Dark Hearts (15 page)

Sam opened the book to the freshman class and pointed out the girl named Betty.

“Do you remember her?”

“Not at all. Sorry.”

“That's okay. We're moving up to the sophomore class. That was your class, right?”

Delia nodded. “Okay, who's next?”

“This one.”

“Oh, that's Bobbie Bennett. I remember her just fine, but she wouldn't have been Donny's girlfriend. She was gay. She died before our senior year.”

Sam's hopes were dimming.

“Okay, that's fine. We're eliminating them, which helps. These last two were in the junior class. Just think back and try to remember if you ever saw either one of them with Donny.” He pointed to the first girl. “Do you remember her?”

“Yes. Betty Farris. I don't remember who she dated, though. I'm so sorry, Sam.”

He was trying to stay positive. Maybe Donny Collins didn't have a girlfriend and the diary entry wasn't about him. It didn't matter. They would still find out who'd killed him when Trina woke up.

“Okay, one more, and then I'll let you get back to work. What about this one? Do you remember Beth Bradford?”

“Of course I do. She's Beth Powell now.”

“Beth Powell? Is that someone I should remember?” Sam asked.

“You went to school with her son, Randy.”

Sam's expression stilled. “Oh, no. Her grandson is the boy who was killed last night?”

“Yes. Such a tragedy,” Delia said.

“So do you remember anything about her personal life in high school?”

Delia's frown deepened. “She had a boyfriend. I remember her wearing his class ring, but I can't say who it was. It might have been Donny Collins, but I can't say. You'll have to ask her.”

Sam sighed. Once again life was slowing down an investigation. He couldn't talk to Will Porter because his wife was dying, and this was hardly the time to approach Beth Powell about anything, though he might have to break protocol and do it anyway. He didn't give a shit about manners if it kept his sister alive.

“I'm sorry I wasn't more help,” Delia said.

“No, no, that's not true. You were a lot of help. Investigating is often about eliminating people. Finally finding who you're looking for is always at the end of the investigation.”

“Okay, then,” Delia said, and pushed herself up from the sofa. “And thank you for helping me refill the pop machine,” she said.

“Totally my pleasure, and thanks again.”

Delia watched him leave, then went back to work. She didn't know who was killing her friends, but she hoped they found him before anyone else had to die.

Fourteen

T
he killer was parked on a dirt road at the foot of the mountains surrounding Mystic. Moses Ledbetter lived up there somewhere. If he knew where, he would already have been knocking on his door. He was so pissed off he could barely focus.

He stared up at the mountain and the long shadows already spilling down the side toward the flatland. It would be sundown soon, and he would have to go home.

“Okay, old man. I'm going to call you one more time, and if you know what's good for you, you'll fucking answer your phone,” he screamed, and pounded his fist against the steering wheel.

Then he picked up the burner phone and, one more time, punched in the number he'd used to call Ledbetter before, then listened to it ring. And ring. And ring.

“Son of a fucking bitch,” he said, and had started to hang up when he heard a voice.

“Hello? Who's calling?”

The killer gasped.

“Moses?”

“No, this is his grandson.”

“I need to talk to Moses,” he said.

“Were you a friend of Grandad's?” the man asked.

“No, I hired him— Wait! What do you mean,
were
?”

“Grandaddy passed two nights ago.”

The killer leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. Damn it all to hell; lately he couldn't catch a break.

“Was it a heart attack?”

“No. He blew himself up out in his shop. We still don't know what was going on, but he's gone, and we sure are gonna miss him.”

“I'm sorry to hear this,” the killer said.

“About this job he was doing for you?” the man said.

“What about it?” the killer asked.

“We found a package sitting on his kitchen table. There's a note on it. He wrote ‘a thousand dollars owed,' but no name or contact information. If that was you, we could sure use the money to lay him to rest.”

The killer sat up straight in the seat. Things were actually looking up.

“Yes, that's me, and that's the amount we agreed on. Can you deliver it to me?”

“I reckon I can, but not before tomorrow afternoon.”

The killer wanted to scream. “There's no way you could get it to me tonight?”

“No, sir. I'm sorry, but the family is laying Grandaddy's remains to rest tomorrow morning, and tonight is family night.”

“Of course. I understand. So can you meet me at the foot of the mountain on the Pike Trail...at Lassiter's Corner?”

“Yes, and you'll have the cash money, right?”

“Right.”

“Then, I'll see you tomorrow afternoon around 2:00 p.m.,” the grandson said.

The killer was shaking by the time he disconnected.

Once again, things were out of his control, and he so needed this all to be over with.

