down on her knees to pick up the broken pieces of the cup, and all of a sudden she was on her hands and knees in the floorboard of a car and flying down the road so fast she could feel the vibration beneath her fingers. The scent of vomit was up her nose and burning the back of her throat, and someone was screaming. She didn’t realize that it was her making all the noise until Dallas dropped down to the floor beside her, calling her name.

“Betsy! Betsy! What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did you fall?”

Betsy rocked back on her heels. Her hands were shaking, and she kept brushing at her face and the front of her shirt, expecting it to be covered in vomit. She looked down at the broken cup and spilled coffee, and shivered.

“I don’t know,” Betsy mumbled. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

Dallas was scared. The way Betsy was acting, it was almost as if she had suffered some kind of seizure.

“You have coffee all over your pants. Let me help you to your room. You can change and then lie down for a while. I’ll stay and finish off your bread, okay?”

“I have to clean up the car,” Betsy muttered, pointing down at the floor. “I threw up, and I have to clean it up.”

Dallas’s heart skipped a beat. Clean up the car? Because she threw up in it?

“It’s okay, honey. I’ll clean it,” Dallas said, and she all but pushed Betsy down the hall to her room.

It took a few minutes for Dallas to get Betsy into clean clothes, but as soon as she did, Betsy crawled up onto her bed and rolled over. She closed her eyes so fast it gave Dallas the impression that she was seeing something she couldn’t face and wanted it all to go away.

Dallas took a quilt from the quilt rack and covered Betsy up to her chin, then hurried back into the living room to clean up the floor. As soon as she was through, she picked up her phone to call Trey, and then stopped. He was certain to have his hands full right now, and he couldn’t do anything for his mother that she wasn’t already doing. He would call when he got time, and she would talk to him then.

* * *

The killer stood with the crowd of onlookers across the street from the garage, nursing a cup of coffee and listening to the gossip mill creating a whole set of rumors out of thin air. He smirked, thinking what tiny minds they had and small worlds they lived in, and how easy it had been to erase past errors. Only one more to go and then the future would be secure.

* * *

Lissa was struggling at school and finally gave in to the fact that she couldn’t maintain a sane thought for more than a few seconds. She kept seeing that foot and the pool of blood, and all she wanted was to take yesterday back. Then she would never have gone along with Paul’s offer to work late on her car. She would have assured him it wasn’t necessary and that she could easily get a ride to work. But she couldn’t revise the past, and now a good man was dead. She wasn’t sure how she was going to live with that and ever be happy again.

Added to that, her first-graders were getting on her last nerve. She knew from experience that children sensed when the adults in their lives were troubled and acted out accordingly. Today it was taking all her concentration to keep them occupied. Tears welled constantly, but she kept blinking them away. Every time she looked out at the red clay of the muddy playground, the red water in the puddles made her think of the blood that had run out from under her car. She had an overwhelming urge to throw up.

Finally it was lunchtime, which meant the day was half over. She marched her students from the classroom to the cafeteria, and then went about the business of getting them settled down to eat. Some brought lunches and went through the line just to get a carton of milk, while others juggled trays filled with food from the cafeteria.

Every day during lunch, at least one child dropped a tray. She just hoped today it wasn’t one of hers. If anyone cried around her today she was likely to join them.

She was standing beside the cooler, putting a carton of milk on every tray and congratulating herself on hiding her emotions when she accidentally dropped a carton, and then another and another. That was when she realized her hands were shaking to the point that she couldn’t maintain her grip. She glanced around to make sure no one noticed and began using both hands to do her job.

But she’d been mistaken. All her coworkers knew what had happened. They knew why she’d been late getting to school and were sympathetic. When someone said her name and then tapped her on the shoulder, she found herself face-to-face with her principal.

“Mr. Wilson! Would you like a carton of milk?”

Wilson calmly took the milk out of her hand and put it on the tray of the waiting student, then cupped her elbow.

“No. I came to tell you we have a substitute for your class for the rest of the day. You need some time at home.”

Lissa’s eyes welled. “I’m fine, really.”

“No, you’re not, and I wouldn’t be, either. Go get your things and meet Louis at the office. He volunteered to take you home.”

One of the aides took over milk duty as she and the principal walked out of the cafeteria. Now that the decision had been taken out of her hands, she felt the walls she’d put up beginning to crumble. She hurried to gather up her things, left her lesson plans out on the desk for the substitute teacher and headed for the office.

Louis Parsons, the school custodian, was already there with keys in hand. He was a stocky thirtysomething man who wore his hair in a ponytail and was so shy around women that he looked down at their feet instead of their faces when he spoke.

“I can carry that bag for you,” he said. He slipped the big tote from her shoulder as he escorted her to the parking lot.

The drive home was completely silent.

Lissa was teary eyed and still trembling when Louis pulled up to her house. When he started to get out, she stopped him.

“You don’t need to get out, and thank you the ride.”

He kept his gaze fixed on the hood of his car. “I’m sure sorry about what happened to Mr. Jackson.”

“So am I, Louis. Thank you again for the ride.”

He ducked his head as she gathered up her things and got out, the house key in her hand. Her steps were dragging as she heard Louis drive away. She made it up the steps and was fumbling with the key, trying to get it in the lock, when she heard a car pull up behind her.

