Cold Hearts (8 page)

He saw Trey Jakes drive by in his patrol car and wondered if he’d heard from the lift company. There was a knot in his gut that kept getting tighter. He needed to know the truth about his father’s death. Had it truly been just a horrible accident, or had he been murdered?

“Adrian Emerson speaking.”

Mack jumped. He’d almost forgotten he was on hold for the lawyer.

“Mr. Emerson, this is Mack Jackson. I found a safety deposit key at my dad’s house. I’m at the bank, but they have to open the box in front of witnesses, including Dad’s lawyer, so I was wondering if you were free.”

“Mack, my condolences for sure, and I’m glad you called. I have about an hour before my next appointment. I’ll be right there,” Emerson said before he hung up in Mack’s ear.

At that moment Mack saw Trey Jakes go back by and realized it might be wise if he was present, too. He got out the card Trey had given him and made a quick call, explaining what was going on. Trey made a U-turn and beat the lawyer to the bank.

By the time the group assembled inside the vault, there were five people present: Gregory Standish, the president of the bank; his secretary, who would record the event; Adrian Emerson; Trey Jakes; and Mack himself.

He eyed the wall of safety deposit boxes with a mixture of curiosity and dread.

“What are you thinking?” Trey asked, as they waited for the secretary to get the recording equipment set up.

Mack shrugged. “That this might not amount to a thing, and that it might have been something he and Mom had together and he just forgot about it.”

“He wouldn’t forget,” Gregory Standish said. “Everyone gets billed annually for the rent, and he must have paid it every year or the box wouldn’t still be in his name.”

Mack gave up trying to figure out why it was here. They would find out soon enough.

“Okay, here we go,” the secretary said.

She took the bank key and Mack’s key, opened the door and removed the box without fanfare, then promptly pulled out a large manila envelope with Paul Jackson’s name on the front and handed it to the lawyer.

Emerson opened the flap and tilted the envelope, letting the contents slide out onto the table. The first thing he picked up was a piece of paper. He read it, frowning.

“It appears to be a list of the items in the envelope. The heading reads, ‘Property of eighteen-year-old Paul Jackson of Mystic, West Virginia, removed from his person in ER during triage.’”

Trey Jakes’ heart skipped a beat as he glanced at Mack. That damn wreck
was
going to tie the deaths together after all. He could feel it.

Mack frowned at the odd assortment of items as they were being listed.

An old wallet containing a five-dollar bill, a condom still in a wrapper and a school picture of Trey’s mother, Betsy.

A stained tassel from a graduation cap.

A folded-up program from graduation night.

A handful of coins totaling a dollar and twenty-three cents.

“I believe that’s all,” Emerson said, then absently checked the inside of the envelope. “Oh, wait! There’s something else.”

He pulled out a smaller envelope.

“It has Mack’s name on it,” Emerson said, handing it to him.

Seven

M
ack didn’t know what to expect, but he wasted no time opening the envelope. His eyes widened as he scanned the text, then he took a deep breath and handed it to Trey.

“I think this is something you’re going to want to read.”

“Please read it aloud for the record,” Emerson said, as Trey took the letter.

Trey nodded.

“Mack, if you’re reading this and you are questioning my death in any way, there’s something you need to tell Trey Jakes. The tassel in the envelope does not belong to anyone from the wreck. The night of our graduation, before we ever left town, we gave our caps and gowns to our parents. I was told the tassel was in the pocket of my pants. I have no idea how it got there, but it was bloody, as was everything else I’d been wearing, so they thought nothing of it. I don’t remember the wreck or what we’d been doing before it happened, but after Dick died, I began having dreams, and one of them had to do with that tassel. I kept seeing a boy’s body on the ground, holding a tassel soaked in blood, so maybe it was already bloody when I put it in my pocket. Maybe they can get DNA off it. Maybe it will help figure this mess out. I don’t know what happened, but I think the four of us were a part of something bad. I can’t bring myself to believe we caused it, but we were so drunk when we had the wreck there’s no telling what might have happened beforehand. I want to think we witnessed it. I want to think we were on the way back to Mystic to get help when the wreck happened. I want to think that, but I’m not sure. All I know is that I’ve had a feeling in my gut ever since Dick’s murder that either Betsy or I could be next. You know how much I love you. You know how proud I am of all you’ve accomplished. Live your life. Don’t waste it. Go make peace with Melissa. I know you still care.

Dad.”

* * *

The silence in the vault was telling. The banker, Gregory Standish, was pale and shaking as he stared down at the rusty-looking tassel in disbelief.

“So that’s not dirt on there,” he muttered.

Trey pulled an evidence bag out of the inner pocket of his jacket, and bagged and tagged it in front of them, then pocketed the letter.

