Date: 2000-01-01 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Amateur Sleuth; Mystery; Thriller; Contemporary; Romance; Suspense; Romantic Suspense; Mystery Thriller; Women Sleuths; Fiction; Mystery & Detective; Drama
Description: The fifth book in the Wall Street Journal bestselling Carly Moore series.
Publisher: DGS

The Lies She Told

Carly Moore #5

Denise Grover Swank

Copyright © 2021 by Denise Grover Swank

Cover: Bookfly Cover Design

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Created with Vellum

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Also by Denise Grover Swank

Also by Denise Grover Swank writing as D.G. Swank

About the Author

Chapter One

“You know, it’s unfair that you have to work all day, while I’m on the evening shift,” Marco said good-naturedly as his fingertip traced figure eights on my bare stomach. “You work too much.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining all that much before we were sleeping together,” I teased, snuggling closer.

“Yeah, because droppin’ by the tavern was the only sure way I had of seein’ you,” he teased back.

That was a total white lie, and we both knew it. We’d hung out together as friends for months before we gave in to our feelings. Back then we hadn’t been quite so desperate to find a place where we could be alone together. We could talk anywhere, but we couldn’t very well have sex in the storeroom at Max’s Tavern . . . although we’d come pretty close a few days ago when I’d worked until closing.

“Maybe you should talk to Max about changin’ my hours to match yours.”

A wicked grin spread across his face. “Don’t tempt me.”

I laughed, because they’d been best friends since kindergarten, and if Marco asked, Max very well might do it. But my friend Ruth, the other full-time waitress, wouldn’t appreciate it, and I wasn’t one to ask for special favors.

I rolled over on top of him, placing a soft kiss on his bottom lip.

He wrapped an arm around my lower back, pulling me in for a deep, soulful kiss that filled an empty place in my heart. “I love you, Marco.”

“I love you too, Carly.” He kissed me again, then swatted my bare butt. “But if you’re gonna get to work on time, we better get our lazy asses out of bed.”

I was happy. Happier than I’d been in years, which was crazy given the amount of trouble I was in. It felt like more happiness than I deserved since I’d unintentionally gotten someone killed. “I keep thinking about Jerry.”

Our friend had been killed in a car accident a week ago, only we both knew it wasn’t an accident. Jerry had been run off the road. Marco’s friend, Deputy Brian Smith, had thoroughly investigated the crash, but it hadn’t brought us any closer to answers. All we knew was that Jerry had been hit by a black pickup truck.

Marco cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone as he looked deep into my eyes. “I know. Me too.”

He made brunch while I took a shower. It was my responsibility to make meals for my landlord, Hank, in exchange for free room and board, yet Marco always insisted on feeding me. Not that I was complaining. He was a great cook, and it gave me a welcome break.

“Need any help?” I asked, emerging from the bathroom after I finished drying my hair.

“And risk you making something like turkey bacon or an egg white omelet?” he laughed. “No, thanks.”

“All that fat and cholesterol are gonna catch up with you,” I said, leaning my butt against the opposite counter in his galley kitchen. “Maybe I just want your heart and your arteries to be healthy for many, many years to come.”

He leaned back and kissed me. “That is so sweet,” he said with a grin. “But I’m still not eatin’ it.”

I laughed as he loaded our plates with pancakes and bacon, and we headed out to eat on his porch, which had a narrow view of the valley below.

When it came time for me to go, he grew anxious, just like he did every time I’d driven into town since Jerry’s death.

“Be careful,” he said. “If you think someone is about to run you off the road, just slow down and let them pass you. Honk your horn, pull into someone’s driveway, do whatever it takes to have a witness. Whoever it is will drive away rather than risk being identified.”

I gave him a soft smile. “You tell me this every time I leave you.”

“And I’ll keep telling you.”

I gave him another kiss, then headed into Drum to start my shift at Max’s Tavern. Drum, population 2,200, used to be a big tourist destination before the state moved the entrance to a bunch of hiking trails about five years back, but the tavern kept busy enough with locals and the construction workers who were building a new luxury resort south of town.

Max’s was open from noon until midnight during the week, and sometimes later on the weekends. Ruth and I worked full time, alternating twelve-hour shifts (noon until ten) and seven hour shifts (five until midnight). Ginger worked four of the five weekday lunch shifts, and our new part-time waitress, Trixie, filled in where needed, so Ruth and I got at least one day off a week.

Marco was right. I worked a lot, but that wasn’t the only thing preventing me from having a life. It wasn’t easy making connections when you lived under an alias, and the only people I knew outside of work were Hank and Marco. So I didn’t much mind working.

I parked my car in the back lot and got out, but as I walked toward the door, I felt eyes on my back. Stopping, I looked around and spotted a figure darting around the corner of the building toward Main Street. They moved too fast for me to get more than a glimpse. All I saw was the edge of a dark sleeve and jeans. Then they were gone.

Good grief, I was acting paranoid. Then again I had a right to be. I may have only been in Drum for seven months, but I’d made a few powerful enemies.

When I walked in through the back door, Max was waiting in the hallway that led to the kitchen, his office, and the front dining room. He was smiling from ear to ear, looking like he was about to bust.

“It’s your lucky day, Carly Moore,” he said, turning his back to me and heading into his office. “Come on.”

I followed him, surprised to see a big box on his desk.

He rested his hand on top of it, and his hazel eyes lit up like he’d just won the lottery. “You know how you and Ruth were complainin’ about feelin’ like you wear the same shirt every day?”

“Yeah,” I said. It was true, we both worked five or six days a week, and each day we wore the same black T-shirt with Max’s logo on the front.

“I got you new ones.” He opened the box flaps and pulled out a bright pink T-shirt with a new Max’s logo full of swirls and flourishes. It looked like someone who’d taken a calligraphy class had written the tavern’s name with their mediocre new skill, then transferred it into an app.

“Um, has Ruth seen these?”

“Nope,” he said with a smug grin. “You’re the first. Lucky you.”

Lucky me indeed. “Who designed that new logo?” I asked, pointing at it.

“Bruce Bobbit. He took a graphic design course at the community college down at Greeneville.”

That wasn’t saying much. Anyone could sign up for a course, but not everyone had talent. “How much did he charge for that monstrosity?”

“Never you mind about that,” Max said. “I’ve got that part taken care of. What do you think?”

Since he was dodging the question, he’d probably spent a lot. “I think the fact that I just called it a monstrosity should tell you something,” I said in a dry tone.

“Well, now don’t have a bad attitude,” Max groused. “I know some people can’t handle change.”

“Uh-huh,” I muttered, keeping my eyes downcast.

A year ago, I had been Caroline Blakely, daughter of the owner and CEO of Blakely Oil, third-grade teacher at an elite private school, and engaged to be married to my best friend since high school, Jake Wood. Now I was living under the alias of Charlene Moore, aka Carly, working at a hole-in-the-wall tavern and living with a sixty-something man who used to be the biggest pot dealer in eastern Tennessee. All told, I’d say I handled change pretty well.

But I couldn’t tell Max any of that, and he had a bigger problem on his hands. Like the fact that Ruth was going to lose her shit the moment she saw what he expected us to wear. “And you’re sure you didn’t clear this with Ruth?”

Max gave me a look of disgust. “I don’t have to clear everything with Ruth. I have a mind of my own.”

“Yeah, well you may have a mind,” I said, shaking my head, “but we both know that she has the final say.”

“I’m the owner of Max’s Tavern,” he said, his back straightening. “My name is on the building, and on the menus, and on the lease.”

“You don’t have a lease for this building,” I countered. “You own it outright. Your daddy gave it to you.”

His eyes darkened. “That may be true, but this place is mine, and you two girls best remember that.” He tried to sound gruff, but Max was incapable of being gruff and rude unless someone was threatening his staff or he was drunk. In those situations, he could be plenty mean. “The best news is that this is only the beginning. I have a whole bunch more stuff coming tomorrow.”

I cocked my head and narrowed my eyes. “When you say a whole bunch more stuff . . . ?”

“We’re getting merch,” he said with a huge smile.

I propped my hands on my hips. “Merch?”

“Yeah, everybody has merch, so it’s about time we got some too. Especially with all the new people who will be coming to town for the resort. Just think about how much money we’ll make.”

I doubted the guests of the five-star luxury resort were liable to drop in on our hole-in-the-wall tavern, but I decided to let Max keep his fantasy for now and focus on something else. “So let me get this straight, you have more stuff coming with that logo on it? What, exactly, are you planning to sell?”

His eyes lit up at my sudden interest. “Oh, you know, the usual stuff. T-shirts, key chains, belt buckles, mugs, shot glasses.”

“And you’ve already ordered all of this stuff?” I asked, trying to hide my horror.

“Well, yeah,” he said. “I figured we might as well put it out there all at once.”

I shook my head. “And where do you plan on putting this stuff?”

“Behind the bar,” he said. “I can hang the T-shirts from the walls, and I can have Wyatt put a shelf up to display the other merchandise.”

The fact that Max had probably just bought thousands of dollars’ worth of crap that he wouldn’t be able to sell wasn’t exactly my problem, but as his friend, I felt like it was. As soon as Ruth walked through the back door at about 4:50, we’d be having a big bonfire out back, with the contents of that box used for kindling.

For now, I was stuck wearing one of the hideous shirts. I didn’t want to hurt Max’s feelings any more than I probably already had, so I just snatched it out of his hand and headed toward the bathroom to change. The lunch crowd would be showing up in ten minutes, and I still had to check in with Tiny about the daily special and make sure the dining room was ready.

After I changed, Tiny told me, through plenty of snickering over my shirt, that the special was his famous meatloaf and mashed potatoes, a definite favorite with the residents of Drum. Word would spread, and the dinner crowd would likely be bigger than usual.

Trixie showed up a few minutes later, and she seemed even less thrilled than I was with our change in uniform, not that she had time to complain. Ginger had the day off, so it was just the two of us, and a crowd had already formed outside the front door, waiting to come in.

We were one of only two restaurants in close proximity to the new resort’s construction site, and we were the only ones who served beer. We opened promptly at noon, so the construction workers, who only got an hour for lunch, usually began arriving as we unlocked the doors. Since it was about a twenty-five-minute round trip, they didn’t like to be kept waiting.

We had a good crowd today, and I’m sure part of the reason was the fact that we had air conditioning. Drum was in the mountains, at least, but it was still mid-June in Tennessee. The next hour was absolute madness, a never-ending rotation of sweet tea, beer, and meatloaf. I was constantly hustling, but I still had to deal with at least half a dozen snarky comments about my shirt.

Around one thirty, the crowd began to thin out. I was in the middle of bussing a table when an unfamiliar woman walked in—unusual around these parts. We had plenty of new people around, but most of them were men, workers at the resort. I knew all the regulars, as well as the mothers of the kids from the tutoring club I’d started a few months ago.

She looked to be in her forties, with stringy, graying blond hair that hung slightly past her shoulders. Something in her eyes told me that she’d lived a hard life, although that wasn’t too uncommon in these parts. She was dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a ratty button-down shirt that looked to be a decade old. Her hair probably hadn’t seen a hairdresser in a matching decade, and something about her eyes was hard, like she’d shank me and not feel an ounce of guilt.

She stopped at the entrance and scanned the room until her gaze landed on me for several seconds. Then she headed right for me.

A moment of panic set in, but I told myself I was being ridiculous. This woman was short and thin, and there was no way she could do me any bodily harm, especially with Max behind the bar, and Tiny, our two-hundred-and-eighty-pound, six-foot-four-tall cook, in the kitchen. Nevertheless, something about her set my teeth on edge. Maybe because there was something familiar about her after all, but in a way I couldn’t place.

A new surge of panic hit me. Was this woman from my past? Did she know me as Caroline Blakely? I didn’t look anything like my former self, from my Target wardrobe to my long bob that brushed my shoulders, dyed a rich auburn. Caroline had long, wavy blond hair and a designer wardrobe.

I cast a worried glance at Max.

If this woman knew me from my past, what would I do if she talked about it in front of everyone? Even though Max had guessed that Carly Moore wasn’t my real name, I wasn’t ready to totally come clean. Then again, Max’s mother had called me Caroline in front of him less than two weeks ago, and his father had known the truth for months. The more people who knew about my real identity or, more importantly, the five-hundred-thousand-dollar bounty my father had placed on my head—under the pretext of offering a reward for my safe return—the more danger I was in.

The woman stopped and sat at the table, which was still covered in dirty dishes, next to the one I was bussing.

“There’s a clean table over by the window,” I said with a smile. My heart was beating as fast as a jackrabbit’s.

“This one’ll do,” she said in a raspy voice, pinning me with her gaze. “I’ll take a cup of coffee and a piece of pie.”

“What kind of pie?” I asked, smiling until the corners of my mouth felt pinched. “Today we’ve got apple, strawberry, and lemon custard. They’re made fresh daily by—”

“I don’t care which kind. Just bring one,” she said roughly, lifting a brow.

The woman couldn’t have been more than a hundred and twenty pounds dripping wet, but she was terrifying, even if I couldn’t pinpoint why. I still had that strange sense of familiarity, from her looks and her voice, but I could swear I’d never seen her before.

“Sure thing,” I said, scooping up the plates on my table. “I’ll be back in a jiff.”

She didn’t say anything, just drummed her fingers on the table as she surveyed the room.

After I dropped the dirty plates in the bin that Tiny kept in the hall, I headed to the order counter and leaned in close, lowering my voice. “I’ve got an order for a piece of pie, but the customer wouldn’t pick what kind. Just said to bring one. There’s something off about her.”

Tiny’s brow furrowed as he walked over to the counter. “Which one?”

“She’s sitting at a dirty table in the middle of the room.”

“Why’d she sit at a dirty table?” he asked, lowering his voice. “There’s several clean ones in the front.”

“Good question,” I said. “Do you know her?”

He squinted, making me think I should encourage him to make an optometrist appointment. Then he pushed out a sigh and shook his head. “Nope. Got no idea who she is.” He cocked his head and gave me a pointed look. “You feel unsafe?”

“Kind of,” I admitted. Months ago, I would have been too embarrassed to say so, but I’d learned there was no shame in admitting I needed help. I had too many big enemies in these parts to refuse help. Only this woman didn’t look like she was associated with Bart Drummond or his wife. If she was an enemy, it was far more likely she was connected to the group of people who’d tried to build a drug empire alongside Todd Bingham’s. I’d thought they were all gone, dead and buried, but maybe one of them had popped up like a weed. “But what can she do here in Max’s dining room?”

“Plenty,” he said with a hard look in his eyes. “It only takes a second, Carly. A gun. A knife.”

I gulped, partially in terror, but also because Tiny hadn’t given his response a moment’s thought. He’d said it like he had personal experience.

“You want me to take care of her?” he asked.

“No,” I said, my stomach flopping. “I’m sure I’m overreacting.”

“You ain’t one to overreact, girl.”

“Nevertheless,” I said. I’d stared down Todd Bingham on more than one occasion. I could handle this woman. I gave him a smile. “I need to clean off her table. You pick out which piece of pie to give her, and I’ll grab it after I drop off her dirty dishes.”

He grunted, then turned away, not exactly an expression of approval, but maybe one of acceptance.

Grabbing a fresh dishcloth, I headed back to her table to pick up the dirty dishes. “I’ll just clean off your table, then bring out your pie and your coffee.”

She didn’t answer, instead pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her front pocket.

“You can’t smoke in here,” I said as sweetly as possible. I really didn’t want to make an enemy of this woman if she wasn’t already one.

Ignoring me, she pulled a cigarette out of the package and lifted a lighter to the tip, striking up a flame.

Ordinarily, I’d take care of these types of situations myself. One good thing that had come out of my seven months in Drum was that I’d learned to stand up for myself. I’d become assertive and strong, but less than a minute with this woman had made me feel like Carly was being stripped away, leaving Caroline naked and exposed.

I lifted a helpless gaze to Max.

Worry filled his eyes, but then the enforcer took over. He walked around the end of the bar and headed right over, stopping at the edge of the table as she began to smoke her cigarette.

“You can’t smoke in here,” he said in a low tone that held a bit of edge.

Lifting her gaze, she seemed to take him in, then blew a puff of smoke up into his face. “You Max Drummond?”

“That’s me,” he answered without hesitation.

My terror instantly returned, Tiny’s words echoing in my head: It only takes a second. What if she was really here for Max?

She took another puff from her cigarette, then blew the smoke at him again before stubbing it out in a smear of mashed potatoes on the dirty plate. “Nice place you got here.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I ordered me a piece of pie and a coffee a good five minutes ago, and not only do I not have either, but I’m surrounded by dirty dishes.”

It hadn’t been five minutes, three at the most, and she’d chosen the dirty table. But I held my tongue.

“If you don’t like the service, feel free to leave,” Max said.

“Now, what kind of customer service is that?” she taunted. “Do you threaten all of your customers?”

“Nobody’s threatenin’ anybody, but I am tellin’ you to leave,” Max said, lifting his brow. “Now.”

“You’ll be sorry,” she grumbled, pulling out a new cigarette and lighting it. Then she got to her feet and stood toe to toe with Max, the top of her head not even reaching his chin. She looked up at him. “What goes around comes around, boy. You’d do best to remember that.”

She took a long drag and blew the smoke in his face again before turning and walking out.

Max’s gaze followed her to the door, and he was still looking at it when he said, “Who the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know and neither does Tiny. I was hoping you’d know her.”

He pushed out a sigh, then turned to head back to the bar. “Well, I guess she’s gone now.”

I reached down to pick up the dirty plates, noticing a slip of folded paper. My heart lurched as I opened the note and read it.

We’ve got some unfinished business, Carly Moore. I’ll be in touch.

L

Max was wrong. The mystery woman was only getting started.

Chapter Two

I took my break at three, worrying that the mystery woman, L, would be waiting to ambush me when I walked out of the tavern. I wasn’t sure if she was the one whom I’d seen in the parking lot earlier, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I held my pepper spray in my hand as I went out the front door, hoping for witnesses if she was waiting.

But the coast was clear, and I walked to the library a block and a half from Max’s. Since the town and surrounding area had limited internet access, there was always a long waiting list for the library’s three computers, but I’d reserved a spot ahead of time. The librarian and I were friendly, and Carnita was happy to accommodate my work schedule, including letting me eat my lunch while I worked, which was definitely against the rules.

“Good afternoon, Carly,” she whispered as I signed in on the log-in sheet at her desk. “I’ve got number two all ready for you.”

“Thanks,” I said with a smile.

“What are you working on today?” she asked eagerly.

“That’s a good question,” I said. “I think I’ve about exhausted my resources.”

For the past six months or so, I’d spent several days a week researching Max’s father, Bart Drummond. The Drummonds had supposedly founded the town two hundred years ago, give or take a few decades, and they’d essentially run it ever since. Even though Bart wasn’t as wealthy as he’d once been, given his lumber business had been closed for years and his moonshine business was less profitable now that it was legal, he still had plenty of power.

For decades, he’d ruled the area with a favor system—people went to him requesting favors, and they would then have to agree to do an unidentified favor for him at a later date in return, no questions asked. Rumor had it that Bart requested a wide variety of favors, from getting weekly deliveries of fresh tomatoes from a person’s garden to murder. Refusing would come with dire consequences.

But that was all I had: rumors. Though there were a lot of them, and I believed in the saying “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

I was determined to find the burning embers.

Since last December, I’d been researching every seemingly motiveless murder or crime that had been recorded in the area over the past two decades. I had a notebook full of them, and I was the first to admit that most of what I’d found probably amounted to nothing. People did horrible things and often for absolutely no acceptable reason. But a few of the leads I’d found seemed promising. Which was why I’d decided to start asking questions of the people involved. Marco had been worried that Bart would get wind of what I was doing and come after me or the people I cared about.

He’d been right to worry.

The morning of Jerry’s murder, a man had shown up at Marco’s house after he left for work. At the time of his break-in, I was in the shower, and when I smelled smoke and heard a noise in the kitchen, I came running out—only to find a middle-aged man sitting at Marco’s kitchen table, smoking a cigarette. He’d told me to “let this go” or someone I cared about would find themselves in an accident. Like a fool, I’d mouthed off, telling him to inform his boss that I’d do whatever I damn well felt like.

Less than twelve hours later, Jerry had been run off the road.

I still didn’t know who had sent that man to Marco’s place but I felt fairly sure he was wrapped up in Bart and Emily Drummond’s orbit. Because it had become clear to me that Emily knew more than she’d let on. She’d called me Caroline, for one thing, and for another, she’d told me that Todd Bingham had information that could put her husband away.

I didn’t trust Emily much more than I did Bart, but I’d approached Bingham anyway. He’d agreed to meet with me, only I’d bailed on our meeting out of worry that the intruder with the cigarette had done something to Marco. Although I didn’t know it at the time, Marco had been late getting to the tavern because he’d discovered Jerry after the accident.

Bingham had warned me that he wouldn’t talk if I ran out on him, and apparently he’d meant it, because he still refused to respond to my messages. Learning about Jerry hadn’t softened him.

The murder of my friend suggested that I was on the right track with my research, but it also had raised the stakes to the point where I didn’t feel comfortable taking a direct approach and talking to the people in my notebook. I felt like I was at an impasse. Still, Carnita didn’t know any of that. She thought I’d started researching the town out of curiosity.

“I’m not sure what I’m going to research,” I said with a frown. “The internet only goes back so far.”

“Do you want to pull out the microfiche again?” she asked. I’d examined old newspaper articles before, especially when I didn’t have computer time reserved.

“Maybe,” I said, although going through microfiche was beyond tedious. If I performed searches on the internet, I could at least rule out many of the results.

“Tell me what you’re looking for,” she said, “and maybe I can help narrow it down.”

“I’ve scoured recent history on Drum,” I said, “or at least the past twenty-five to thirty years. Do you have anything that could help me learn about the older history of the town? Especially how it was founded. I find that kind of thing fascinating.” Digging into the founding of the town was a long shot, but I knew the Drummonds had played a pivotal role, which meant I might find something useful.

Her brow shot up. “I do . . . I have a couple of books, but Lula Baker checked them out last week.” She cringed. “I guess it’s Lula Bingham now. I keep forgettin’.”

I stared at her in surprise. Last week, Carnita had told me that Lula and Bingham were researching their family trees, which had seemed odd, but now this?

“Huh,” I said, putting a hand on my hip. “Todd and Lula don’t seem like history buffs to me.”

“Color me surprised as well,” she said. “Gives me hope for the rest of the town. I think it was the first time either of them had checked out a book since they were in school.” She tilted her head forward. “Lula’s checked out plenty of DVDs, mind you, but no books.”

I wondered how she’d watched those DVDs, considering she’d been living in a one-room shack with no electricity or running water before she moved in with Bingham, but who was I to ask?

“That is promising,” I conceded. “Maybe Lula would be up for joining my book club.” I’d been trying in vain to get one started. Turned out the people of Drum weren’t big on reading, but Carnita and I were hoping to change that.

Her face brightened. “Oh. That is a good idea.”

The door opened behind me, and her gaze lifted over my shoulder before dropping back to my face with a knowing smile. Then she turned her happiness on the patron behind me. “I can’t remember the last time you stepped foot into the library, Marco Roland, and in your sheriff’s uniform too. Don’t you look handsome?”

I turned in surprise. While Marco knew my library schedule, he’d never once come in while I was working. Besides, his shift had only started at three. What was he doing here?

Something was wrong, and from the look on his face, it was important.

My stomach roiled.

“Hey, Carnita,” he said with a smile that seemed slightly forced. “I’m not avoiding you, so don’t take it personally.”

She laughed. “Oh, I know. It’s the books you’re avoidin’, but I’m smart enough to realize you’re not here to see me now either. I take it you’re here for Carly.”

“Guilty as charged,” he said, his gaze landing on me. “How do you feel about takin’ a short walk?”

“Uh . . . okay,” I said hesitantly, not because I didn’t want to go with him, but because I was worried about why he’d come looking for me.

“She’ll be back,” Marco said, “so don’t be givin’ her spot away.”

“I’ll hold on to it,” she said with a wave. “I just love young love. You two enjoy your walk.”

Word had spread that we were together. It was like someone had taken out a billboard announcing our relationship, although gossip about us dancing together at the tavern’s outdoor party last week was the more likely cause. No matter how they’d found out, the townsfolk of Drum were already far too invested in our relationship.

I followed him out the door and he snagged my hand. “Why don’t we go sit by the old mill, next to the river?”

I stared up at him, my anxiety brewing. He wanted privacy for this discussion.

He leaned down and gave me a soft kiss. “It’s okay, Carly. But it is important.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

He started walking, and I fell in step with him, dying to ask him what was going on, but there were people on the sidewalk who might overhear.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love seeing you, but I’m worried about why you’re here when you’re supposed to be on duty.”

