by Sharon Sala
“I’ll be happy to do that. This is good news for her, being able to clear her father’s name. Oh...did she tell you that her father also told Otis Woodley he was coming into big money?”
“No.”
“Well, he did, and I’m wondering if that could have had something to do with his death.”
“I’ll add that info to the file. Now all I need to do is figure out who had a grudge against him, or some other motive, and go from there,” Osmond said. “I’ll be in touch.”
Trey disconnected, then slapped the steering wheel in silent jubilation. Finally some good news.
He packed quickly, then picked up his mail and took it with him as he drove out of town, anxious to get back to Dallas.
* * *
Once the pain pill kicked in, Dallas felt antsy just sitting around. She could watch TV, but she still wouldn’t be able to hear it, and her dad’s set was old enough that she didn’t know how to activate the closed-captioning. She finally talked Betsy into going with her to the barn to clean and sort the eggs Otis had gathered. At first Betsy objected, saying Dallas needed to be resting. But once Dallas convinced her, with some amusement, that dog bites on her shoulder and bruised ribs did not impact the movement of her feet, they set out with Dallas talking, and Betsy carrying the pad and pen.
When they approached the chicken coop and Dallas saw the darker, blood-soaked earth where the dog had attacked, she walked around it without comment. Once inside the egg room, she directed Betsy to get the basket of eggs out of the cooler, and then she began cleaning and sorting them with Dallas’s input. By the time they were finished, Dallas had three dozen fresh eggs to add to the cooler, with a couple left over to go into the next carton. Betsy dated the cartons and then set them to the back of the cooler.
“And that’s the egg business. Guaranteed to make you rich in no time,” Dallas said, as they walked out into the breezeway.
Betsy giggled, then wrote: “Money isn’t everything.”
“Agreed,” Dallas said. “But it can make life easier.”
Betsy wrote: “You can’t take it with you, and it won’t make you happier.”
Dallas nodded, and that ended the money conversation, although she was still puzzled about her father’s claim to be coming into big money soon. Now that the stress of the memorial service was over, she decided to go back through the house again, this time looking for any clue to what he’d been talking about, although it had already occurred to her that the expected windfall could have been what got him killed.
Once they got back to the house, Betsy heated up the soup and got one of the pies from the memorial service out of the freezer for dessert and put it in the oven.
Dallas watched Betsy moving about the kitchen as if it were her own, seeing bits of Trey in the way Betsy’s head tilted when she was listening and her calm demeanor as she worked.
“The soup smells good,” Dallas said.
Betsy gave her a thumbs-up and a nod, and began dishing it up as Dallas got crackers out of the pantry and silverware from the drawer.
When they finally sat down and Dallas took her first spoonful, she groaned with delight.
“This is sooo good. You’ll have to teach me how to make this sometime. I love vegetable beef soup.”
Betsy nodded and smiled, hoping that meant Dallas wasn’t leaving again.
When Dallas’s phone began to ring inside her purse, Betsy jumped up and dug it out, then handed it to her. Dallas glanced at the caller ID and frowned. It was her boss.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with the people at WOML, but what part of ‘I can’t hear anything’ don’t they understand? How does he think I can take this call?”
Betsy wrote: “Text him back and remind him.”
Dallas rolled her eyes. “Yes, of course. I’m so anxious for my hearing to return that I didn’t think of the obvious.”
She quickly texted him a series of terse sentences.
Don’t call. Text! I can’t hear. Remember? I’m not coming back anytime soon. I can’t hear. I can’t hear. I can’t fucking hear.
A few moments later a text popped up.
Sorry. My bad. I’ll put someone else on it.
The fact that he was about to give someone else what would have been her assignment didn’t bother her nearly as much as it would have a week ago. The events of the past few days had quickly put life into perspective.
Eleven
Trey came in the front door with his suitcase and a giant bouquet of red roses.
Dallas knew Mark Dodson’s appearance at the hospital had irked him, and now she had proof. His bouquet of roses was far bigger than Mark’s potted mum. She stifled a grin. A case of “mine is bigger than yours” syndrome.
Betsy gasped when she saw them. “Oh, Trey. They’re beautiful! I’ll put them in water for Dallas,” she said, admiring them as she left.
Trey dropped the suitcase by the sofa, took something out of his pocket and leaned down to kiss Dallas hello.
She closed her eyes, expecting that hard, sexy mouth on her lips. She got a kiss, but it was chocolate, a Hershey’s Kiss to be exact.
She blinked.
He dropped another little foil-wrapped candy in her lap, along with a note: “Another kiss from me for when you’re lonely.”
She didn’t know whether to be enchanted or irked.
“Thank you,” she said, and set the extra one on the table beside her elbow.
He held up a finger to indicate he would be right back and took his suitcase to the room he would be using. He’d already decided to sleep in the extra bedroom. Dick’s bedroom still belonged to Dallas. She would have to go through his things at her leisure, when her shoulder was better.