“I need to get this to the state lab,” he said, patting the pocket where he’d put the letter. “I’ll make sure you get this back.”

Mack shook his head. “I don’t want it. I know he loved me. That message was for you.”

Trey glanced at his watch.

“The serviceman is coming to the garage to look at the lift in about a half hour. I need to be there to let them in. Do you have the keys to the garage on you, Mack?”

Mack nodded. “I’ll follow you there.”

Trey pointed to the banker and his secretary.

“Everything you heard in here is confidential because it’s directly connected to an ongoing murder investigation, so I don’t expect to hear any gossip around town, understand?”

Standish and his secretary both nodded.

Satisfied he’d done all that was needed, Trey headed out, leaving the others behind in the vault.

Mack was shaken as he glanced over at the lawyer.

“Mr. Emerson, I don’t suppose you need me anymore. The box has been opened and the contents recorded, right?”

“Right. An inventory of the contents will be included in the papers when his estate goes into probate.”

Mack nodded, then shook hands with the banker. “Thank you for your assistance and consideration.”

Gregory Standish turned on the charm. “You’re entirely welcome, Mr. Jackson, and on behalf of all of us here at the bank, please accept our condolences on the loss of your father.”

Mack left then, his mind already on the next facet of the investigation. If that lift was truly faulty, then there was no way to back up what his father had written, but if the lift was fine, the letter was added proof that his father had been murdered. He wasn’t sure how he felt because either way, his father was still dead.

Mack saw Trey leaning against the hood of his cruiser and talking on the phone when he pulled up to the gas station. He walked past Trey and overheard just enough of the conversation to know that Trey was talking to his mother about having lunch with her later, and he guessed she was going to be the next person to be interviewed regarding what was happening. He didn’t envy Trey the job of having to interview his own mother. By the time he got to the station and unlocked the doors, Trey was right behind him.

“What are you thinking?” Mack asked.

Trey wasn’t in the habit of talking police business with a civilian, but this case was different.

“My mom hasn’t been the same since finding Dick Phillips’ body. Now, since your dad left that letter, it leaves me wondering if maybe the murder triggered some blocked memories from that wreck for her, too. However, that’s all supposition until the lift is examined.”

“Is Lissa Sherman’s car still on the lift?” Mack asked.

Trey nodded. “Until I figure out if this is a crime scene or the scene of an accident, it’s still part of an ongoing case.”

Mack turned around and jammed his hands in his pockets, wondering at the whimsy of fate that had thrown them back together again after all these years. The wind was chilly, and he hunched his shoulders, wishing he’d put on a heavier jacket before leaving the house. When he saw a long blue van pulling up to the stoplight down the street he shifted nervously from one foot to the other. The service company was here.

“Hey, Trey, here they come,” he said, pointing.

“Good. Maybe we’ll get a definitive answer soon.”

After the van pulled up beside Mack’s SUV and parked, he recognized the two men who got out.

The older man came straight toward him with his hand outstretched.

“Mack, Junior and I were sure sorry to hear about what happened to your dad. He was a fine man.”

“Thanks, Eldridge. This is Chief Jakes.”

“Chief, this is Eldridge Warren and his son, Junior.”

The men nodded at each other, Trey thanked them for coming and then led the way inside, explaining what he needed to know.

“This is the same car that was on the lift. It went up fine when we removed the body, and then we let it down for safety’s sake. However, I need to know what caused the lift to fail.”

“Yes, sir,” Eldridge said. He walked over to the control and pressed it. He looked surprised when the lift went up without a hitch. He pressed the control again, and the lift lowered without a bobble. He frowned. “I’ll need to get down into the trap to check everything out,” he said.

“I’ll do it, Pop,” Junior Warren said, and then glanced at Trey. “He hurt his back a couple of months ago.”

Mack raised the door in the floor that led down into the space beneath that held the equipment that powered the lift.

“The light is just to your right as you go down,” Mack said.

“Right,” Junior said, and they watched the lights come on as he descended.

They heard him banging around, and then there was silence.

Eldridge frowned. “What’s going on?” he yelled.

“Nothing,” Junior said, then walked to the foot of the stairs and looked up at the three men staring down at him. “If the hydraulics had failed, there would be hydraulic fluid all over, but everything is dry.”

“I’m gonna hit the control again. You watch the gauges for fluctuations,” Eldridge said. Then he shook his head. “No, I’m coming down to see for myself. You handle the control, Mack.”

Mack got into position. “Yell when you’re ready,” he said, watching as Eldridge slowly descended.

He heard father and son talking but couldn’t make out what they were saying, and then Eldridge yelled, “Now, Mack! Hit the control.”

Mack’s heart was pounding as the car rose on the lift without issue.

