Wild Hearts. Sharon Sala

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СКАЧАТЬ looked away.

      “What?” Betsy asked. “What aren’t you saying?”

      “That I dread seeing them come in the door believing Dad killed himself, because I know the family, and that’s exactly what they’ll think—especially Mom’s side. They always thought she could have done better for herself than marrying a hillbilly farmer.”

      Betsy frowned. “I’m sorry, honey.”

      Dallas shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I can’t bring him back to life, and I can’t change the public assumption that Dad committed suicide until I find out why he was killed and who did it.”

      Betsy was at a loss as to how to respond to that and went immediately to something else. “In the meantime, we have a memorial service to plan, and you don’t want to have some piddly event that says you’re not going all out because you believe he killed himself. You’re having the ‘he was the best man ever’ ceremony. Now, have you spoken to the preacher?”

      “Yes. I have to write Dad’s eulogy, but everything else has been settled. What would you think if, instead of a sermon, the preacher invites anyone who’d like to, to come up to the pulpit and speak about knowing him, or tell a funny story about him, if they want?”

      “I think that’s a wonderful idea. I wish I could be there, but I think I’d better stay here at the house during the service to receive the food that will be coming. Now, that’s enough for today. It’s time I get home. I know you probably don’t have much appetite, but promise me you’ll eat a little. You have to keep up your strength.”

      “I promise,” Dallas said, and gave Betsy a big hug as she stood up to leave.

      She walked with her out of the house, and just as Betsy was about to leave, the delivery van from the local flower shop drove up.

      Dallas swallowed past the lump in her throat. First the food. Now the flowers.

      She waved at Betsy as she drove away, then opened the door for the lady who came carrying bouquets.

      “Thank you, dear. Where do you want me to put these?”

      “You can put one on that end table and the other on the coffee table,” Dallas said.

      “Oh, this isn’t all. I have a bunch more. How about I bring them in and you put them where you want them?”

      “All right,” Dallas said, and began looking at the cards as the woman hurried out.

      One was from their church, the second from Paul Jackson, one of her dad’s oldest friends. When the woman finally left, she had delivered a total of six.

      Dallas went to get the notepad and started writing down names of the people who’d sent flowers, then started another list of people who’d brought food, with Betsy Jakes at the top.

      The scent of the chicken potpie actually made her feel hungry, and it was almost noon. Maybe it was time to take a break. Even though she was anxious to resume her search, she had to start calling the family. After that, a little food.

      * * *

      She’d only managed to make a few calls before the preacher’s secretary called to let her know she’d posted a notice of Dick Phillips’s memorial service in the local paper.

      Betsy was at home making calls to all of Dick’s egg customers about available eggs.

      Dallas was getting more help than she could have imagined. One neighbor stopped by with a pie and condolences. Two egg customers came without knowing of the death and were properly horrified. The elderly woman cried, which made Dallas cry with her. The young man with two little kids was saddened by the news, and then embarrassed because his kids wouldn’t stop asking where Mr. Phillips was because he always let them pet the hens. Everyone wanted details and then was shocked by her terse answers. Dallas was in tears again by the time the last one left.

      It was two hours later before she got a chance to resume her search, and the next place she wanted to look was the old desk. As a child, she’d learned where the secret compartments were and had been fascinated by the idea of finding hidden treasures. Now all she wanted were answers.

      She sat down and opened the rolltop. Usually there was a faint layer of dust on the surface because he never used it anymore, but to her surprise it was not only clean, but she could smell the faint scent of furniture polish.

      “Weird,” she muttered.

      In her whole life, she had never known her dad to clean that thoroughly. Then she shrugged it off. Once in a while he did have someone come out and clean for him. That was probably what had happened here.

      She sat for a moment, looking at all the drawers and slots, and then began opening them one by one. The drawers were empty. All the slots where things could have been filed were squeaky-clean. When she looked in the first hidden drawer she found a penny and then leaned back, her hand shaking as she took it out. The date on it was 1943. She distinctly remembered finding this penny beneath an old brick when she was just a kid. Certain it was worth millions because it was so old, she’d run to the house to show her mother, only to be told it wasn’t all that old and it was still only worth a penny. Not to be deterred, Dallas had cleaned it up, then hidden it in the secret drawer to let it get older. She dropped it back into the drawer and pushed it shut with a click.

      Only one secret drawer left, and it was at the back of the long drawer. She pulled the drawer out and set it aside, then got down on her knees and pushed. When a second door gave way, she thrust her hand inside, and when she felt a folded piece of paper, her heart actually skipped. She pulled it out, then sat down with her back against the desk to read it.

      It took her a few moments to realize what she was looking at, and then she read it again in disbelief.

      “What the hell? Why would you do this?” she mumbled, and then noticed the date.

      It was the same year that she’d started college. Surely this was no longer valid? But what if it was? And that was when she panicked.

      She scrambled to her feet and ran for the phone book, found the number she needed and called it with her fingers shaking so hard she kept misdialing. Finally the call went through.

      “First State Bank. How may I direct your call?”

      “I need to speak to Mr. Standish. Tell him Dallas Phillips is calling.”

      “One moment, please.”

      Dallas groaned. God, but she hated hearing music when she’d been put on hold. The longer she waited, the worse it became, until the tension was making her sick to her stomach. Unable to sit still, she began to pace. When Gregory Standish finally answered, his voice was so forceful it made Dallas flinch.

      “Hello, this is Standish.”

      Dallas opened her mouth and then had to pinch her nose to keep from screaming.

      “Mr. Standish, this is Dallas Phillips.”

      “Dallas, my dear, I was so sorry to hear of your father’s passing. You have my sympathy, of course. Now, what can I do for you?”

      “I just found the paperwork on an old loan my Dad took out at your СКАЧАТЬ