She wouldn’t turn around. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, but she couldn’t get the key in the lock fast enough to make an escape. All of a sudden there were footsteps coming up the walk, and then someone was calling out her name.

“Lissa! Lissa! Wait up!”

Her shoulders slumped.

Oh, perfect. It’s T.J.

She wasn’t in the mood to talk. They’d said all they needed to say to each other a couple of months earlier, when she’d quit accepting his invitations to dinner, but before she could think of a way to head him off he had bounded up the steps and slipped a hand beneath her elbow.

“Let me help you inside,” he said, as he took the keys from her hand and quickly opened the door.

Lissa entered reluctantly. Once he was inside, he was difficult to get out.

“I’m not up to visitors today, T.J.”

He ran a finger down the side of her cheek as his voice softened.

“I know, Liss. I heard what happened. I’m so sorry you were the one who found the body. It must have been awful for you.”

Lissa pushed his hand aside. She hated the nickname he persisted in using and didn’t intend to talk about what had happened with anyone, especially him.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Please go, T.J. I just need to be alone.”

T. J. Silver wasn’t used to women refusing his attentions, and this only reminded him how pissed he was that she had ended their very new, very tenuous relationship after just a handful of dinner dates.

“I understand how you feel, but I just want to help. I assume your car is going to be unavailable for a while. Could I give you a ride to school tomorrow?”

The last thing she wanted was to owe him any favors.

“No, I have that covered,” she said. She then went to the door and stepped aside, waiting for him to leave. “Thank you for checking on me. It was very kind.”

T.J.’s eyes narrowed angrily, but he managed a smile as he slid a hand beneath her hair and cupped the back of her neck.

“I didn’t do it to be kind, Liss. I did it because I care about you.”

She stiffened beneath the familiarity, and she knew he felt it.

“So you have my number,” he said. “Call if you need anything, okay?”

“Thank you again,” she said.

He gave in and walked out, and the moment he crossed the threshold she shut the door and turned the lock.

His fingers curled into fists when he heard that click, but he kept on walking.

Lissa leaned against the door until she heard him drive away. Only then did she abandon her post and go to her room to change.

* * *

Being around women made Louis Parsons nervous. He would never have volunteered to take Melissa Sherman home on his own, but the principal was his boss, and he’d asked if Louis would take her home, so he had.

He kept glancing at the floorboard and the seat of his truck as he drove away, making sure she hadn’t left anything behind. His identical twin brother, Reece, used the truck at night, and he made a big deal of keeping it clean, which Louis thought was stupid because Reece’s dog, Bobo, shed like crazy and Reece was always taking Bobo for a ride.

He got back to school and slipped right into the routine as if he’d never been gone, hauling the oversize trash cans from the school cafeteria to the Dumpsters and sweeping up the floor after the last lunch shift had ended. He stayed busy all afternoon and then went to work cleaning up the rooms after school was out, thinking all the time of the comfort waiting for him back home. Even though he and his brother shared a house, they didn’t share their lives. Louis worked days, his brother worked nights and, even though they shared a vehicle and sometimes the dog, their paths rarely crossed.

His steps were dragging as he locked up the building and headed to the parking lot. It was almost supper time, but he was going home to take a nap. He’d always taken a nap after school when he was little and he did the same thing now because routines and schedules were how Louis Parsons rolled.

The house he and Reece rented was on the far side of the park in the old part of Mystic. The houses weren’t shacks, but they were a little run-down, most of them in need of a coat or two of paint or minor repairs. Louis had fixed the front steps when they’d moved in, and painted the porch so the outside looked neat. The interior was a work in progress. He liked to stay busy during the day, even on weekends, but that meant quiet projects because Reece slept days.

He unlocked the door and entered quietly, wrinkling his nose at the doggy smell of the house as he headed for the kitchen with his to-go coffee mug. He rinsed it out to refill tomorrow, wrote a note to Reece telling him what food was available in the refrigerator for his nighttime meals and headed down the hall to his room.

He took off his work clothes without looking at his body, and slipped between the sheets and closed his eyes. Silence engulfed him as he fell asleep.

Four

Trey finished writing up the report, and then printed it out and filed it. It was almost noon before he got the schedules rearranged and his officers back on duty. And he still hadn’t checked in with Dallas. He went back into his office and shut the door, then dropped into his chair and made the call.

* * *

Betsy was still sleeping when Dallas’s cell phone signaled a call. She’d put it on vibrate so it wouldn’t disturb Betsy and was relieved to see that it was Trey.

“Hi, honey,” she said, careful to keep her voice low.

“Hello, sweetheart. How are things going? Was Mom all right?”

Dallas looked over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone.

“I thought so at first. She was making bread when I got here, but she looked so tired...almost old. I’ve never thought of your mother as old before. We went into the living room to sit down. She leaned back and closed her eyes, then for no obvious reason jumped up so fast she knocked her coffee off the table. The mug broke and coffee went everywhere. I went to get something to clean it up, and she started screaming. I ran back and found her on her knees in the middle of the spilled coffee. It was the most frightening sound I’ve ever heard.”

Trey’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh, my God, did she fall?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Dallas said. “But she acted like she didn’t know where she was. I tried to get her up to go change her clothes, and she kept looking down at the floor telling me she couldn’t leave yet because she’d just thrown up in the floorboard of the car and she had to clean it up.”

