Cold Hearts. Sharon Sala

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СКАЧАТЬ bread is going to smell so good,” Betsy said.

      Trey watched her turn back into the mother he knew and felt a chill run up his spine. He didn’t know what had happened the night she graduated, but he would bet his retirement that they’d either been a part of something illegal or they’d witnessed something bad. What he couldn’t figure out was why they were being eliminated now. What was happening that made getting rid of them so important? If his theory about these deaths was correct, she would be next, and he couldn’t let that happen. He needed to find that old accident report. Maybe there was something in it that would help him make sense of all this.

      * * *

      Mack had gone through the desk, the computer files, the old lockbox his dad kept in the back of the closet, the shoe boxes full of old income tax papers and every place he could think of looking for anything resembling a journal or a diary. If there was nothing wrong with the lift, then they needed answers to this nightmare, but he couldn’t find a thing.

      He sat down on the corner of his dad’s bed and closed his eyes. The faint scent of diesel, probably from an old pair of his dad’s work shoes, coupled with some manly aftershave, was so reminiscent of his father that he kept thinking the man was going to walk in at any moment. Mack took a deep breath, choking back tears, but before he could gather his thoughts, someone was knocking at the front door.

      He got up with a heavy heart, and when he saw one of the ladies from his dad’s church on the porch holding a covered dish, he sighed.

      Feeding the grief stricken had begun.

      * * *

      Lissa, standing in the hall outside her bedroom, was bordering on what felt like a full-blown panic attack. The thunder of her heartbeat was so loud in her ears that at first she didn’t hear her cell phone ringing. By the time it dawned on her what was happening the call had gone to voice mail. Since she didn’t want to talk to anyone, she didn’t bother checking to see who it had been.

      The only person she needed to talk to was God. She mouthed the proper words, and then cried until her eyes were so swollen it hurt to blink before she dropped to her knees. Despair was heavy, weighing her down as she stared at the floor in disbelief.

      Why had this happened?

      She felt like she was being punished, and yet Paul Jackson was the one who had died. So was it his punishment and she’d just become the tool, or was it hers and his life was gone because of it?

      Sick at heart and too exhausted to get up, she slid forward, stretching out facedown on the cold hardwood floor, and closed her eyes, wishing she could disappear forever.

      * * *

      Along about 6:00 p.m. Jim Farley, the pastor from Paul Jackson’s church, stopped by to express his condolences. By Mack’s count he was visitor number seven, and when this one left, Mack was leaving, too. He couldn’t take any more well-wishers and didn’t want anyone else to pray for him. He didn’t want prayers. He wanted answers.

      Mack took a deep breath, bracing himself for yet another painful conversation. “Pastor Farley, thank you for coming,” he said.

      The little man smiled, which made the scar across his upper lip—the result of a hockey puck gone wild during his youth—pull sideways just the tiniest bit.

      “Good afternoon, Mack. I came without calling. I hope that’s all right,” Farley said.

      “Of course it’s all right. No one stands on ceremony here,” Mack said, as he led the way to the living room.

      The pastor took a seat in the recliner as Mack said, “I have coffee. Would you like a cup?”

      “That would be wonderful. It’s a bit chilly outside today. As for the coffee, I take mine black,” the pastor added.

      “I’ll be right back,” Mack said and headed for the kitchen. He came back a couple of minutes later carrying two mugs.

      Pastor Farley took his mug, then cupped it in his hands to warm them as he took the first sip.

      Mack set his aside and waited.

      The pastor was just as off balance as Mack. The horrific nature of Paul Jackson’s death was the elephant in the room. He took a second sip of the coffee and then set his cup aside, too.

      “Of course I came to offer my condolences,” the pastor said. “The news of your father’s death is heartbreaking. I am so very sorry for your loss.”

      Mack swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Thank you.”

      “Is there anything I can do?” Farley asked.

      Mack shrugged. “I appreciate the offer. Of course I’ll have a memorial service, but I can’t think about that just yet.”

      “Of course, of course,” Farley said. “You just let me know your wishes and we’ll make it happen for you.” He took another sip of coffee and then leaned forward. “Know that prayers are being said for you, son. Know that we weep with you. Your father was my friend.”

      Mack tried to swallow past that lump again, but it didn’t happen. He put his head down as tears welled once more. He heard the pastor saying a prayer, but he wished that Farley would just leave. He wanted this to be a terrible nightmare, so that all he needed to do was wake up.

      Fifteen minutes later Pastor Farley was gone and Mack was on his way out the door. He wasn’t exactly running away from home. He just needed distance from the pain of being here without his dad. He had no destination in mind when he got in his SUV and drove away, but it didn’t take long to realize he was retracing the paths of his youth, from the park where his mother used to take him to play, then past the elementary school where he’d lost his first tooth and broken his arm two years later when he’d bailed out of a swing.

      He turned down the street that led to the baseball field, parked behind home plate, and then stared past second base to center field and the fence beyond.

      The sun appeared to be hovering atop the trees, setting them ablaze with the color of late fall. His hands were shaking as he gripped the steering wheel. Once again, he felt his dad’s presence.

      “I lived half my childhood in this dirt, didn’t I, Dad? And you sat on the third row of the bleachers watching it happen. I don’t know if I ever said thank-you, but I’m saying it now.”

      Tears blurred his vision as he closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. He sat until the sunlight was fading and the fire was gone from the sky before he started the car and drove away, heading north out of Mystic. He didn’t care where he went, as long as it was out of there.

      * * *

      Reece Parsons woke with a hard-on and a rumble in his empty belly. He thrust muscular arms over his head, stretching like a big cat and arching his back just enough that the covers pushed against his erection. He thought about jacking off for the pleasure of it, then remembered a prior commitment with Melissa Sherman and decided to save the good stuff for her.

      He got out of bed and peed off his erection, then walked naked through the darkened house with Bobo at his heels, irked that Louis always left all the lights off. Just once he could at least leave the one on in the kitchen. Then he shrugged. Louis was just like Mama. She was as tight СКАЧАТЬ