Dark Hearts. Sharon Sala
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sudden appearance, she jumped as if she’d been shot and dropped the glass into the sink. Booze and glass went everywhere.
“Now look what you made me do!” she screeched, and then staggered toward the utility room.
Will wanted to strangle her. He had a very short time in which to declare himself a candidate for the state superintendent’s job, and everything in his life was going to hell in a handbasket. He wished Rita to hell, too, and headed for his office, picking up the mail from the front hall table on the way and leaving her to clean up the mess.
But Rita wasn’t finished with him. She came back, and then followed him all the way through the house carrying the broom and dustpan.
“I guess you heard about the Jakeses,” she said.
Will turned around, still holding the stack of mail in one hand and a paperweight from his desk in the other.
“Everybody in town is talking about it, so yes, I heard.”
Rita kept staring without saying a word.
“What?” Will snapped.
She shrugged. “I was just wondering. You graduated with all three murder victims.”
His frown deepened. “Yes, and your point is...?”
“I don’t know. Just wondered if you knew anything about what’s happening.”
A wave of rage shot through him so fast he threw the paperweight straight at her, missing her head by inches.
She shrieked.
“You nearly hit me! What are you trying to do? Kill me? That’s it, isn’t it? You wish I was dead.”
Will glared, so angry he was shaking.
“What I wish is that you weren’t a fucking drunk. That’s what I wish. Now go clean up that broken glass and whiskey before you pass out. I don’t want to have to clean up another one of the messes you make on your drunken binges.”
She screamed, then threw the broom and dustpan at him, and ran to their bedroom, stumbling and bawling all the way.
“Damn it all to hell,” Will said, and then sighed.
He took off his suit coat, rolled up his sleeves and took the broom and dustpan with him as he headed for the kitchen.
“Damn bitch. I wish she was dead, all right. I just don’t want to be the one accused of doing it.”
* * *
Greg Standish entered the bank through the back entrance and slipped into his office unnoticed. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone right now. In fact, he was thinking of all the ways he could fake his death and disappear. His life and his dreams were pretty much over, and if that wasn’t enough, between his wife, Gloria, and his daughter, Carly, he was bordering on bankrupt. Once the directors got wind of his situation he would be out of a job, and then that would be that.
He saw a cop car go flying past and frowned. So the last survivor from that wreck was gone. He heard Trey found his mom. And Trina. He couldn’t believe she was still alive after being shot at point-blank range. His eyes narrowed. He’d never given much thought to dying, and now he was wondering if it hurt.
* * *
T. J. Silver was in the game room playing “Call of Duty” on his Xbox when his dad walked in.
“Hi, Dad,” he muttered, without taking his eyes from the screen.
Marcus stood in the doorway, staring at his son and wondering exactly where he’d gone wrong. T.J. was handsome and intelligent, a college graduate, and had yet to turn a finger at anything resembling work. Marcus had been born into money, but he’d always worked. He’d always wanted his dad to be proud of him. T.J., on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered to be living an idle life of wealth.
When Marcus didn’t answer him, T.J. realized his dad was pissed about something, and immediately stopped the game and stood up. “I guess you heard about Betsy Jakes,” he said.
Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I heard. I also heard her daughter got shot, too. She’s not dead, though.”
T.J. shrugged. “They say she’s not going to make it, though. Injuries were too serious.”
Marcus pointed at the Xbox. “Have you done anything today that could remotely qualify as work?”
T.J.’s eyes widened. This wasn’t like his dad. Something had him all hot and bothered.
“Yes, I have, actually. I was in the office here all morning, working on details for your announcement party for the senate seat. Then I went to the Jackson memorial—as did you, because I saw you there, but you didn’t bother to acknowledge me. So what’s your problem, Dad?”
“My problem is that at your age, you should have more to do than play video games. In my day, my father expected me to toe the line.”
T.J.’s eyes narrowed as he responded in a tone that was just shy of disrespectful.
“Well, in my day, my father encouraged...no, expected me to make a splash all over my college campus, and after I graduated be sure I was mentioned regularly in the society pages by showing up at all kinds of local benefits and things. I thought he was grooming me for something special, like maybe following in his footsteps once he got into politics. That’s what I thought my father expected.”
Marcus grunted as if he’d just been punched in the gut. Twice he started to respond and then couldn’t, because he’d realized T.J. was right. He’d never looked at his behavior in that vein before, but everything T.J. had said was the truth. His son was the product of his own raising, and he had no one to blame but himself. He shook his head and walked away.
T.J. was still a little pissed as he watched his father leave. The old man was obviously amped up about another classmate being murdered. Shit happened.
He checked the time. Cook was probably finishing up dinner, and he wanted to shower and change before he sat down to eat. As he headed upstairs to his room, he was debating with himself about what he wanted to wear. He decided on something sporty but comfortable. It didn’t pay to be lax about one’s appearance—ever. A person never knew when it would matter to make a good impression.
* * *
Sunset was only minutes away as Lainey walked back from the pasture with the feed bucket, leaving Dandy out in the pasture eating. There were no other animals on the property now except her horse. He was a big gray grullo with a feisty attitude, and there was a time in her life when that had fit who she was, but no more. Her body was still weak from the cancer treatments, and she had gotten so thin that her endurance was nil. But she was cancer-free, and every day she woke up was a good day and a chance to get stronger.
When she was almost back at the barn, Dandy nickered.
She turned to look, but he already had his head back down in the feeder. She smiled.
“Good night to you, too, big guy!” she yelled.
Dandy looked up, nickered again and then resumed his meal.
Now that her last chore for the day was over, Lainey was left with nothing to deter her thoughts from going back to Sam.
There was a time when he’d been the reason she drew breath. Then life had interrupted their love affair and she’d had to figure out how to live without him. She’d thought she was doing okay until the phone call from Dallas, and now all she could think about was seeing Sam again, if for no other reason than to tell him to go to hell.
She latched the door to the granary and started toward the house. The sun was gone now. She was going up the back steps when she heard a long, high-pitched scream that made her shudder. After one quick glance back, she leaped up the steps and hurried into the house. There was a panther somewhere on the mountain, and she hoped he stayed there. Dandy was too old to fight off a big cat like that now.
After