by Sharon Sala
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.