“I discovered something that I didn’t feel comfortable sharing over the phone. But speakin’ of uniforms”—his gaze dipped to my shirt—“what the hell are you wearing?”

I groaned. “Max got a new logo and ordered shirts. Insisted we wear them for the lunch shift. Obviously, Ruth hasn’t seen them yet.”

He made a face of agreement.

“He’s got a bunch of merch comin’ in to sell. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how he stays in business. He’s still payin’ us seven dollars an hour after he and Ruth got into it last March, but he insists he’s going to get us benefits, another part of their bargain. And now he’s spending thousands of dollars on merchandise? I have to say I worry about his judgment when it comes to business.”

Marco frowned. “Well, he did make a killin’ on his street party last week. Maybe he’s usin’ cash from that.”

“Yeah, maybe, but I know one thing for certain—once Ruth sees these shirts, Max is going to be clean out of whatever he spent on them. She will never agree to wear them.”

My heart thrummed in my chest as we walked down to the bridge, turned left past the park next to the dilapidated mill, and then Marco finally stopped next to the river, dragging me toward a bench.

We both sat down, and I turned and took his hand. “What’s goin’ on, Marco? You’re scarin’ me to death. Do you have a lead on who killed Jerry?”

He frowned. “No. I promise Brian’s still workin’ on it. But this is something else. It’s about you.”

My blood turned to ice. “Is it about my father?”

“Indirectly. I’m still not sure how it all falls into place, but this is huge.”

“Okay,” I said with a slow nod. “What is it?”

“There was a massive bust last week on the crime syndicate your father was a part of. I have a Google alert set up for Hardshaw Group and Randall Blakely, but somehow I missed the alerts. I only found out today.”

“Okay,” I said, my brow furrowing. “What does that mean exactly?”

“There was a big bust in a small town called Pickle Junction, Arkansas. Multiple federal agencies—the FBI, DEA, ATF—had been setting it up for over a year, and they arrested a lot of the higher-ups in Hardshaw.”

Pickle Junction, Arkansas, was in the county where my friends from Arkansas lived. They had to be part of it, but I hadn’t checked my secret email account in nearly a month.

“They all fell like dominos,” he continued, “including a man named Carson Roberts, who they’re claiming was the ringleader of the organization.”

“He wasn’t the only one,” I protested. “My father was one of the three.”

“The feds likely know that,” he said. “They might be keeping that under wraps, still hoping to bust him.”

I huffed out a breath. “What does this mean, Marco?”

He gave me a warm smile, but I could still see the worry in his eyes. “It means that soon you might not have to hide anymore. You might not have to be Carly Moore.”

Which meant I could finally be free.

Why didn’t that sound as appealing as it should?

Chapter Three

If I didn’t have to hide, that meant I’d be able to leave Drum and go wherever I wanted.

The flicker of fear I saw in Marco’s eyes confirmed he knew it too. His fingers tightened over mine, offering support but also seeking it.

“Even if Hardshaw is gone, I’m not scot-free, Marco. My father has plenty of money of his own, and he holds a grudge as deep as the day is long. I mean, Exhibit A, look at what happened to my mother. That had nothing to do with Hardshaw.”

“True . . .” Concern filling his eyes. “Perhaps I should do some diggin’ into your mother’s death. Request a police report.”

I shook my head. “You can’t do that. If my father finds out, he’s going to wonder why a deputy in an eastern Tennessee county is looking. You’ll lead him right to us.”

“You know how paranoid that sounds?” he asked without any heat. “You think your father might have knowledge about what goes on in the Dallas Police Department?” It was posed as a question, but his tone suggested he didn’t think it was all that paranoid.

“The accident was in Highland Park,” I said, “and it’s not entirely outside the realm of possibility that he would have contacts at the police department. Look at the lengths Jake and my father went to keep me on the path of their choosing. They arranged for men to date me and treat me with callous disinterest, all so I wouldn’t find a real boyfriend. They needed to make sure I was desperate enough that I’d be willing to marry Jake.”

Still holding my hand, he wrapped an arm around my back and pulled me into a hug, my chin resting on his shoulder. I soaked in his love and support. He didn’t need to tell me how sorry he was for what I’d been through. He’d already expressed his own rage and grief a dozen times over. All that was left was quiet acceptance that I’d been through hell and was on the other side of it now. Only poor Marco was left with my insecurities and tendency to be distrustful.

“What do you want to do?” he whispered.

“For now, nothing.” I pulled back, his arm still loosely around my back. “This changes nothing.”

“So you’re gonna hide for the rest of your life.” The look in his eyes told me that didn’t settle well with him.

Oh, how I loved this man. He would move mountains for me. “No, but we’re going to let it sit awhile.” I lifted my hand and cupped his cheek. “I’m safe, and I’m with you. No need to disrupt that until we have a clearer picture of what my father’s up to.”

Still, a part of me wondered how safe I was in Drum. Jerry’s killers still weren’t behind bars. What was to stop them from hurting me or someone else I cared about?

He pushed out a sigh as a grimace crossed his face. “Carly.”

Closing the distance between us, I pressed my lips to his, giving him a kiss of reassurance and love. I’m here with you, Marco. I’m not leaving you.

But was I content to stay in Drum? I didn’t need to make that decision yet. Neither of us did. Not until we had a much better idea of what was happening and what it might mean.

I sat back and snuggled into his side. His arm shifted to wrap around my shoulders. We sat like that for a few moments, watching the river water rush over the rocks.

“Lately, I’ve been thinking about my mother,” I said. “Maybe because of Jerry’s murder.”

His arm tightened around me. “Oh shit, Carly. I never even considered—”

“Stop. It’s okay,” I said, turning to smile up at him. “But I’ve started thinking about when I was a little girl. When we were happy.”

The look on Marco’s face told me that he was biting his tongue. He’d already told me that he thought my memories might be inaccurate. That a man didn’t go from adoring his wife and daughter one minute, to killing one and shunning the other on the turn of a dime, regardless of any perceived betrayal.

“I’m wondering if you might be right,” I added.

There was no gloating, just a grim nod.

“But I got to thinking that I could talk to someone who would know. Someone who might even be able to tell me about my biological father.”

“You mean your uncle?” I’d told him my theory, that my father’s brother was the one who’d donated half of my DNA.

“I don’t know that Uncle Will’s my father. It’s just an assumption because I heard my parents arguing about him days before my mother’s car accident. Since I don’t have access to any kind of test results I’ll have to resort to anecdotal evidence.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Who do you plan to talk to?”

“My mother had a best friend, Tiffany. I remember she came to visit us several times, and she always brought me gifts. One of them was a T-shirt from Auburn, their alma mater. She obviously had history with Mom. She came to her funeral.”

“You want to contact her?”

“I figure it couldn’t hurt,” I said. “I doubt my father would be watching her. Even if she doesn’t know anything about my biological father, she can at least give me more information about my parents’ marriage. It probably won’t help us go after my father, but it might help me understand things and put things in perspective.”

He gave me a soft smile and squeezed my arm. “I think it’s a great idea. Do you want me to look for her?”

“You mean officially?”

“Unofficially.”

Pursing my lips, I considered it. “No,” I finally said. “Let me do some sleuthing first. I don’t even remember her last name.” A grin spread across my face. “But I’m a master with Google.”

He kissed me, then studied my face. “You tell me what you need, Care. Whatever that is.”

His new nickname for me warmed my heart. He’d started calling me that after Jerry’s death, telling me it bridged my two names. He knew and loved me as Carly, but he also wanted to honor the woman I’d been.

“You’re already giving it to me,” I whispered.

He nodded, then said reluctantly, “As much as I hate to say this, I need to get goin’.”

I stood first and pulled him to his feet, then wrapped my arms around his back and soaked him in. I couldn’t imagine going through this without him. I’d grown so much stronger over the last ten months, but even though I could have done this on my own, that didn’t mean I had to.

I glanced up at him. “Thanks for coming to tell me.”

“Of course. Like I said, I didn’t want to do it over the phone, but I still feel bad that I didn’t realize what was goin’ on sooner.”

“Finding out five days ago versus today wouldn’t have changed anything,” I said. “If anything, it gave me a week to mourn Jerry before worrying about my own problems again.” And a week to dwell on the guilt of knowing that whoever had killed him had done it to warn me off.

Even if my father was arrested in the thick of the Hardshaw bust, I wasn’t leaving yet. I was going to find out who was responsible for Jerry’s death—both the man who’d run him off the road and whoever had ordered Jerry’s death.

Marco shot me a worried glance. “Let me walk you back to the library. You should still have a half hour or so left on your computer time.”

We walked silently, hand in hand, until we reached the library door. Marco started to lean in to kiss me, but I jutted my head back to look into his eyes. “I have no idea what’s going to happen with my father, Marco, or what it will mean for me. But whatever I do, it will be with you, okay? I’m not losing you.”

I wasn’t surprised to see the relief in his eyes.

“Thanks.” He kissed me then, and watched me walk into the library.

The middle computer was still open, so I sat down and booted up my screen, grinning and rolling my eyes when Carnita gave me an unabashed look of delight.

The first thing I needed to do was check the secret email account my friends had set up for me before I left Arkansas. I lived in constant paranoia that my father would track me down, so we used a sort of code in our emails, saying just enough to convey your meaning but avoiding the use of any identifying details. From Rose’s last email at the beginning of May, I’d gathered that her baby had been born at the end of April. Given that we were trying to keep our identities hidden, photos were out of the question, but I was dying to see one.

I always used a VPN connection when I signed in to hide my location, but I felt self-conscious doing that here at the public library, which meant I didn’t have much opportunity to check my account. I usually only pulled it up when I used the computer in Max’s office. Nevertheless, I signed in now, selecting a server location in Northern California. Sure enough, there was an email from last week with the title “Hardshaw is Dead.”

Marco had told me that very thing, but this evidence that my Arkansas friends agreed made it feel more real. Then I clicked through and saw the salutation: Carly.

Rose was usually the person who reached out, and she always used a term of endearment, like Dearest or Precious. She wouldn’t have used my name if she didn’t think it was safe.

Carly,

Hardshaw is gone. A bunch of federal agencies pulled off a big sting here, and they busted a South American drug cartel and Hardshaw. There’s a whole lot more to the story, but it’s better suited to a phone call—or, better yet, come back to us! We miss you terribly. You need to meet Baby Hope, and Neely Kate and Jed just adopted a newborn baby they named Daisy. Your old room is waiting for you here, or Neely Kate has offered you one at her place. We don’t care where you stay, we just want you back. In any case, please let us know you’re okay.

Love,

Rose (and everyone else)

I stared at the screen, trying to decide if I wanted to go back to Henryetta. It had been a safe haven for me, a blessing, after I ran from my father. Still, I’d only been there for two months, and while I’d grown quite close to my friends, I’d spent half of my time hiding at Rose’s farm. I’d been in Drum three times as long and grown attached to my new friends, especially my landlord turned stand-in father, Hank. I planned to go see Rose and everyone else, but I wasn’t sure I’d want to up and move there. It wasn’t just me now. Whatever decision I made involved Marco. And Hank. We had a lot to work out.

Besides, my work wasn’t done here. I couldn’t leave Bart to be someone else’s problem. He’d threatened to have Hank arrested if I ever tried to leave town, and I was certain he or Emily had something to do with Jerry’s murder. Then there was my father. Even if his wings had been clipped, he was still dangerous, something that drove home the need to start investigating him.

I stared at the screen, debating how to respond, and then typed,

Rose,

I miss you all too, and I’m thrilled to hear the happy news about Daisy! She’s one lucky baby to have Neely Kate and Jed as parents.

I’m not sure when I’ll make it back to Henryetta. So much has happened since I left you last October, but I found a man I love with everything in me. He knows about my past and wants to help me. We’re still trying to figure out what to do and where to go next.

Because one thing is certain—Hardshaw might be gone, but that doesn’t mean my father is no longer a threat. We’re still working on things on our end. I’ll be sure to let you know when we make progress.

Give everyone my love, especially those sweet babies!

Love,

C

Better to play it safe and not give her specifics like Marco’s name, where I was living, or even what I was doing to make ends meet. I hated holding back, but I still felt like my father was watching and waiting, a rattler curled up in Texas, waiting to strike.

If that made me paranoid, so be it.

After I sent the email, I stared at the computer screen, still numb from the news about Hardshaw. I knew I should be happier. Had Marco been disappointed by my reaction?

No, that was Caroline speaking in my head. Not Carly. Marco wasn’t disappointed in me. He loved me. He understood. He was worried that I’d leave him behind, and I’d do everything in my power to assure him he was wrong.

I tapped the keyboard, my mind shifting back to my mother. Had she loved my biological father? Was he really Uncle Will? While I remembered him being a part of our lives when my mother was alive, I couldn’t recall seeing him again after she died. He’d left Dallas, and as far as I knew, he’d never returned.

Grabbing my notebook out of my purse, I opened it to the page of notes I’d taken about William Blakely. My father made the news because he was Randall Blakely, the head of Blakely Oil, but how could his younger brother disappear without anyone noticing or commenting on it?

For the umpteenth time, I searched for William Blakely, coming up with the usual hits—old mentions of him at occasional charity events in Dallas. The last mention of him was from a few months before my mother’s death. After that, there was nothing. No obituary. No missing person’s report. Could I contact the Dallas or Highland Park Police Department and find out if one had been filed? Could Marco find out without calling attention to me?

This was getting me nowhere. I needed to focus on a more productive lead. Like my mother’s friend, Tiffany.

I remembered my mother having multiple friends, but Tiffany was the one I could recall best. While I knew they’d gone to college together, I was fairly certain their history went back further—high school and maybe even middle school. Tiffany hadn’t lived in Dallas, because she’d always arrived with suitcases and stayed in the guest room. I knew we’d gone to visit her once—flying on a plane to get there—but I didn’t remember any details beyond that Tiffany lived in a house with a big yard. It had been hot there, like Texas, and I vaguely remembered a huge aquarium.

Maybe I could find her if I googled my mother’s name with hers. I did a search for Mary Caroline Henderson plus Tiffany plus Auburn University. My mother’s name popped up, but not in conjunction with her friend.

I squeezed my eyes shut and struggled to remember her last name. Nothing. Then I searched for my mother’s married name and Tiffany, and the first hit was an article about a Tiffany Olson creating a scholarship at Auburn in memory of her best friend, Mary Caroline Blakely.

Tiffany Olson. I wrote her name down.

The next article was paired with an image of my mother in a flowing black evening gown standing next to a brunette woman in a deep red dress. The caption read, Mary Caroline Blakely and Tiffany Olson co-sponsor Hope in Action, which turned out to be a charity to benefit children with cancer.

A lump formed in my throat, and I tried to cough to make it go away. The charity sounded like something my mother would have been drawn to, although grade-school-aged me hadn’t had the first idea why my mother and father dressed up in fancy clothes at least once a month and left me with a sitter. I’d just thought they were going to parties. And while I’d known Caroline was her middle name, it surprised me to see the articles had all used her full name. My father and the people around her had always called her Mary. Then again, she’d been born and raised in Alabama, where both the first and middle names are commonly used together. She must have also gone by Mary Caroline.

The article said Mary Caroline Blakely was the wife of Randall Blakely, owner and CEO of Blakely Oil, and Tiffany Olson was the founder and owner of Simply Stunning Cosmetics, which was based in Atlanta.

I knew Simply Stunning Cosmetics. They were in every department store in the country and likely several countries around the world.

A new memory popped into my head of the one trip Mom and I had taken to see “Aunt Tiffany.” The woman in those pictures had greeted us at the airport and brought us to her big house. My mother had cried in her room, and Aunt Tiffany was the one who’d taken me to the aquarium that week.

I did a search for Tiffany Olson and Simply Stunning cosmetics. Multiple hits filled the screen.

Tiffany was still the CEO of Simply Stunning Cosmetics, and she still lived in Atlanta. I sucked in an excited breath. Atlanta was close. About a four-hour drive from here, but then reality hit me. Tiffany was a very important and likely wealthy woman. Which meant I had little chance of getting in touch with her. I knew this from watching my own father. No one got close to him. His address and phone listings were private. If you called his office and asked to speak to him, you’d never get through. I suspected the same was true for Tiffany. Carly Moore didn’t have a chance in hell of getting through to her. Caroline might, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to risk approaching her with my real name.

“Who’s that?” the woman next to me asked, leaning over to check out my screen.

Oh, crap. People usually paid me and my searches no mind, but then again, my searches were usually articles about car crashes and house fires. Not a confident, gorgeous woman sitting on the edge of her desk wearing a smug smile, the city skyline of Atlanta behind her.

“Good question,” I said. “I was looking for a recommendation for a new bronzer, and the next thing you know, I’m learning about the CEO of a cosmetic company. Gotta watch out for those rabbit holes.”

I x-ed out of the page, and the image of my mother and a younger Tiffany appeared behind it.

I quickly went to close it, but the woman said, “Hey. She looks like you. Only she’s blonde.”

I gave her a tight smile and laughed. “I wish.”

“No,” she said, “I’m serious.”

I chuckled as I continued to close everything out. “Well, that has to be the most flattering thing I’ve been told all day. Shoot, practically all week.”

Her cheeks flushed, and I closed my notebook and stuffed it into my bag.

I signed out and shut everything down. Hardshaw Group might be dead, but this was not the time to be careless or let my guard down.

Chapter Four

As I’d predicted, Ruth had a royal hissy fit when she walked in shortly before five.

“What in the hell are you wearing?” she shouted from the door to the back.

There were only a handful of customers in the dining room, all of them regulars who were used to Ruth’s temper. Even so, the fifty-something man who’d been giving me his order, Elwood Harper, stopped midstream and gawked at Ruth.

I shot Max an I told you so look.

“Now, Ruth . . .” Max said in a cajoling tone.

She pointed her finger toward me. “What is she wearin’?”

“I was wonderin’ that myself,” Elwood muttered.

“Not helpin’,” Max grumped.

I glanced back and forth between them. “Maybe you two should discuss this in the back.”

“Good idea,” Ruth barked. “And Carly, when you finish taking that order, go into the back and change that shirt.” Then she spun around and marched off to Max’s office, and he slunk after her.

Once she was out of sight, Elwood said, “Ruth’s on the warpath tonight.”

There was no arguing with that, so I just made a face and finished taking his order. I was about to take his ticket to the back when Wyatt walked through the front door carrying a toolbox and several pieces of wood. He did a double take when he saw there was no one behind the bar.

“Max is in the back with Ruth,” I said.

“Actually,” he said, coming toward me, “I was hoping to have a chance to talk to you.”

Everything in me wanted to say no. Wyatt still hadn’t given up on me, even though we’d only dated for a hot minute after I got to town and I had made it very clear that we were through. Still, as long as I lived here, I couldn’t avoid him, especially since I worked for his brother and he moonlighted as a bartender from time to time. He was also good to Hank—he’d been working on his car, making it operable for the older man to use with one leg.

“Yeah,” I said, then pointed my thumb to the back. “Let me put this order in, and I can talk while I pull Elwood’s beer. Unless Max is done with Ruth by then.” I smirked. “Ruth’s in there rippin’ him a new one, so it’ll be touch and go.”

Wyatt laughed, but he looked nervous as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t envy him right now.”

“Let’s just say he put himself in this position with his cockamamie idea.” I gestured to his supplies. “I take it you’re here to put up the shelves for his new merchandise.”

“Yeah, but in my defense, I didn’t have anything to do with it. He told me that he planned to sell a bunch of crap, and I agreed to put in some shelves.”

I nearly told him not to call it crap, but if the quality of the merchandise was anything like the shirt I was wearing, there was a good chance he was right. So I just nodded and headed on back to give Tiny the order.

Tiny moved closer to the order counter as I approached and lowered his voice. “Max is gettin’ his ass chewed good.”

His grin told me that he was loving every minute of it.

I cocked my head and gave him a knowing look. “What does he expect you to wear?”

Chuckling, he said, “He made aprons with his shit new logo. I made sure to tell Ruthie as soon as she walked in.”

“You’re a chickenshit. You stirred up Ruth so she’d take care of it for you,” I teased, but I knew he was more afraid of Ruth than he was of Max.

He shrugged. “Self-preservation. And I didn’t hear you puttin’ up a huge protest.”

He had me there.

I could hear Ruth’s muffled voice coming down the hall from the closed office. “You’d think he’d learn,” I said. “I suspect she’d be all for getting merch. She just wants to make sure it’s not tacky.”

He laughed, and I considered going back to change my shirt like Ruth had ordered, but some days I rode a fine line over which boss to obey. I didn’t want to risk pissing either of them off, so I decided to use the Wyatt distraction to my advantage.

I headed over to the bar to pull Elwood’s beer, but Wyatt had slid behind the counter and started pulling it himself.

“How’d you know what to get him?” I asked suspiciously.

He snorted. “I asked him.”

He finished, then walked around the counter and set the mug on Elwood’s table.

When he came back behind the bar, I said, “I’m not sharing my tips with you.”

He started to protest, probably thinking I was being surly and meant to start a fight, but then he saw my grin. Shaking his head, he grinned at me.

“Fair enough,” he said, once again rubbing the back of his neck in what appeared to be an unconscious gesture. Something was bothering him.

“What is it you want to talk about?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

He glanced around. “I’m not sure this is the best place to talk. We need more privacy.”

“Oh no,” I grunted in a low tone. “There’s hardly anyone here. We can discuss it now.”

He sucked in a breath, clearly irritated, but then leaned in close. “I’m surprised you’re still here. Are you waitin’ around for Max to find your replacement? Have you prepared Hank, or are you just plannin’ on leavin’?”

I stared at him like he’d just spoken Russian. Then horror washed over me. He knew about the Hardshaw Group. But I also realized I’d made a huge mistake in insisting we talk about it here.

I looked him dead in the eye. “Who said I was going anywhere?”

“Surely you’re not plannin’ on stayin’,” he said with a look of disbelief.

I propped a hand on my hip. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Carly,” he said in a hushed voice, but there was plenty of anger behind it. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

“Why are you suddenly so eager to see me go?”

His eyes flew wide. “Are you serious?” He leaned in close, his face inches from mine, so close I could smell the combination of engine grease and the hand soap he used in the garage. “Your life is in danger, Carly, but if you’re too stupid to care about yourself, then at least think about the safety of the people around you.”

Was he talking about Hank?

My anger rose up, hot and fierce. “You have no right,” I whisper-shouted, balling my hands at my sides. “You mind your own damned business, Wyatt Drummond.”

I rued the day I’d spilled my guts to him. Sure, he’d figured out a good portion of my story due to my poor acting abilities when we’d heard a radio broadcast of my father discussing my disappearance, but I could have denied it. I could have played dumb. Instead, he’d gotten me to trust him and convinced me to tell him every last detail.

“Are you workin’ with your father?” I asked in a deadly calm voice.

Surprise washed over his face. Then all emotion evaporated. “You don’t know what you’re dealin’ with Carly.”

“Oh,” I said, staring up at him, realizing his nonanswer was probably all I was going to get. “You fucking hypocrite,” I whispered angrily, fighting the urge to shout. “As you are well aware, I know exactly what I’m dealing with, and even if I decided to grab my purse and leave town right this very minute, your father threatened Hank’s life if I do. Or do you really not care?” He didn’t answer, and my fury grew. “If you don’t want to help me protect Hank, then so be it, but don’t expect me to give a single shit about what you think or say.”

I started to walk away before I did something any more stupid than what I’d already done, like insist on having this conversation in public, but in my defense, I hadn’t imagined he’d be so careless.

He reached out and roughly grabbed my arm, his fingers digging deep into my flesh as I tried to pull away. He leaned into my face, fury in his eyes. “You need to go, Carly. The sooner the better.”

“What the hell’s goin’ on here?” Max barked from across the room, not wasting any time closing the distance between us. While Wyatt was his brother, I knew Max placed my safety over his familial loyalty.

“Nothin’,” Wyatt said, lifting his gaze to his brother but still holding on to my arm.

I jerked free from his grip.

“Don’t you ever touch me again,” I spat, still trying to keep quiet, but it was too late for that. We’d garnered the attention of the entire bar, including Ruth, who stood in the doorway to the back.

“You can just get on out of here, Wyatt Drummond,” she announced, pointing to the front door.

His glance shifted from me to Ruth, and he said in a no-nonsense tone, “I’m puttin’ shelves in for Max.”

“Not right now you’re not,” Max said, his voice hard. “You need to leave. Right now.”

Wyatt stared at him in disbelief. “You’ve got to be shittin’ me!” His gaze landed on me, his eyes hard. “You know I’m right. You’re just too damn stubborn to admit it.”

Fear and panic mingled in my head. I couldn’t believe he was being so careless. Was he purposely trying to get me killed? He wasn’t that callous, so I suspected he was making me uncomfortable on purpose, in an attempt to drive me out of Drum.