* * *

T. J. Silver was just finishing a late dinner alone when he heard his father's footsteps in the foyer. He wiped his mouth and got up to go meet him.

“Dad! I was beginning to worry. I expected you home long before this,” he said.

Marcus hung his coat in the entryway closet.

“I was at the capitol all day, and then got delayed coming home.”

T.J. gave him a quick hug. “You must be starved. Cook can bring you a plate. I just finished.”

“I grabbed a bite on the way home,” Marcus said.

“Okay, so tell me how it went today. Did you talk to your backers? How do they feel about your chances?”

Marcus frowned. “I talked to them. We didn't get into specifics, because I have yet to announce my candidacy.”

T.J. rubbed his hands together with glee. “Then, we need to finalize that party, don't we? Are you excited? I am. This is going to be a whole new way of life for both of us, right?”

“Not unless I get elected,” Marcus said.

“Ah, come on, Dad. You're a shoo-in. They all said it. Senator Gold is retiring, and it will be all newcomers on the ticket. I've been planning your campaign tour with your manager and—”

Marcus frowned again and interrupted as he began sorting through the mail on the hall table. “I haven't officially hired him,” he said.

T.J. grinned. “Well, I've been meaning to tell you about that.”

Marcus turned. “Tell me what?”

“I already hired him. He's been on the job for a little over two weeks now. We've been mapping out a strategy for—”

Marcus's face turned a dark, angry red. “Who's running for this seat—you or me?”

T.J.'s heart skipped a beat. “Well, you, of course, Dad. But you told me to work on it, and I
have
been, every day with—”

“I still haven't decided if I'm even going to do this,” Marcus said, and flung the mail onto the floor as he stomped up the stairs.

A few seconds later T.J. heard him slam the door to his bedroom.

“What the hell was that all about?” he muttered, and began picking up the mail.

* * *

It was nearing sundown by the time Lainey got home. She jumped out of her car and began gathering up her purchases. The first thing she unloaded was the sack of apple treats for Dandy. She left them on the back porch, then glanced toward the pasture but didn't see him. He was probably ticked off at her for being late. She thought about calling him up to the barn and shutting him in one of the stalls for the night, then headed back to her car. She gathered up the sacks with her new clothes and took them to her bedroom, then began to change.

Wanting to get her chores done so she could start dinner for herself and Sam, she changed into work clothes, dropped her phone in a coat pocket, along with her flashlight, and started out the door, then stopped. Because it was so close to nightfall, she decided to take her daddy's rifle with her to the pasture, just as a precaution.

She picked up the bag of apple treats, juggling it and the rifle as she headed for the barn. The security lights were already coming on, and she was debating with herself about throwing a half bale of hay out in the corral instead of carrying oats and sweet feed out to the pasture. If Dandy got hungry enough, he would come looking for dinner.

But by the time she reached the barn, her conscience got the better of her, and she decided to take the feed to him. She dumped the bag of treats in the granary, opened it to put a handful in her pocket, then mixed sweet feed and oats in the feed bucket and headed toward the pasture, whistling for Dandy as she went. Normally he would answer with a neigh and come running, but when he didn't, she frowned.

“Dang it, Dandy. Where are you?” she muttered and glanced toward the grove of trees at the edge of the pasture, then she walked on out to the feeding trough and poured in the oats.

She laid the rifle down at her feet and paused to pull up some thistles growing beneath the trough, and when she looked up again, it was almost dark. Frowning, she turned on the flashlight and whistled for Dandy again, and then started walking. It wasn't like him not to come, and she was beginning to worry.

She was halfway between the barn and the creek when she saw him lying on his side. The blood coming out of the scratches on his haunches looked black in this light, and the huge tear in his side told the rest of the story.

“No!” she screamed, and immediately swung the flashlight in a 360-degree arc, desperate to find the big cat that had done this.

When she saw light reflecting off a pair of eyes less than fifty yards away, she froze, realizing she was now standing between the cat and his kill, a dangerous place in which to be. Then the big cat let out a scream of displeasure that had her heart pounding in sudden fear. She kept staring at the eyes, trying to decide if she should shoot or run.

Before she could make the decision, the cat leaped and began running toward her, closing the distance between them in mere seconds.

She raised the rifle and took aim, but in the growing darkness she couldn't see the panther. One second, two seconds, she stood without moving, waiting for another look.

All of a sudden he was right in front of her. He leaped and she shot. The animal's squall of rage and pain echoed in her ears, and she was backing up when she took the second shot, unable to tell if she'd hit him or not.

All of a sudden she was flat on her back. She could hear the cat still squalling and guessed that she'd hit it, but when she tried to get up, the pain that ran up her leg nearly made her faint.