The bedspread in the guest room was bright yellow and a little too cheery. The color wouldn’t have been his first choice, but it wouldn’t damage his masculinity or his sleep. The curtains were sheers, more for effect than for privacy, but the venetian blinds would suffice. He unpacked his clothes, then returned to his cruiser and came back with an armful of clothes on hangers, waving at Dallas as he passed.
He could tell she was intrigued. And the second piece of candy was gone, which made him grin. She’d always said the next best thing to sex was chocolate. He’d already introduced the notion of renewing their sexual relationship, but so far she’d had to settle for the next best thing.
He changed out of his uniform and then hurried back just as Betsy set the flowers on a table where Dallas could see them.
“Mom, thanks for staying,” he said.
“It was my pleasure. Call me anytime you need help.”
“You’re the best,” he said, and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead.
Betsy was beaming as she gathered up the empty stew pot and the rest of her things.
“I’ll walk you out,” he said. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Thank you for coming, Betsy!” Dallas said, as Trey and his mother headed for her car.
“What’s going on?” Betsy asked, as she put her things in the backseat.
“Sheriff Osmond called me. I still have to tell Dallas, and I’m only telling you this because you found his body, so keep it to yourself until you begin to hear it on the streets.”
“You’re scaring me,” Betsy said.
“Dick did not commit suicide. He was murdered.”
Betsy moaned, then leaned back against her car and covered her face.
“Oh, my God. How do they know? Was it the shoulder injury? Dallas told me what Otis Woodley said about that.”
“No. The coroner x-rayed the body before beginning the autopsy. Both of Dick’s ankles were broken. He wouldn’t have been able to even stand up, let alone hang himself.”
“Should we be afraid?”
He gave her a quick hug. “I don’t know what to tell you. Right now there’s no motive and there are no suspects. I need to get back inside, though. Drive safe going home, okay?”
“I will,” she said, a
nd drove away as Trey returned to the house.
Dallas was in the kitchen, so he ran down the hall to get his laptop, returning as she was settling back down onto the sofa with a cold drink.
“Your mom made sweet tea if you want some,” she said.
He nodded, then sat down beside her and powered up the laptop.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
He began to type: “We need to talk. I have good news. The dog that attacked you did not have rabies.”
“Thank God,” Dallas said.
He continued to type: “There’s more.”
Sensing a certain tone, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Sheriff Osmond called me. They’ve officially ruled your father’s death a murder.”
Dallas gasped.
“Was it the shoulder injury? I didn’t know they’d done the autopsy.”
“No autopsy yet,” he wrote. “Coroner x-rayed body first. Both your dad’s ankles were broken. No way would he have been able to stand up, let alone hang himself.”
Dallas’s eyes went wide with shock, and when she spoke, her voice began to shake.
“I don’t understand. Why would someone break his ankles? Were any of his other bones broken? Was he beaten?”
Trey sighed. Now it was a case of how much to tell her and how much to let her figure out for herself.
“Coroner said it was consistent with a sharp jerk from below.”
He could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she went through the process of how that could have happened, and he knew when she figured it out, because her face lost all expression.
She went limp and sagged back against the sofa, her voice completely emotionless as she said, “He didn’t die fast enough. The killer grabbed him by the ankles to break his neck.”
“Probably.” Trey tapped the keyboard.
“My poor daddy,” she whispered, and covered her face.
He put the laptop on her knees. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
She read the last line, then leaned against his shoulder and once again began to weep.
Trey moved the computer onto the coffee table and gently scooted her into his lap. Long after the shock had passed and the tears were gone, she lay sleeping in his arms. He hated to wake her, but he had to begin the evening chores, so he cradled her in his arms and kissed her awake.
Dallas opened her eyes, blinking slowly as she realized where she was and wondered why she was in his lap. And then she remembered.
“That wasn’t a dream, was it?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“Is this nightmare ever going to end?”
He opened up the laptop. “We’ll figure it out, honey. Just give it time,” he wrote, then added, “I’m going to do chores. I won’t be long.”
“Okay. I’ll clean and sort the eggs tomorrow.”
He nodded, then closed the laptop and kissed her forehead before heading out the back door.
Dallas sat motionless, staring out the front windows, but her thoughts were churning. Her father had been murdered. According to Otis, he’d expected to come into a lot of money. Where would it come from? What was he doing that she hadn’t known about?
The only thing on the whole farm that seemed out of place were all the large plastic storage bins in the cooler at the barn.
Frustrated, she went to the kitchen and began poking around, looking for inspiration for supper. Without knowing what he’d had at noon, she didn’t have any idea how hungry he was. She had been satisfied with Betsy’s soup, and there was some left, but not enough for two.
A few minutes later Trey came in the back door carrying a carton of eggs.
“Supper?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Sounds good. I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee.”
When he frowned, she waved away the objection.
“I have to start using my arm some or the muscles will get worse, not better.”
She didn’t wait to see his reaction. She didn’t need ears to make coffee.
An hour later the omelets had been eaten and the dishes were in the dishwasher. Trey took a phone call from the dispatcher that had him making a quick trip into Mystic, leaving Dallas on her own. He’d been gone for a good half hour when she thought to check her cell phone for text messages.
