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 herself on hiding her emotions when she accidentally dropped a carton, and then another and another. That was when she realized her hands were shaking to the point that she couldn’t maintain her grip. She glanced around to make sure no one noticed and began using both hands to do her job.
But she’d been mistaken. All her coworkers knew what had happened. They knew why she’d been late getting to school and were sympathetic. When someone said her name and then tapped her on the shoulder, she found herself face-to-face with her principal.
“Mr. Wilson! Would you like a carton of milk?”
Wilson calmly took the milk out of her hand and put it on the tray of the waiting student, then cupped her elbow.
“No. I came to tell you we have a substitute for your class for the rest of the day. You need some time at home.”
Lissa’s eyes welled. “I’m fine, really.”
“No, you’re not, and I wouldn’t be, either. Go get your things and meet Louis at the office. He volunteered to take you home.”
One of the aides took over milk duty as she and the principal walked out of the cafeteria. Now that the decision had been taken out of her hands, she felt the walls she’d put up beginning to crumble. She hurried to gather up her things, left her lesson plans out on the desk for the substitute teacher and headed for the office.
Louis Parsons, the school custodian, was already there with keys in hand. He was a stocky thirtysomething man who wore his hair in a ponytail and was so shy around women that he looked down at their feet instead of their faces when he spoke.
“I can carry that bag for you,” he said. He slipped the big tote from her shoulder as he escorted her to the parking lot.
The drive home was completely silent.
Lissa was teary eyed and still trembling when Louis pulled up to her house. When he started to get out, she stopped him.
“You don’t need to get out, and thank you the ride.”
He kept his gaze fixed on the hood of his car. “I’m sure sorry about what happened to Mr. Jackson.”
“So am I, Louis. Thank you again for the ride.”
He ducked his head as she gathered up her things and got out, the house key in her hand. Her steps were dragging as she heard Louis drive away. She made it up the steps and was fumbling with the key, trying to get it in the lock, when she heard a car pull up behind her.
She wouldn’t turn around. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, but she couldn’t get the key in the lock fast enough to make an escape. All of a sudden there were footsteps coming up the walk, and then someone was calling out her name.
“Lissa! Lissa! Wait up!”
Her shoulders slumped.
Oh, perfect. It’s T.J.
She wasn’t in the mood to talk. They’d said all they needed to say to each other a couple of months earlier, when she’d quit accepting his invitations to dinner, but before she could think of a way to head him off he had bounded up the steps and slipped a hand beneath her elbow.
“Let me help you inside,” he said, as he took the keys from her hand and quickly opened the door.
Lissa entered reluctantly. Once he was inside, he was difficult to get out.
“I’m not up to visitors today, T.J.”
He ran a finger down the side of her cheek as his voice softened.
“I know, Liss. I heard what happened. I’m so sorry you were the one who found the body. It must have been awful for you.”
Lissa pushed his hand aside. She hated the nickname he persisted in using and didn’t intend to talk about what had happened with anyone, especially him.
“I don’t want to talk about it. Please go, T.J. I just need to be alone.”
T. J. Silver wasn’t used to women refusing his attentions, and this only reminded him how pissed he was that she had ended their very new, very tenuous relationship after just a handful of dinner dates.
“I understand how you feel, but I just want to help. I assume your car is going to be unavailable for a while. Could I give you a ride to school tomorrow?”