A Cry in the Dark

by Denise Grover Swank

  He held up his hands in self-defense. “Whoa. Down there, girl. No need to get your panties in a bunch.”

  I was about to jerk the wheelchair from his grasp, but he pushed ahead of me and guided it down the ramp, toward the truck. He did a double take and asked, “Is this Wyatt Drummond’s truck?”

  Should I be worried that this lowlife was familiar enough with Wyatt to recognize it?

  “That’s none of your concern,” I snapped.

  He shot me a grin, then opened the passenger door of the truck, calling out good-naturedly, “Hey there, Hank. I’m Dwight and I’m gonna be helpin’ you inside.” His respectful tone caught me by surprise. “The whole damn town’s upset about Seth.”

  “Dwight…” Hank said faintly. “You Ben Henderson’s son?”

  “Yes, sir,” Dwight said as he helped Hank turn sideways in his seat. “One of ’em.”

  Hank nodded but didn’t say anything.

  Dwight slung Hank’s arm over his shoulder and helped him down. He got him settled in the chair and started pushing it toward a side door.

  “I thought you were workin’ at the dog food plant down in Greeneville,” Hank said as Dwight pushed the chair across the parking lot.

  “I was, sir,” Dwight said, still sounding respectful. “But my pa took sick, so I found something closer to home. I was lucky enough to get hired on by Mobley a couple of months ago.”

  Hank nodded with an absent look in his eyes. “That’s good. Family’s important.”

  “If you could get the door?” Dwight said to me. His tone was civil, but his snide grin told a different story.

  I walked ahead of them and opened the single door, hoping the wheelchair would fit. Once I reached it, I turned around to see Dwight’s gaze on my denim-covered ass.

  He pushed the chair past me and licked his lower lip.

  It took everything in me not to throat-punch him.

  “Hank,” I heard Mobley call out in a soft voice. When I followed Dwight and Hank inside, I saw the funeral director coming down the hall to greet us. “I am so sorry to hear about your loss. And after the loss of your poor daughter last year and Mary a year or so before that…” He shook his head. “I’m just so sorry.”

  Hank’s eyes welled up and he hung his head. “I can’t believe he’s gone. That’s why I’m here. To see it for myself.”

  “When I heard you were wanting to see him today, I explained the situation to the medical examiner’s office in Johnson City. They let us pick him up early this morning, but I’ve got to warn you, Ol’ Jimmy hasn’t had a chance to work his magic yet.”

  “That’s okay.” Hank’s voice shook, and his face had lost color.

  “Maybe this is all too much, Hank,” I said, pushing past Dwight and squatting next to the chair. He’d just been released from the hospital. He likely shouldn’t even be making this trip. “We can come back tomorrow or come early for the visitation.”

  “No,” he said, sitting up straighter. The adjustment made him look even frailer, but there was nothing weak about his voice. “I want to see my grandson.”

  “Then we’ll do it together,” I said with a reassuring smile.

  Hank nodded, his eyes glassy and his chin trembling.

  I wanted to get this over with and get him home and settled.

  “Let’s all head on back,” Mobley said as he spun around and started walking.

  I stayed next to Hank and studied him. If I saw any sign that he couldn’t handle what was happening, I’d find a way to get him out of here.

  We headed down a long hall into what looked like a hospital room—or a morgue—with a stainless steel table in the center of the room. A body covered with a sheet lay on top of it, the head to my right.

  Hank released a strangled sound.

  Dwight guided the chair into the room and parked it a few feet from the table. I stopped next to Hank and reached down to pick up his hand. He glanced up at me with vacant eyes and squeezed.

  Dwight shuffled to the head of the table and started to uncover Seth’s head, but Hank blurted out, “Wait! I wanna be standin’ when I see him.”

  My stomach was in knots. I really didn’t want to see Seth again, not like this, but Hank needed to see his grandson and he needed support. I sure didn’t want to leave him with Dwight.

  “You can’t stand,” Dwight scoffed. “Your leg’s cut off.”

  “Dwight,” Mobley snapped. “Treat Mr. Chalmers with respect.”