“I’m not gonna tell you twice, Wyatt,” Max said, his hand on the knife he kept strapped to his outer thigh in case a customer got too rowdy.

In a disgruntled huff, Wyatt snatched up his toolbox and wood, then stalked to the front door. But he stopped and stared pointedly at me, letting me know our conversation wasn’t done, before he walked out the door.

“Carly,” Max said. “My office. Now.”

“Oh, helllll no,” Ruth said, stepping between us, her eyes blazing. “You are not gonna take her to task when he was clearly manhandlin’ her! I don’t care what you think she might have done. There is no excuse.”

Max groaned. “Your lack of trust in me floors me some days, Ruth. I’m bringin’ her back there so she can collect herself without makin’ a damn scene!”

Given that his voice had risen with each word, his intention had been shot to hell. But truth be told, it had been shot to hell long before he’d even opened his mouth. The incident between me and Wyatt Drummond would make the rounds by morning.

I didn’t stick around for them to reach a consensus. Instead, I marched back to Max’s office and paced the hall, waiting for him to join me and preparing myself for the inevitable questions. We both knew this was uncharacteristic behavior for his brother.

Moments later, Max rounded the corner and watched me expel my nervous energy. I walked into his office, a small room that had once been a supply closet, then sat down in the guest chair while he followed me in and shut the door. He sat in his office chair and wheeled it closer to me.

“First off, are you all right?” he asked kindly.

I nodded, still furious, but my anxiety was quickly replacing my anger. “The only thing really wounded is my pride.”

“Okay, then. Now that that’s out of the way, what the hell just happened?” There was no anger or accusation in his voice, just confusion and a hint of fear.

Tears welled in my eyes. “I can’t tell you.”

He slammed his hand on his desk, and I jumped.

“That’s bullshit, Carly,” he said, his anger rising. “We both know my mother has something on you, and I suspect my brother was just out there playin’ her errand boy. The only way I can help you is if you tell me what’s goin’ on.”

Part of me wanted to tell him, to give him some string to piece together the bits and pieces he already knew, but I’d told Wyatt everything, and that had clearly been a mistake. It would be beyond foolish to bring another Drummond into the fold. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why did my mother call you Caroline last week in my apartment?”

I stared at the wall, pressing my lips together.

“I take it Wyatt knows.” It wasn’t a question.

“Let’s just say there was very little reciprocity when I shared my past with Wyatt,” I said bitterly. “Despite his promise to share his past with me in return.”

He stared at me for several long seconds, then pushed out a long breath and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. His face softened, and concern filled his eyes. “How are you doin’? Really? First you had to deal with that woman after lunch, and now Wyatt. Don’t bite my head off for sayin’ this, but you seem more rattled than you usually are in situations like this.”

He was right. Throw in the news about the Hardshaw Group, and I felt like I was trudging through mud. My emotions were all over the place.

“I’m still really shaken up about Jerry.” Which was true. The guilt grew with each passing day, and I knew the only way to ease some of the weight would be to find justice for him.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

I stared up at him in surprise.

“Girl, you’d best not consider going out to Hollywood to find fame and fortune as a movie star. Everything you’re thinkin’ is written all over your face. You blame yourself, and you have since the day he died. But I’m here to tell you that it wasn’t your fault.”

“What if it was?” I asked softly, knowing I needed to keep my mouth shut, yet I had to say it anyway. That guilt was pushing the words out. “What if Jerry was killed as a warning to me?”

He stared at me with a deadpan expression. “A warning for what?”

“I think you need to be asking who in this town would be out to get me.” Pushing out a sigh, I got to my feet.

“What does my mother want from you?” When I didn’t answer, he added with a hint of bitterness, “I’m no fool, despite what Ruth and the rest of you think.”

I turned to him in surprise. “I know you’re not a fool, Max, which is why I can’t help wondering why you let people think that you are.”

Anger flashed on his face, but it faded just as quickly. “Sometimes it’s easier to play the part of the fool, Carly Moore. No one pays much attention to you.” He motioned for the door. “Why don’t you head on out for the night? I can call in Trixie to cover for you.”

I shook my head. “I’m fine. I’d rather stay. Marco’s working tonight, but I’ll be heading to his house when I get off, since Hank has some buddies coming over for poker night.”

I was actually pretty pleased when he’d told me the day before. I’d been spending more time at Marco’s than Hank’s, and I worried about him getting lonely. He’d been making more of an effort to be more sociable with the people in town, which I saw as a step in the right direction.

“You don’t say,” he said, his Southern charm sliding back on like a comfortable sweater. “Hank used to have plenty of those back in the day. High stakes games for big money.”

I narrowed my eyes. “When you say back in the day . . . ?”

“From the look on your face, you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about. Back when he was runnin’ his drug empire and had plenty of money to spare.” He hesitated. “I know Hank seems like a cranky teddy bear now, but he used to run with some ugly men, and I ain’t just talkin’ about their looks. It’s a good thing you’re headed to Marco’s.”

That raised a ton of questions. Why had Hank decided to reunite with men from his past now? “Thanks for the heads-up.”

As I was reaching for the doorknob, Max said, “Carly, I know you don’t think you can trust me, and I get it. I ain’t gonna press you to confide in me. But I can’t help thinkin’ you’re like a frog in water that’s slowly comin’ to a boil. My parents aren’t people to trifle with, so if you need help, come to me. I’ll help you. Okay?”

I turned back to face him, my hand still on the knob, my breath blown away by the sincerity in his face. “Thanks, Max.”

He nodded, his jaw tight and his eyes glassy. “You’re family.” Then he motioned to the door again. “Now go on with you. I’ll be out in a bit.”

I didn’t waste any time heading on out to the dining room, but I couldn’t help mulling over the idea that he was building himself a family because the one he’d been born into was full of secrets and lies. Yet somehow it didn’t ring entirely true. If he’d decided to turn his back on his biological family in favor of one he’d chosen, why had he let his relationship with Marco flounder? They’d had a falling-out last December, and while they’d mended fences, their relationship wasn’t what it had been.

The truth was, I wanted to trust Max, but I couldn’t. The only person I fully trusted in Drum was Marco, with Hank coming in at a close second. Now I had to figure out how to tell Marco about my confrontation with Wyatt in a way that wouldn’t end with Marco hunting him down and beating the shit out of him.

Chapter Five

As soon as I entered the dining room, Ruth made a beeline straight for me. “What was goin’ on with Wyatt?”

I made a face, not sure what to tell her.

“He’s pissed that you’re with Marco,” she said.

I was sure he wasn’t pleased with the situation. Just last week, he’d tried to convince me it was a bad idea to start a romantic relationship with Marco because he’d never go with me when I eventually left town. “He’s not happy about it.”

“Well, it doesn’t give him any right to manhandle you like that.”

I pursed my lips. “Wyatt doesn’t seem to be himself.”

“Maybe it’s Jerry’s accident,” she said, glancing over at the stool where Jerry used to sit. “It’s shook all of us up.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat as I headed over to greet some customers walking through the door, still wearing my pink shirt.

We had a good crowd for a Monday night, and to no one’s surprise, people were already talking about my run-in with Wyatt. It was easy to blow off the first few people who asked by replying, “You know how people blow things out of proportion,” but then one of my regulars noticed welts on the inside of my upper arm that looked like fingerprints.

I hurried to the back and put on a lightweight sweater I kept in my locker in the storage room, even though the dining room was stuffy. The fact that hardly anyone mentioned my pink shirt told me that most of them were preoccupied with my confrontation with Wyatt. News spread fast in Drum, but that seemed incredibly fast.

Was Wyatt the one doing the gossiping in an attempt to force me out?

There weren’t any special ball games or racing events on TV, so things slowed down enough at around eight thirty that Ruth and Max both insisted I head home. Ruth even suggested she’d handle my tips. I suspect she just wanted me out of there because I was a huge distraction, but I also knew she was worried about me. The anxious sideways glances she kept throwing my way proved it.

I relented, mostly because I didn’t want to deal with the attention either. Heading behind the bar, I grabbed the telephone Max kept under the counter and left a voicemail for Marco that I was headed to his house and would have something for him to eat when he got home.

“Is that what the kids are callin’ it these days?” Max teased, but it sounded forced.

I shot him a mock glare as I put the phone back under the counter, but I couldn’t help smiling a little.

“You want to cancel Tutoring Club tomorrow?” he asked. “I suspect people’ll be talkin’.”

“And they’ll be talking until they get it out of their system. That won’t happen until they see me in person.”

“Still . . .”

I gave him a hug, squeezing his neck. “You’re the best boss a girl could ever hope to have, and an even better friend.” I released him and offered him a smile. “I’ll be fine. I’ll deal with it, and by Wednesday, they’ll all be talkin’ about Greta Hightower and her new boyfriend.”

“Greta has a new boyfriend?” he spat out before he could collect himself.

I wasn’t sure why those two hadn’t worked out, but that was a worry for another day. I had plenty of my own. “I was teasing, Max. I don’t think she has a boyfriend right now.”

“Oh.”

I gave him another hug, because I could tell he was pining over Greta, in addition to feeling stressed over his family situation. Once things died down, I’d have to have a sit-down with Greta to get her take on the situation.

As I headed toward the back, Ruth called after me, “Don’t you be wearing that pink shirt again!”

Max groaned.

After I grabbed my purse and told Tiny goodbye, I headed out to the parking lot with my pepper spray in hand. As I was opening my car door, I heard a raspy voice behind me say, “You and me need to talk.”

Spinning around, I saw the skinny woman from lunch standing at the back of my car. I gripped the canister of pepper spray even tighter in my fist. “And you think sneaking up on me in a dark parking lot is the best way to announce yourself? Seems like that’s a good way to get yourself shot here in Drum.”

A smile tugged at her cheeks, but it didn’t seem all that friendly. “It’s like I said. We’ve got unfinished business, and I needed to catch you unawares.”

She had a wild look in her eyes. She struck me as a woman who had nothing to lose, and that scared the crap out of me.

My back stiffened. “I’m pretty sure we’ve never met, so what unfinished business might that be?”

All the same, there was a strange sense of familiarity I’d sensed earlier.

“I heard you were good at lookin’ for stuff.”

I hesitated. “I’ve helped a few people.”

“I want you to help me.”

“What do you want me to do?” I asked warily.

“I don’t want to talk about it here,” she said. “Bring me breakfast tomorrow morning at the laundromat at ten o’clock.”

Taken aback, I couldn’t help asking in disbelief, “You want me to help you, yet you want me to bring you breakfast at the laundromat to boot?”

I wasn’t usually so abrupt but it hadn’t been a good day and I just wanted to go to Marco’s and wait for him to come home.

“You’re gonna want to talk to me, Carly Moore. Your snoopin’ could help us both.”

Although it came as no surprise that she knew who I was, hearing my name roll off her tongue made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “What does that mean?”

Her grin spread, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I hear you’re lookin’ into the history of Drum. I can help you with that.”

How many people knew about my research? I’d never asked Carnita to keep it quiet, but I hadn’t thought she was telling everyone in town. If Bart Drummond heard I was researching Drum, would he realize what I was up to?

Of course, there was a good chance he already knew. Even though he’d had no involvement in Pam Crimshaw’s murder of Jim Palmer a couple of weeks ago, he’d had plenty of reason to think I might believe otherwise. And that man who’d broken into Marco’s house had warned me to stop poking around.

“But you won’t tell me what it is specifically you need from me until I bring you breakfast at the laundromat?” This was sounding more and more like a scam.

“You need to have more faith in me, Carly Moore,” she said, starting to get agitated. “You need to mind your elders.”

“It might be easier to mind you if I knew who you were.”

Her chin lifted, and arrogance washed over her face. “My name’s Louise Baker, and I know more about the history of this town than you’re gonna find on those damned computers in the library.” Her expression darkened. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I gaped at her like she was a space alien that had dropped out of a spaceship right in front of me.

She didn’t seem fazed. “I’d like a breakfast sandwich with sausage and a side order of hash browns or breakfast potatoes. And don’t forget the coffee.”

Then she turned around and headed toward the sidewalk next to the tavern.

I stared after her in shock as she walked away.

Louise Baker was Lula’s mother, and until recently, she’d been serving a prison sentence for second-degree murder over the shooting death of her husband, Walter. Rumor had it that Louise had found her husband drowning their eight-year-old daughter in the creek next to their house, and she’d killed him to save Lula. Apparently, a district attorney had disagreed with that version of events.

And while I’d never seen Louise before today, I had spoken with her. She’d called the tavern looking for Lula last December, after Lula had gone missing. I’d gotten Louise talking about Walter’s murder, and she’d flat out admitted the public story was a crock. The truth was, Lula’s biological father had shown up and tried to drown her, and Walter had attempted to stop him. Lula had remembered another man was there that day, but she’d been slower after the attack, and Louise had manipulated her into believing it had been Walter.

Did Lula know her mother was back in town?

More importantly, did Bingham know?

Louise had tried her best to keep her daughter from having a relationship with the drug czar, although her concern wasn’t motherly worry about Lula being involved in criminal activity. She’d been guiding and manipulating Lula from behind bars, and it was at her direction that Lula had become involved with the rival drug start-up headed by Carson Purdy and Pete Mobley, a funeral home director who’d been using his coffins to smuggle in drugs from Atlanta. Her mother had even encouraged her to strike up a personal relationship with Mobley, a much older man. She’d been so desperate to push Lula at him that she’d lied and told her that Todd Bingham was her father.

I’d heard lots of rumors about Louise Baker, but one thing was certain—Bart Drummond was Lula’s biological father. Her newly discovered brothers had a DNA test done to prove it after Lula discovered the truth last December. She’d come to Max for protection, worrying that Bart planned to kill her, and both of her brothers had stepped up to help her. As it turned out, the threat to her life had come from a different source—the surviving remnants of Mobley’s drug enterprise—but the siblings were happy to have found each other.

I doubted Louise would much like it.

I realized I was still standing in the parking lot after she was long gone, so I got in my car and headed toward Marco’s. As I drove, my mind kept drifting to what I knew about Louise. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to think she might actually have useful information.

According to Emily Drummond, Louise had come to see Bart the afternoon of Walter’s murder. I wasn’t sure why she’d come to him, but given that she’d had his baby, there’d clearly been some sort of prior contact between them. Knowing Bart, I had no idea if it was consensual. Had Louise shown up at Bart’s house to confront him about Lula’s parentage? That seemed eight years too late.

There was another factor that made me break into a sweat. I knew that Walter and/or Louise had worked for Hank. My friend Thelma Tureen, who lived at Greener Pastures nursing home in Ewing, had suggested it was Walter, but when I’d asked Hank, he’d said that Walter had been dumber than a shoelace. I’d since realized that he hadn’t actually denied the possibility. He also hadn’t denied that Louise had worked for him. There was no telling what either of them would have done for Hank, but it was a safe bet it was something illegal. And according to Thelma, Walter had gotten himself fired the day before his death.

It occurred to me that Hank getting his old buddies together for a poker night when he hadn’t had one the entire time I’d been living with him wasn’t a coincidence.

He knew Louise was back, and he was circling his wagons.

A shiver ran down my back and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Marco had asked me what line in the sand would test my loyalty to the man who had given me acceptance, shelter, and protection. A man who had been more of a father to me over the past seven months than my father had been since my mother’s death. I’d said I wasn’t sure, but something told me I might have to give it serious thought sooner than I would like.

That said, it occurred to me that this poker night was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. Hank hadn’t told me to stay away, just informed me that he was hosting a game. I could drop by under the guise of picking up my dirty laundry to wash at Marco’s—not entirely untrue—and check out who was there and maybe catch a hint of their conversation. The last part was doubtful, but a girl could hope.

I passed the turnoff to Marco’s place and continued on toward Hank’s property. When I pulled into the driveway, I saw Hank’s old car, plus an assortment of five different cars and trucks parked out front, and the house was lit up brighter than usual.

I pulled up behind an older Honda and got out of the car, smiling at the sound of the men’s chatter. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, and I knew they’d probably been his literal partners in crime before he got out of the drug-selling game, but there was no denying he was lonely. I was happy he had some friends, and since Bingham was the drug king now, with his own crew of men, maybe Hank’s friends had gotten out of the drug business too.

I opened the door and smiled when I saw that the living room furniture had been moved against the walls and the kitchen table and chairs had been arranged in the center of the room. Six men, including Hank, sat around the table, a couple in folding chairs since we only had four kitchen chairs. I realized some of them were the men he’d been talking to at the street party behind Max’s Tavern last week, making me rethink the notion that Hank may have contacted them for a less than innocent reason. Cards were spread out on the table, and they held some in their hands. They all had drinks or bottles of beer, and there were bowls of chips and nuts on both ends. They slowly stopped talking and turned their attention to me. I’d been slightly worried Hank would be upset that I’d intruded, but he smiled from ear to ear.

“Carly, girlie, I was just talkin’ about you.”

I smiled back. “My ears weren’t burning, so you must not have been cussin’ me out.”

One of the men across from him snorted. He looked to be in his fifties and had a long dark beard with streaks of gray. “Not likely. We’re surprised you aren’t walkin’ on a carpet of water.”

I shook my head, still grinning, and rounded the table to lean over and give Hank a squeeze around the shoulders. I hadn’t seen him for a couple of days, and I’d missed him something fierce.

He reached up and wrapped a hand around my arm and squeezed back.

I kissed his cheek and stood to his side, resting my hand on his shoulder. “You gonna introduce me to your friends?”

“Yeah,” he said, beaming with pride. He started to point to the men one by one, starting to his left and working his way around the table. “This here’s Tommy, Big Joe, David, Houston, and Scout.” Then he reached up and rested his hand over mine. “This is Carly.”

Although a few of them looked a little rough, they all murmured polite greetings. They weren’t as scary as Max had painted them. I’d even seen a few of them at the tavern, although they definitely weren’t regulars.

“It’s nice to meet y’all,” I said. “Are you here to steal all of Hank’s money?”

A few of them laughed out loud, while a couple grimaced.

“Not hardly,” said Houston, a balding man who looked close to Hank’s age. “He’s stealin’ all of ours.”

I squeezed Hank’s shoulder. “Keep it up. We need a new washing machine. I’ve got my eye on one down at Lowe’s in Greeneville, but it costs seven ninety-nine. How much have you won?”

Hank and the men burst out laughing, and the guy with the beard—Big Joe—said, “She’s got you whipped, old man.”

“Hey,” Hank said, grinning broadly. “If the girl wants a washing machine, I aim to give ’er one.”

My heart melted because I knew in my gut he meant it. “If you win big, maybe we can get you a bigger TV so you can see the pores on Ellen’s face when you’re watching her talk show.”

The men laughed and started ribbing Hank, but David, not much older than Hank if at all, said, “Hey, there ain’t nothin’ wrong with Ellen. She’s got a good heart and loves to make people happy.”

There were a few news articles floating around that suggested otherwise, but I didn’t see the need to point that out.

All the men stared at him, then burst out laughing again, except for Hank who gave him a nod. “She brings joy to many.”

That elicited more laughter, and Hank looked so happy in the midst of all the teasing, it nearly brought tears to my eyes.

“I thought you were spending the night at Marco’s,” Hank said.

“I am, but I got off a little early, so I decided to come by to pick up my dirty laundry. Sorry if I crashed your party.”

“Nonsense,” he said with a wave of his hand. “You stay as long as you like.”

“You any good at poker?” Tommy asked.

“And if you aren’t,” Big Joe said, “you got any cash to play?”

Laughing, I pulled away from the table and headed toward my room, calling over my shoulder, “The answer is no to both. I’ll let Hank be the sole representative at your game for the Chalmers household.”

My kitten, Letty, followed me in, and I sat on my bed and pulled her into my lap, petting her and telling her how sorry I was that I’d been gone so long. She purred at my touch, obviously not holding my absence against me, and I asked her what she’d been up to, all the while thinking about Hank and the men at our table. What crimes had they committed? Did I really want to know? Was I being willfully ignorant if I didn’t?

I put Letty down and grabbed my dirty laundry basket. I needed a clean pair of jeans, and Marco had a fairly new washer and dryer I could use while I was waiting for him to come home.

I dragged the basket out of my room, then closed my door behind me.

“This was all I needed,” I said as I picked it up and headed for the door. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to your game.”

David tossed his cards on the table, and Big Joe scooped the chips in the middle toward him. “Looks like you’re my good luck charm, Carly Moore. Maybe you should hang around a bit longer.”

“As much as I’d love to stick around and accept my ten percent lucky charm fee, I need to get goin’. Hank,” I said, catching his eye. “I’ll be over in the morning. Probably about nine.” I planned to talk to him before I met Louise Baker, because I was definitely going to meet with her.

He must have caught the seriousness in my tone, because he gave a slight nod. “I’ll have a fresh pot of coffee brewing.”

That made me feel guilty, but only slightly. I lived with him rent-free, but our agreement was that I’d help with the housework and make his meals, which I’d made diabetic friendly, horrified at what he used to eat. But the bottom line was that I was supposed to be taking care of him in exchange for a place to live, not the other way around. However, Marco had pointed out that I might be making him too dependent on me, thus stealing his independence. Hank got along pretty well for a man with one leg, and I needed to give him more space. I’d spent a lot of time at Marco’s over the last week, leaving Hank to manage on his own, and he seemed to be doing pretty well, although I’d come by a few times to make him some meals and put food in the fridge.

I lugged my overflowing basket to the door, but Big Joe hopped up and rushed over to take it from me.

“Let me help you with that.”

I started to protest, but I decided it wasn’t a bad idea to get one of Hank’s friends alone. “Thanks.”

I let him grab the handles, giving Hank a little wave as soon as my hands were free, but he suddenly didn’t look as happy as he had before. Was he worried about me or his friend?

I opened the door and let Big Joe out, then walked around him to the back of my car, using my key fob to open the trunk.

“You can put it in here,” I said, making sure my tone was upbeat. “How do you know Hank?”

“We were both born and raised here,” he grunted as he walked around to the back of my car. “In a town as small as this, you tend to know everything about everybody.”

“So I’ve learned,” I said with a laugh, then decided to take a risk. “Rumor has it you used to work for Hank.”

He set the basket on the ground and looked me over. “And just what do you think you know about Hank’s business?”

There was an edge to his voice that would have scared me if we weren’t right outside Hank’s front door.

“I know he used to be a large marijuana distributor,” I said. “Hank hasn’t hidden it, and I don’t judge. But he doesn’t talk much about anything from his past, even Mary and Barbara.”

His brow lifted, but his face remained blank. “I ain’t the person you should be askin’.”

I was about to ask him who I should talk to, but he finished stowing the basket in my trunk and turned to me. “How do you like livin’ with Hank?”

I wasn’t sure where this question was coming from, so I treaded carefully. “I love Hank. We seem to get along well.”

The light was dim, but I could still see him narrowing his gaze. “You’ve got yourself a boyfriend now. Why are you still livin’ here?”

I put my hand on my hip. “I think that’s between Hank and me.”

“You know how it looks with you livin’ with an old man? Just the two of you?”

So much for me getting information out of him. If he thought so little of me, there was no way he was going to give me anything useful. “If you think either of us cares about the way it looks, then you don’t know your friend very well and you obviously don’t know me. And if you think I’m after his supposed fortune, then you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree. There is no money. He may have had it at some point, but it’s gone now.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes at the mention of Hank’s supposed money, but I figured we might as well get that misconception out of the way.

“And I’m still living here with him,” I continued, “because while I have a boyfriend, I don’t want to leave Hank high and dry without any help, not that it’s any of your damn business.”

His face hardened. “I find it hard to believe some young sweet thing is livin’ with a grumpy old fucker like Hank for shits and giggles.”

I tilted my head, looking him square in the eye. “I might be able to forgive you for questioning my trustworthiness if you can explain to me why you’re actin’ like a good friend to him now, when I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you the entire time I’ve been living here.”

Anger tightened his jaw.

“I appreciate you looking out for Hank,” I added, “but I can assure you that I have no ulterior motives other than to replace all his red meat with chicken and beans and make him eat diabetic friendly. And if you have any more questions about my integrity, then perhaps you should be a better friend and hang around the man so you can see how we interact.” I moved to the driver’s side of my car and opened the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with my boyfriend and his washing machine.”

He didn’t respond, just moved to the side so I could back my car up, but as I made the turn toward the road, Big Joe was still watching me, looking none too pleased. I probably should have been more understanding of his concern for Hank, but I’d also seen how lonely Hank had been. I was loyal to the people who were loyal to me.

As I pulled away, I couldn’t help wondering if Big Joe wasn’t just angry at me for calling him out about Hank. Maybe he’d hoped the conversation would go another way, just like I had, and he was pissed I’d turned it around. In the end, I decided I had bigger worries than Big Joe. I’d just ask Hank about him in the morning when I put the pressure on him to tell me everything he knew about Louise. Right now I had to figure out how I was going to explain the bruises on my arm and keep Marco out of jail for assault.