“Is it all the way up?” Eldridge called.

“It’s up,” Trey said.

“Now let it down,” Eldridge said.

The lift went down as easily as it had gone up, and Mack’s heart began to pound. He glanced at the expression on Trey’s face but couldn’t get a read on what he was thinking, and then Trey turned toward him.

“Do it again, up, then down.”

Mack complied, and as it was going down, Junior and Eldridge climbed up, turned out the light below and lowered the door.

“There isn’t anything wrong with that lift,” Eldridge said. “The pressure is perfect on every gauge, and the equipment is dry. If the lift was faulty, the hydraulic fluid would have leaked out all over everything.”

Trey took off his hat and shoved a hand through his hair in frustration.

“So you’re saying that the only way the lift could have come down on Paul Jackson was if someone hit the control?”

Eldridge blinked. He hadn’t taken the thought to its logical conclusion. “Well, I guess...yes, that’s what I’m saying.”

“Will you need anything more from us?” Junior asked.

“No, and thank you for coming so promptly,” Trey said.

“Just send the bill to the garage, as always,” Mack said. “I’ll make sure you get paid.”

Eldridge shook his head.

“No, there won’t be any charge on this trip,” he said gruffly. Then he walked out with his son behind him, leaving Mack and Trey alone. The silence between them was telling.

Finally it was Mack who spoke, his voice rough with emotion. “Damn it, just say what we’re both thinking.”

Trey turned his head and their gazes locked. “Your father’s death is going to be ruled a homicide.”

Mack grunted, then looked down at the floor. The bloodstains were still there, trailing out from beneath Lissa’s car.

“Is this going to be public knowledge?” he asked.

“As of this moment, yes. Why?”

Mack shrugged. “Lissa blamed herself, so when school is out today I’m going to tell her what happened. It should relieve her conscience.”

Trey picked up on the tension between them and vaguely remembered that they’d dated years back. He thought of the message Paul Jackson had sent to his son about renewing the relationship and decided to give him a little help.

“Feel free to give her the news,” Trey said. “I’ve got to go talk to my mom. Her life is in danger. Meanwhile, this is officially a murder scene. We need to lock the place back up.”

Mack followed Trey out and locked the door, then turned around and gazed at the scene before him. Mystic was home, and home had suddenly taken on a very dark visage.

* * *

It was midmorning and Lissa was wiping tears and snot off six-year-old Jolie Wade’s face while giving Roger Lee Westfall her best serious expression.

Roger Lee was looking nervous. He didn’t know exactly what he’d done wrong. All he’d done was tell the truth after Jolie went and told Aaron that Roger Lee was her boyfriend. He’d told Aaron she wasn’t, and now Jolie was crying and he couldn’t tell for sure if Miss Sherman was mad at him or not. Having two people upset at him would be daunting, especially when he didn’t know why.

Lissa wanted to laugh, but of course she couldn’t. Little Miss Jolie was going to break a thousand hearts before she grew up and found her man, but it appeared Roger Lee wasn’t going to be the first to fall. She admired the little guy for his honesty, and for not being swayed by blond hair and blue eyes.

Meanwhile, Jolie was a six-year-old wreck. She had already decided she wasn’t going to like that Roger Lee ever again, but she didn’t have the skills to gracefully end the fit she was throwing.

Lissa handed Jolie a handful of tissues. “Go wash your face and blow your nose, then hurry back. It’s almost time for snack.”

Jolie took the tissues and walked out of the room with her jaw set.

Lissa motioned for the little boy to come to her desk. He approached reluctantly, his voice shaking and his eyes welling with tears,

“Am I in trouble, Miss Sherman?”

“Do you think you should be in trouble?” she asked.

Roger Lee shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“’Cause I told the truth. Jolie isn’t my girlfriend. I don’t like girls all that much.”

Lissa offered him a handful of tissues, too.

“Then, that’s that,” she said. “And no more talk of boyfriends and girlfriends in my class. We have important things to learn, right?”

He took the tissues, and before she could stop him, he blew his nose, then wiped his eyes.

Lissa stifled a groan. “Next time wipe your eyes first and then blow your nose.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Roger Lee said, handing her the tissues and going back to his chair.

Lissa looked down at the snotty tissues, rolled her eyes as she dropped them in the trash and pumped a squirt of hand sanitizer into her palm.

She was handing out fruit snacks when Jolie came back into the room and sat down in her chair with a dramatic thump. Her eyelashes were still wet with tears as she shoved the half banana aside and tore into her little box of raisins. By the time she’d had her first bite, she was already trying to trade her banana for the raisins belonging to the girl beside her. It was obvious Jolie’s stronger personality was about to win out, and Lissa promptly stepped in.