The hair stood up on the back of his neck.

“The floorboard of a car? She said she threw up in the floorboard of a car?”

“Yes. It makes no sense,” Dallas said. “I was afraid she’d had some kind of seizure, because she went right to sleep after I got her cleaned up.”

Trey frowned. “I’m coming out. Don’t leave, I’ll be there soon.”

“Oh, I’m not leaving. I have to bake the bread dough she has rising. Have you talked to Trina?”

“Not yet. As for Mom, don’t tell her I’m coming,” Trey said.

Dallas felt sick. Would this turmoil never end?

* * *

Trina Jakes was taking inventory on the number of radiator hoses they had in stock and comparing it to the computer readout of stock on hand to make sure the numbers matched.

Freddie Miller, her boss at Miller Auto Parts, was beginning to suspect someone was selling inventory at a cut rate to certain customers and pocketing the money because he kept coming up short on parts when the computer said they were still in stock.

There were only three other employees besides her who could be doing it: Tony, Elton or George, and she had to guess that since she was the bookkeeper and never waited on customers, Freddie didn’t suspect her. That and the fact that he’d asked her not to mention what she was doing made his suspicions fairly obvious.

She was down on her knees in the aisle when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She looked up.

“Hey, Red, what are you doing?”

She frowned. Not only did she not like that Elton called her Red, but she’d just been confronted, something she’d hoped wouldn’t happen. She had to come up with an explanation fast.

“Oh, I’m checking some stock numbers against an invoice I got the other day. They don’t match, and I can’t cut a check to pay until I know for sure we got the right merchandise.”

“I can help,” Elton offered.

“Thanks, but I already have the numbers I’m looking for in my head, and it would take longer for me to make you a list than for me to just do it.”

“Whatever,” he said. He grinned, and then gave a lock of her hair a little tug. “So when are you gonna dump that Daniels dude and let a real man show you a good time?”

Trina stood up. It was a defensive move she’d used on the men before because she was taller than all three of them.

“I already have a real man, and quit calling me Red,” she drawled. She then strolled up the aisle and back into her office.

The phone was ringing as she walked in the door, and she hurried to answer.

“Miller Auto Parts. This is Trina.”

“Hey, sis, it’s me.”

Trina had already heard about Paul Jackson’s death, so she guessed why he was calling.

“Hi, Trey. Sorry about Mr. Jackson. You guys caught a bad one this morning, didn’t you?”

“Have you talked to Mom?”

She frowned. “Not since I left for work. Has something happened?”

“She freaked out again when she heard about Paul’s death, just like she did when she found Dick Phillips’ body. Dallas is with her, but I wondered if you could give me your opinion of how she’s been acting recently.”

All of a sudden Trina felt anxious. “Secretive, weepy, a little frantic at times, and then most of the time she’s Mom. What’s going on?”

“Not sure. I’m going out to check on her shortly. If you feel worried about her at any time, night or day, call me, okay?”

Tears suddenly blurred Trina’s vision. “You’re scaring me, Trey.”

“Yeah, well, she’s scaring me, so that makes two of us. Listen, I’ve got to go. Remember, call if you need me.”

“Do you think we should call Sam?” she asked.

Trey thought of their oldest brother, an ex-military, hard-core private investigator and the last member of their family to put up with bullshit from anyone.

“Not unless we need someone to put out a fire or start a war,” he drawled.

Trina giggled. “Yes, you’re right. Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on Mom.”

“Good deal. Talk to you later.”

The click in her ear signaled the end of the conversation, but it had just begun a whole new set of worries. This stuff scared her. She needed to talk to Lee. She was having dinner with him tonight. He was the rational one in their relationship. He would make everything all right.

* * *

Betsy woke up to silence and for a few moments wondered why she was in bed, and then she remembered. She threw back the quilt and sat up on the side of the bed, absently rubbing the scar along her hairline. She distinctly remembered throwing up, but the bitter aftertaste was absent. And she’d been screaming. They were going too fast. That was it—they were going too fast! But that made no sense because she’d just woken up in bed, so had she dreamed it?

“Betsy?”

Startled by the sound of another voice, Betsy stood up as Dallas entered the bedroom.

“Dallas? Oh, yes, you were here, right? How rude of me to go to sleep.”

Dallas wanted to hug her, but there was something about the way Betsy was standing that told Dallas not to push her.

“It’s actually time to work your bread. I was going to do it, but since you’re up I thought you might want to do it yourself.”

Betsy blinked, and just like that she was back. She smoothed the hair away from her face and slipped into her shoes.

“Yes, the bread! I love that first rising when you go to punch it down, don’t you? It’s like popping a big rubber balloon! Let’s get that bread in the baking tins and then make something for lunch, okay? You can stay, right?”

Dallas smiled. “I’d love to have lunch with you.”

Betsy patted Dallas’s cheek as she sailed past her on her way back to the kitchen. She knew what to do now. She had purpose.

A short while later Betsy had the dough in the pans and was covering them up for the last rising. Dallas was heating up some soup Betsy had taken out of the freezer when they heard the front door open.

“It’s me!” Trey yelled.

“We’re in here,” Betsy called. Then she looked at Dallas and smiled. “Good thing we got the big carton out to reheat. Trey loves beef-and-barley soup.”

Dallas smiled and kept stirring. When Trey walked into the kitchen he went straight to her.

