Cold Hearts. Sharon SalaЧитать онлайн книгу.
seemed just fine. Dallas breathed a sigh of relief. “My little hens are laying up a storm. I brought you some fresh eggs,” she said.
She put the eggs in the refrigerator, hung her jacket on the back of a chair, then gave Betsy a hello kiss.
“Thank you for the eggs,” Betsy said. “Coffee is fresh. Help yourself.”
“Thanks. So I see you’re making bread. That will be yummy.”
“Yes. With that nip in the air, it seemed like a good thing to do today,” Betsy said.
“I haven’t made yeast bread in ages,” Dallas said as she brushed the flour from Betsy’s cheeks and then poured herself a cup of coffee.
Betsy’s smile widened. She was beyond happy that Trey and Dallas were back together. She thought it was a ridiculous waste of life when people who loved each other as they did couldn’t find a way to work out their differences so they could be together.
“Oatmeal-raisin cookies are in the cookie jar if you want one with your coffee,” Betsy said.
“I never turn down any of your cooking,” Dallas said. She grabbed a cookie, and then pulled up a kitchen stool and sat down.
“I suppose Trey sent you to check on me,” Betsy said. “It’s terrible about Paul, isn’t it? The news took me aback, I can tell you. Such a horrible thing to have happened. I’ve been thinking about Mack ever since I heard.”
Dallas ignored the twinge of sadness she felt. Her dad’s murder had been such a shock, and it was still unsolved. She could empathize with what Mack must be feeling.
“Trey did suggest I stop by to make sure you were okay.”
“Losing people we love, no matter how it happens, is a terrible thing,” Betsy said, and then paused in her kneading to give Dallas a long look.
“Are you doing okay? I mean, are you finding ways to stay busy and happy since you decided to move back home? I know you had an exciting life in Charleston.”
Dallas took a sip of coffee, and then set the cookie and the cup aside.
“I had a busy life, but it quit being exciting years ago. I just didn’t know it until I was forced to face what I’d given up to get it. Trey and I are fine. Don’t worry any about us, okay?”
Betsy gave the dough one last flip on the bread board and then covered it with a clean white cloth so it could rise.
“I’m not worried about any of my kids,” she said. She washed her hands and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Let’s go sit where I can put my feet up. I’m feeling my age today.”
Dallas followed her into the living room without comment, although there was something about the unfamiliar stoop to Betsy’s shoulders and the dragging steps that gave her some concern. When she saw the way Betsy eased herself down in the chair, she knew something was off.
“Are you in pain?”
Betsy stifled a sigh. “No, honey. I just haven’t been sleeping well.”
Dallas frowned. “But you’re not in pain?”
“Oh, no! Not a bit. Just tired. I’ll take a nap this afternoon and be good to go. Now, tell me, how’s the egg business?”
Dallas smiled. “Not slacking off, that’s for sure.”
Betsy leaned back and momentarily closed her eyes, and as she did, everything went black. She heard the sound of screeching brakes and someone praying, and jumped out of her seat so fast she knocked the mug off the table. It broke, splashing hot coffee all over the legs of her pants and the hardwood floor.
“Oh, good grief!” she said. “I am so clumsy.”
“I’ll get a rag to clean it up,” Dallas said, as she ran to the kitchen.
Betsy got down on her knees to pick up the broken pieces of the cup, and all of a sudden she was on her hands and knees in the floorboard of a car and flying down the road so fast she could feel the vibration beneath her fingers. The scent of vomit was up her nose and burning the back of her throat, and someone was screaming. She didn’t realize that it was her making all the noise until Dallas dropped down to the floor beside her, calling her name.
“Betsy! Betsy! What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did you fall?”
Betsy rocked back on her heels. Her hands were shaking, and she kept brushing at her face and the front of her shirt, expecting it to be covered in vomit. She looked down at the broken cup and spilled coffee, and shivered.
“I don’t know,” Betsy mumbled. “I don’t know what’s happening.”
Dallas was scared. The way Betsy was acting, it was almost as if she had suffered some kind of seizure.
“You have coffee all over your pants. Let me help you to your room. You can change and then lie down for a while. I’ll stay and finish off your bread, okay?”
“I have to clean up the car,” Betsy muttered, pointing down at the floor. “I threw up, and I have to clean it up.”
Dallas’s heart skipped a beat. Clean up the car? Because she threw up in it?
“It’s okay, honey. I’ll clean it,” Dallas said, and she all but pushed Betsy down the hall to her room.
It took a few minutes for Dallas to get Betsy into clean clothes, but as soon as she did, Betsy crawled up onto her bed and rolled over. She closed her eyes so fast it gave Dallas the impression that she was seeing something she couldn’t face and wanted it all to go away.
Dallas took a quilt from the quilt rack and covered Betsy up to her chin, then hurried back into the living room to clean up the floor. As soon as she was through, she picked up her phone to call Trey, and then stopped. He was certain to have his hands full right now, and he couldn’t do anything for his mother that she wasn’t already doing. He would call when he got time, and she would talk to him then.
* * *
The killer stood with the crowd of onlookers across the street from the garage, nursing a cup of coffee and listening to the gossip mill creating a whole set of rumors out of thin air. He smirked, thinking what tiny minds they had and small worlds they lived in, and how easy it had been to erase past errors. Only one more to go and then the future would be secure.
* * *
Lissa was struggling at school and finally gave in to the fact that she couldn’t maintain a sane thought for more than a few seconds. She kept seeing that foot and the pool of blood, and all she wanted was to take yesterday back. Then she would never have gone along with Paul’s offer to work late on her car. She would have assured him it wasn’t necessary and that she could easily get a ride to work. But she couldn’t revise the past, and now a good man was dead. She wasn’t sure how she was going to live with that and ever be happy again.
Added to that, her first-graders were getting on her last nerve. She knew from experience that children sensed when the adults in their lives were troubled and acted out accordingly. Today it was taking all her concentration to keep them occupied. Tears welled constantly, but she kept blinking them away. Every time she looked out at the red clay of the muddy playground, the red water in the puddles made her think of the blood that had run out from under her car. She had an overwhelming urge to throw up.
Finally it was lunchtime, which meant the day was half over. She marched her students from the classroom to the cafeteria, and then went about the business of getting them settled down to eat. Some brought lunches and went through the line just to get a carton of milk, while others juggled trays filled with food from the cafeteria.
Every day during lunch, at least one child dropped a tray. She just hoped today it wasn’t one of hers. If anyone cried around her today she was likely to join them.
She was standing beside the cooler, putting a carton of milk on every tray and congratulating