The first thing that went through her mind was that she had to call Sam.

* * *

Sam was on his way to Lainey's for the night when his phone rang. He glanced down as he picked it up, saw it was from her and put it on speaker so he could talk without holding it to his ear. “Hello, baby.”

“Sam, where are you?”

He frowned. “On my way to your house, why?”

“How close are you?” she asked.

“About two miles away. What the hell's wrong?”

“I need you to hurry. I came out to feed Dandy, but he didn't come, and when I went to look for him, he was dead. That panther killed him, and then came after me. I shot it, but I didn't kill it, and I hurt my leg and can't get up. I'm scared, Sam. I'm afraid it will—”

Sam stomped the accelerator while she was still talking.

“Are you in the pasture behind the barn?”

“Yes. Oh, God, Sam. I think it's coming back.”

“Shoot at it again,” he said, and went airborne as he came over a rise in the road and landed hard about five yards downhill. The back wheels fishtailed, but he steered out of the skid and kept driving, flying past her neighbors' properties, lit up now against the dark.

* * *

Lainey swung the flashlight toward the pasture in front of her and could no longer see eyes. The panther had moved. She didn't know if it was stalking her or just watching her light.

All of a sudden she saw it just a few yards away.

“No, no, no!” she screamed, and shot again.

* * *

Sam thought the cat had taken her down. He shouted her name aloud as he topped the hill above her house.

He caught a glimpse of light out in the pasture and drove down the hill and up her driveway with his hand on the horn.

When his headlights swept across Lainey lying in the grass, his heart nearly stopped. He got on the run with his gun drawn, using his headlights to see.

He saw the big cat lying on its side just a few feet away and put one last shot in it to make sure it was dead, then dropped down beside Lainey, frantically running his hands across her body, searching for signs of life.

Suddenly, she gripped his arm. “I'm okay.”

“Oh, my God,” he groaned, then scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the car, where he set her down in the passenger seat beneath the light. “Did he bite you? Are you scratched anywhere?”

“No, but I hurt myself. My ankle and my left wrist both hurt. I think I stepped in a hole when I fell backward. Dandy is dead.” Tears were rolling down her face now. “If I had come home sooner, I might have saved him.”

“No, you just would have gotten yourself hurt, maybe killed,” Sam said. “Let me go get the rifle and your flashlight, and then I'll take you back to the house.”

She was sobbing and shaking by the time Sam got back to the car. He slid in behind the wheel, and then reached for her hand.

“What about Dandy?” she asked.

“There's nothing to be done before tomorrow.”

She was shaking so much it was hard to catch a breath, and she couldn't quit crying. Part of it was sadness for Dandy, and the rest was still the adrenaline rush of fear from when the cat had run at her.

Sam drove all the way up to the back door, and then carried her into the house. As soon as he got her into the light, he saw the true extent of her injuries.

There were leaves and grass in her curls, and her ankle was swollen. She kept favoring her left wrist, so he checked it more closely. After feeling the joints and seeing her wince in pain, he shook his head.

“I'm taking you to the ER, so if you need to go to the bathroom or wash your hands and face before we go, say so now.”

“The bathroom,” she said.

He picked her up and carried her there.

“I'll be outside. Just call out when you're ready,” he said, and then closed the door.

As soon as the door went shut, he heard her start crying all over again. He took out his phone and called Trey.

“Hello? Sam?”

“Hey, I'm bringing Lainey into the ER,” Sam said.

“What's wrong? Did she get sick?”

“No, but she had a run-in with a panther out in the pasture behind the barn. She's okay, but I need to get her wrist and ankle X-rayed.”

“Oh, my God, what happened? How did that happen?”

“She went to feed the horse. When he didn't come, she went looking for him, and that's when she met up with the cat.”

“Good Lord! I didn't know we had a big cat down here. They usually stay up in the mountains.”

“I saw it the other night when I was taking her home.”

“Did she find her horse?”

“The horse is dead. The panther is dead. She shot it when it came at her. And I'm heading to town with her now.”

“Do you need me?” Trey asked.

“No, but I need to tell you that I may or may not have found Donny Collins' old girlfriend. However, we can't question her right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because it's Beth Powell, Randy Powell's mother, Jack Powell's grandmother.”

Trey flashed on the dead boy in the burned-out car and closed his eyes. “What a nightmare this is turning out to be,” he said.

Sam heard the toilet flush. “I've gotta go. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Call if you need me,” Trey said.

“Go to bed, Trey. Get some rest. I've got this.”

Sam dropped the phone in his pocket as the bathroom door began to open. As soon as Lainey saw him, she started crying again. He just picked her up in his arms and held her.