“Hey, honey, thanks for coming over,” he said softly, and kissed the back of her neck.

Dallas nodded and then glanced toward Betsy, who was already getting out the ingredients to make grilled cheese sandwiches to go with the soup.

“Something sure smells good,” Trey said. “I hope you made enough for me.”

“Always,” Betsy said. “One sandwich or two?”

Trey kissed her cheek and smiled. “One is enough, thanks. What can I do to help?”

“You can set the table. You know where everything is, right?”

“Sure,” Trey said. He began getting plates and bowls from the cabinet, and flatware from a drawer.

“Can you talk about the case?” Dallas asked.

Trey shrugged. “Not much to tell right now. It was a bad scene. Mack is in about the same shape you were when I called you.”

Dallas sighed. “I am so sorry. This is just a horrible thing to have happened.”

Trey glanced at his mother. She was far too cheerful. “Mom?”

Betsy flipped the two sandwiches on the grill and then looked up. “What, honey?”

Trey stopped what he was doing and walked over to the stove, took the spatula from her hand and then wiped away the tears running down her face.

“Come sit. I’ll do the last sandwich,” he said.

Betsy complied without comment.

Dallas turned off the heat under the soup.

“Should I dish up the soup or wait?” she asked.

“Wait until I get the last sandwich grilled,” Trey said as he took the finished sandwiches off the grill and put on the last one.

“Betsy, honey, would you like a cup of coffee?” Dallas asked.

Betsy wrapped her arms around herself and began rocking in her chair.

“Does it feel cold in here to you? For some reason I’m freezing,” she said.

“I’ll turn up the heat,” Dallas said, and headed for the thermostat in the hall.

Trey glanced toward the table. His mom had lost all color in her face.

“Mom?”

Betsy looked up. “Hmm?”

“What’s happening?”

She shivered again. “I don’t know, Trey, but I think I’m losing my mind.”

Trey flipped the sandwich and turned off the grill, then handed Dallas the spatula as she walked back into the kitchen.

She moved to the grill as Trey sat down beside his mother and took her hands. Her skin was clammy, and he could feel the tremor in her muscles.

“Talk to me, Mama. You told Dallas you threw up in the floorboard of a car.”

Betsy touched the scar again. “I just dreamed that, didn’t I?”

Trey shrugged. “I don’t know. Was it a dream, or were you remembering something that already happened?”

Betsy pulled her hands away and covered her face. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

He’d never seen her like this, but she seemed so fragile, he was afraid to push her.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”

Betsy swiped the tears off her cheeks, took a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose as she stood. “It’s time to put the bread in the oven.”

“And lunch is ready,” Dallas said as she carried the sandwiches to the table.

“I’ll pour the coffee,” Trey said.

“I’ll dish up the soup,” Dallas added. She headed back to the stove while Betsy set the timer for the bread.

“That bread is going to smell so good,” Betsy said.

Trey watched her turn back into the mother he knew and felt a chill run up his spine. He didn’t know what had happened the night she graduated, but he would bet his retirement that they’d either been a part of something illegal or they’d witnessed something bad. What he couldn’t figure out was why they were being eliminated now. What was happening that made getting rid of them so important? If his theory about these deaths was correct, she would be next, and he couldn’t let that happen. He needed to find that old accident report. Maybe there was something in it that would help him make sense of all this.

* * *

Mack had gone through the desk, the computer files, the old lockbox his dad kept in the back of the closet, the shoe boxes full of old income tax papers and every place he could think of looking for anything resembling a journal or a diary. If there was nothing wrong with the lift, then they needed answers to this nightmare, but he couldn’t find a thing.

He sat down on the corner of his dad’s bed and closed his eyes. The faint scent of diesel, probably from an old pair of his dad’s work shoes, coupled with some manly aftershave, was so reminiscent of his father that he kept thinking the man was going to walk in at any moment. Mack took a deep breath, choking back tears, but before he could gather his thoughts, someone was knocking at the front door.

He got up with a heavy heart, and when he saw one of the ladies from his dad’s church on the porch holding a covered dish, he sighed.

Feeding the grief stricken had begun.

* * *

Lissa, standing in the hall outside her bedroom, was bordering on what felt like a full-blown panic attack. The thunder of her heartbeat was so loud in her ears that at first she didn’t hear her cell phone ringing. By the time it dawned on her what was happening the call had gone to voice mail. Since she didn’t want to talk to anyone, she didn’t bother checking to see who it had been.

The only person she needed to talk to was God. She mouthed the proper words, and then cried until her eyes were so swollen it hurt to blink before she dropped to her knees. Despair was heavy, weighing her down as she stared at the floor in disbelief.

Why had this happened?

She felt like she was being punished, and yet Paul Jackson was the one who had died. So was it his punishment and she’d just become the tool, or was it hers and his life was gone because of it?

Sick at heart and too exhausted to get up, she slid forward, stretching out facedown on the cold hardwood floor, and closed her eyes, wishing she could disappear forever.

* * *

Along about 6:00 p.m. Jim Farley, the pastor from Paul Jackson’s church, stopped by to express his condolences. By Mack’s count he was visitor number seven, and when this one left, Mack was leaving, too. He couldn’t take any more well-wishers and didn’t want anyone else to pray for him. He didn’t want prayers. He wanted answers.