  Dwight looked pissed and he stepped to the other end of the table as though saying he wasn’t having any part of this.

  I locked the wheels of the chair and squatted in front of Hank. “I’m gonna help you stand, then we’ll move up to the table.”

  I regretted not bringing his crutches in with us, but I figured I could support him for a minute or so. When I’d helped lift him into the truck with the nurse less than an hour ago, I’d realized he didn’t weigh all that much.

  He nodded, but he didn’t look happy about it. I could understand that. He wasn’t the kind of man who liked accepting help, although he was smart enough to know when he needed it.

  “Mobley,” a woman called out from the hallway. “There’s a phone call for you.”

  “It’s gonna have to wait, Verna,” Mobley said with an edge of irritation. “I’m busy.”

  “It’s important,” she said, sounding nervous. “That client from before’s not very happy.”

  The client was clearly someone important—more important than poor Seth Chalmers—because Mobley’s smile wavered, and he gave us a slight nod. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to take this.” And he hurried out the door.

  I considered asking Dwight for help getting Hank out of the chair, but his foul expression suggested he wouldn’t be gentle. Giving Hank a soft smile, I said, “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  It took some maneuvering, but I got him balanced on his remaining foot. He wrapped his right arm around my shoulder, and we took a couple of awkward steps toward the table. When we got close enough, Hank grabbed the table with his left hand to help him stay balanced.

  Since Dwight didn’t seem inclined to help us any further, I slowly reached for the sheet and pulled it down to Seth’s collar bone, exposing his bruised and battered face. His left eye was swollen, and his lip had a cut. A deep bruise discolored his right cheek.

  I felt lightheaded, but a guttural sound from Hank snapped me out of it. His knee buckled, and I shifted my position to brace his weight.

  “Do you want to sit down?” I asked quietly, fighting the urge to cry.

  He shook his head, opening his mouth to speak and then shutting it.

  Dwight released a yawn.

  I jerked my gaze to him, barely holding back my temper. “Can you show a little respect here?”

  Dwight just leered at me.

  Was Dwight just an asshole or had he played a part in Seth’s murder? Would he be so blatantly cavalier if he were involved? I studied his irritated demeanor. He struck me as the kind of guy who thought he could do whatever he wanted, damn the consequences.

  Hank ignored him, his chin trembling as he stared down at the boy.

  I hadn’t paid much attention to Seth’s features in the dimly lit parking lot, but I got a better look at him now. He had a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks, and even with the bruising and swelling I could see that he’d been an attractive boy. Had he left behind a grieving girlfriend? How were his best friends handling this? I couldn’t help thinking about the empty seat in his classes. On Monday, this boy had probably been at school, worried about homework and football games, and now he was dead on a stainless steel slab.

  My resolve steeled—whoever did this had to pay.

  Hank slid his arm from around my neck, so I tightened my hold around his waist to keep him upright. He reached for Seth’s cheek, cupping it slightly at an awkward angle.

  “What did you do, boy?” Hank whispered, tears streaming down his face. One dropped onto the white sheet.


  “They say he pissed off the wrong people,” Dwight said as he gave me a point-blank stare.

  Was he talking about me?

  I started to defend myself, but this creep wasn’t worth my effort. At least not for me. But I’d be damned if I’d let him talk to Hank like that. “Mr. Chalmers is grieving. Could you please keep your hurtful comments to yourself?”

  Dwight shrugged, leaning a hand against the table and taking a leisurely pose.

  Now I was good and pissed. “You need to leave and give Hank a few minutes to pay his respects in privacy.”

  “No can do,” he said with a laugh.

  I released my hold on Hank, making sure he was supporting himself against the table, and took a step toward Dwight. “Then we’ll be taking Seth’s body elsewhere, and I’m sure your boss won’t be too happy you’re the reason, what with you needing this job and all.”

  Dwight stood upright and towered over me, his jaw working as his face flushed.

  “Do as she says,” Hank said in a surprisingly firm voice. “Leave us be or I’ll move him to Valley Funeral Home.”