Chapter Six

I was in Marco’s kitchen when he got home, stir-frying some chicken and veggies. When he saw me, barefoot and wearing shorts and a flowy summer top, a huge grin spread across his face. He walked over, still in his uniform, and silently pulled me to him, dipping me slightly as he gave me a deep, soulful kiss. Then he lifted his head and stared into my eyes, not saying a word.

I smiled up at him. “Hey.”

A look of deep satisfaction filled his eyes. “I could get used to comin’ home to this.”

“With me barefoot and in the kitchen?” I teased.

“More like findin’ you here at all. You have no idea how good it feels after the day I had.”

My smile faded. “You had a bad day?”

He grimaced. “It wasn’t the greatest.” Releasing me, he walked over to the cabinet where he kept his over-the-counter medication and pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen. He granted me a pained grin as he opened the bottle. “That’s not tofu in that pan, is it?”

I laughed. “Sadly no. I made this entirely from things you already had in your pantry and fridge. I didn’t have time to go to the store.” I lifted a brow. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, shaking a couple of tablets into his hand. “Nothing some ibuprofen and holding you won’t fix.”

My heart melted, but the look on his face said he was hurting more than he’d let on. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Go sit on the sofa and I’ll bring you a bowl.”

“Okay,” he said, his relief palpable.

He filled a glass with water, downed his pills, then gave me another kiss before leaving for the living room. It was then I noticed his slight limp.

I finished the stir-fry and scooped some onto the rice in the waiting bowls before bringing our food and some silverware into the living room.

Marco was sitting on the sofa, his head leaned back and his eyes closed. His left leg was extended onto the coffee table and he was rubbing his thigh—where he’d been shot last November.

Setting the bowls on the coffee table, I sat down next to him and placed my hand next to his on his thigh.

His eyes opened into narrow slits. “You tryin’ to cop a feel?”

“How bad does it hurt?” I asked, beginning to massage his tense thigh muscle.

He didn’t answer, just leaned back his head and groaned.

“Does that hurt?” I asked, snatching my hand back, horrified that I might have made his pain worse.

“It does, but it also feels good. Keep going.”

Using both hands, I continued to massage his thigh for the next several minutes. Marco kept his eyes closed and released a mixture of satisfied and agonized grunts and groans.

“How bad is it, Marco?” I asked quietly as I continued to rub. “Scale of one to ten?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled.

“Yes, you do,” I encouraged softly. “How bad?”

He sat up slightly and opened his mouth—and then shut it again and swallowed whatever he’d been about to say. A resigned look washed over his face. “It was a nine when I got here. It’s a seven now, thanks to you and your magic hands.”

Marco was a proud man, and I knew he hadn’t wanted to admit it hurt so badly, but he was always so conscious about not lying to me. He knew that after everything I’d been through, a single lie might make me distrust him forever. Which was why he’d promised me always to be truthful, even at the risk of his own pride.

I leaned over and gave him a soft kiss. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” he said, sitting up and reaching for his bowl on the coffee table. His body tensed with pain.

I stood and reached out my hand to him. “Come on. I’m taking you to bed.”

He gave me a wry look. “As much as I want you naked next to me, I haven’t eaten since late afternoon.”

“We’re not having sex, Marco. I’m taking you to bed so you can prop your leg with pillows. Having it extended over the coffee table can’t be good for your knee.”

He took my hand and let me pull him up. His limp was more pronounced as he made his way down the short hall to his bedroom in the back of the small house. He’d already taken off his work belt, so after I set the bowls of stir-fry down on the nightstand, I unfastened his pants and tugged them off, then had him climb into bed.

“We need to warm up your muscles. Then I’ll massage your thigh some more,” I said, slipping into his bathroom and grabbing a heating pad. When I came out, his back was against the headboard, his pillows behind him. I propped another pillow under his knee, taking some of the pressure off his joint and thigh, then plugged in the heating pad and positioned it over his thigh.

When I was satisfied that I’d done everything I could to make him comfortable for now, I glanced up at his face, surprised to see pure love in his eyes.

I smiled. “If I’d known the way to your heart was giving you a massage and a heating pad, I would have used those tricks months ago.”

“Liar,” he said softly. “I was the one who had to convince you I was worth the risk.”

He wasn’t wrong, and while part of me felt bad for taking so long to trust him, I knew Marco wasn’t upset by it. He’d wanted me to come to him willingly, and most importantly, to trust that he had no ulterior motive for loving me. He just did.

I climbed onto the bed next to him. “What happened to make your leg hurt so much?”

He’d had twinges of pain now and then, but nothing like this. Not for a long time.

“I had to chase a suspect.”

I sat upright. “What?”

His shoulder lifted into a slight shrug. “It’s part of my job, Carly. And it was just a kid I found tagging a barn. I was never in any danger.”

“But you hurt your leg.”

“I’ll be fine in the morning. I tweaked a muscle is all.”

Maybe, but there was no denying part of his thigh muscle had been irreparably damaged when Carson Purdy shot him. Only a month ago, he’d admitted that his doctor told him he’d pushed his recovery harder than he should have. For the most part, Marco was charming and easygoing, but he could be stubborn and bullheaded when he chose to be.

He was hurting, though, and I saw no reason to point out any of that. We’d just have to wait and see how it felt when he woke up.

“Did you catch the kid?” I asked.

He grinned. “I did. Didn’t arrest him though. Took him to the owner, and the boy agreed to repaint the side of the barn. The homeowner said he’d even pay for the paint. Then I brought the kid home and spoke to his worthless parents.” His mouth pressed into a tight line. “They didn’t seem to give a shit if he was destructing property or not. They were more upset that he’d gotten caught.”

His hangdog expression gave way to resignation, and with a sigh he turned aside and grabbed his bowl of stir-fry from the nightstand. He took a bite, savoring the mouthful with his eyes closed before turning to me again. “It’s not my first run-in with that kid, and I know he’s not all bad. He’s just got shitty parents and shitty friends. There’s still hope he won’t end up working for Bingham.”

“Which is why you didn’t arrest him.”

He shrugged again. “He’s fifteen, so still a juvenile, but all those arrests would do something to the kid. They’d reinforce what everyone’s been telling him his whole life, and if he’s truly bad, why keep fighting it? If I can show him he can have more . . .”

I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’re a good man, Marco Roland.”

He turned to look at me, but then his gaze shifted, from my face downward, and he tensed, bolting upright. “What the hell happened to your arm?”

I’d considered wearing a long-sleeve shirt to cover up the welts, but I couldn’t keep them hidden forever. Still, I’d planned on keeping my arm turned away from him until I could break the news. I’d forgotten in my worry for him.

“I need to work up to that.”

“Are those . . . those are finger marks, Carly.” A dark cloud had passed over his expression. “Who did this?”

“First, you need to know I’m okay. On a one to ten scale, this doesn’t even rank a point five.”

His jaw tensed. “I need a name, Carly.”

I held his gaze, understanding his need for vengeance all too well, but I wasn’t about to let him go off half-cocked. “I’m not telling you until I tell you the rest, okay? Because the other stuff I need to tell you is much more important.”

The tension in his body shifted from anger to concern. “What happened?”

“When we walked to the river, I forgot to tell you about a mystery woman who came into the tavern after the lunch rush. She seemed intent on stirring up trouble.”

“How so?”

I told him about the fuss she’d caused, from the cigarette she’d snuffed on the plate to the way she’d threatened Max before heading out the door.

What goes around comes around.

He made comments in all the right places, his brow furrowing when I mentioned the threat to Max. It made more sense now that I knew she was Lula’s mother. Louise likely hated Max for his role in freeing Lula from her control. It probably didn’t help that he was the son of the man who’d landed her in jail.

“But she left a note addressed to me. I found it when I was cleaning the table. It said, ‘We’ve got some unfinished business, Carly Moore. I’ll be in touch.’ And it was signed L. I confess I’m grateful she didn’t call me Caroline, but she unnerved me pretty badly, Marco.”

He reached for me and pulled me into a sideways hug.

I rested my chin on his shoulder, part of me hating that I’d begun to rely on him. Everyone had a circle of people they trusted, people who’d have their back no matter what. Everyone needed that. But my past was littered with so many betrayals, and it was hard to let those lessons go.

Marco leaned back and searched my face. “Maybe you should take a few days off. You’re still reeling from Jerry’s death.”

“So I can sit around and mope? That’s the worst thing I can do. I was alone for nearly two weeks between leaving my friends in Arkansas and ending up in Drum, and it put me in the worst place mentally. I need to be with people. I need normalcy.”

“It’s different now. And you’re not alone if you stay home. You have me and Hank.” He sat back a bit, his gaze turning dark. “But you still haven’t told me who grabbed your arm.”

“I’m not done telling you about the woman.”

“There’s more?”

I leaned back, facing him. “I saw her tonight after I left work. She was waiting for me in the parking lot.”

His jaw tightened. “She put those marks on your arm?”

“No.” I paused a beat before launching into the story of Louise’s strange request. “She wants me to help her look into something. In return, she says she’ll tell me about the history of the town. She was so sure I’d say yes she told me to bring her breakfast at the laundromat tomorrow. Even told me what to order. Marco, she’s Louise Baker.”

His eyes bugged out. “Louise Baker?”

“Apparently she’s out of prison. Did you know?”

He shook his head. “No, but I confess I hadn’t been paying attention.”

“I think Lula and Bingham know, because Carnita said they checked out all the books about the history of Drum.”

He snorted. “There are books about the history of Drum?”

I lightly smacked his arm. “I think they know Louise is back and intends to stir up trouble.”

His eyes narrowed with skepticism. “And Bingham plans to address it with a history book? Because I’m struggling to imagine him reading. Are the books big enough to use as bulletproof shields?”

I groaned. “Marco . . .”

The thing was, Bingham was a complicated man, and while he came off as a hothead sometimes, most of his behavior was calculated. I had no trouble imagining him reading up on the past so he could manipulate it to benefit his future.

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” He sobered. “You’re not gonna show up at the laundromat, are you?”

I frowned. “I haven’t decided yet.”

He pinned me with an intense gaze.

“It’s true. I haven’t, although most of me plans to meet her.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said, still studying me. “Everything I’ve heard about Louise Baker paints her to be a dangerous woman. She’s playin’ some kind of mind game, and I can’t help thinkin’ you’re goin’ to get hurt.”

“So come with me,” I said. “Be my backup. She wants to meet me at ten, and you’re workin’ the night shift.”

“You seriously think she’s goin’ to talk if I’m around?”

“Come on, Marco. Think out of the box.” I cocked an eyebrow. “Think like an undercover detective.”

He was silent for a moment, and I could see he was wrestling with his conscience. He didn’t want me to go, but he’d never presume to order me around. “I could show up before you and do some laundry.”

“Yeah.”

“One small problem,” he said. “If she knows you and Max by sight, there’s a chance she knows me.”

“So don’t shave and dress grungy. Maybe wear a stocking cap.”

“In June?”

I shrugged. “It’s not that warm in the morning. And if she’s agitated you’re there or you get the sense that she’s dangerous, you can give me some kind of sign not to come in.”

He was silent for a moment. “I could put my red T-shirt in the window. I’ll wad it up and stuff it behind the back of a chair.”

I’d never been in the laundromat, but I’d gone past it often enough to know what chair he was talking about. “Okay. So it’s a sting.”

He grimaced. “I’m still not crazy about this idea.”

“Neither am I, but last December she told me that Bart Drummond was the one who tried to drown Lula. If she’s got some proof of that, we could put him away.”

“If she had proof of that, she would have put him away thirteen years ago. She’s plannin’ to use you, Care, and if you walk into this thinkin’ anything else, you’re gonna get hurt.” He paused. “And I’m not just talkin’ about your feelin’s.”

“I know.”

“There’s also the possibility she has something on Hank.”

“I’ve considered that too,” I said. “In fact, Hank was having a poker night at his house tonight for all his old buddies from his drug-running days. So I dropped by to pick up my laundry and check it out.”

“I know for a fact that must have gone well, because if any one of ’em treated you disrespectfully, I would have heard a call on the radio about a murder out at his place.”

“Not necessarily,” I teased. “I suspect Hank knows how to dispose of a body.”

The look on his face suggested he wasn’t amused.

“I doubt the poker game was a coincidence. Hank did sit and talk with some of them last week at the street festival, like old friends catching up, but my gut says they’re preparing for something.”

“For what though?” he asked. “If Louise has something solid on any of them, I find it hard to believe she sat on it all this time. She would have found a way to manipulate it to her advantage.”

He was right. Louise had proven her ruthlessness in her dealings with her own daughter. She wouldn’t have hesitated to break a man who’d done her wrong. Still, I couldn’t let this go. Not yet.

He held my face between his hands and gave me a light kiss. “We’re in this together. I’ll grunge myself up to do my laundry, and if she doesn’t suspect me of being up to something devious, you can go in and talk to her, and I’ll eavesdrop. Then we’ll compare notes.”

I nodded. “Thanks for backing me up on this.”

“I love you, Care. I’m not lettin’ you do this alone.”

“I love you too.”

His gaze turned serious. “I think this means we’re up to the part when you tell me how you got those bruises on your arm.” His eyes flew wide. “Was it one of Hank’s friends? Does Hank know?”

“It wasn’t one of Hank’s friends, although one of them carried my laundry basket out to the car for me so he could give me a talking-to about living with Hank. I think he believes I’m after Hank’s nonexistent money.”

“You keep saying he’s broke, but I don’t know if that’s true,” he mused “That man made a lot of money, but he was also a miser. I half believe the stories that he has his fortune buried somewhere.”

“If he does,” I said, “he doesn’t have ready access to it. As evidenced when I paid for part of the crappy roofing job on his house.” Then I grudgingly admitted, “Which Wyatt fixed for free.”

Thinking about Wyatt put me in mind of our confrontation. My thoughts must have been all over my face, because Marco’s expression went blank.

“Something happened with Wyatt. Was he at Hank’s too?”

I took his hand in mine, hoping that holding on to him would soften his reaction. “No. He wasn’t at Hank’s. I talked to him at the tavern.”

He set his bowl of stir-fry to the side before turning back to me, his brow raised slightly.

“He did this?” He released my hand and carefully reached for my arm, turning it to get a better look at my bruises. “He grabbed your arm hard enough to hurt you?”

I pushed out a sigh and tears stung my eyes. “Promise me you won’t run out of here to track him down.”

“Carly—”

“Please, Marco. I need to be able to tell you what happened and know you’ll still be here with me when I finish. We’ve both had a really shitty day, and I need you to just hold me, okay?”

The tension in his shoulders eased. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever asked that of me.”

I gave him a weak smile. “Get used to it, because it won’t be the last.”

He scooted down a bit so that he was reclining on the pillows and reached an arm around me, tucking my body close. “I don’t know if you realize how much you mean to me,” he whispered.

“I think I do, because I feel the same way about you,” I whispered back. I draped my arm over his chest, my hand resting over his heart, and I took comfort from its steady rhythm. “Wyatt came into the tavern to put up some shelves for Max to display his new merch. Max and Ruth had just gone into the back office to argue over the new shirts, so I was alone when he came in. He said he wanted to talk privately. I figured he wanted to push me to break up with you, so I told him we could discuss whatever he wanted right there behind the bar. Then he said he was surprised to still see me there. That he expected me to be gone already.”

Marco’s body tensed with anger. “What the—” He froze, then turned slightly to face me. “He knows about the bust on Hardshaw?”

I nodded. “He asked if I was waiting for Max to find my replacement, but I told him I wasn’t leaving yet, and he got furious. He told me I was being selfish to stay. That I was putting everyone I cared about in danger. About that time, Max and Ruth came out of the back, and Max kicked Wyatt out of the tavern. The customers buzzed about it for the rest of the night.”

“So that’s how you got the bruises, when he grabbed your arm during that exchange.”

“Yeah.”

Marco reached his free hand up to his face and rubbed his eyes. “You have no idea how much I want to beat the shit out of him for daring to hurt you.”

“I know, but it won’t be worth the trouble it causes.”

“I’m not convinced of that,” he said in a grim tone. “But I think you need me here more than you need me proving that I’ll burn the town down before I let anyone hurt you.”

“That’s a little extreme,” I teased. “As far as I know, the Dollar General has never once tried to hurt me.”

He turned to look at me, his eyes troubled.

“Marco, you don’t need to prove anything to me. I know you love me. I know you’ll do everything within your power to protect me, and I know how hard it is for you to restrain yourself. But Wyatt’s up to something and beating the shit out of him won’t help us figure out what it is.”

“You want to find out what he’s up to?” he asked. “How do you propose to do that? He’s not exactly the most forthcoming person.”

“I don’t know,” I said with a sigh. “I’m worried that he was so careless talking about my real identity in public. We started off whispering, but he got loud by the end. Everyone heard him tell me to leave town. They saw the way he was gripping my arm.”

A low rumble spread through his chest. “All the more reason for me to confront him, Carly. By doing nothing, I’m sending the message that I don’t respect you.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“But it’s true.”

The sad part was I’d lived in Drum long enough to understand he had a point. “Fine. Then drop by and see him at the garage,” I conceded. “But keep it verbal and stay six feet away from him at all times so neither of you can ‘accidentally’ hit the other.” I paused. “Let the record show I don’t really approve of you having to do this to appease the town, but I understand and won’t stand in your way.”

He pulled me closer to his body. “One of the many reasons I love you.”

We lay like that for a moment, and I reveled in the knowledge that someone truly loved me. I hadn’t felt this kind of love since my mother’s death.

“You need to eat your dinner, Marco,” I said, starting to sit up to reach for it.

“Not yet,” he murmured, drawing me back. “I like just holdin’ you.”

I liked holding him too.

Chapter Seven

Marco woke up around two a.m. with a terrible cramp in his thigh. I got up and grabbed him some ibuprofen and a glass of water. The heating pad had shut off, so I turned it back on and wrapped it around his leg.

When the heat didn’t seem to help and massaging it didn’t do much either, I said, “I think you should go see the doctor, Marco.”

“It’s just a cramp,” he said, gritting his teeth. “There’s a bottle with some muscle relaxers in the bathroom drawer.”

I got him one of the pills, then got back in bed and kept rubbing his leg until his breathing turned even and he fell asleep.

I studied him for a while, brushing a lock of hair from his face. Marco was a proud man, and he loved his job, especially now that they were giving him some investigation work. But I was sure this wasn’t the only time he’d have to give chase—as much as it scared me to consider. What if his leg cramped up while he was chasing a real suspect, not a misbehaving kid, and the suspect took advantage of Marco’s vulnerability?

I drifted off to a fitful sleep, waking up occasionally to check on Marco and make sure the heating pad was still working.

I woke up early, not able to settle again with everything spinning in my head. Trying not to disturb Marco, I slid out of bed, then headed to the laundry room to move my load of darks from the washer to the dryer. I started the light-colored clothes before heading into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

Marco was still asleep when the pot finished brewing, so I fixed a cup, grabbed a blanket, and headed out to the porch, where I plopped down on the top step. Sipping my coffee, I stared through the sliver-sized gap between the trees at the valley below. I needed a plan to deal with Louise, and I wasn’t certain Marco should be part of it. No doubt he’d balk if I tried to handle the woman without his help, but I was sure it would be safe to meet with her without him. While I had no idea what Louise wanted, I couldn’t see her shanking me even if I refused to help her.

The thing was . . . I wanted him to go. It made me feel weak until I reminded myself that detectives often worked with partners, especially when interviewing questionable characters. How was this any different?

My loose plan was to head over to Hank’s earlier than planned in the hopes I could get him to answer some questions about Louise. I hadn’t decided whether I wanted to tell him about the meeting at the laundromat, but I wasn’t ruling it out. I’d figure it out as I went. Then, depending on how things went this morning, I’d try to talk to Lula.

After that . . . I wasn’t sure, but I hoped to get some direction from Lula’s mother.

The front door opened, and Marco appeared in the doorway with an amusing case of bedhead. “There you are.”

I got to my feet. “You should sit down.”

“Nah,” he said, glancing at me, then off at the view. “I need to walk around. I think I’m gonna take a walk down the road. You want to come?”

I glanced at my watch and made a face. “I need to head over to Hank’s soon. I told him I’d be home around nine, but I want to be there early so we can talk before I have to leave for the laundromat.” My gaze dropped to his leg. “Are you sure you should be walking?”

“Walking is the best thing for it.”

“Okay,” I said as I stood. “I made coffee. Let me get you a cup before I take a shower.”

“Better yet,” he said with a boyish grin, “how about I take a shower with you and get a cup of coffee after?”

I walked over and lifted onto my toes to give him a kiss. “I think a warm shower is a good idea for your leg.” Then I gave him a coy smile. “I can massage your thigh . . . and other things.”

He grinned, then wrapped an arm around the small of my back and pulled me flush to his body. “God, I love that you love me.”

I laughed. “Me too.”

An hour later, I kissed Marco goodbye as he handed me a to-go mug of coffee. He’d insisted he was still game for the laundromat sting, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell him no.

He followed me out to my car, his limp less pronounced than it had been when he’d woken up.

“If something feels off or Louise threatens you in any way, get the hell out of there, okay?” he said, his eyes full of worry. “Just because I’m there doesn’t mean you’re fully protected.”

“If I feel like I’m in danger, I promise to leave.”

He nodded, looking only slightly relieved.

On the drive, I had plenty of time to think about how to broach the subject of Louise with Hank, but I still hadn’t figured anything out by the time I arrived at his place.

He was on the front porch when I pulled up to the house. His kitten was on his lap while Letty was running across the yard, chasing after a squirrel.

“Your hellcat’s chasin’ away all the birds again,” he grumbled as I climbed the steps.

“I suppose I could take her to Marco’s,” I offered, though grudgingly, because Marco and I were both gone a lot. Here at the cabin, she had Hank and her sister Smoky to keep her company.

“I didn’t say I wanted her to go,” he said. “Just pointin’ out the facts.”

I couldn’t hide my smile. “Have you had breakfast?”

“I had one of those English muffins you got me. Had it with an egg.”

“I haven’t eaten yet, so I’m going to grab some breakfast and then join you.” I went into the house, prepared to put the living room back together, but everything was in its place. The kitchen was in pretty decent shape too, only a few dirty dishes in the sink and on the counter next to it.

After I popped an English muffin into the toaster, I poured a cup of coffee and added creamer. Once the muffin was ready, I slathered it with strawberry jam and carried both out onto the porch.

“Did you have fun last night?” I asked as I sat down in the chair next to Hank.

“Fun?” Hank grumped. “Poker’s not about havin’ fun. It’s about winnin’ money.”

“Okay, then,” I said, then took a bite of my muffin. “Then did you win a lot of money?”

He scowled. “No.”

“So who did?”

“Big Joe. He won a streak of games after you left. Called you his lucky charm.” He shot me a dark look. “Don’t you be encouragin’ that kind of talk.”

“Why not?” I asked, deciding this was the opening I needed. “Don’t you trust Big Joe?”

“I trust him about as much as I trust anyone on God’s green earth.” He leaned toward me, lowering his voice. “Which is not very much at all.”

Lifting the mug to my lips, I took a sip. “Considering how long you’ve lived here, that’s downright sad.”

“You’re a fine one to talk.”

I lifted a brow in surprise.

He sat back in his chair and pushed out a breath. “Wyatt told me that group your father ran is gone. Said it was called Hardshaw.”

My stomach turned sour. Hank knew I was hiding from my father, but up until now he hadn’t known any details, per his request. He’d thought it was better that way. Looked like Wyatt had taken it upon himself to destroy that. “Wyatt did what?”

He kept his gaze on the yard. “Came out here last night. Thank God he showed up before the guys got here. He was spittin’ mad, tellin’ me you were bein’ hardheaded and refused to leave Drum on account of me.”

The blood washed from my head. I cupped my mug with both hands to keep from dropping it. “What?”

“He said he’d confronted you, and that you told him to go to hell.”

“Oh, he confronted me, all right, but that’s not what I said.”

He turned and gave me a worried look. “You didn’t tell him you were stayin’?”

“I told him I was stayin’, but I never told him to go to hell. At least not last night.”

He stared at me for a moment, then burst into laughter. “He must have been paraphrasin’ because he looked like a man sportin’ for a fight after gettin’ his ass kicked.”

I shook my head, then told him about my confrontation with Wyatt. “I told him I wasn’t ready to go yet. That I have things that need to be done.”

“Like protectin’ me?”

That damn Wyatt.

I held Hank’s gaze. “Just because Hardshaw is gone doesn’t mean I’m no longer in danger. My father still wants me, as I’m more of a liability to him now than ever.”