Mack took a deep breath, bracing himself for yet another painful conversation. “Pastor Farley, thank you for coming,” he said.

The little man smiled, which made the scar across his upper lip—the result of a hockey puck gone wild during his youth—pull sideways just the tiniest bit.

“Good afternoon, Mack. I came without calling. I hope that’s all right,” Farley said.

“Of course it’s all right. No one stands on ceremony here,” Mack said, as he led the way to the living room.

The pastor took a seat in the recliner as Mack said, “I have coffee. Would you like a cup?”

“That would be wonderful. It’s a bit chilly outside today. As for the coffee, I take mine black,” the pastor added.

“I’ll be right back,” Mack said and headed for the kitchen. He came back a couple of minutes later carrying two mugs.

Pastor Farley took his mug, then cupped it in his hands to warm them as he took the first sip.

Mack set his aside and waited.

The pastor was just as off balance as Mack. The horrific nature of Paul Jackson’s death was the elephant in the room. He took a second sip of the coffee and then set his cup aside, too.

“Of course I came to offer my condolences,” the pastor said. “The news of your father’s death is heartbreaking. I am so very sorry for your loss.”

Mack swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Thank you.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Farley asked.

Mack shrugged. “I appreciate the offer. Of course I’ll have a memorial service, but I can’t think about that just yet.”

“Of course, of course,” Farley said. “You just let me know your wishes and we’ll make it happen for you.” He took another sip of coffee and then leaned forward. “Know that prayers are being said for you, son. Know that we weep with you. Your father was my friend.”

Mack tried to swallow past that lump again, but it didn’t happen. He put his head down as tears welled once more. He heard the pastor saying a prayer, but he wished that Farley would just leave. He wanted this to be a terrible nightmare, so that all he needed to do was wake up.

Fifteen minutes later Pastor Farley was gone and Mack was on his way out the door. He wasn’t exactly running away from home. He just needed distance from the pain of being here without his dad. He had no destination in mind when he got in his SUV and drove away, but it didn’t take long to realize he was retracing the paths of his youth, from the park where his mother used to take him to play, then past the elementary school where he’d lost his first tooth and broken his arm two years later when he’d bailed out of a swing.

He turned down the street that led to the baseball field, parked behind home plate, and then stared past second base to center field and the fence beyond.

The sun appeared to be hovering atop the trees, setting them ablaze with the color of late fall. His hands were shaking as he gripped the steering wheel. Once again, he felt his dad’s presence.

“I lived half my childhood in this dirt, didn’t I, Dad? And you sat on the third row of the bleachers watching it happen. I don’t know if I ever said thank-you, but I’m saying it now.”

Tears blurred his vision as he closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. He sat until the sunlight was fading and the fire was gone from the sky before he started the car and drove away, heading north out of Mystic. He didn’t care where he went, as long as it was out of there.

* * *

Reece Parsons woke with a hard-on and a rumble in his empty belly. He thrust muscular arms over his head, stretching like a big cat and arching his back just enough that the covers pushed against his erection. He thought about jacking off for the pleasure of it, then remembered a prior commitment with Melissa Sherman and decided to save the good stuff for her.

He got out of bed and peed off his erection, then walked naked through the darkened house with Bobo at his heels, irked that Louis always left all the lights off. Just once he could at least leave the one on in the kitchen. Then he shrugged. Louis was just like Mama. She was as tight as a bowstring and had gone behind them turning out lights when they were growing up, like wasting a second of electricity was going to put them in the poorhouse when they were already there.

He let the dog out in the backyard and then glanced at the windows, making sure the blinds were pulled and the curtains drawn before he turned on the lights. He liked being naked, but he didn’t want to call attention to himself. He’d come to learn as he grew up that flying under the radar was far safer.

He read Louis’s note, then dug out a couple of covered dishes from the refrigerator and stood at the counter, eating the food cold with a fork. He covered up what he didn’t eat and put the dishes back, and then popped the top on a longneck beer and drank it standing at the sink.

Bobo scratched at the door, and Reece opened it just enough for the little terrier to squeeze in, then locked it behind him, tossed the bottle in the trash, burped, farted and went to get dressed. He thought about logging on to the computer and checking the NASDAQ or maybe seeing how his international investments were doing but changed his mind. He didn’t want to keep the little lady waiting.

* * *

It was just after midnight, and Lissa still couldn’t sleep. Her heart was so heavy that even taking a deep breath seemed impossible. The weight of her guilt was more than she could bear.

And she kept thinking about Mack.

He would come home, if he wasn’t already here. Sometime she would have to face him, if for no other reason than to get her car before she could get rid of it. Their lives had been so intertwined and then shattered in a way she would never have expected. Now, knowing she would most likely see him again as the owner of the instrument of his father’s death seemed the height of all irony.

She gave up trying to sleep and sat in the dark with the TV remote in her hand, watching a sci-fi classic with the sound on mute.

Even after she began hearing footsteps on the porch, she was so numb she didn’t react. If it was the stalker who’d been bothering her, she was going to pretend she wasn’t home.

But then she heard a knock at the door. She glanced at the clock and threw back the covers. Her heart was pounding as she moved barefoot through the house. Surely this wasn’t a real visitor—not at this time of night. It had to be her stalker! Didn’t he know what had happened? Wasn’t there a rule in the universe that if one really bad thing was happening to you, then you were no longer fair game for anything else? If there wasn’t, there should be.