  Dwight released a string of curses, but he headed for the door. Before he left, he turned around in the doorway and said, “You have five minutes or until Mobley comes back.”

  I shut the door behind him and locked it, the clacking sound of the lock catching bounced off the hard-surfaced room.

  Once Dwight was gone, Hank hunched over the table, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

  I tried to hold back my own tears, but the sight of the broken man was too much. I moved next to him and placed a hand over his. “I’m so very sorry, Hank.”

  Although Hank had absolved me of any responsibility, I hadn’t absolved myself. I still questioned whether that car alarm had led to his death. I probably always would.

  He nodded, his head still hanging as he stared at his grandson’s face. After a half minute or so, he sucked in a deep breath and rose up. His hand fumbled with the sheet to pull it down further.

  I reached past him and grabbed the edge. “Are you sure?”

  He pushed my hand away and jerked down the sheet himself, exposing Seth’s naked chest. A brutal Y-shaped cut marred his pale skin, along with two angry red holes on either side of it.

  Hank’s body stiffened and he placed his hand flat on the table, his body now shaking with anger instead of grief. “I told that boy to leave it alone. I told him it would get him killed.”

  I didn’t respond, just leaned my arm gently against his, silently offering what support I could.

  He tugged at the sheet again. At first I thought he was trying to expose Seth’s entire body, but instead, he freed Seth’s left hand and fumbled to hold it.

  I picked up Seth’s cold hand, expecting his arm to be stiff, but it bent enough for me to move his hand into Hank’s reach. My fingers brushed against something rough. Turning Seth’s hand over, I gasped at the blackened wound in the center of his palm.

  “That wasn’t there when I saw him,” I whispered.

  Hank’s gaze jerked to mine. “Are you sure?”

  I nodded. “That’s where the numbers were written.” I repeated them in my head—5346823.

  His eyes widened. Then he whispered, “Shh.”

  My heart hammering, I nodded.

  Hank picked up Seth’s hand and stared down at the rough-edged rectangular wound.

  “I want to take pictures of it,” I whispered. “If this is part of a coverup, we need to prove this was here.”

  “Yeah,” he said, sounding weary, and I realized his leg was trembling.

  Grabbing my phone out of my pocket, I snapped photos from several angles, hoping they were good enough. The camera on my burner phone wasn’t very high quality, and the photos were slightly grainy. Still, it was better than nothing. Just as I slipped my phone back into my pocket, the doorknob jiggled, and I jumped.

  “Dwight?” Mobley called from the hall. “What’s goin’ on in there?” The door rattled as he tried to open it again.

  Hank leaned forward as he lifted Seth’s hand, kissing the back of it. “Rest in peace, boy. You done good.”

  The door shook with Mobley’s attempts to get in.

  Hank pushed out a sigh. “Help me into that chair, girl, and take me home.”

  Keys rattled in the hall and I knew we only had seconds.

  “Yes, sir.” I returned Seth’s hand like we’d found it and tugged the sheet up to his chin. After I unlocked the wheels on the wheelchair, I rolled it right up to Hank. I was helping ease him into the chair when the door flew open.

  Hank landed on the seat with a hard thud, and he grimaced with pain.

  “What’s goin’ on in here?” Mobley asked, his eyes wide. “Why is the door locked? Where’s Dwight?”

  I grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and turned Hank to face the funeral home director, who was standing in the middle of the doorway. Was he part of this? Because sometime between Seth’s death and this moment, someone had burned off the numbers on Seth’s hand. Had it been Dwight?

  Mobley took a look at my face. “What’s wrong?”

  “We kicked your hired man out,” Hank said. “He was bein’ rude and disrespectful.” Hank reached up and patted my hand on the wheelchair handle. “I wanted to see my grandson in peace. When he shut the door behind him, he must’ve locked it.”

  Mobley frowned. “I’m sorry. Dwight’s a new hire, and we’ve had a few other reports of poor customer service. I assure you, he will be dealt with.”

  “Thank you,” Hank said, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion. “I appreciate you lettin’ me see my grandson, Mobley.”

