“No.”
“Did anything happen the night of the wreck that would lead you to believe your lives were in danger?”
“I don’t know. None of us remembered anything from that night once we left Mystic after graduation.”
“And why was that?”
“Well, we were told we were drunk. And we all had severe head injuries from the wreck. It was a miracle we didn’t all die like our friend Connie, who was driving.”
“Have any of your memories returned since Dick’s and Paul’s deaths?”
She hesitated, then looked past his shoulder to the wall behind him.
“I’ve had dreams. I have no way of knowing what they mean, or if they mean anything at all.”
Trey reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic bag containing the bloodstained tassel.
“Does this look familiar to you?”
She looked closer, saw the date on the tiny medal attached and then shuddered.
“It appears to be a tassel from the mortarboard of someone from our graduating class.”
“The stains on this tassel were tested. They’re blood.”
Her eyes widened. “So that brown stuff on the tassel is blood?”
“Yes,” Trey said. “Does it look familiar to you?”
“I have no memory of seeing it,” she said. She started crying. “Where did it come from?”
He got up to get a box of tissues from the sideboard and shoved it toward her, then sat back down.
“The medical personnel found it on Paul’s body when he was unconscious after the wreck. Do you have any idea why Paul Jackson would have it when he stated later that it wasn’t his?”
“No.”
“Paul said he thought he remembered seeing a body on the ground. Do you remember anything like that?”
She covered her face with both hands, remembering parts of her crazy dreams. “I don’t know? Maybe. I’m not sure.”
He shifted his line of questioning. “What do you know?”
“I’ve been keeping a journal of my dreams,” she said.
“May I see it?” he asked.
She hesitated. “It may mean nothing, and—”
“I can get a search warrant and confiscate it or—”
She lowered her hands and stared at her son as if he was a stranger, then pushed her chair away from the table and got up.
“I’ll be right back,” she said. She walked out of the kitchen with her head up, leaving Trey feeling like shit amid the tantalizing aroma of her cherry pie.
He heard footsteps and turned around just as Betsy dropped the journal onto the table, then sat back down without a word.
“Do I have your permission to take this as possible evidence in the murder of your two classmates?”
Her shoulders sagged. Put that way, her indignation seemed petty and out of place. “Yes, of course you may,” she said softly.
“Thank you,” Trey said. “Noted for the record, I’m taking a blue leather journal belonging to Betsy Jakes as evidence.”
Betsy was beginning to shake.
Trey feared she was on the verge of an emotional breakdown, but he couldn’t let his personal feelings get in the way.
“In a nutshell, could you explain for the record what the journal contains?”
“Right after Dick Phillips’ murder I began having dreams or nightmares or whatever you want to call them. I’ve been writing them down. Sometimes I think I’m about to remember, and then everything fades. I hope what I’ve written is helpful in some way.”
Trey felt sick to his stomach. This was his mother, and he would have stopped anyone else who was making her this miserable. He couldn’t believe this was even happening.
“I have another question. Has there been anyone lately who has given you cause to be afraid?”
“No.”
“Do you fear for your life?”
She hesitated again, and then looked straight at him. “Yes.”
“Why?”
She took a deep breath and then clasped her hands together in her lap. Tears were rolling down her face, and her voice was shaking when she answered.
“I think we witnessed something bad. I dreamed we saw a body. I think we might have been on our way to report it when we wrecked.”
“If that’s true, then why would someone wait this long to eliminate witnesses?”
“I don’t know. I swear to God, I don’t know. I wish I did, but I don’t.”
Trey glanced down at the notebook. There was one more question he had yet to ask, and he was debating with himself about voicing it. But when it came to doing his duty, he was a lawman first and a son second.
“I have one more question. Has it ever occurred to you that you four could be the ones responsible for the body you mention seeing in your journal?”
Betsy sobbed out loud. “Yes, it’s occurred to me.”
“Do you think yourself capable of murder?”
“Oh, my God, I don’t know, Trey. I don’t know! We were eighteen years old and drunk out of our minds. I don’t know.”
Trey stopped the recorder, circled the table and pulled his mother out of the chair and into his arms.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice thick with tears.
At that point Trina walked into the kitchen, her eyes red and swollen. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“I had to officially question Mom about the wreck in case it’s connected to Dick Phillips’ and Paul Jackson’s deaths.”
“Why would you do that?” Trina shrieked. “She didn’t have anything to do with their murders.”
Betsy pulled out of Trey’s arms and grabbed Trina by the shoulders, her tears still falling.
“Stop it, Trina! Stop it now! Trey was just doing his job.”
“You didn’t kill your friends!” Trina shot back.
“Not Dick and Paul, and not Connie. But I’m almost certain someone died before we had the wreck, and I have no idea if we only witnessed it or if we caused it, understand?”
Trina clapped a hand over her mouth, staring at her mother in disbelief, and then came to her senses and threw her arms around her mother’s neck.
“I know you didn’t cause anyone to die!” Trina cried. “I know you would never hurt a soul! I’m sorry, Mama, I’m sorry for not being more understanding about what you’ve been going through. I’m here for you. We’re all here for you.”
Trey walked up behind them, put his arms around both of them and pulled them close.
“We’ll get through this, and we’ll still be together. I’ll find a way to figure this out. I have to. I can’t lose either one of you.”
* * *
Pinky Parsons made a bed for herself on the living room sofa and sidestepped the dog, even though it kept nosing around her things.
Louis had eaten very little, claiming to be in too much pain, and gone to bed over an hour ago. She’d asked him when Reece usually woke up, but he’d answered her with a shrug, saying he had no way of knowing because he was asleep.
She’d bitten her tongue to keep from flying into a fit and was now awaiting Reece’s appearance. She glanced at the time and then rolled her eyes as the hour hand moved past 7:00 p.m. It made it past eight and was at less than twenty minutes before nine when she heard a door open down the hall. The dog jumped up from the rug and disappeared.
When she heard the familiar and forceful voice of her favorite son, she stood up, her hands clasped against her belly, ready to welcome him.
He walked into the room with a brash swagger and a smile, which momentarily made her forget she wasn’t exactly welcome here. She needed to get him to give her some money, then get out of Mystic before she became too entrenched in what Reece was doing and got arrested for aiding and abetting.
“Mama! It’s good to see you.”
Pinky knew that was an outright lie, but she managed a smile anyway. “It’s good to see you, too, son.”
Reece frowned. “Damn, what happened to your teeth?”
She clenched her lips together, but it was too late. “I fell on some ice. They got knocked out.”
He frowned. “You need to get them fixed. Makes you look old.”
She rolled her eyes. “If I had money for dental work, I would also have money for rent, but I have neither, which is why I’m temporarily on your sofa.”
“Yeah, right,” Reece said. Then he grinned at Bobo, who was dancing around his feet. “Sorry, Mama. I gotta go let the dog out.”
She watched him walk away and then followed him into the kitchen, ready to cater to his needs.
“I made some dinner from what I found in your fridge,” she said.
Reece pointed to the pad by the refrigerator. “Louis left me a note.”
“Oh, yes. Well...would you like me to heat it up for you? It won’t take a minute.”
“No, I’m good. My jaw is a little sore right now. Got into a little dustup the other night, but it’s nothing serious.”
“Louis told me,” she said.
He paused, looked at her and then quickly looked away.
“Exactly what did he tell you?” he asked, as he got a bottle of Coke from the refrigerator.
“That you’re stalking a woman and might have killed a man.”
The Coke slipped from his hands and hit the floor with a bounce. Good thing for plastic bottles. Not a good idea to open it right now. He set it back in the refrigerator and then turned around. “He said all that, did he?”