The house was bathed in shadows of varying shades of darkness, broken only by the faint glow of the streetlights showing through the blinds. When she got to the living room she peeked out, but there was no one in sight. She turned on the porch light and peered through the small window in the door, but the yard was empty. Hesitantly, she turned the dead bolt and then opened the door.

Still focused on looking for someone, she stared intently into the shadows beyond the yard before she happened to look down. Breath caught in the back of her throat as she saw a stream of blood seeping out from under the overturned rattrap. When she realized the feet of the dead rat were still twitching, the world tilted. She began to scream and was still screaming when she slammed the door and ran for the phone.

* * *

When Mack left Mystic, he drove straight back to Summerton and holed up at his home. He’d spent years remodeling the old two-story house into the showpiece it was now, and it represented everything he loved about architecture.

The interior was also a reflection of the things that made him comfortable: oversize sofas with accents of dark wood and rich oxblood leather upholstery, heavy damask draperies hanging floor to ceiling. He had a king-size bed, large walk-in closets and wide plank hardwood flooring in a warm walnut stain.

It was not only a source of great pride that it was his, but he’d come back to it because it was his safe place to fall. Only, once he got here, nothing had changed. There was nowhere to go to get away from the fact that his father was dead. The last time he’d felt this sad and empty was the day he’d found out Melissa had aborted their child. And knowing he would have to see her again at some time during this nightmare didn’t make him feel any better. He had lost all faith in women after that day. But he knew his heart and, while she’d shattered it completely, after the years in which they’d loved without boundaries, she was still under his skin.

Now that he was home, he changed clothes, brought in the mail and began going through some phone messages regarding work before he dug through the refrigerator for something to eat. He wasn’t really hungry, but he felt empty and it was all he could think to do to fill up the space.

When he began looking at his options, his stomach turned. There was a refrigerator full of food at his dad’s house, but he didn’t want any of that, either. He wound up eating a piece of leftover cake and emptying the entire pot of coffee he’d made.

As time continued to pass, the urge to stay here was overwhelming, but the last thing he could do for his dad was stay strong and see this through. So he cleaned up the mess he’d made, locked up the house and headed back.

It was past midnight when he drove into Mystic. The sky was overcast, and the moon that had been high in the sky hours earlier was hidden somewhere behind gathering clouds. He was wondering if Chief Jakes had been in contact yet with the people who serviced the lift down at the garage when he braked suddenly for a cop car. It went flying through an intersection with lights flashing and the siren screaming. The sound made the hairs rise on the back of his neck.

Someone was in trouble.

He started to accelerate through the intersection when another police car appeared at the far end of the street and took a sharp left, obviously heading to the same location. He frowned. It wasn’t his practice to be a siren chaser, but since this was where he’d grown up and he knew almost everyone in town, he turned and followed the disappearing lights.

Five

Lissa was standing in her living room in the dark with her arms wrapped around her waist, still struggling with the urge to scream. Her bare feet were cold on the hardwood floors, her eyes wide and fixed on the front door. She had locked onto the faint sound of approaching sirens as if they were her lifeline, and when the lights from the first cop car appeared in the driveway and swept across the wall behind her, her knees buckled.

They were here. Thank God, thank God. She was no longer alone. Without hesitation, she stumbled to the front door and then opened it wide.

* * *

The two police cruisers arrived at the house within seconds of each other just as Mack turned the corner at the far end of the block. He watched the officers emerge from the patrol cars and immediately recognized the Doyle brothers. Now he was even more curious as to what was going on.

When it dawned on him that they were at the old Sherman house and he remembered Melissa was living there again, he tapped the brakes, slowing even more. Then he saw the front door open, and when he saw the blonde with a familiar tangle of curls appear in the doorway, he felt like he’d been sucker punched. He thought about driving away—letting her business be hers—but something held him here, so he stopped in the middle of the street to watch.

The officers were all the way up on the porch by the time Mack noticed the porch light highlighting the terror on her face. He would never be able to drive away without finding out what was wrong, so he shifted the car into Park and headed for her house.

* * *

Lonnie Doyle arrived in his patrol car only seconds ahead of his brother Carl and was all the way up on the porch before he saw what was on her doorstep. He stopped, startled by the sight.

“What the hell?”

“What’s wrong?” Carl asked, as he came up the steps behind his brother. When he saw the rat beneath that overturned trap, the first thing he thought of was Paul Jackson beneath that lift. Some sick son of a bitch was messing with her big-time.

“Someone was just here,” Lissa sobbed. “I didn’t see who it was, but he’s been harassing me for weeks, and tonight he left this.”

Mack was walking toward the house, pulled toward her presence like a moth to the flame, when he heard the words and the fear in her voice. He was shocked that a stalker was at work in Mystic. And then he reminded himself there was already an open murder investigation and the possibility that his father’s death might somehow be connected. A stalker only added to his disillusionment. He didn’t know how to feel about seeing her again, but the look of pure terror on her face wasn’t okay. He didn’t see the rat until he was on the steps, and then he almost stumbled. The reference was impossible to miss. Who the hell would do something this cold?

Both officers heard the footsteps behind them, and their hands were on their weapons as they turned, but when they recognized who it was, they relaxed.