“Then go to the damn FBI, girl,” he said in frustration. “If that crime syndicate isn’t around, your father has no teeth. Tell them what happened.”

I released a bitter laugh. “Would you go to the FBI, Hank?”

“No,” he said, recoiling. “It ain’t my way.”

“Maybe it ain’t my way either, not in this.”

The truth was, I’d go in a heartbeat if I thought they could bring down my father. But I was pretty sure he was still surrounded by a fortress of corruption. For all I knew, he had people implanted in the FBI.

“Look,” I said, setting my mug on the table between the chairs. “I don’t have any evidence against my father. It’s all he said, she said. They can’t do anything to him except for maybe issue a restraining order, and that’s nothing but a piece of paper. When I was in Arkansas, I talked to someone in law enforcement, and he advised me to run. He said the FBI would see me as small-fry, and because of my lack of evidence, they’d try to convince me to return home wearing a wire. See if I could coerce my father into saying something to incriminate himself. But my father wants me dead. There’s no way he’d tell me something I could use against him. Going back home would be a death sentence.”

“Then don’t go back home,” he said, getting frustrated. “Just leave.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why do you seem so eager to get rid of me?”

“I don’t want to get rid of you, but I don’t want you wastin’ your life here either.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” I asked. “Wasting my life?”

He scowled. “I didn’t say exactly that.”

“I have you, and you’re more of a father to me than Randall Blakely ever thought about being. And I have Max and Ruth and the tavern.”

He snorted. “The tavern.”

“They’re my friends, Hank. I care about them too. And then, of course, there’s Marco.” Just the thought of leaving him made my stomach cramp. “So yeah, life in Drum isn’t anything like my old life, but there’s purpose and meaning here too.”

“This ain’t no Hallmark greetin’ card.”

“No, but there’s no denying I’ve found more love here in seven months than I have since my mother died, and that’s no small thing, Hank.”

His frown deepened.

“Still,” I added to appease him, “I’m not sitting around and accepting my fate either. I’ve started looking into my past and trying to find out more about my mother.”

“So you’re leavin’ after all?” he asked, and I thought I saw a glimmer of relief but also maybe it was sadness.

“All I’m saying is that I’m looking into my mother’s past,” I said, narrowing my gaze. “I located her best friend, and I’m going to try to contact her.”

“More internet sleuthin’. Fat lot of good that’s done ya,” he grumbled.

I couldn’t argue with that. I had months of research in a notebook in my purse, and none of it had gotten us any closer to bringing down Bart Drummond. And now I had Louise Baker and my impending visit with her to contend with, yet another unnerving mystery dropped into my lap. Which was why I was here, I reminded myself.

“What prompted your poker game?” I asked, taking another bite of my English muffin. “I haven’t seen hide nor hair of your friends since I moved in.”

He was quiet for a moment. “We fell out of touch, and I saw them again at the street party. We decided to get together.”

It was exactly what I’d expected him to say. I tilted my head, giving him some side-eye. “It just seems weird I never saw them around before.”

“Are you askin’ if we had a fallin’-out? Yeah, they were none too happy when I gave up the business.”

I hadn’t considered that. “Did any of them go work for Bingham?”

“Sure, some of the lower-level employees, but Bingham wouldn’t touch the higher-ups. Didn’t trust ’em.”

“Some of them tried?”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “They had to eat.”

“And you were okay with that?”

“Why not?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not like they were bein’ disloyal to me. They knew the business, and like I said, they had to eat.”

“How about the ones who didn’t work for Bingham? What did they do?”

“Oh, I dunno,” he said, sitting up again. “This and that.”

Letty shot across the yard and up the porch steps, springing onto my lap. I stroked the back of her head with my free hand.

Hank was being cagey, and that made the hair on the back of my arms stand on end. Was he hiding things to protect me or him?

I didn’t want to tell him about Louise asking for my help, but I needed to know more about his connection to her and her dead husband.

I sat back and sipped my coffee for a few moments, trying to figure out how to broach the subject, and then out of the blue, he asked, “Are things serious with that Roland boy?”

“Marco?” I’d never once heard Hank call him the Roland boy. “It’s still pretty new to be asking something like that.”

“You two been dancin’ around each other since last December. This ain’t all that new.”

“You don’t usually ask about my love life. What’s going on?”

He was silent for a moment, then said, “I’m gettin’ around on my own now. I can drive and heat up my own food.” His voice turned rough. “I think it’s time you moved out.”

A ball of emotion clogged my throat as panic set in. Other than Marco, Hank was the last person I’d thought would turn on me. “I know I haven’t been around as much as I should, but I can—”

“Girlie,” he said, turning to face me with a warm smile. “This ain’t a punishment. I’m settin’ you free.”

“What if I don’t want to be set free?”

He reached over and patted my hand. “You know you can’t keep livin’ with me forever. The arrangement was for you to stay while I needed help.” When I didn’t respond, he curled his fingers over mine. “I’m not gettin’ rid of you, but I think you should stay with Marco for a while. Give it a trial run.”

Something in his tone caught my attention. He wasn’t kicking me out. He was getting me out of the way.

“What are you planning on doing, Hank?” I asked in a direct tone.

His nose wrinkled. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Try again.”

He pushed out a heavy sigh. “I’m tryin’ to protect you from your father. I think you’re right. Your father’s not gonna rest until you’re out of the way. Permanently. You’d do better to hide at Marco’s than here.”

On the surface, his plan sounded semi-reasonable, but on closer inspection, its flaws were glaring. “So you think I should take a leave of absence from my job and just hide out at Marco’s?”

“Don’t be stupid,” he grumped, turning his gaze back to his bird feeder, which now had two cardinals perched on it. “You’ll be protected at the tavern. Max and Tiny will see to that, and who better to protect you at night than a sheriff’s deputy?”

I started to protest, then stopped. Hank was up to something, and he wasn’t going to share it with me. I could press the issue and watch him dig his heels in further, or let it go and find another way. “What if Marco doesn’t want me living with him?”

He snorted again. “Please. I may be old, but I ain’t senile.”

“I still want to come over,” I said, tears stinging my eyes. “Can I at least come cook for you?”

He turned to me again, sympathy in his eyes. “Girlie, once again, I ain’t gettin’ rid of you. You can come over all you want before work.” He shifted in his seat and glanced down at his cat. “Truth be told, I’d miss you if you weren’t around.”

“I’d miss you too.”

He pushed out a heavy breath as he sat back in his seat. “Good. That’s settled. You already took a good portion of your stuff to Marco’s last night. You ain’t got much other stuff to move out.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I thought this was only temporary.”

He gave me a pointed look but didn’t say anything.

The thing was, I couldn’t just fall into line and let this go. While I loved Marco and our feelings had been simmering for months, this still felt too fast for me.

“What if I’m not ready to move in with Marco yet?” I asked quietly, feeling like a traitor to the man I loved.

Hank’s brow shot up. “I thought things were goin’ good with you two.”

“They are,” I said, my voice still soft. “I have a lot of baggage, Hank. I know Marco’s nothing like the men before him, but my heart . . . it’s just not . . .” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I have to take this slow.”

He gave me a surprised look. “It won’t be forever. But still take most of your stuff, okay? You can come back. I promise.”

“What’s goin’ on, Hank?”

He slowly shook his head. “Nothin’ that has anythin’ to do with you, which is why I want you out of the way, okay?”

I gave him a long, hard stare. “Should I be worried?”

He scoffed at that. “Girlie, I’ve been around for a very long time. Before Bingham, I used to be the boogeyman.”

He wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t suspected, yet hearing him say it left me uneasy. It was easy to love this old grump who protected and loved me, yet I had a hard time reconciling him with the monster he’d supposedly been.

“Were you really that bad, Hank?” I whispered.

A hard look filled his eyes. “Worse.”

Yet emotion flickered there too. Was he trying to scare me? To turn me away from him? “You’re not that man now.”

“Don’t be fooled, little girl,” he said, a harsh tone creeping in. “The scariest monsters know how to hide in the light of day.”

The uneasy feeling morphed into fear, although not toward Hank. I knew better than to think he would ever hurt me.

But other monsters would.

Chapter Eight

I went inside and started cooking meals for the next three nights. While waiting for some pasta to boil and a casserole to bake, I sat down at the kitchen table to make a menu for the rest of the week. Hank came inside with his crutch tucked under his left arm, carrying his empty coffee cup with his free hand, and stopped in the doorway.

Tears filled my eyes when I saw the pitying look he gave me.

“Are you scared of me now?” he asked quietly.

“No,” I said with a grim smile. “If I genuinely believed you’d turned on me, I’d drive to Texas and turn myself in to my father, because if I can’t trust you, then I can’t trust anyone.”

He hobbled over to the table and pulled out the chair next to me, plopping down on the seat. “Not even Marco?”

My chin trembled, and I looked up at the ceiling. “I’m trying so hard not to second-guess things with him. I’m trying to just let it happen. To let myself feel truly loved and cherished by a man for the first time in my life.”

“Then you trust him,” he said gently. “Otherwise you wouldn’t let yourself feel that way.”

He was right, of course, but it wasn’t that simple.

I met his gaze. “This could take longer than a few weeks.”

His shoulders softened. “Possibly.”

I nodded and bit my bottom lip. Old feelings of rejection, simmering under the surface for months, bubbled up. While I knew this was his way of protecting me, my heart struggled to accept it.

“What’s going on, Hank?”

He looked away. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Is someone out to hurt you? Is that why you want me gone? Did you have your old friends here last night to work out a strategy?”

He was quiet for a moment, tapping his finger on the table. Then he stopped and turned back to me. “My past is ugly, girl, and sometimes the ghosts rise up to haunt me. But it’s nothin’ for you to worry about. I’ve got it under control.”

“Do you, though?” I asked in a dry tone. “Because if you did, it seems like you wouldn’t be sending me away.”

“You have to trust me on this. Once this is settled, it won’t matter if your father’s after you or not. I’ll be able to protect you.”

“You planning to hire a hit man?” I teased.

The cold look in his eyes said it was under consideration.

“Hank . . . ?”

“We’ll have options, girlie.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You just have to trust me.”

His half answers left me more unsettled than before. What on earth was he up to? “You’re not doing something stupid on my account, are you?”

“I’d be lyin’ if I said you weren’t a factor, but no. Even if you weren’t here, I’d be followin’ this same course of action. I’d just have more selfish reasons for it.”

The hairs on my arms prickled. I didn’t like the sound of that. “Does this have something to do with Bart? What else did Wyatt tell you last night?”

He lifted a hand and shook his head. “No more questions. I’ve said too much as it is.”

I didn’t want to directly ask him about Louise, but my mind jumped to my less-than-cordial conversation with Big Joe. Just like the other old-timers I’d talked to, he’d thought I’d moved in to take advantage of Hank and steal his money. There wasn’t any money, I knew that, but maybe it was time to ask him why.

“What happened to your money, Hank?”

He froze, then turned a hard look at me. “You’ve never once seemed concerned about my money before.”

“I couldn’t give two figs about your money,” I said, “and when people accuse me of livin’ with you to try to get it, I usually laugh in their face and tell them there is none.” I held his gaze. “And I truly believe that it’s gone. What I want to know is what happened to it.”

“That’s a story from long ago, and none of your concern.”

I heard the undercurrent of anger in his voice, making me wonder whether Bingham had maybe cheated him out of it.

I glanced at the clock. “I need to leave soon, so you’re gonna have to get the casserole out of the oven.”

“You headin’ to the library?” he asked with a frown.

I gave him a dark look. He claimed to be doing this for me, and I honestly trusted that, but something deep in my soul was raw and bloody. I’d been abandoned too many times before. Irrational or not, I was hurt. “Since I no longer live here, you no longer deserve to know my schedule.”

He groaned. “Carly . . .”

“Look,” I said as I pulled out the strainer and drained the pasta in the sink, my back to him. “I get it. Sort of. You have some secret reason for getting me out of the house that involves your old associates and possibly Bart Drummond. I know that you’re trying to protect me, but part of me can’t help but be hurt that you’re hiding things from me.”

He was silent, so I dumped the pasta back in the pot and covered it with a light drizzle of olive oil.

“I don’t mean to hurt you,” he finally said. “I love you, girlie.”

I gave him a grim smile over my shoulder. “I know you love me, and I know you have your reasons. I just wish you’d trust me.” I dumped the pasta into a second casserole dish, then added the vegetables I’d already steamed and covered it with plastic wrap. “I don’t have time to do the dishes. Maybe Ginger can do it after her shift at the tavern.”

Wyatt paid Ginger to come out and help Hank three times a week. Doing the household chores and taking care of Hank was how I earned my keep, so at first, I’d been insulted by Wyatt’s presumption. Now I was glad Hank would have the help.

“Carly.”

I walked out of the kitchen and grabbed my purse on my way to the front door, on the verge of crying, although I didn’t quite know why.

“Carly,” he pleaded from the kitchen doorway.

I stopped with my hand on the doorknob. “I’ll be back later to get my things.” I ran my hand over my head as a new thought hit me. “I’ll need to leave Letty for now.”

“Letty can stay here as long as you need.”

I nodded and opened the door.

“This ain’t forever,” he said, sounding heartbroken.

I turned to face him, my hand still on the doorknob. “Then why does it feel like it is? It might be longer than a few weeks, right?”

He stared at me and didn’t say anything.

I started to walk out, then stopped. “Did Wyatt put you up to this? So I’ll leave Drum?”

Exasperation washed over his face. “You don’t have to leave town. Just stay with Marco.”

“But if I did leave town . . . ?”

He was silent for a moment. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

Nodding to myself, struggling to hold back tears, I walked out the door toward my car.

“Carly,” he called after me.

I opened my car door and tossed my purse into the passenger seat.

“I don’t want you to go,” he said, looking devastated. “If I could, I’d keep you here. But you and I both know you don’t belong here.”

A traitorous tear slipped down my cheek. “That has to be the cruelest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“A good parent does what’s best for their child,” he said, his voice breaking as he clung to the porch post. “Not what their selfish heart wants.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “There’s more to life than money and things. Love is the most important thing, Hank. I thought I had that here.”

“You know you do,” he said, getting aggravated. “But things are gettin’ dangerous, and you have a way of findin’ trouble. After Jerry was run off the road . . . it might be safer for you if you leave town altogether. You could go back to your friends in Arkansas,” he said. “They’d protect you.”

“I’m sick to death of people needing to protect me,” I spat. “I’m a grown-ass woman, and I’ve learned how to protect myself.”

“You can’t do it alone,” he said.

I pointed my finger at him. “You contradicted yourself. One minute you’re telling me to run away alone, and the next you’re telling me I need people. Which is it, Hank?”

He swallowed, looking close to tears himself. “Go stay with Marco. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come home.”

“You just told me to leave Drum!”

“No,” he said. “I told you it would be safer if you did. It’s selfish of me to want you to stay, but I’ll never tell you to leave, because if I’ve learned anything about myself over the past sixty-some-odd years, it’s that I’m a selfish son of a bitch. Just ask my Mary, God rest her soul.”

I stared at him for several seconds, then strode across the grass and up the steps, throwing my arms around him with so much force that I nearly knocked him over.

He cupped the back of my head and buried his face on top of my head. “I love you, girlie, and don’t you ever think I don’t. Why can’t you let me be a good person for once?”

“I need you, Hank. I can’t lose you too.”

He leaned back and cupped my cheek. “It’s only for a few weeks. You can come back, but part of me hopes you won’t, that one of my kin will get the hell out of this godforsaken town.”

“Hank.”

“Marry Marco. Leave these mountains. Have a good life. That’s what I want for you, but selfishly, I don’t want it for you yet.”

“I love you,” I said, tears streaming down my cheeks.

He pulled my face to his, kissing my forehead. “I love you too. Now go before I change my mind and put you in more danger than you’re already in.”

I hugged him again, then kissed his cheek and headed to my car.

He watched me back up my car, wearing a forlorn expression. He lifted his hand, and I did the same as I pulled away, my heart squishy. But a quarter mile from the house, I took a deep breath and told myself to get it together. I had to interview Louise Baker, and I would need my wits about me.

As I drove toward town, I glanced in the mirror to see if I was a mess. Sure enough, some of the mascara I’d put on at Marco’s was smudged under my eyes. Using the visor mirror, I wet my thumb and rubbed it off. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but I supposed it didn’t matter. Louise might be more likely to talk if I looked bedraggled.

When I reached town, Marco’s Explorer was parked in one of the spaces on the side of the laundromat, and his red shirt wasn’t in the window, so I was good to go in. But as soon as I turned off the engine, I realized I hadn’t called in the order for Louise’s breakfast. I parked a few spaces from Marco, then hurried down the sidewalk to Watson’s Café.

Greta was wiping off a table when I walked in, and she glanced up with a huge smile, her blond ponytail swinging behind her. She wore a pink dress with a white collar, styled after vintage diner waitress uniforms. I knew she and the other waitresses hated them, but they couldn’t get the owner to change them. At least they were better than the new pink shirts at Max’s.

“Well, this is a nice surprise,” she said. “You don’t usually come in for breakfast unless you’re with Marco.”

I shrugged. “He’s tied up, so I decided to pick up breakfast to go.”

I gave her Louise’s order, and Greta wrote on her ticket. “Have a seat. I’ll take a break and sit with you while we wait. Want some coffee?”

“Yeah. Sounds great.” I’d already had more than I should, but I was exhausted after my night of worrying about Marco, and I wanted to sit with her. It would give me a chance to quiz her about Lula and what she might know about her mother being home.

“Be right back.”

I sat at a booth, and Greta brought out a pot of coffee and two mugs, setting one in front of me as she sat down on the opposite side of the table

“That’s not your usual order,” she said as she poured me some coffee.

“I’m taking it to Marco,” I said, which was technically true. He was at the laundromat. He just wouldn’t get to eat it. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Keepin’ busy,” she said, filling her own mug. “I’ve been goin’ nonstop since my boyfriend and I broke up. Just tryin’ to keep busy so I don’t dwell on it.”

“I’m sorry you’re hurting, but Lula told me he wasn’t treating you right. You need a man who respects you, Greta.”

With a shrug, she grabbed several creamer containers from the dish against the wall, then poured them into her coffee. I did the same, studying her. She didn’t seem all that upset, just distracted.

“Have you and Lula been watching any sad breakup movies?” I asked wistfully. The three of us had been talking about hanging out, yet we hadn’t found the time.

“I wish,” she grumbled. “Lately she says she’s too busy.”

“Really?” I asked in surprise, since Greta was Lula’s best friend. “I thought she always had time for you. What’s she been up to? Is Beatrice okay?”

She waved a hand. “Bea’s fine, and I don’t know what she’s been up to. Something hush-hush.”

I frowned. Maybe Lula and Bingham knew Louise was back, and they were preparing for a fight? “When I was at the library yesterday, Carnita said that Lula and Bingham had been checking out books about the history of Drum.”

Greta’s gaze jerked up to mine as her jaw dropped. “Lula’s checkin’ books out of the library?”

“Carnita said they’re usually more DVD people.”

She made a face. “Well, Lula is. Bingham doesn’t like to touch things that other people have used.”

“What?”

She waved her hand again. “A germaphobe thing. Lula says he’s gotten pretty bad since Bea was born.”

“I had no idea,” I said in amazement.

She shrugged. “It wasn’t really much of an issue before.”

“Why do you suppose they’re interested in the past?” I asked nonchalantly. “I heard they were digging into their family trees.”

“I did know about that,” she said, taking a sip from her mug. “They’ve got paper charts and even set up some program on Bingham’s computer. They’ve also got some old maps of Drum from years ago. Lula was able to track down where her family used to live.”

“Why the sudden interest?”

“Good question. Bingham started diggin’ into it around the time Bea was born. Guess he wanted to do it for her.”

That made sense, but the timing was interesting. I also wondered if their research had anything to do with Louise. Lula knew from a DNA test that Bart Drummond was her father.

I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “What do you know about Lula’s mother?”

“Louise?” She inhaled deeply. “I already told you most of what I know last December, when you were lookin’ for Lula.”

“I know Louise had Lula under her thumb. Was she pissed when Lula broke free?”

Greta sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Lula refuses to discuss it, but I know she went cold turkey when she moved in with Bingham. Absolutely no contact with her mother. At. All.”

“Was that his choice or Lula’s?”

She was silent for a moment. “I guess I don’t know for certain. I just know that Lula said her mother was toxic and controlling and she’d cut off all contact.” She paused, her upper teeth scraping her bottom lip as she stared down the hallway behind me. Shifting her gaze to me, she added, “But if I had to venture a guess, I’d say it was Bingham’s decision and Lula just went along with it. I can’t see her finally gettin’ the gumption to do it herself after all those years.”

I nodded.

“But make no mistake,” she said further with a fierce look in her eyes. “It may have been Bingham’s decision, but I’d been tellin’ her to do the same for years. I mean, I didn’t even know the extent to which her mother was controlling her, but anyone could see it was unhealthy. Lula got upset every time her mother called her.” She shook her head. “That ain’t right.”

“Agreed.”

She pushed out a sigh when six women walked in through the door. “I better check on your order and get back to work.”

She took several gulps of the still-hot coffee before she got up and headed to the back.

I studied the women who were in the process of pulling two tables together in the center of the room. I recognized a few from lunches at the tavern. They were the prim and proper women of Drum, ones who weren’t rich but lived a comfortable life.

Greta came out of the back, holding the ticket and my order. “I take it this coffee’s for Marco?”

“Yeah,” I said, reaching for my wallet in my purse and pulling out some cash.

She took the bills from me. “Let me get you a to-go cup for you too.”

“Thanks. And keep the change.”

When she returned with the cup, I transferred my coffee into it, and she topped it off. Once I’d doctored it with more cream, I stood and said, “You know, Lula isn’t your only friend in town. If you need someone to hang out with, I’m available.”

Surprise filled her eyes. “But you’re with Marco.”

“Just because we’re seeing each other doesn’t mean he’s my entire world.”

“Yeah, after a while, anyway,” she said with a sly look. “But for now, it’s new and all-consuming.”

Consuming. I realized that was what was bothering me after my talk with Hank. What I felt for Marco was consuming, and it scared the crap out of me.

A worried look filled her eyes. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, then found myself adding, “I’m not used to being with someone as great as Marco, and I think I’m still getting used to the idea of letting him love me.”

A sweet smile lit up her face. “You definitely have one of the good ones, Carly, but don’t you doubt yourself. You deserve him.” Tears sprang to my eyes and she frowned. “Are things okay between you two?”

I nodded, feeling like a fool. “Yeah. It’s just that . . .” I wanted to tell her about Hank and my ex-fiancé, Jake, and my father and all of the dozens of reasons I was terrified to trust anyone, but I couldn’t. Not now. Maybe not ever. So I shook my head and said nothing.

“You’re not used to a man treatin’ you so well, right?” she asked knowingly. “It makes you question whether he has ulterior motives.”

“Yeah,” I said in shock. “I think that’s exactly right.”

“Girl, I have the same issues. I let a perfectly good man go because he treated me like a princess, and I didn’t trust his motives.”

Was she talking about Max?

Her lips pressed together. “Don’t make the same mistake I did. Let Marco love you. He’s good people. You can trust him.”

I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a huge hug. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”

She laughed as I released her. “You can pay me back by watchin’ Marriage Story or La La Land with me.”

“It’s a date.” I grimaced. “I work until closing the next couple of nights, but maybe next week. I’ll let you know what nights I have off.”

Her eyes lit up. “You’ve got a deal.”

“Are we ever gonna get service over here?” one of the women in the group called out in a disagreeable tone.

Greta rolled her eyes. “Duty calls.”

She started to walk away, but I grabbed her hand to stop her.

“You deserve love too, Greta.”

Her eyes swam with tears. “And you have no idea how much I needed to hear that today too.” Then she turned toward the table, calling out in a sweet tone, “Good morning, ladies! What can I get you started with? Coffee? OJ? Mimosas?”

A chorus of cheers rose up from the group.

“Just teasin’ about the mimosas,” she said, winking at me as I passed her table on the way to the door. “You’ll have to go to Max’s for those, but they won’t be open for another couple of hours, so for now you’re stuck with me.”

I headed out to the sidewalk, feeling more ready to face Louise. She was up to something, and she clearly saw me as a clueless pawn. For now, I’d let her.

Chapter Nine

I was a few minutes late, but I figured I had hot food and coffee. That had to count for something.

The only cars in the parking lot were mine and Marco’s, so I was worried Louise had either left already or stood me up. But when I walked in, she was tossing laundry into two washing machines.

A fluorescent light flickered overhead, casting a pallor over her face.

“About time you showed up,” she said in a raspy voice, resting her forearm on top of the open washing machine door. She was wearing jeans, a green and white plaid button-down shirt, and a bulky tan cardigan. Her tennis shoes looked worn and grass stained.