She had two, both from friends at the station wishing her well, and two missed calls, also from friends at the station who either hadn’t heard the word about her latest injury or were as oblivious as their boss. She sent texts back to all of them and put the phone on the charger. She was done with all that for the night.
She thought about the evenings she and her dad used to spend out on the back porch, watching night come to the land, and had a sudden urge to revisit that. She grabbed the throw from the sofa and carried it out the back door, then put it around her shoulders as she sat down in the swing.
If it had been summer, there would have been fireflies by now. She might have heard one of the calves calling for its mama, or hunters up on the mountain with their hounds. She looked, but she didn’t see any lights.
The longer she sat, the more frightening the silence felt. She had to fight back panic, trusting that the doctor had it right. Please God her hearing would return.
When she saw headlights shining on the trees beyond the house, she guessed it was Trey coming up the drive and abandoned the back porch. She was coming in the back door as he entered through the front, and it occurred to her how grateful she was not to be out here alone, deaf to everything but her fears.
* * *
Trey came home with movie rentals, a six-pack of Coca-Cola, a gallon of rocky road ice cream and a box of microwave popcorn.
The brilliance of the movie rentals was that they were old black-and-white Laurel and Hardy comedies. Silents. No need for sound to understand what was going on. For that reason alone she fell a little harder for Trey.
Trey had already plowed through a bowl of ice cream and a can of Coke when she threw back the quilt over her legs and started to get up.
He reached for his laptop and quickly typed: “What do you need?”
“A pain pill. I haven’t had one since this morning, but my shoulder is really hurting.”
“Have you looked at it today?” he wrote.
“No. I was afraid I couldn’t get the bandages fastened back down.”
“I’ll help. I’ll have to unbutton your shirt, so chill.”
“Do you want me to stand up?” she asked.
He shook his head as he turned sideways on the sofa and reached for the first button.
He noticed her take a quick breath as his fingers worked the button through the hole and made a point of accidentally on purpose raking his fingertips across the soft flesh of her breasts, then down her belly, until the last button was undone.
He paused, giving her time to think about what came next, and then he eased her good arm out of the sleeve so that he could more easily remove the shirt from the bandaged shoulder.
He looked at her and winced, mouthing the word sorry as he undid the tape and pulled the bandage back. Several of the puncture wounds were seeping and had stuck to the gauze. When she winced, he stopped, then leaned forward and brushed a kiss across her lips.
Even though he knew she wouldn’t hear him, he had to say it to ease his conscience for causing her pain. “Sorry, so sorry, baby.”
“How is it?” she asked.
He shrugged.
“Not infected-looking?”
He shook his head.
“I never even asked, but can the wounds get wet? Will I be able to shower?”
He grabbed the laptop. “Don’t use a washcloth on them, and don’t soap them. The water from the shower shouldn’t hurt. Leave them open to dry, and I’ll put a bandage back on them after. Do you want to shower now?”
She nodded.
“Need any help? J”
Dallas rolled her eyes. “No, thank you.”
“I had to ask.”
“Of course you did. I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t make the popcorn until I get back.” She started to get up.
He nodded, and then handed her the blouse he’d taken off a minute ago.
“You loved doing that, didn’t you?” she muttered.
He grinned.
She punched him lightly in the belly as she left.
He flopped back down on the sofa, still smiling.
“I think that went well,” he said.
Trey stayed smug right up until the moment Dallas came out of the shower wearing nothing but a big bath towel, then handed him gauze pads and tape as she plopped down beside him.
Score one point for Dallas. This topped his sexual tease all over the place.
“I really appreciate this,” she said.
Trey took a deep breath, checked that her skin was dry and made quick work of the bandage, then patted her knee to indicate he was done.
“Thanks. I’ll get dressed. Are you going to make popcorn?”
He leaned forward and typed: “Only if you’re still hungry.”
She looked past Trey to the empty recliner and all of a sudden she was done.
“I’m going to get dressed. I’ll pass on the popcorn,” she said, and left.
Now Trey was confused. Then he turned around to see what had distracted her, saw the recliner and sighed. Of course, her dad, a very important man in her life, gone too soon.
“Damn it.”
He got up and carried the dirty bowls and glasses to the kitchen, then put them in the dishwasher and turned it on. After that he stepped out the back door for one last check.
The sky was dark, the stars hidden by cloud cover. The blue-white security light down by the barn left a moon-shaped swatch of light on the ground below. Off to the right, he heard someone driving too damned fast on the blacktop and said a prayer that they got home in one piece. He wasn’t in the mood to be called out to an accident. He glanced up at the mountain and caught a glimmer of light just before it disappeared. Probably hunters, although he didn’t hear any hounds baying.
“Is everything okay?”
He turned. Dallas was silhouetted in the doorway, her hands twisted against her stomach. He hurt, knowing she was scared. Too many bad things had happened to her here, and it scared him to death to think that would be what drove her away.