Before they could ask what he was doing there, Mack walked between them and stopped just shy of the rat, his gaze fixed on Lissa’s face.

“Melissa.”

She stared, too stunned to answer.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She was already in shock from what had just happened, but after his father’s death, she had known this moment was coming and dreaded it. She swayed on her feet as the world began to spin.

Mack leaped over the bloody trap and caught her before she fell.

Lissa grabbed hold of his forearms to steady herself, then hid her face against his chest, too rattled by his appearance to think.

Lonnie glanced at his brother. “Carl, get a couple of pictures.”

Carl arched an eyebrow. “You talkin’ about the rat or the lovebirds?”

Lonnie glared.

Carl grinned as he pulled out his cell phone and went to work.

Mack looked down at the little pink pigs on her white flannel pajamas and sighed. Who knew that it would be an old girlfriend in pink-pig pajamas who would settle a tiny part of the ache in his heart?

“Are you hurt? Did he harm you in any way?” he asked.

She came to her senses just as his hand cupped the side of her face, and she stepped back and away from him so fast she stumbled.

“I’m not hurt,” she said, scrubbing the palm of her hand against the side of her face, trying to remove the sensation of him from her skin.

Lonnie interrupted, anxious to get this dealt with. “Miss Sherman, I need to take your statement, but it’s a little chilly and your feet are bare. How about we go inside?”

Lissa turned on the living room light and then led the way back into the house. Mack followed the sway of her hips all the way to the sofa, with Lonnie behind him, leaving Carl to bag the evidence and search the area for the perpetrator or any clues to his identity.

Lissa sat down with her chin up and her eyes brimming with unshed tears, then pulled an afghan over her legs and absently tucked it beneath her feet.

Mack sat down in a chair with a clear view of her face without being invited to stay. He’d already inserted himself into the ongoing drama without asking, and he wasn’t about to follow protocol now.

Lonnie pulled out his phone, laying it on the coffee table near her as he settled at the other end of the sofa.

“I’ll record and transcribe your statement, and you can sign it later,” he said.

Lissa sighed. Hyperconscious of Mack’s presence and the lingering fear of the stalker in her life, all she could think was I can’t believe this is happening.

Lonnie hit Record and then asked the first question.

“I gather from what you said earlier that this isn’t the first time you’ve been harassed. Am I right?”

She nodded, and then realized that wouldn’t translate to a recorder and answered, “Yes, that’s right.”

“Do you know who’s doing it?”

She clutched the afghan as if it was body armor, unaware she was crying.

“No. I have no idea.”

Lonnie kept firing questions. “How long has this been going on?”

She shivered. “Almost a month.”

“Can you elaborate on what’s happened?”

She did, telling him about the progression of phone calls, the frightening innuendos that had turned into stalking, ending with what happened tonight.

“I wasn’t asleep,” she added. “Today has been a nightmare, and I couldn’t close my eyes without—”

She stopped in midsentence, remembering who else was in the room. She might resent him for the way they had parted company years ago, but she knew he was hurting for what he’d lost, and it was all her fault. She couldn’t face him and see the accusation in his eyes.

Lonnie inserted a quick question to shift the focus.

“Have you been having problems with any of your students?” he asked.

Lissa was startled by the question, and for the first time reacted without thinking.

“No, of course not! My students are six-year-old children. Whoever’s been calling me is a grown man.”

Lonnie tried another angle. “What about parents? Have you had any run-ins with them?”

Lissa shook her head. “No. My life was fine, unexciting, but fine until the phone calls began. And now this.” She pointed toward the porch. “How do I take that? Is this a direct threat aimed at me, or just an ugly reminder that I caused a man’s death?”

At that point, Mack could remain silent no longer.

“That’s bullshit, Lissa. You didn’t cause anything. That could have been anyone’s car. It happened. You didn’t have a damn thing to do with it.”

“But it wasn’t anyone’s car. It was mine,” she said, and then began to sob.

Mack had never been able to hear her cry, and now he got up and walked toward the kitchen to keep from taking her in his arms. He hurt for what she was going through, and for himself. And he knew something she didn’t. His dad’s death might turn out to have been a murder, which should free her conscience of any culpability.

Lonnie could see she was too upset to continue and stopped the recording before slipping the phone back in his pocket.

“I’m sorry this is happening, and while we don’t have much to go on, maybe we’ll get lucky and pull a print from the...evidence,” he said. “In the meantime, I would suggest you put up some security cameras. That might be the fastest way to identify your stalker. And remember, we’re only a phone call away. In the meantime, I’ll let myself out.”

And then they were alone.

Lissa began wiping at her tear-streaked face as Mack walked back into the room. She didn’t want him to see her tears, so she looked at the floor between his feet.

The past ten years looked damn good on her, Mack thought. She wasn’t any taller, but the wide-eyed innocence of childhood was gone from her face, leaving her with a sultry pout to her lips and those sleepy green bedroom eyes. The flannel pig pajamas were more tease than cover, her bare feet a reminder of the bare body he’d once known as well as his own.

“How does this work?” he asked.

The question surprised her. The last time she’d seen him, nearly ten years ago, he’d been so enraged she didn’t think he would even want to be in the same room with her, let alone act as if nothing was wrong.

“It doesn’t,” she said.