I held up her coffee and bag of food. “This took a few minutes longer than expected.”

“I see you got a coffee for yourself.”

I closed the distance between us and held her food and coffee out to her. “I wanted to be alert for our conversation. Late nights and early mornings don’t mix so well.”

She snatched the bag and coffee, then set them up on a nearby laundry-folding table and opened the bag.

“I ordered just what you wanted,” I said, surveying the room. Marco was sitting in the back corner, slouched in his seat with his left leg extended, reading a comic book he must have gotten from a pile of magazines and pamphlets on a nearby table. He was in jeans and the T-shirt he usually wore to mow his grass. He hadn’t shaved, so his jaw had plenty of scruff, and he wore a blue baseball cap on his head. He didn’t acknowledge me.

Louise pulled the sandwich out of the bag and unwrapped it, opening the top to examine the ingredients. She must have been satisfied because she took a bite, then said through a mouthful, “I’m out of quarters. Put some in for me.”

I stared at her for a long moment before pulling my wallet out of my purse and checking the change compartment. “I only have five quarters.”

She reached over and tugged a ten-dollar bill from my wallet. “That’ll do.”

She headed to the change machine and fed it my money. The change spilled out into a tray, and she grabbed fistfuls of quarters and dropped them into a pocket of her cardigan.

Taking some from her pocket, she held out her hand toward me. “Put these in the machines.”

I propped a hand on my hip. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take your clothes out to the creek and wash them on the rocks out there?”

“Don’t be stupid,” she grumbled. “Just put the quarters into the machines.”

I considered telling her to stick them up her ass, but the situation was tenuous, and I still wanted to know what she had to say. So I jammed them into the slots and started the washing machines while Louise sipped her coffee. I had no idea if she had added detergent or if she was washing her clothes in hot or cold water. I didn’t really care.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ve started your laundry and brought you breakfast. Now tell me what you want.”

“Is that any way to be talkin’ to your elders?” she asked in a haughty tone. “Did they not teach you manners up in Michigan?”

“So you know where I’m from. Good for you,” I said, thankful she hadn’t said Texas. “I believe in respecting those who respect me, and so far, I’m seeing absolutely no respect.”

“You sure are a mouthy thing, ain’t ya?” she asked before taking another bite. Then, while chewing, she said, “But you were mouthy during our chat on the phone too. Someday someone’s gonna beat the sass out of you.”

Marco’s face jerked up, fury in his eyes, but Louise’s back was to him.

I asked in a dry tone, “Are you planning to arrange that or just let nature take its course?”

We had a several-second stare-off before she broke into laughter. “I still got plenty of fight in me, but I won’t be the one to take you down unless you cross me.” Her eyes narrowed. “You do not want to get on my bad side. Trust me on that.”

“Is that how you convinced Lula to obey? Did you convince her you’d hurt her if she didn’t do your bidding?”

She snorted. “It don’t take threats to keep that girl in line. All you have to do is dangle some affection and pretty words, and she’ll come to heel.”

I didn’t hide my disgust. “She’s your daughter, not a dog.”

Her shoulders rolled in a lazy shrug as though she didn’t see much difference.

“If she’s so easy to control, why are you here with me and not having Bingham run your errands?”

“Bingham.” She spat on the floor, her expression darkening. “She must have fallen for his big dick.”

“From what I heard, you don’t have firsthand knowledge of that.”

“Not for lack of tryin’,” she snarled.

“Are we here to debate the size of Bingham’s penis or do you actually have something important to discuss?”

To my surprise, she released a short laugh. “So you’re a funny girl.”

“Not particularly, but I’m friends with Lula and it doesn’t seem right to be discussing her husband’s endowments.”

“You think you’re friends with my girl?”

“I’m not here to discuss that either.”

“You’re not here to discuss much, are ya?” she asked in a snotty tone. “Well, aren’t you just all high and mighty.”

I pushed out a frustrated sigh. “I have things to do, so if the next item on your agenda is to continue to insult me, I’ll just head out and get to them.”

“You mean like sit in that stupid library and look up shit on the computers?”

How did she know that?

I gave her a hard look. “You have three seconds to convince me why I should stick around instead of cutting my losses. So far I’m out twenty bucks and about a half hour of my time.”

“You want to take down Bart Drummond?” she asked. “That computer ain’t gonna help you.”

“I never said I was taking down Bart Drummond.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “So you don’t want proof he killed Jerry?”

I gasped.

A grin spread across her face. “I might know a thing or two about that.”

But how? She’d just gotten out of prison. Or had she? “How long have you been back?”

“Long enough to know.” She peered over her shoulder at Marco, then turned back to me. “I got at least twenty minutes before I need to move this laundry. Let’s go outside to get some privacy.”

Part of me wanted to walk away. For all I knew, she was stringing me along. It wouldn’t have taken much digging for her to find out that I’d taken Jerry’s death hard. Even Lula knew. But if Lula knew her mother was back, I suspected they hadn’t sat around drinking lemonade and catching up on the town gossip. Not based on the way Lula and Bingham had made themselves scarce lately. But if there was even the slightest chance Louise had evidence that could tie Bart Drummond to Jerry’s murder, I had to find out. She clearly knew that, however she’d learned it, which put me in a terrible bargaining position.

I spun around and walked out the door, leaving her to follow. Louise trailed after me, chuckling to herself. Marco wouldn’t be pleased with this turn of events, but he was close enough that he could get to me within seconds.

“Got any cigarettes?” she asked, leaning her back against the building.

“Sorry. Don’t smoke.”

“You don’t carry any in your car? Hank always smoked like a chimney.” She reached into her shirt and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her bra. Shaking one out, she removed a lighter from inside the plastic sleeve around the carton and lit up. After taking a drag, she held it in for a long beat, then leaned her head back and blew it out. “Damn, I missed smoking whenever I want.”

I rested my butt against the hood of my car. “What do you know about Jerry?”

“I know he spent most of his life whipped. His wife. His boss. Men like Bingham and Bart Drummond. They feast upon the weak.” She winked and took another drag.

I hated hearing her talk about Jerry like that, but there was no denying he’d been a shell of a man when I met him. “Jerry was a good man. I want to know who ran him off the road.”

She blew smoke out of the side of her mouth. “Well now, let’s not put the cart before the horse. We’ll get to Jerry in good time.”

“Seems to me you could give me information about Jerry as a sign of good faith,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “And once you prove yourself trustworthy, I’ll help you with whatever it is you want.”

She released a chuckle and flicked ashes onto the sidewalk. “Wouldn’t it be nice if that’s how life worked, but this ain’t Candy Land, sister. You have to earn your prize”

“Let’s cut to the chase,” I said. “What do you want?”

“When I was sent away, I hid something important on my land, but now it’s gone. I need it back.”

“Sounds like you should be contacting the sheriff’s department, not a waitress.”

She snorted. “I can’t be callin’ the police over this, if you know what I mean.”

“What did you hide?”

“I ain’t tellin’ you that yet.”

“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You want me to help you find something that was stolen sometime after you were arrested thirteen years ago—”

“Well, now,” she said. “I’m not sure when it was stolen. It could have been thirteen years ago. It could have been three weeks ago. I only know that when I went to go fetch it, it was gone.”

“Where did you hide it?”

“On my land. That’s all I’m gonna tell you right now.”

“If you’re not going to tell me what it is or where it was, how exactly am I supposed to help you?”

“All in good time.”

I shifted my weight. “Maybe Lula took it. Did you ask her?”

She made a face. “She won’t speak to me.”

“I see.”

“You think you do, don’t you?” she sneered. “You ain’t even been in this town a year, and you think you’ve got it and everyone in it all figured out.”

“I wish I did,” I said in an ice-cold tone. If I’d figured out what was going on in this town, I wouldn’t be here now, and neither would Bart Drummond. He’d be behind bars. But I wasn’t going to admit that. If I chose my words carefully, all she had to go on was speculation. The man in the black truck had killed Jerry because I hadn’t been careful. I needed to remember that.

Narrowing her eyes, she studied me while taking another drag. “Why does Bart Drummond have your panties in a bunch? What’d that man do to you?”

“I never said I had anything against him.”

She laughed, ignoring me. “You’re one of those do-gooders, huh? You sure jumped in to help Lula.”

“I stand up for the people I care about.”

“Including Max Drummond?”

I tilted my head and studied her. “What do you have against Max? He was a kid when you went away.”

“You mean other than that he’s a privileged Drummond?”

“He and Wyatt took Lula in last December when she thought their father was after her.”

“Her father.”

I nodded. “If it ever goes public, Bart plans to deny it. He says he has a DNA test proving he’s not the father.”

“That’s easily rectified,” she said matter-of-factly.

It already had been, but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her that Lula had already done a test that proved Wyatt and Max were her brothers.

“How do you know what plans Bart has for my daughter?”

“He freely shared the information when he asked me to come by for a visit last December.”

She laughed again, this time more bitter. “He called you up to the big house, huh? Did he make you come through the side door?”

“Yeah.”

A knowing look washed over her face, suggesting she remembered doing the same thing herself. “He sure likes to put people in their place.” She took another puff looking me up and down. “Did he try to fuck you? You’re definitely his type.”

I shuddered. “No.”

“But he’s got something on you, don’t he? What is it?”

It was my turn to release a bitter laugh. “What does he have on you?”

“Other than that he’s the father of my kid?” She tapped the ashes again, watching them fall. “I can’t be spilling all my secrets, now can I?”

“It’s obvious this is some kind of game to you,” I fumed. “But Jerry’s death isn’t a joke or a game. It was very, very real, and if you have something to help me tie his death to the person responsible, you need to tell me right now.”

A slow grin spread across her face. “Well, now that was an interesting little speech. There were a lot of I’s and me’s and not a single sheriff or authorities mentioned.”

Shit. “You know I plan to turn the information over.”

“Actually, I don’t,” she said, taking a last drag and dropping her cigarette on the asphalt parking lot. She snuffed out and twisted her foot. “I suspect you’re some kind of vigilante, Carly Moore, and I think we should team up.”

I couldn’t stop myself from recoiling. “I’m not teaming up with you.”

She stalked toward me, stopping about a foot away and stared at me with a cold, hard look. “You ain’t any better than me, you bitch. You just happened to be born with more money.”

“I don’t know where you got your information, but I work at a tavern and have a landlord. That doesn’t reek of money.”

“You’re shackin’ up with Hank Chalmers. You screwin’ him too?”

I ignored that too. “That’s disgusting. I’m not sleeping with Hank.”

“Then what’s he gettin’ out of it? Because Hank Chalmers always has a reason for everything he does.”

“I saw his grandson get murdered,” I said past the lump that always rose in my throat when I thought of Seth. “And I brought Hank home from the hospital after his leg amputation. I stay at his house in exchange for helping him.”

She winked. “Is that what you’re callin’ it?”

“That’s disgusting.” Just the thought of Hank trying anything inappropriate made me want to throw up. He was family in every way that counted.

“Who murdered Hank’s boy?”

“Seems to me that you would know,” I chided. “You made Lula work with them.”

She pointed a finger at my nose. “I never made my girl work with that riffraff. I only made her sleep with Mobley. There’s a difference.”

“He tried to kill her, you know. He and Shane Jones. They were pissed at her for losing their money.”

She took a step back, finally giving me some personal space. “Yeah, well . . . I can’t say I blame them after she dumped their stash. Stupid fool.”

I gaped at her in disbelief. “Look,” I said. “I’m not here to argue with your parenting choices. You say you want me to find what was stolen from you, but you won’t tell me what it was—seems like an impossible task.”

She put both hands on the small of her back, then arched backward until it popped. “Damn. That felt good. Know of a good chiropractor?”

“You planning to make me pay for that too?” When she grinned, I said, “Not happening.”

“I gotta get me a new mattress. I don’t know how Lula slept out there on that hunk of shit.”

“You’re staying at the cabin?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I thought it got shot up when that sheriff’s deputy kidnapped me and Wyatt.”

She scoffed. “You sure do like to stick your nose in things. For your information, I got the sheriff’s department to compensate me for the damages.”

“So use it to buy a new mattress.”

“Already done spent it.”

I wanted to ask her what she’d bought, but I didn’t want her to think I was interested . . . even if I was. “I’m not buying you a mattress. I can’t afford to buy a new one for myself.”

“I’m sure Hank’s not sleepin’ in a shit bed.”

“If that’s your way of insinuating that I’m sleeping in his bed, then you’re disgusting. I sleep in Seth’s room.”

She gave me a pitying look. “Girl, I ain’t judgin’. Just as I taught my Lula, the best way to get what you want is on your back, but don’t be too eager. Men want to work for it, and they’re willin’ to give you all kinds of things if you tease ’em just right.”

“Is that what you did?” I asked without animosity. “Is that how you ended up sleeping with Bart Drummond?”

“There weren’t no sleepin’ with him, if you know what I mean,” she said. “And I don’t need your pity. I knew what I was doin’.”

“Louise, you say you want me to help you, but you’ve told me a whole lot of nothing. So far, the only information I’ve gotten from you is that you want me to find something that was stolen from your property. You want me to help you find it so we can put Bart Drummond away. And you know something about what happened to Jerry.”

“Did you ever think they might all be related?” she asked.

I had, but I wasn’t going to admit that to her. “Who told you I was looking into Bart Drummond? Carnita thinks I’m writing a book.”

She eyed me up and down. “You don’t seem like the type to sit back and write a book for revenge. You’re a doer.”

“I’m researching the town because I like history,” I said. “As for Bart Drummond, he was kind enough to give Jerry a job when everyone else looked down on him. Why would I have something against my boss’s father?” I was proud of myself for not retching as I said the words.

She gave me a look that suggested I’d lost my mind, then burst into laughter. “You really should consider an actin’ career. I almost believed that.”

I nearly told her that Max disagreed, but I didn’t think that would be to my advantage. “If you want me to find something, you’re going to have to give me something.”

She lifted a shoulder into a shrug. “It was in a small metal box. Padlocked shut.”

“Well, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” I quipped. “How big was the box?”

“Hell, I don’t know. About yea big.” She held her hands about two feet apart. “It was a small toolbox. Black with a silver handle.”

“And something was inside?”

She snorted. “Do I look like the kind of woman who would be scrapin’ around for an empty toolbox?”

“Hell if I know,” I said. “I don’t know you at all.”

“I don’t know about that.” Her chin jutted out, and she looked me up and down. “I think you and me are more alike than you’re willin’ to admit.”

I tried not to shudder.

“Did you ever wonder why I took the fall for Walter’s murder?” Her confrontational tone was gone, and I felt like I might be getting a glimpse of the real Louise Baker.

Took the fall. I’d suspected as much, and although I couldn’t take her word for it—or for anything—she was suggesting that she’d let herself get steamrolled. “You owed Bart a favor.”

“So you know about his favors, do ya?”

I tried to hide my excitement. This was the first time I’d ever talked to anyone who had gone to Bart for a favor. Although I’d put together a list of people to approach, Marco and I halted our investigation after Jerry’s so-called accident. “I’ve heard rumors.”

“Yeah,” she said, shaking out another cigarette. “I took the fall for a favor, but I figured I could work it to my advantage.”

“So you hid something in the toolbox, and now it’s gone.”

She pointed at me again, her cigarette tucked between her index and middle finger. “Now you’re catchin’ on.”

“You said you want to bring Bart down. Why?”

She gave me an incredulous look. “He killed my husband.” Her response stunned me, and my shock must have been obvious, because she said, “Walter may not have been much, and he was dumber than a stump, but he was mine. Nobody kills my kin and gets away with it.”

“Why didn’t you tell the sheriff who really shot him when you were arrested?”

Her eyes hardened. “I made a deal, and I honored it. Now I want revenge.”

“So why not go to the sheriff now and tell them what really happened?”

She shook her head. “Sometimes you say the stupidest shit. I can’t do that. I was convicted for the murder. I did the time. It’s a done deal. Case closed. And even so, ain’t nobody gonna take me seriously.”

“They might,” I said. “There are some people in the department who stand on the right side of the law.”

Her brows lifted. “Like your boyfriend sittin’ in there now, watchin’ over you?” She laughed. “Yeah, I knew it was Marco Roland the minute I walked in. Even if I hadn’t seen his photo in the papers for all his recent heroic works”—she used air quotes—“I would have known him for hangin’ around with you.”

My mouth dropped open.

“Yep. I’ve been trailin’ you. Or rather someone’s been doin’ it for me.”

A cold shock jolted through me. Was Louise the one responsible for Jerry’s murder? “Did you send a man out to Marco’s house last week to threaten me?”

“Nope. But we both know who’s behind it.” She eyed me with a leer. “You just need your proof. How badly do you want it?”

The thought of teaming up with Louise made my skin crawl.

“You think about it,” she said, stuffing her still-unlit cigarette behind her ear, “but there’s plenty in it for you.” She started for the door, then glanced over her shoulder. “Has everyone been askin’ you about Hank’s fortune? Tryin’ to figure out where it is? Hell, I bet half of ’em think you’re out there to steal it.”

“Yeah,” I said, figuring I wasn’t telling her anything she couldn’t find out by asking just about anyone in town. “A lot of people who don’t know me think I’m after his money.”

“Wonder why you haven’t found it yet?” she said with a wicked gleam in her eye.

“I haven’t been looking.”

“But I bet you wonder what happened to it. How a man with so much power could end up with nothing.”

“How do you know what happened to Hank’s money?” I asked before I could stop myself.

Her face lit up with glee. “Because I’m the one who stole it.”

Chapter Ten

“You start lookin’ and I’ll be in touch.”

“Looking for what?”

She ignored me and walked inside, humming a song that sounded familiar, but which I couldn’t place. Since she already knew Marco was there to keep an eye on me, I was tempted to go inside and get him. Although he was much stronger than her, injured leg notwithstanding, there was a moment there I nearly ran inside, terrified she’d hurt him. She’d considered him her kin, and she was seeking revenge for his murder . . . or so she claimed. There was no denying she wanted my help, which meant she was unlikely to hurt Marco, but the real clincher was that she’d expect me to seek my own revenge if she even tried. She had called me a vigilante after all.

So I got in my car and drove to the Dollar General parking lot—our agreed-upon rendezvous spot—and waited for Marco.

His Explorer pulled up next to my passenger side a few minutes later, and he was out of his vehicle and in my front seat within seconds.

“Are you all right?” he asked, looking me over.

I grabbed his hand. “You’re the one I was worried about. She knew why you were there. I was scared to death that she was going to hurt you, but then I realized she wants me to work with her too much to do something so stupid.”

His fingers clasped mine. “How do you know she wouldn’t try to hurt me to force you to help?”

“Because she says she wants to bring Bart Drummond down for killing Walter.”

He scoffed. “I was always under the impression that she didn’t give two shits about Walter.”

“She admitted that he didn’t mean much to her, but she claimed he was kin, and you don’t mess with kin.”

He sat back in the seat, fatigue washing over his face as he untangled his hand from mine. “That’s a long-standing tradition around here, but there’s no telling if it’s her real motivation.” Then he turned back to face me. “Are you sure you’re all right? From everything I’ve heard, Louise’s tongue is a lot sharper than the knife she had strapped to her calf under her jeans.”

My eyes bugged out. “She had a knife?”

He pushed out an aggrieved sigh.

“It doesn’t matter. She won’t hurt me.” Then I added with a shrug, “Well, at least not until I turn down her generous offer to look for her black metal box.”

He shook his head. “Say what now?”

“She wants me to help find a small toolbox she claims was hidden on her property.”

“What’s in the toolbox?”

“I don’t know, but her parting shot was a real zinger.”

“What’d she say?” he asked, cocking his head.

“She said she stole Hank’s fortune.”

His eyes widened. “Do you think she could have?”

“You’d likely know better than me,” I said. “How do you take someone’s fortune, anyway? Did she find out the password to his international bank account?”

Marco shifted in his seat to face me better. “Let’s not forget this is Drum. I doubt there was an international bank account. Hell, Hank can barely handle the remote control and the satellite dish for his TV. Do you see him managing an international bank account?”

“No…” I said, frowning. Then I jerked my gaze up to his. “But what about Mary?”

His forehead creased. “What about her?”

“Was she more tech savvy?”

“They don’t have internet or a computer, Carly. How were they going to have an online bank account?”

I groaned my frustration. He had a point.

“When people say they think Hank has his fortune buried in the backyard, they mean it literally,” Marco said. “I’ve heard deputies say they were called out to Hank’s land for trespassin’ all the time after he first retired. People thought they’d sneak onto his property and dig up his money.”

I gasped. “Did they have a death wish? How many of them did Hank shoot?”

“A few,” he admitted. “But the sheriff’s department never charged him.”

“No one’s tried that since I moved in.” Well, except for the man who’d broken into my room and tried to kill me because I was a witness to Seth’s murder.

“That’s because nobody else has a death wish, and enough people have dug up parts of his property that everyone has collectively decided the money’s not out there. But one thing’s for certain,” Marco said. “Hank made damn good money back in the day, and now he has next to nothin’.”

“You know my theory on that,” I said with a frown.

“Yeah, you think Mary’s cancer treatments sucked it all up, but I’m not so sure. Maybe Louise was being truthful.”

My jaw dropped. “You’re seriously suggesting that Louise Baker stole Hank’s money?”

He shrugged. “Stranger things have happened. What did Hank say about Louise when you talked to him this mornin’?”

I glanced out the windshield. “He was too busy kicking me out for us to discuss her.”

“He did what?”

I shook my head, frustrated with myself for taking it so personally. “He told me to leave for a few weeks. Says he has some things cooking with his old crew. My gut tells me he’s settling a score.”

Marco gave me a knowing look. “You thought he might be up to something, and this only confirms it. He knows she’s back, and if she really did take his money, Hank’s not the kind of man to sit back and let her keep it. He’s going to go after her and take back what’s his.”

I hated to admit it, but he had a point. “I didn’t ask him about Louise. Actually, I ended up asking him what happened to his money.”

His eyes widened.

“He told me it was gone, and it was none of my concern, but he sounded pissed about the whole thing.” I gave him a pointed look. “If he’d used it to pay for Mary’s bills, I think he would have told me. Instead, he was cagey.” I tapped the steering wheel with my fingertip. “Maybe she really did steal it.”

We sat in silence for several seconds before Marco spoke up.

“So let’s say she did take it. It’s not like she plans on giving it back. She’s using it as another lure to drag you into her mess. You need to tell Louise you don’t want to get mixed up in her scheme. Findin’ something on Bart isn’t worth the risk of dealin’ with her.”

“Ordinarily, I’d agree with you. Only she insinuated that she knows who was responsible for running Jerry off the road. She says she’ll show me the proof if I help her find her toolbox.”

“You know she likely doesn’t have anything to give you, right?”

“Just like she probably doesn’t have Hank’s money?” I asked dryly. “But what if she does, Marco?”

He rubbed at the scruff on his jaw. “If she took Hank’s money, you’d be helping his enemy. You realize that, right?”

“Do you really think I’d help her keep Hank’s money?”

“No, but did you even tell Hank you know that Louise is back in town?”

“No, and I don’t think I should tell him. He’s going to tell me to stay away from her. He’s up to something, and he doesn’t want me to know anything about it, which is why he kicked me out.”

“So he just told you to pack up and leave and that’s that?”

“He said I need to leave for a few weeks, and he’ll let me know when I can come back.” I groaned. “Honestly, I didn’t handle it well. At. All.”

He reached over and took my hand. “That’s understandable.”

“Is it, though? In my head, I know he’s protecting me, but it feels like another rejection. Like one more person has found me unlovable.”

He pulled me into his arms across the console. “You are very loveable, Care. Everyone at the tavern loves you. Hank considers you a daughter. I love you.” I looked up at him, and sadness filled his eyes. “I hate what your father and Jake did to you. I hate that they’ve made you question your worth, and if I have to spend the rest of my life proving to you that I do love you and that I’m not leaving you, I want you to know I’m okay with that.”

I shook my head, looking away. “I’m so messed up.”

“Everyone is messed up in some way. You know my parents’ relationship messed me up. I think it’s a rule that parents are supposed to mess up their kids.”

I laughed. “You might be right.”

He cupped my cheek and nudged me back to face him, kissing me softly on the lips. “Not always, but when I am, it’s usually a good one.”

I sat back and gave his shoulder a soft shove.

“I still think you should tell Louise you’re not goin’ to help her. If Hank catches wind that you’re workin’ with her, he could see it as a betrayal.”

“Then what if I don’t work with her?” I said. “What if I go about it another way?”

“How so?”

“She told me she’d be in touch. But I’m not waiting around. I’ll do some digging. See if she could have stolen Hank’s money. If we find something, we can use it as leverage to obtain her proof that Bart was behind Jerry’s murder.”