  “Of course,” Mobley said kindly, squatting in front of Hank and taking his hand. “And don’t worry about runnin’ into Dwight when you’re dealin’ with the funeral and such. He won’t be around.”

  Was Mobley going to fire him on our account?

  “I still need to pick out Seth’s coffin,” Hank said, his voice breaking.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Mobley said with a soft smile. “Wyatt Drummond took care of it.” He grimaced. “Of course, you’re welcome to change anything, but after Barb and the money issue…”

  My mouth dropped open in shock. Wyatt had paid for Seth’s funeral? That wasn’t something people just did.

  Hank just stared up at him for a moment, struck silent by the news. Finally, he seemed to collect himself and said, “No. Thank you.”

  “Wyatt said you’d want to have the service at Drum Methodist Church, then have him buried in the Drum Cemetery. Just like we did with Barb.”

  Red-eyed, Hank nodded, and said in a rough voice, “Yeah.”

  “We’re planning the service for Friday with the visitation tomorrow night.”

  Hank’s eyes turned watery. “I gotta wait two days to bury my grandson?” He shook his head. “No. Let’s do it tomorrow.”

  “Wyatt thought you’d want a couple of days to get your feet back under you.” Mobley darted a glance at the place were Hank’s right leg should have been and his face turned red. “Uh…it’s too soon to plan the visitation for tonight.”

  “I don’t want a visitation. All them people paradin’ by the deceased like they’re a circus freak show,” he said in disgust. “I lived through it with Mary and Barb.” He gave the funeral director a hard glare. “I ain’t livin’ through it with Seth.”

  “I understand, Hank. No visitation, but there’s no way we can do the funeral tomorrow. We’re already booked. We’ll have to stick to Friday.”

  Hank gave a sharp nod, his eyes hard. “Fine. Funeral only. Friday afternoon.”

  “We can set the funeral at three and let people file by and pay their respects startin’ at two,” Mobley said.

  “No,” Hank said, his jaw set. “We’ll have an open casket so people can see it’s him and stop any wild, fanciful tales that might spring up that I buried an empty casket.” He shook his head in disgust, and I wondered if that had happened to him before. “
But they can pay their respects from their damn seats.”

  Mobley started to protest, but I cut in. “Thank you for seeing to all the arrangements. I’m sure Hank feels better knowing everything is in your capable hands. Now that he’s made his wishes clear, I should be getting him back home.”

  Mobley’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Of course.” Then he leaned over in front of Hank and patted his hand. “Don’t you worry, Hank. We’ll take care of everything.”

  “Thank you,” Hank said, sounding broken, and as soon as Mobley stood, I wheeled Hank out of the room and got him the hell out of there.

  Chapter Sixteen

  After I got Hank settled into the truck (not an easy feat since he was beyond exhausted), I took the wheelchair back inside and left it in the foyer. I was worried Dwight might be lurking about, but I made it back to the truck without seeing anyone.

  “Tell me how to get back to Drum,” I said, my hands shaking as I gripped the steering wheel.

  He gave me directions to a county road that would take us there, and neither one of us said anything until we were well out of Ewing.

  “Who do you think burned Seth’s hand?” I finally asked, keeping my gaze on the road. I had one goal in mind—get Hank home and hope that Wyatt showed up soon afterward. Which was a strange thought. Up until this morning, Wyatt had seemed like my enemy, yet he clearly cared about Hank, and I felt confident he’d help protect him.

  Hank closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the seat. “I don’t know.”

  “Seems like Dwight might be a suspect. Do you know much about him?”

  “He’s a bad seed. He gets into trouble all the time.”

  “Is that the real reason you didn’t want a visitation?” I asked. “So no one would pat his hand and find it?”

  He cast me a dark look. “I knew you were a smart girl within the first ten minutes of meeting you.”

  “You’re okay with waiting until Friday?” I asked.

  “Whether that boy gets buried Friday or three years from now, it don’t mean a damn thing. Dead is dead and that boy ain’t comin’ back.” His voice broke off, choking up. at the end. His face was pale, and I was sure he’d overdone it. I needed to get him home and to bed.