Wild Hearts. Sharon Sala
his sister, Trina, came running into the police station, bypassing the dispatcher as she burst into his office with her red hair flying and her eyes wide with shock.
“Trey! Is it true? Did Mom find Dick Phillips’s body?”
“Come in and shut the door,” he said.
Trina was shaking as she dropped into a chair on the other side of his desk.
“You want something to drink?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Not unless there’s liquor in it. Is it true? Did Mom find him?”
He nodded.
“Oh, my God,” she moaned, and then started to cry. “They were in the same graduating class, remember? Mom and Dick and Paul Jackson were in that wreck together the night they graduated.”
Trey frowned. “I’d almost forgotten about that. One girl died, right?”
Trina nodded. “A girl named Connie Bartlett. Mom had her picture circled in the yearbook with a heart beside it.”
“How do you remember all that?” Trey asked.
“I was the only girl in the family, that’s how. I played with Mom’s makeup and went through all of her stuff while you and Sam were out trailing after Daddy. Is Mom okay? I tried to call her earlier this morning but she didn’t answer.”
“I told her not to tell anyone anything, so she probably just didn’t answer any of her calls. We couldn’t have locals crawling all over the place out of curiosity, and Dallas had the right to be notified first.”
Trina gasped. “Dallas. Oh, my God! I’d completely forgotten about her. This is going to break her heart. I guess she’s on her way home?”
Trey frowned. He already had the same fears but wasn’t going to let on.
“Yes.”
She shuddered. “I can’t imagine staying in that house by myself after what happened.”
“It’s still her home, Trina, and don’t go making it into something bad.”
“But her dad killed himself there.”
“Technically, he died in the barn, but I happen to know that both her paternal grandparents died in that house in their time. In the old days, generations of people lived on in the family home long after the elders were gone. Death doesn’t taint a place. People do.”
Trina slumped. “Yeah, okay, I get it. Sorry. I’m just overwhelmed by Mom’s involvement, however minimal.” She took a tissue, wiped her eyes and blew her nose, and then wadded it up in her hands with the bad news as she shifted to a conversation she could handle. “So, I’m on the way home. You’re still coming to supper tomorrow evening, right? It’s our family tradition, coming home on your birthday to all of your favorite things to eat.”
“Yes, I know and I’m coming,” Trey said. “And whatever cake isn’t eaten tomorrow night is going home with me.”
“Hey! Italian cream cake is my favorite, too.”
“So tell Mom to make one on your birthday, too. Stop whining.”
Trina grinned. “Yeah, whatever. Give Dallas my love and condolences when you see her.”
“What makes you think I’ll see her?” he asked.
Trina rolled her eyes. “Puh...leese. Don’t even go there with me, okay?”
Trey changed the subject.
“Are you still dating that Lee guy?”
“Lee Daniels is his name and you know it, and yes, I’m still seeing him, so leave him alone.”
She blew him a kiss and flounced out.
Trey shook his head and then glanced at his watch. He wanted to call Dallas and check on her whereabouts, but she would probably view that as stepping over a line. The relationship they’d once had was over, and she was already angry at him for what he’d told her. He’d heard it in her voice and understood. Until the coroner said the words, he wasn’t fully buying Dick’s suicide, either.
Dallas always knew the trip home was almost over when she could see the burned-out shell of Herman Wagner’s cabin sitting on the promontory of the cliff outside Mystic. After that, it was a matter of navigating the big S curve and then seeing a small green sign: Mystic, WV—Population 6,788.
Usually it made her heart skip a beat, knowing she was almost home. Today she got physically sick to her stomach. There was a moment when she thought she was going to have to pull over, but a couple of deep breaths helped the nausea pass. This was an ugly, horrifying trip for many reasons, not the least of which were funeral arrangements. But she knew enough about unattended deaths to realize they might not release her father’s body as quickly as she would hope, and there was no way to know when to plan the service until they were through.
It was just after 5:00 p.m., and she began thinking of all the chores that would need to be done out on the farm: checking on the cows, putting up the chickens. But she wasn’t going any farther through town until she found out where they were with the case. She didn’t believe for a minute that her father had killed himself, and it frightened her to think someone would want him dead. Whether she liked it or not, she needed to talk to Trey, so when she got to the first stoplight she took a right and drove straight to the police station.
* * *
Trey was on the phone when he heard her voice up at the front desk.
“Listen, I need to call you back,” he said, and hurried out of the office, only to meet her coming down the hall. “Hey, did you have any trouble on the drive down?”
“Can I talk to you?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said, and led her back into his office and then shut the door. “Can I get you anything? Something cold to drink? I have Dr Pepper.”
It was the sympathy on his face, and the fact that he remembered what she liked to drink, that did her in. She had so many questions, but all she could think to do was cry.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he said, and took her in his arms.
Everything she’d been holding back buckled beneath the weight of her grief. She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face against his chest.
“Oh my God, oh my God, I cannot believe this is happening,” she said, the tears coming faster.
There was nothing to say, nothing to do that would make this better. All Trey could do was be there for her in any way she needed, and right now she just needed to know she wasn’t in this alone.
Dallas cried until her heart was racing and her head felt like it was going to explode. When Trey reached around behind her and grabbed a handful of tissues from his desk, she took them.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, and began wiping away mascara and blowing her nose.
“What can I do? How can I help?” Trey asked.
She looked up. “What can you tell me?”
“Come sit,” he said, and led her to a sofa against the wall. As soon as she settled, he took a notepad from his desk and began writing, then tore off the sheet and handed it to her. “Sheriff Osmond is handling the case. This is his contact info.”
“Thanks,” she said, and dropped it in her pocket. “I don’t suppose you know when they’re doing the autopsy?”
“No, I’m sorry. That’s all being handled at the county level.”
“I guessed as much, and just so you know, I still do not believe he committed suicide.”
“I