He gave me an empathetic look. “Care. Do you really think that’s going to work?”

“I don’t know, Marco, but if there’s even the smallest chance, shouldn’t I at least try?”

“Look, I know you want proof that Bart had Jerry killed—I do too—but don’t let Louise use that to her advantage. She wouldn’t have to dig deep to find out that Jerry’s death hurt you, and from what I’ve heard about her, it’s just the kind of thing she’d use to manipulate you. Don’t forget that she strung Lula, her own daughter, along for years. She wouldn’t hesitate to use you.”

He was right. Hadn’t the same thing occurred to me earlier? Still . . .

“I can’t let this go, Marco.”

He leaned over and kissed me again. “I know, and your tenacity is one of the many things I love about you. Just don’t let your guard down, because Louise is up to something. No question about that.”

I nodded.

“So what do you want to do?” he asked.

“I say we talk to someone who worked for Hank. I need to find out if Louise and/or Walter worked for him too, and in what capacity. See if it’s plausible for her to have stolen his money.”

“So dig into Hank’s past first?”

“Yeah.”

He was silent for a moment. “You’re about to jump into a swamp. You might not like what you find beneath the surface.”

I swallowed. “I know.”

He drew in a deep breath, then pushed it out. “Okay. Got any idea where to start?”

“Thelma Tureen at Greener Pastures Nursing Home. She’s given me lots of information about the goings-on in Drum’s past. Seems like she could drum up a few names.” Thelma knew a lot about a lot of people, including Bart Drummond and Louise Baker.

“Then let’s go together.”

“You sure about that?” I asked. “The last time you went there, you nearly got mobbed by Roberta and her cronies.”

He laughed. “I’ll take my chances. Besides, I haven’t seen Thelma in a while. I’d love to tell her hello.”

I leaned over and kissed him. He charmed women, old and young, just by being himself, but he genuinely liked and appreciated my friends at Greener Pastures, which only made me fonder of him. “I hope you don’t mind me moving in with you for a while.”

He grinned. “That’s the best thing to come out of all this. I was tryin’ to play it cool and hide my excitement when you told me. How’d I do?”

“Remarkably well,” I said with a laugh. “I never would have known you were excited.”

“Honestly, my worry about how you took Hank’s decision seemed more pressin’.”

Just one more piece of evidence that Marco had my best interest in mind.

“Do you want to take both vehicles?” he asked. “If we’re headed to Ewing, it might be easier. Do you still have Tutoring Club this afternoon?”

“Yeah,” I said with a grimace. I wasn’t looking forward to dealing with the gossip about my encounter with Wyatt, but I still believed it would die down more quickly if I didn’t start avoiding my usual commitments. Marco hadn’t mentioned Wyatt, so I was hoping he planned on letting his visit to the garage go. Although I understood his position, I didn’t want a fuss. “Did you get your laundry out of the dryer?”

He grinned. “I did. I got it started early, so it was mostly dry. I didn’t want to look too suspicious when Louise showed up.”

“The only car in the parking lot was yours. How did she get there?”

“I didn’t see anyone drop her off. She walked in with her laundry basket, though, and I would have seen if she’d come lugging it down Main Street. I suspect someone dropped her off in the alley and she walked to the door, probably not wanting you to see how she got there.”

“So she has an accomplice.”

“Seems like it.”

Maybe I could ask Thelma about that too. Given that Louise had only just returned to town after being locked up for years, it was probably an old friend. “When did she show up?”

“About five minutes before you did. She shot a glance my direction. Didn’t seem to recognize me then. But when she came back in from talking to you, she addressed me by name and said I had three minutes to clear out or she was reporting me for harassment to the sheriff’s department.”

I gasped. “Can she do that?”

“Sure, she can report me. Does she have a case? Not even close. I was doing laundry before she even showed up, and I never spoke to her. Did I want to call her bluff? No, I’d prefer the department not have any idea what I’m up to.”

I agreed.

“Besides, I was eager to talk to you, so I pulled my laundry out early, stuffed the basket in back, and came here to meet you.”

“I would have likely come back to check on you if you hadn’t shown up so quickly.”

He turned serious. “Louise is cunning. She may want your help, but I suspect it’s only one part of her grand scheme.”

“I need to talk to Lula at some point, and preferably without Bingham. I think he’s directing Lula on how to deal with her mother.”

“Agreed. But if so, Bingham won’t appreciate you trying to circumvent him.”

“True.”

“One worry at a time,” he said. “Let’s head to Ewing. We can go to lunch after we meet with Thelma.”

“Always thinking about food,” I teased.

“Do you know how hard it was to watch you hand that ungrateful bitch that breakfast sandwich?”

Grinning, I shook my head at him, but then the seriousness of the situation sunk in. By helping me, Marco was putting his potential promotion to detective in jeopardy.

“Marco.” I searched his eyes. “Maybe it’s time for you to no longer be involved with what I’m doing.”

“No fucking way,” he growled, his eyes dark and dangerous.

“You could lose your job, Marco.”

“You could lose your life, Carly. That’s more important than employment. I can get another job. I can’t get another you.”

I slowly nodded. “Okay. I’ll keep you involved.”

I kept the for now to myself. A huge part of Marco’s self-worth centered on following and defending the rules. But I was making him break them like they were dry spaghetti.

He leaned over and gave me a lingering kiss. “Let’s head to Ewing. I’ll follow you.”

I glanced down at his scruffy shirt. “You were planning to change, right?”

I gave him a hopeful look.

He laughed. “And so it’s begun, huh? You’re planning to start pickin’ out my wardrobe?”

“Not hardly. I like the way you dress.” I grinned. “Usually.”

“Got it,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. He opened the car door, then turned back to face me, his expression turning pensive. “I could get used to this.”

“Me too,” I said softly. And that scared me half to death.

Chapter Eleven

Roberta and Gladys were in the front room of the nursing home when Marco and I walked in. I always brought them a new puzzle when I visited, so I kept several boxes in the trunk of my car, picking a new one or two up whenever I was at the Dollar General. Today’s 750-piece offering was tucked under my arm.

Roberta, who was nearly always cranky, usually demanded the new puzzle before saying hello, but she had a wide smile on her face today.

“Well, hello, hot stuff,” she said as we walked toward them, her gaze taking Marco in.

“Roberta!” I protested with a laugh.

“What? I still have my eyesight,” she said unapologetically.

“I’m not sure I appreciate you objectifying my girlfriend,” Marco teased.

Gladys burst out laughing. “You walked right into that one, Roberta.”

“Wait.” Roberta held her hand up like a stop sign. “Did you just call her your girlfriend?”

“Sure did,” he said, reaching for my hand and linking our fingers. “She’s officially off the market.”

“’Bout damn time,” Roberta grumbled, back to her usual disagreeable self.

“We brought you a new puzzle,” I said as I held it out.

Roberta waved me off, all eyes on Marco. “So when and how did this happen?”

“The puzzle has sailboats,” I said in a lame attempt to steer the conversation away from us.

Gladys snatched it from me.

“I bought her a telescope and showed her the stars,” Marco said in a humble tone. “She took in their beauty for a few minutes, then realized they couldn’t compare to me.” He swept his hands from his head to his sides.

I laughed. It was easy to forget that Marco had a reputation as a ladies’ man. He was so different around me.

But Gladys and Roberta were eating it up and begging for more.

I cleared my throat. “While it’s true he bought a telescope, it was showing me the Milky Way that did the trick.”

That wasn’t entirely true. That telescope was the most romantic surprise I’d ever gotten, though it wasn’t the gesture itself but what it represented that had finally pushed me over the edge. It showed the lengths he’d go to in order to make me happy. He’d proven then, like he’d done countless other times, how selfless he could be, and it had given me the strength to fall into his arms.

“As much as I’d love to give you ladies the long version of the story,” Marco said with his boyish grin, “Carly and I have business to attend to with Miss Thelma.”

“What does she have that we don’t?” Roberta asked.

“A lot less sass,” Marco said with a wink.

Both women cackled as Marco wrapped his hand around mine and led me down the hall toward Thelma’s room, walking with a slight limp. One of them catcalled, and Marco flashed me a grin. He leaned over and kissed me, and we heard cheers rise up behind us.

“You did that on purpose,” I teased.

“Guilty as charged.” But his smile faded when we stopped outside of Thelma’s room.

I knocked on the partially open door, and she called out, “It’s open.”

I glanced back at Marco and dropped his hand, then walked in, leaving him to trail in behind me.

“Good morning, Miss Thelma,” I said. “I’m surprised you’re not out in your flower garden.” She’d created a flower garden in the nursing home’s courtyard, and she was out there more often than not these days.

“My knee was bothering me, so I’m takin’ a day off,” she said, her gaze lifting to Marco. “What a pleasant surprise to see you with Carly.”

“Carly has a few questions to ask you, ma’am, so I thought I’d come along.”

Her smile faded slightly. “I see. I hadn’t heard of a recent murder.” An apologetic look filled her eyes. “I’m sorry, Carly. That was thoughtless of me. Your friend was run off the road just a little over a week ago.”

“Jerry,” I said, pushing past the lump in my throat.

She nodded, then turned her attention to Marco. “Any news about who did it?”

“No, ma’am, but it’s an active investigation. We’re still lookin’.”

She nodded again, then gestured to the empty chair at the end of the bed. “I’ve only got one chair to sit on.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Marco said. “I’ll let Carly ask most of the questions. I’ll just stand to the side and listen.” He flashed me a smile. I was still worried about his leg, but I doubted he’d take no for an answer, so I took a seat in the chair and pulled out my notebook. Marco leaned his shoulder into the wall, facing us both.

“Miss Thelma,” I said, opening my notebook to a blank page. “I’m going to tell you something, but I need you to keep it to yourself for now.”

“Of course,” she said, linking her hands in her lap. “I never share our discussions with anyone else.”

I nodded, then took a deep breath. “Louise Baker is out of prison.”

Her eyes widened, and her hand lifted to her chest. “Oh dear.”

“I don’t think she’s been advertising the news of her release, but she showed up at the tavern yesterday, stirring up trouble, then ambushed me after work and told me she wants us to work together to bring down Bart Drummond. I saw her again this morning, and she told me she needs help finding a missing toolbox.”

“What on earth for?” she asked in confusion.

“I’m sure there must have been something inside. She said it was padlocked, but she has no idea when it was stolen. Sometime between her arrest and her return to town. She’d hidden it somewhere on her property.”

Thelma gave me a sharp stare. “Are you sure there actually is a toolbox?”

“No.”

She nodded approvingly. “Good. At least you’re bein’ skeptical. Louise Baker has always been a liar, a thief, and a cheat. You can’t trust a word that comes out of that woman’s mouth. If she wants you to do something, you ought to turn and run the other way.”

“She says she has proof that Bart Drummond had someone run Jerry off the road.”

Thelma released a heavy sigh. “I wouldn’t trust that. She knows you want to know, and she’s twisting that to her advantage to get what she wants. That’s what Louise Baker does. Uses people.” She stared me dead in the eye. “Did she actually say, ‘I have proof that Bart Drummond was responsible for Jerry’s death?’”

I thought back to our conversation and realized there had been a whole lot of implying and not much else. “No.”

Sorrow filled her eyes. “See? I know that’s not what you want to hear, but that’s the truth of it.”

I nodded slowly. She was right—it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. “There’s something else. She claims she stole Hank’s money.”

She looked at me for a long moment, then burst out laughing. “And I’m the Easter Bunny.”

I gave her a not-so-patient look. A quick glance at Marco revealed his grim expression.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” I asked.

“First, how on earth would she have access to Hank’s money?”

“When I spoke to Bingham back in December, he said he thought that it was Louise who worked for Hank and reported to Bart. That would mean she was near his operation.”

“But it wouldn’t mean she had access,” she scoffed. “Louise was untrustworthy, and Hank’s no fool.” She gave me a look full of pity. “Louise is stringin’ you along, Carly. Danglin’ Jerry. Then Hank. That’s how she works.”

I nodded, feeling like a fool. Maybe Thelma was right. Maybe I was so desperate, I was falling for her schemes.

“I might actually buy that,” Marco said, shifting his weight against the wall, “except Hank’s getting with his old buddies from his drug-runnin’ days. He hasn’t had a thing to do with them for years. Not even after Seth died. Now he’s hosting poker night with his old buddies, and they’re all acting like it’s business as usual. Add to that the way he kicked Carly out of the house for a few weeks so he can deal with some ‘business,’ and I’m thinkin’ it has something to do with Louise. There’s no way all of that would coincidentally happen at once.”

Thelma stared up at him in shock. “Oh dear.” She swiveled to face me. “Are you all right? Do you have a place to stay? I’m sure Greta would let you bunk at her house.”

“She’s stayin’ with me,” Marco said with a little more force than necessary. “Seein’ as how she’s my girlfriend now.”

Thelma clapped her hands together. “Why didn’t you start this conversation with that information?”

“Had I known everyone was so interested in my love life, I would have hired a plane to fly a banner over the county,” I grumbled.

Thelma laughed. “That might not be a bad idea.”

“I’m all for it,” Marco said with a nonchalant shrug.

I rolled my eyes but let a smile slip through.

Marco turned serious. “Hank’s circlin’ the wagons, and so are Lula and Bingham for that matter. After all the shit her mother’s pulled on her, I can understand why Lula would be taking a defensive position. And Bingham . . . we could say he’s protecting his wife and child, and while that may be true, I suspect he also has a personal interest in the outcome. Right before Jerry’s death, we got a lead that Bingham might have information to help put Bart away.”

“That’s nonsense,” Thelma said with a wave of her hand. “He would have used it already.”

I used to think the same, only I wasn’t so sure anymore. The information had come to me under the cover of secrecy from Emily Drummond herself, likely right around the time that Louise had been released from prison. What was the connection?

I had no delusions that Emily was trying to help me. She saw me as a way to get rid of her husband, and I was acceptable collateral damage.

“As for Hank,” Marco continued, “whatever’s going on is related to his old business. I’d stake my badge on it.”

Thelma gave him a solemn look. “Now that I think on it, Hank seemed to have some turnover in his group not long after Louise killed Walter.”

I wrote that in my notebook.

“Did it seem like he lost a lot of money?” Marco asked.

“It’s hard to say,” Thelma said thoughtfully. “Hank and Mary were never ones to throw money around. They were pretty frugal. But I do remember they’d always talked about moving away to Florida or someplace warm after he retired, and that never happened. But Mary got sick not long after Louise shot Walter, so I’m sure she decided to stay for Barbara and Seth, even though I’m sure she would have gotten better healthcare down there. Hank gave up the business nearly ten years ago. Sometime after Louise went away. Seems to me he would have stayed in it if he was havin’ money problems.”

Unless he’d needed the lump sum Bingham had offered to buy the business.

“Do you know if Louise had any friends?” I asked. “Any close family?”

She stared at the wall for several seconds. “She was friendly with Walter’s sister’s girl, but they had a falling-out.” Her eyes lit up. “Her name was Cassie Carpenter. Cassie hung around with Barbara Chalmers too, if I’m remembering right.”

“Wait,” I said. “Louise was friends with Walter’s niece?”

“Walter was a change of life baby,” Thelma said. “So he was twelve years younger than his sister and nearly ten years older than Louise, which made his niece and Louise nearly the same age.”

It took me a moment to take that in. “Wow.”

Marco grimaced, then shifted his weight off his left leg. “Did the falling-out with Cassie occur because of Walter’s murder?”

“Long before,” Thelma said.

“No other friends that you can remember?” I asked.

“Louise wasn’t the friendly type,” Thelma said. “At least not with the womenfolk, if you know what I mean.”

“Know any men she might have been friendly with?” Marco asked.

She pulled a face. “None that I can recall.”

I suspected we weren’t going to get much else on that front.

“What do you know about Louise when she was growing up?” I asked. “Is she from around here?”

“Oh, yeah. She was born in that shack out on her land.” She nodded her head toward me. “That property was hers, not Walter’s. Her family was as poor as dirt. I think several generations have lived on that land. They all seem to die young.”

“It’s not surprisin’,” Marco said without judgment. “There’s no electricity or running water on that property. The house looks like it’ll collapse with the next big thunderstorm. If they were livin’ in those conditions, they didn’t have money for necessities like food or medicine.”

Thelma nodded. “A lot of kids used to die around these parts. Especially a hundred years or so ago.” She released a chuckle. “Not that I’m old enough to remember all that. But my mother told me. She used to remind me how good we had it. That we didn’t have to suffer in the Great Depression.” Her hands twisted in her lap and the corners of her mouth twitched with a frown. “There’s been a lot of pain and misery in this area.”

“But some good too,” I said softly. “You loved your husband, and you love your nieces, and I know they love you. That means something.”

She looked up at me with a grateful smile. “Yes. You’re right.” But the happiness dimmed in her eyes. “But maybe I was too wrapped up in my own business to care enough about the misfortune of those around me.”

“I know for a fact that’s not true, Miss Thelma,” Marco said, taking a step closer to her. “I talked to my mom about you, and she said you used to do all kinds of things with the church. Coat drives. Food drives. You used to even gather school supplies for children whose parents couldn’t afford them. She said you got people to make care packages for children going into foster care.”

She swiped a tear from her cheek. “For a time, there were far too many children going into that program and not comin’ out.”

“Doesn’t sound like someone too busy or selfish to care about others,” Marco said.

She nodded but didn’t look convinced.

“It’s hard not to feel regret when you look back at all the things you didn’t do or know,” I said. “We weren’t early enough. We didn’t give enough. We didn’t care enough. Sometimes it’s best to take a step back and realize you did what you could at the time. Maybe you could have done more, but you can’t go back and change it. All you can do is move forward.” As the words came spilling out, I realized she wasn’t the only one I was trying to convince.

Marco rested his hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

Thelma wiped another tear, and her gaze locked with mine. “You’re talkin’ about Seth.”

I nodded. But there was more. I just couldn’t admit to it. I had a whole closetful of regrets, and they were eating me from the inside out. I needed to start letting some of them go.

“They would have killed you too, Carly, and you wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone what you saw,” Thelma said. “Then poor Seth wouldn’t have gotten any justice.” She gave me a tight smile. “You did the best you could. You did the right thing. You need to let the guilt go.”

I nodded again, but Seth’s death wasn’t the only one I needed to atone for. There was no denying I’d set off the cascade of events that had ultimately gotten Jerry killed.

“Is there anything else you can remember?” Marco asked, his hand still on my shoulder.

“Nothin’ of use, I’m afraid,” Thelma said, sounding distracted.

“Well, you’ve been more helpful than you know,” Marco said. “If you think of anything else, can you give me a call?” He pulled one of his business cards from his back pocket and handed it to her. “If you call that number, chances are that I’ll be out. You can leave a voicemail, though, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

She held the card in her hand, looking it over. “Your grandfather would be so proud of you.” She drew her gaze up to Marco. “I know you never knew him, but he was a deputy too. You remind me of him. Tall. Handsome. Driven by his need to set things right.” She nodded once. “He’d be so proud.”

Marco went still, and his voice seemed rough when he said, “Thank you, Miss Thelma. My father never talks about him.”

“John Phillip Roland died a hero. In a shootout with bank robbers who were tryin’ to clean out Drum Savings and Loan. They’d hit several banks in the area, and your grandfather was the one to stop ’em. His death hurt more people than just his immediate family, but of course it hurt them the hardest. Your father was a boy when John Phillip died, and a boy needs his father around these parts.”

Marco swallowed, and I was sure he was thinking the same thing. Even though he’d had a father growing up, his dad hadn’t taken much of an interest in teaching him how to be a man. Maybe because his father hadn’t been around to teach him.

I stood and took Marco’s hand. “You’ve been very helpful, Miss Thelma. Thank you. Next time we come by I’ll be sure to bring you something for your garden.”

She waved her hand. “I’ve got enough things. I don’t need gifts.”

Maybe not, but I knew how much she loved her garden.

“Thank you, Miss Thelma,” Marco said, then leaned down and gave her a gentle hug.

She patted his back. “The next time you come to see me, I’ll tell you stories about your grandfather, John Phillip.”

“I’d like that.” Marco stood and then turned to me.

I took his hand and led him out the door into the hallway, and when we were out of eyesight, I wrapped my arms around his neck and just held him.

His arms encircled my waist, holding me like that for several long seconds.

Leaning back, I captured his cheeks in my hands and looked him deep in the eyes. “You’re a good man, Marco Roland. You come from a line of good men. Miss Thelma’s right. Your grandfather would be proud of you.”

“Let’s not put the horse in the barn just yet,” he said with a tired look in his eyes. “Our work’s not finished yet.”

No, we were only just getting started, and I feared that whatever lay ahead may be more than our horse could handle.

Chapter Twelve

When we walked out to the front room, Roberta and Gladys were working on their new puzzle, the old one probably swept into its box. I knew they wanted us to stay and chat, but Marco and I had things to discuss, so I waved to them as we headed toward the front entrance.

Marco, of course, blew them a kiss. Roberta pretended to grab it and stuff it down her shirt, and he and I both burst out laughing.

When we got to the parking lot, we stopped next to my car. Marco lifted his hand and tucked my hair behind my ear. “I want to go to the station to look up Cassie Carpenter and find out whether Louise had any priors.”

“Good idea, but will you get in trouble since it doesn’t pertain to a case?”

“Nah,” he said, shooting a glance at the building’s picture windows.

Roberta was standing in front of the window, dancing . . . or I thought it was dancing. A lot of booty shaking was involved.

“Should I be jealous?” I asked with a laugh.

“Very,” he teased, blowing Roberta another kiss.

I reached up and grabbed his face, giving him a kiss to remember me by for the rest of the day. When I sank back on my heels, I grinned up at his dazed face. “Just remember who kisses you like that.”

He laughed, then pulled me into his arms for a tight hug. “I wouldn’t mind if you kept remindin’ me.”

But as he pulled back, his smile quickly began to fade, worry lines wrinkling his forehead. “What do you plan on doin’?”

“I’ll take advantage of the Ewing library. It’s easier to get computer access here.”

“You going to look up Cassie Carpenter?” he asked.

“Yeah, and maybe Louise too,” I said with a frown. “Plus I’ve been wanting to send an email to my mother’s friend Tiffany.” I hadn’t had much time to think about her, but my past had been nagging at me since finding out about Hardshaw. I guess I was done with patiently waiting, all the way around.

“That’s a great idea,” he said. “If you have time, maybe we can have lunch together to discuss everything?”

I smiled up at him. “Yes, please.”

“Maybe you can pick up lunch, and we can meet at the park so we can talk in private?” Uncertainty washed over his face. “Or maybe you’d rather eat at a restaurant. We haven’t really had a date.”

“I consider the street party last week a date, and there’ll be plenty of time for more dates,” I said. “The park’s a good idea. We’ll want to talk freely, and I’m happy to get lunch.” When he started to reach for his wallet, I frowned. “I’ll get it. I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.” I was making decent money at the tavern, and although I’d sunk some of it into helping Hank with household repairs, I’d been trying to save the rest. I had nearly a thousand dollars in my savings account at Drum Savings and Loan, but I’d started hoarding my money in cash in case I needed to run again.

I gave him another kiss, then waved to Roberta, who was still at the window. She looked like she was trying to twerk.

“You need to leave before she hurts herself,” I said with a laugh and gave him a little push.

He grinned from ear to ear. “You’re the woman for me, Care.”

“Good, but I feel no need to kill the competition. Go.”

He laughed again, then got in his Explorer. I followed him out of the parking lot and toward the center of town until he turned in the direction of the sheriff’s office.

Sure enough, I had no trouble getting access to a computer at the library. I started off by searching for Louise.

Most of the hits were in relation to her arrest and guilty plea for her husband’s murder. Now that she’d admitted to taking the fall, it was unsettling to see it in print, to read about her ready cooperation, even more so because everyone seemed to have accepted her story. Her account was that she’d come home and found Walter trying to drown Lula. When he refused to stop, she’d shot him with a 12-gauge shotgun. I’d been in Drum long enough to know that most people would agree that a man who’d attack his own child deserved to be shot, but some of the articles had quotes from Drum residents saying Louise had it coming to her.

Thelma had insinuated Louise had her own system of favors, one that had involved making a lot of male “friends,” and Louise herself had alluded to sleeping with men to get what she wanted. Seemed like a good way to make enemies, both of the men themselves and their scorned wives and girlfriends. Maybe the townsfolk hadn’t cared that Louise had allegedly saved her daughter. Maybe they’d just wanted her gone.

Was that why Louise had made sure her return was so low-key?

Other than the stories about the arrest, there wasn’t much about her. She apparently hadn’t had any kind of social media presence. I was about to give up when I found a small article about the marriage of Walter Baker to Louise Norton, daughter of Samuel and Maggie Norton.

