Sharon Sala - Wild Hearts

When she began hearing sirens, she actually breathed a sigh of relief. All she wanted to do was go home and be grateful for what she had.

The sirens grew louder, and she saw the officer come running toward the house. She glanced down at her blouse, and when she saw how dirty she was, she began brushing at the dust and grass on her clothes, then wondered if her hair was just as bad. After she took it down and shook it out, and then combed it back with her fingers, she once again fastened it at the nape of her neck. She was as ready as she’d ever be.

* * *

Sheriff Dewey Osmond arrived on the scene with a knot in his gut. Dick Phillips was a fishing buddy, and he couldn’t believe this had happened. When he saw the police officer waving for him to stop, he braked and rolled down the window.

“What?” he asked.

“Chief Jakes figured you would want to park up around the house so as not to mess up any tracks or stuff you might find on-site.”

Osmond nodded, wheeled up beside the city patrol car and killed the engine. He saw the woman on the porch when he got out.

“Who’s she?” he asked.

“Betsy Jakes, Chief’s mother. She came to buy eggs and found the body in the barn.”

Dewey broke out in a sweat. He was going to have to go down there, and he was dreading it in the worst way. He decided the best way to begin this investigation was to take the witness’s statement.

Unfortunately, as fate would have it, she had next to nothing to say that was going to help them figure this out. He took down her information and said for her to call him if she remembered anything else.

“Am I free to go?” Betsy asked.

“Yes, ma’am, and thank you for your help.”

Betsy shuddered. “I would give anything to have never seen that,” she said. “Will you tell my son I’m leaving now?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and headed for the barn as Betsy got in her car and drove back to town for eggs.

* * *

Trey watched the sheriff’s team work the crime scene without comment. It wasn’t his case and he didn’t want to step on toes, but he had a personal request, and as soon as the sheriff stepped outside of the barn to take a call, Trey followed him. He approached after the sheriff disconnected.

“Hey, Dewey, I need a favor,” Trey said.

Dewey turned around, eyeing him curiously. Dick had talked about Trey Jakes like he was family. He wondered if Trey felt as gutted as he did.

“Like what?” Dewey asked.

“Notifying the next of kin. I’d like to do that, if you wouldn’t mind. Dick’s daughter, Dallas, and I go back a long way, and this is going to hit her hard.”

Ah, the daughter. So that’s where the connection came in.

“I don’t mind,” Dewey said. “That’s the worst part of the job, isn’t it?”

Trey nodded. “I know the autopsy and your investigation will all play into the cause of death, but how do you want me to state it to her? Apparent suicide?”

“Yes, that’s how I read it, but make sure she knows the final ruling will depend on the autopsy. The coroner is on the way to claim the body. He should be here shortly.”

“I’ll give her your contact information if she has further questions, okay?”

“Yes, and give her my condolences. Dick and I were good friends. I can’t believe he did this. I don’t want to believe he did this,” he muttered.

“Are your men through inside the house?”

Osmond nodded. “There was no suicide note. The coffeepot was still on, and as usual, the house was spick-and-span.”

“Then it’s okay if I go inside?”

“Yeah, but why?” Osmond asked.

“I need to get a new contact number for Dallas. I haven’t talked to her in several years, not since she moved to Charleston.”

“Okay,” Osmond said, and then wiped sweat off his forehead and headed back into the barn as Trey went to the house.

Trey entered through the back door of the utility room and, out of habit, cleaned his feet on the throw rug at the threshold. The layout was exactly as he remembered, and he headed straight through into the kitchen, then into the living room to the landline by the recliner. He could picture Dick kicked back in that chair and talking on the phone with the television on mute. He’d seen him do it a hundred times. He wondered if Dallas would keep the place. It had been in the Phillips family for over a hundred and fifty years. It would be a shame for that heritage to be lost.

He sat down in the recliner to use Dick’s phone book and turned to the back page where special numbers were listed. Dallas’s number was the first one.

He started to call her from that phone, then added it to his cell phone instead and left the house. It didn’t seem right to call the daughter on her daddy’s phone and then tell her he was dead.

He got in his cruiser, reached for the radio and told Avery he would be back in town shortly, then put in a call to his mom to make sure she was okay. He drove away while waiting for her to answer, and when she did she sounded breathless.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mom, I’m just checking in with you. How are you doing?”

“Honey, I’m fine. There’s a big knot in my stomach, and I wish to God I hadn’t been the one to find him, but it happened. It’s over. I’ll be sad for him and life will go on. I’m on my way home now. I went back to town to get eggs.”

“Okay, and don’t feel bad for freaking out. It rattled me, too, and don’t think it didn’t. I thought a lot of Dick, and I’m having a really hard time believing this happened.”

“Me, too,” Betsy said. “It’s unlike the man I thought I knew. Look, I haven’t said a word to anyone, and I’m not going to, but has anyone notified Dallas yet?”

“No, and that’s on me. Sheriff just gave me the green light, and I stopped in at the house to get her number. I’ll talk to you later.”

“I’m still making Italian cream cake for your birthday tomorrow,” she said.

Trey smiled. “In case I don’t tell you often enough, I think you’re the best mom ever, and I love you.”

He heard her giggle, which made him smile.

“Thank you, honey. I love you, too,” she said, and disconnected.

Trey topped a hill and drove up on an old man driving an equally old tractor in the middle of the blacktop. He couldn’t pass, so he took this as the opportunity to pull off the road to call Dallas.

* * *

Dallas Phillips left for the television station to begin her day in her favorite black slacks, white blouse and a black-and-white jacket. She enjoyed her work, particularly since she’d become one of WOML Charleston’s hottest on-the-spot reporters.

She was still in traffic when she got a phone call from the station to meet up with the film crew at the site of a twelve-car pileup on the I-90 outside the city.

Change of plans.

She took the next exit, and then drove under the freeway and headed back out of town.

She met up with the film crew a good quarter of a mile away from the pileup and, despite a stiff wind and thick smoke from the burning cars, began gathering information to go on air. When they signaled to her to get ready, she grabbed the mike, inserted her earpiece and took her stance, waiting for her cue. When it came, she shifted from Dallas the woman to the on-air personality she’d become, and began relaying what had happened with an urgent and somber mien.

“To date, fifteen people have been taken to local hospitals. The northbound lanes of I-90 will be closed indefinitely. Authorities are asking travelers to please take alternate routes. This is Dallas Phillips for WOML Charleston.”

“And cut!” her cameraman said. “Great shot with that smoke billowing up behind your head.”

Dallas frowned. “More like a shot of hell. Hard to believe it started with twelve cars and at last count there were twenty-five. This is a nightmare. There are people who will never make it home.”