“Will you let me help with the security system?”

She shrugged. “If you mean you know someone who can install it, I would appreciate a name.”

She’d shut down, and he felt it. Even more, he got it and knew it had nothing to do with his father’s death.

“Then, I’ll be in touch. I am sorry about what’s happening to you.”

Lissa strode to the front door with as much confidence as she could muster, then opened the door and stepped aside.

“And I am so very sorry for your loss,” she said softly.

Mack sighed. She was staring at the floor, refusing to meet his gaze. He got the message. He walked outside and was off the porch before he heard the lock turn. He didn’t belong here any more than that dead rat.

* * *

Reece Parsons was dancing with excitement, waiting for the reaction to his latest little love note. He hadn’t been certain of his next move tonight until he’d found out about Paul Jackson’s death, and then he’d known immediately what came next.

It had taken a good five hours to find and catch a live rat before he could even go to her place, and then it was a matter of getting everything on her porch and waiting for the sound of her footsteps before he dropped the trigger on the rat and left it in its death throes on her doorstep.

The moment he dropped the trap, he bolted into the shadows between her neighbors’ house and hers, then slipped down the first alley he came to and kept running. He was breathing hard when he finally reached the truck and unlocked the door. Everything was fine, just as he’d left it. His little dog was asleep in the seat, but he wasn’t through with Melissa Sherman. He clipped the leash on to the dog’s collar and dragged him out.

“Come on, Bobo, let’s take a walk.”

Bobo’s legs were short but his attitude was big, and the word walk was always welcome.

Even though the night was chilly, sweat was drying on Reece’s forehead as he walked Bobo through the park, purposefully taking a shortcut that would take him within two blocks of Melissa Sherman’s house. He’d heard the sirens and guessed she’d finally called the cops. He wanted to see what was happening. It was a different kind of high to know she was that kind of scared.

The wire-haired terrier was nosing beneath every bush and sniffing trails left by nocturnal creatures but Reece had other business and all but dragged Bobo back toward her house. They exited the park at a side street and immediately headed for the sidewalk. The moment he saw two cop cars at her place, he grinned. There was another vehicle at the curb and he wondered who it belonged to, but this was no time to get too curious. He decided he would just walk Bobo by the house and maybe get a peek at what was going on as they passed.

Then, as if on cue, a stray cat slunk out from beneath the SUV parked at the curb and took off across the street. Bobo leaped forward so fast the leash slipped from Reece’s hands and he took off running after it. All of a sudden Melissa Sherman’s welfare was playing second fiddle to recovering his dog.

* * *

Carl took the pictures, then bagged up the dead rat and trap, securing everything inside his vehicle before he began to check out the neighborhood.

The lights had been off in every house when they’d arrived, so he doubted there would be any witnesses, but it was his job to ask.

He began with the house north of where Melissa lived and asked them if they’d seen anyone running away from her place earlier. He got a play-by-play of where the residents had been sleeping and what they’d had for supper before going to bed, but no one had seen anything.

He went down the block, knocking on doors and asking the same question without getting a useful answer. He had just started back up the block on the other side of the street when he heard a small dog begin to bark. He turned around to look just as a man came running out of the shadows.

* * *

Reece was a little panicked. He loved Bobo and didn’t want to lose him, but this was not how he’d intended to revisit the scene of the crime. Not only was the dog outrunning him, but Reece was running out of energy.

“Bobo! Bobo! Come back here! Heel, Bobo, heel!” he yelled, and then groaned when he saw an officer come off the porch of the house across the street.

When the cop began running toward him, his heart skipped a beat. But when the officer made a little side step and grabbed the trailing leash and caught Bobo, he relaxed.

Bobo’s escape ended with a yelp as the leash tightened and pulled him up short.

The grateful cat disappeared into the shadows.

Reece approached the cop, winded and gasping with every step, and smiled as the officer handed over the leash.

“This is pretty late at night to be walking a dog,” Carl said.

Reece pretended disgust as he picked Bobo up in his arms. “Tell that to Bobo. He’s the one with the nervous bladder.”

Carl chuckled as he reached over and patted the terrier’s head.

“You’re the man, Bobo,” he said, and then he glanced up. “By any chance, have you seen anyone else on foot in this area in the past thirty minutes or so?”

Reece’s heart skipped a beat. He was actually being questioned as a witness to his own crime. This couldn’t get much better.

“Why? I see patrol cars at Miss Sherman’s house. Did something happen to her?”

“No, she’s fine. Just a prank gone wrong,” Carl said. “So did you see anything or anyone suspicious?”

Reece thought about pointing the finger at someone else and then at the last minute didn’t.

“No, sir, I did not. Bobo and I were originally in the park. I just wound up here trying to catch him.”

Carl nodded. “Okay. Just be on the lookout as you go back.”

“Are we in any danger?” Reece asked, holding Bobo a little tighter.

“I don’t think so, but just be aware.”

“Yes, yes, we will,” Reece said, and hurried away.

It wasn’t until he was back in the park that he began to grin. This had turned into a most interesting night. He gave the little dog a quick hug and kiss.

“Good boy, Bobo, good boy.”

Bobo yipped once.

Reece was still smiling as he reached his vehicle. He put Bobo safely inside, then scooted in beside him and started the engine. It was time to get home and do a little work. Sunrise would be here before he knew it.

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