Armed with her parents’ names, I plugged in Samuel Norton and saw that he’d died before Louise’s arrest. He’d been shot and killed in a disagreement between friends in Ewing. I wrote that in my notebook.

His obituary listed that his wife Maggie was deceased, but he had two living daughters, Louise and Clara Clancy, a widow with no children. Another search dug up an obituary for Maggie, who had died in childbirth. I knew that after Louise’s arrest, Lula had gone to live with her mother’s sister who’d died a few years later, and sure enough, Clara’s obituary showed that she’d been killed in a car accident when Lula was sixteen.

I took a moment to make sure I’d taken adequate notes, then turned my search to Walter. Hits with his name were mostly related to his murder, but then I found his obituary, which listed his parents—both deceased—and a sister, Georgia Carpenter, who was married to Joe Carpenter. They had a daughter Cassie and a son named Derek.

I had to wonder what Walter’s sister thought of her brother’s murder. Had she thought Louise was guilty or that the real murderer had gone free?

I searched for Georgia Carpenter. Most of the hits were about other women with the same name, but I found some relevant ones. None of which made any mention of her brother’s murder, which I found odd. Not even any comment about hoping justice was served.

A few articles named her as the mother of Derek Carpenter, who’d played Little League baseball way back when. Based on the number of posts in the Ewing Gazette, she seemed very active in her church. The most recent article said she was in charge of this year’s vacation bible school at the First Baptist Church of Ewing . . . the same church that Jim Palmer had volunteered at as a part-time youth group leader. Given that Jim had been murdered a couple of weeks ago by the mother of the teenage boy he’d molested, I suspected I’d have to tread lightly when I talked to Georgia. She’d probably shy away from anything that could be construed as scandalous.

Unfortunately, there were no direct hits for her daughter, Cassie.

I checked my phone. Marco hadn’t texted yet, so I plugged “Tiffany Olson” and “Atlanta” into the search bar. It turned up the website for Simply Stunning Cosmetics where I found a customer support email, but a few minutes of poking around turned up another, more promising address. The website had a page devoted to Tiffany, with an email address that supposedly went to her. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe that she read all of her emails, but I figured I had a better chance of getting past a personal assistant or screener than a low-level customer service rep.

I opened the email account I used to communicate with Rose, disappointed she hadn’t written back yet. Maybe it was for the best, though—I didn’t want anything to distract me. My heart hammered as I opened a new message window, pasted in the address from the web page, and then typed Mary Caroline’s Daughter in the subject line.

This was a risk—a huge risk. If my father found out, I could be endangering us both. And yet . . . I wanted to hear from her. I needed to know what she knew, and I’d never get in touch with her if I didn’t tell her something. Carly Moore was no one to her, but she would want to talk to Caroline Blakely. It was worth the risk . . . right?

My heart was pounding, but I moved the cursor to the body of the email and started to type.

To whoever is reading this email:

My name is Caroline, and I am the daughter of Mary Caroline Henderson. I desperately need to get in contact with Tiffany. Please tell her this:

I know you have no way of knowing if it’s really me, especially since I’ve been missing for nearly a year, but I’m hoping my memories of you will convince you it’s me.

I remember you from when I was a little girl, but I don’t remember much, just bits and pieces. I know you always brought me a gift when you visited, and one time you came to my dance recital and brought me a stuffed bear in a pink tutu. I know Mom and I would visit you in Atlanta sometimes, and we always stayed in your house. You had a swing put in the back for me, and I loved it. I was fascinated with the cherub fountain back there and named it Valentine. I remember other things about our last trip—you holding my mother while she cried. She asked you what she should do, and you told her to tell the truth. You both thought I was in bed, asleep. You checked on me and I kept my eyes closed to trick you. I hated that my mother was upset, but I felt better knowing you were taking care of her.

I stopped typing, shocked by all the memories that had bubbled up as I wrote. Tiffany had known my mother was having marital issues, but had she known everything? Was that why she was encouraging my mother to tell the truth?

I don’t want to put you in any danger, but my father is not to be trusted. Please don’t let him know that I’ve contacted you. At the risk of sounding overly dramatic, it could be a matter of life and death.

I don’t want or expect anything from you other than a few answers to some holes in my memory from years ago. Maybe you’re still not convinced it’s me, but I hope you’ll email me anyway.

Thank you for your consideration,

Carly

I wasn’t sure signing it as Carly was smart, but hardly anyone knew my mother called me Carly, so it was another way of proving it was really me. However, it also tied me to Carly Moore, potentially helping my father unlock my alias if he somehow got ahold of this email. But part of me was sick of hiding. I’d take my chances.

I pressed send.

The email window closed, and I sat still for several seconds, realizing that what I’d just done could change everything. Or it could change nothing. One thing it certainly wouldn’t change—I had to find out if Louise really had stolen Hank’s fortune and what evidence she might have to link Bart to Jerry’s murder.

My phone vibrated in my lap and I checked the screen, not surprised to see Marco’s name pop up.

Just finished. If you’re still at the library, I’ll grab lunch and meet you at Louis Park.

Wrapping things up now, I sent. Thanks for taking care of lunch. See you soon.

I logged out of the computer. I still hadn’t looked to see if the Ewing branch had any books about the history of Drum, but I could come back later. I suspected they wouldn’t help me with any of my more pressing issues anyway.

Marco was sitting on the picnic table when I reached the park. There weren’t any kids on the playground equipment, not surprising since they didn’t have anything other than two swings, one of which was broken. A brown paper bag sat next to him, as well as a couple bottles of water.

Grabbing my purse, I got out of the car and headed toward him, enjoying the way his eyes were soaking me in. He grinned when I got closer and patted the spot next to him.

“What did you get?” I asked, my stomach growling at the thought of food. I hadn’t eaten since my English muffin hours earlier.

“Your favorite. Chicken salad from that new café.” He pulled a paper-wrapped sandwich from the bag and handed it to me.

“You’re the best,” I said, already unwrapping it and taking a bite. I released a satisfied groan. “This is heaven.”

His eyes turned seductive. “You’re making me jealous of a sandwich.”

“At least we’re not in danger of it twerking like Miss Roberta.”

He burst out laughing. “I suppose that’s true.” Turning serious, he said, “How did it go at the library?”

I told him what I’d learned about Louise, and Walter’s sister’s connection to the church. “I didn’t find out anything about Cassie Carpenter. I thought maybe I’d track down Georgia to see if she’ll talk about Walter and Louise. If it goes well, I can ask her to put me in touch with Cassie.”

“Sounds good,” he said, unwrapping his own sandwich. “But I think you buried the lede. Did you make contact with your mother’s friend?”

I took a breath and hesitated. “She’s going to be hard to contact. She’s CEO of a big cosmetics company. She’s not on social media. Even if she did have accounts, I suspect she wouldn’t run them. Many of those people hire assistants to post for them.”

“Not all.”

“True, but like I said, she’s not on social media. Still, the cosmetics website has a page about how the company started. There was an email address on it that’s supposedly hers. I suspect someone screens it, but I figured whoever checks the account would be more likely to pass along the message if I were honest.” I explained what I’d written, pausing every now and then for a bite, and ended with, “While I mentioned my mother’s name and called myself Caroline at the beginning of the email, I never used the name Blakely.”

I glanced up at him, hesitating. “I don’t think Tiffany would tell my father I contacted her…but what about the screener? How do we know they won’t go to him for the reward?”

“Did you give her your location or the name you’re using now? How did you tell her to contact you?”

“I told her to email me. I didn’t tell her where I’m hiding, but I did sign it Carly. I figured it was another way to prove I’m not an imposter, since my mother was the only one who called me by that name.” The sandwich in my stomach churned. “I think I screwed up.”

“No,” Marco said reassuringly as he wrapped an arm around my back and pulled me close. “Do you have any idea how many Carlys there are?”

“No.”

“Neither do I,” he said in a teasing tone, “but there must be enough that looking for you that way would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. You’re fine.”

I sucked in a breath. “Oh, God. I didn’t use my VPN.”

He was silent for a moment. “It’s okay. You trust her, right? Otherwise you wouldn’t have reached out to her.”

“Yeah.” But I still hadn’t totally convinced myself I hadn’t screwed up. I definitely hadn’t been as careful as I should have been.

“It’s done, Care. No use worrying about it now.”

“But what if he finds out? What if he’s coming for me?”

“What’s he going to do? If he shows up, you just send him on his way. You’re a grown woman and can make your own decisions. It’s not like you’re a runaway teen.”

“He’s not going to show up here,” I scoffed. “He never does his own dirty work. Besides, he no longer needs me alive. If he finds out where I am, he’ll send someone to kill me.” I set the rest of my sandwich down, no longer the slightest bit hungry.

“You’re safe at Max’s,” Marco said, his voice tight. “But I wish you were at Hank’s when I’m working. I don’t like the idea of you being alone.”

“So you think I did screw up?” My voice cracked.

“No. I’m just trying to be proactive. The chances of your father finding you because of an email are slim to none. If Tiffany was as close to your mother as you remember, she’s going to protect you. I can only imagine what she’d do to an assistant who betrayed her—and you—like that. You’re safe.”

“I hope she answers.”

“Me too. But if it doesn’t get past screening, I can do some digging and try to find out where she lives. Or we can show up at her business. I can flash my badge and say we need to speak to her about a case.”

I shook my head. “But it wouldn’t be about a Hensen County case.”

“It doesn’t matter, Carly.”

I nodded, but I couldn’t help thinking it would bother him to bend the rules for me again.

He tugged me closer. “You’re safe. Max and Tiny will protect you at the tavern, and I’m having a security system installed in my house next week.”

“Marco,” I protested.

“I needed one anyway, but the break-in got me moving. And now, I really want one to make sure you’re safe.”

“The expense . . .”

“Isn’t all that much, and the company doin’ it is gettin’ me satellite internet so the system can contact the authorities if there’s a break-in. Just think. No more having to work at the library. We’ll be able to access the internet anytime we want.” He squeezed my hip. “Now eat your lunch and I’ll tell you what I found.”

I picked up my sandwich and took a bite.

He gave me a grin, his eyes dancing, pleased that I’d done as he said. I rolled my eyes.

“Okay,” he started. “I found out an interesting tidbit on Georgia Carpenter’s husband, Joe.” He paused. “He used to work for Hank.”

I blinked at him. “What?”

“He had a minor possession charge that was dropped about fifteen years ago, but his file noted that he was a known associate of Hank Chalmers.”

“So Walter’s brother-in-law worked for Hank?”

“Yep.”

“Did the file say what he did for Hank?”

“No, but I’m pretty sure he was in the upper echelons.”

I stared out at the swings. “Big Joe,” I said softly.

“What?”

“One of Hank’s friends at poker night was called Big Joe. I wonder if he’s the same guy.”

“Do you think you could talk to him?”

“I doubt it. He made it pretty clear he doesn’t trust me. He carried my laundry basket out to my car, but the whole thing was a ruse so he could ask why I was living with Hank. I countered by asking where the hell he’d been for the last seven months if he was such a concerned friend.”

Marco grimaced. “How did he take that?”

“Not well, but I didn’t feel threatened. Of course, that might have been because I knew Hank was inside. I think we both knew that Hank would cut off his balls if he laid a hand on me.”

“So maybe going to see Georgia Carpenter is a bad idea,” he said.

“I don’t know. She might not know anything about me living with Hank. Or it could be a totally different Joe. It is a pretty common name.”

He scowled but didn’t answer. “Joe Carpenter did have another charge around the time of Walter’s murder.”

“I didn’t see anything about either arrest in the paper. Why not?”

“Someone either paid off the paper, or the sheriff’s department buried it. Especially since they dropped all charges.”

“What was his other charge?”

“Aggravated assault. His friend got into a bar fight at the tavern. Carpenter was hauled off to jail with him, but he claimed he was an innocent bystander.”

“Who was the friend?”

“Bruce Abernathy, and you’re never gonna believe the person he was in a fight with—Todd Bingham. Only Abernathy didn’t beat him up. He threw the first punch but ended up gettin’ the shit beat out of him. He instigated, though, so he was the one who was arrested.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Did this happen before or after Walter’s murder?”

“Two days after.” He lifted his brows. “Walter’s brother-in-law was in a fight with Todd Bingham two days after Walter’s murder.”

My jaw dropped. “You think Bingham had something to do with Walter’s murder?”

“I don’t know. Bingham being Bingham, he may have just been mouthing off. But we should keep it in mind.”

“Agreed.”

“I think we need to find out if Abernathy had a role in Hank’s business. There wasn’t any mention of it in his file.”

“Yeah.” Then a new thought struck me. “Thirteen years ago…Wyatt would have been running the tavern back then.”

“True.”

I stared at the swing set. “I doubt he’d talk to me about it.”

“I could try to ask him,” Marco said. “But after our discussion this morning, he’s liable to punch me in the face if I get within ten feet of him.”

I did a double take. “Wait. What? When did you have a chance to talk to Wyatt?”

He looked nonplused. “I did what we discussed. I stopped by his garage before I went to the laundromat and told him if he ever touched you again, we’d be filing charges and getting a restraining order.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t threaten to beat the crap out of him,” I said in surprise.

“Oh, I threatened that too, but I told him we’d try the legal way first.”

“What did he say?” I asked. “Was he surprised to see you?”

“No, he looked like he was expecting me. He listened to me say my piece.”

“He didn’t say anything?”

“Oh, yeah. He said his piece too.”

“Well?” I said in exasperation when he didn’t continue. “What did he say?”

“Let’s just say he tried to convince me that I was being a selfish bastard by keeping you here. I told him that you make your own decisions, and if he knew you at all, he’d know I can’t make you do anything.”

I studied him, and I could tell he was holding something back. “What else did he say?”

He took a breath, then looked down at his sandwich. “He said the longer I’m with you, the harder it will be for you to leave. That by bein’ with you, I could be gettin’ you killed.”

I gasped. “Marco. He had no right to say that.”

He nodded. “I know.” But he didn’t look totally convinced.

“There’s no denying I don’t want to leave you, but if we decide I’m truly in danger, we’ll figure something out.”

His brow lifted. “I notice you didn’t say you would leave.”

“That’s because leaving might actually be more dangerous than staying. And there’s no use borrowing trouble before it happens.” But I couldn’t help thinking I’d royally screwed up with that email. “So you said your piece, he said his, and then you left?”

“Pretty much.”

“He talked to Hank last night after he left the tavern,” I said. “He tried to convince him to push me to leave town, but Hank pretty much told him to go to hell. He said he was glad his friends hadn’t shown up yet because Wyatt was talking a little too freely about my situation.”

“So Wyatt’s gettin’ careless.”

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, but I don’t want to give Wyatt any more of my headspace. Let’s go back to Bruce Abernathy. Did he have a record?”

“Nothing big popped up, but he didn’t exactly live on the straight and narrow. A DUI, some minor pot possession charges. A drunk and disorderly. A few smaller burglary charges.”

“Did you find out anything about his family?” I asked.

“Only that he was married to a woman named Michelle. If Georgia’s willin’ to talk to you, she might be able to tell you more.”

I cocked my head. “You said was married.”

He made a face. “I guess it was my turn to bury the lede. Bruce Abernathy committed suicide in jail after his fight with Bingham.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Yep. He’d had his arraignment. Inexplicably, his bail was set ridiculously high, and was never posted and he hung himself the next day.”

He took another bite of his sandwich, then chewed for a few moments before he said, “I pulled what we had on Hank too.”

My stomach dropped. “That was smart.”

“There’s not much. His record is pretty squeaky clean for someone who’s known to have trafficked drugs.”

“Well, he had his own deal with the sheriff’s department. He’s open about that.”

“Yeah. We’d need to speak to some of his old crew to figure out the extent of the protection.” He gave me a pointed look. “They won’t talk to me.”

“But they might to me,” I said. “They know Hank trusts me, and he doesn’t trust lightly.” It hadn’t mattered much to Big Joe, but hopefully he was the exception.

“Agreed on both counts,” Marco said, “but tread lightly, okay? They’ll want to know what you’re up to. Do you want Hank to find out you’re diggin’ into his past?”

“No. He’s made it very clear that he wants me to stay out of anything associated with his former business. I’d rather avoid going directly to his friends.” Georgia might count as one of his friends, if her husband was Big Joe, but given that she was one of my best leads, I’d take the chance. “I plan to drop by the church and see if Georgia’s around. Maybe she’ll agree to go have coffee with me.”

“Okay,” he said, finishing the last bite of his sandwich and stuffing the paper wrapper into the bag from the restaurant. He unscrewed his water and took a long drink. I couldn’t help watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and I started to feel a little overheated.

I needed to focus on our case, not drool over my sexy boyfriend.

“I’ll figure out what to do after I talk to Georgia,” I said. “If I had Michelle Abernathy’s address or phone number, I could try to contact her too.”

Hint, hint.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. Turning toward me, his face inches from mine, he slowly tucked it into my jeans pocket, his fingers sending shivers from my thigh throughout my body.

“That’s an interesting way of handin’ it over,” I said, slightly breathless.

“It’s a lot more fun than just puttin’ it in your hand.”

I smiled.

He closed the distance between us and kissed me, gentle at first, then more urgent. We were interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone.

Groaning, he sat back and pulled it out, answering, “Deputy Marco Roland.” He was quiet as he listened, then frowned. “Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

He hung up and gave me an apologetic look. “Remember that kid I mentioned last night? His mom was involved in a domestic violence situation, and he was part of it.”

“He hit his mom?” I asked in horror.

“No. More like he was defending her. But he’s askin’ for me, and I’m tryin’ to build his trust so—”

“Go,” I insisted. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“I know, but I was hopin’ to spend more time with you.”

“I’ll head over to the church. I’ll let you know what I find out, if anything.”

“Okay,” he said, looking reluctant.

I captured his face in my hands, giving him a kiss, but he took control, leaving me wanting so much more than we had time for, particularly in a public park.

I pulled back, breathless and overcome with emotion. Although I’d been in plenty of relationships before Jake, none of the other men I’d been with had made me feel like this. So full of longing. So intensely infatuated. But I couldn’t let it turn my head. “I love that you want to help that boy. That you want to make a difference.”

“Pot meet kettle,” he said with a laugh, then kissed me again, this time more chaste. “Be safe.”

“You too,” I said, darting a glance at his leg.

“I’m fine. Nothing a warm shower, a long walk, and your talented hands and lips couldn’t fix.”

I flushed.

He gave me an expectant look, and I realized he thought I was leaving too.

“I’m going to sit here for a bit, organize what we learned in my notebook. I’ll send you texts while I’m still in Ewing so you know what I’m up to.”

“Okay.” He walked toward his Explorer, starting off with a noticeable limp that seemed to work itself out by the time he got in. He gave me a wave as he took off, and I watched him drive away, worry burrowing into my gut.

Something bad was coming our way. I could feel it. But then, when you courted evil, you shouldn’t be surprised when the devil showed up at your front door.

Chapter Thirteen

After I jotted down everything Marco had said, I dug the slip of paper out of my pocket. Michelle’s name, address and phone number were written on it in his neat handwriting.

I briefly considered how much trouble he could get in for having given it to me. But I didn’t need to act on it yet. I’d try Georgia first, and if I didn’t get anywhere with her, then I could decide whether using Marco’s information was worth the risk.

It was nearly one, which meant I had plenty of time to stop by the Baptist church and see if Georgia was available. If she wasn’t, I could always head back to the library and look up books on Drum as well as do some digging into Bruce Abernathy.

I gathered up my trash and tossed it before getting into my car. The church was only a few miles away, and I rehearsed what I planned to say. “Hi, I’m Carly and your sister-in-law just told me she stole your husband’s ex-boss’s fortune. Want to chat?”

This was going to be a disaster.

There were cars in the lot when I pulled into the church drive, and the youth group was in the field next to the church picking up streamers and balloons from some event. I could see Ricky Crimshaw among them. His hair hung in his eyes as he leaned over, and he tossed his head to the side, presumably so he could see.

A pain stabbed my heart at the sight of him. His mother had killed the man who’d molested his brother, but that didn’t make those boys safe. The last I’d heard, he was still living with his abusive father.

He didn’t see me, which was just as well. I wasn’t sure how much he’d appreciate me talking to him with his friends around. They’d teased him the last time I’d spoken to him around his youth group.

I headed into the church through a side door surrounded by a cluster of signs strongly urging people to use that entrance. The hall lights had been turned off, and I let my eyes become accustomed in the dim hallway.

A woman who looked to be in her twenties walked out of a classroom and startled when she saw me.

“Can I help you?” she asked with a warm smile.

“That would be great,” I said, trying to look unassuming. “I’m looking for Georgia Carpenter.”

“Did I hear my name?” a woman called out from one of the rooms. An older woman with pale red hair emerged through the open door. She wore pink capri pants and a white blouse speckled with pink flowers. She had jewel-encrusted sandals, and her toenails were painted pink. “Hello?”

I walked toward her, extending my hand. “Hi, I’m Carly Moore.”

She did a double take. “As in Hank’s Carly?”

It was hard to tell if the fact that she knew about me was working in my favor. “Guilty as charged.”

A warm smile lit up her face. “I’m so pleased to meet you. I hear through the grapevine that you’ve been a godsend to Hank.”

“I don’t know about that.” I was sure Big Joe hadn’t told her that. “But I know I’m grateful he took in a stray.”

“Hank doesn’t take in strays,” she said.

Little did she know.

“I’m sure it’s not a coincidence you’re here the day after my husband was at one of Hank’s”—she looked around and lowered her voice—“poker games.”

That answered one of my many questions.

“It’s not.” I paused. “I was wondering if we could go somewhere for a chat. We can set up a time that’s convenient for you, since I realize I’m barging in while you’re in the middle of . . .” I let the sentence trail off since I wasn’t sure what they were doing.

“Cleaning up,” Georgia said. “You’d be amazed at the messes children can make. Why don’t you come help me?”

I was well aware of the messes children could make from my six years of teaching third grade, but that experience belonged to Caroline Blakely, not Carly Moore, so I kept it to myself. “Sure. I’d love to.”

I followed her into what looked like an art room. Abstract paintings dangling from strings hung around the periphery of the room, and the table was smeared with primary colors of paint.

“Oh dear,” I said before I could stop myself.

Georgia laughed. “My thoughts exactly. Penelope thought it would be a good idea to let the children fingerpaint their interpretation of the creation of the universe.” She swept her hand toward the table. “This is the result.”

“I guess chaos seems appropriate given the theme,” I said with a laugh. “I hope it’s water soluble.”

“Well,” Georgia hedged. “Penelope isn’t the most practical of women, so we’re about to find out.”

Being a self-starter, I walked over to the sink in the corner of the room to wet a couple of paper towels and then carried them over.

“Joe told me you weren’t happy that he was there last night,” Georgia said as she followed my lead with the paper towels.

I stood upright. “That wasn’t my intent. I’m thrilled that Hank’s friends are back in his life. Joe was the one who questioned why I’m living with Hank, and I’ll admit that it got my ire up. I countered that I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since I moved in last November.” I made a face. “In hindsight, I was more defensive than I needed to be.”

She chuckled. “Joe does lack tact.”

“I assured him that there were only two reasons I moved in: I needed a place to live, and Hank needed someone to help him after his amputation. What I didn’t tell him is that I’ve stayed because he’s like a father to me, and honestly, I think he’s been lonely.” I leaned over the table and began to wipe up paint, careful not to get my body too close to the edge. The paint came off, but it was dry enough that it took a little muscle.

Georgia nodded. “I know things have been hard for him. In fairness to Joe, Hank shut everyone out after Mary died.” She gave me a tight smile, starting to wipe down the other side of the table. “Mary and I were friends, you know. Best friends.”

I glanced up, my mouth parting in surprise.

Her eyes narrowed. “How much has Hank told you about his life before her death?”

“If you’re asking if I know he used to run a pot empire, I’m aware, but I’ll be honest and admit I don’t know much.” I threw the paper towels in the trash and grabbed two more, wetting them down.

She started to say something, then cut herself off. Pushing out a breath, she said, “Why are you here, Carly?”

I turned around to face her, the wet towels dripping on the floor. “I want to know more about Hank’s past.” I hesitated. “I feel like a threat from his past has returned, and I need to know how to protect him.”

She studied me for a long moment before walking over and shutting the door. “What threat?”

Should I tell her the truth? Word was bound to get out that Louise was back, and Georgia would probably be more forthcoming if I told her that much.

I walked over to the table and set the wet towels down in a heap. “Louise Baker is back in town, and I feel like she’s out to get Hank. I need to know why.”

Her eyes widened slightly.

“You didn’t know she got out of prison?”

She shook her head. “No. The question is how you know.”

“She came to the tavern. I think she has it in for Max, the owner, too, but that’s another matter entirely.” I wasn’t sure who knew the truth about Lula’s parentage, and I wasn’t going to be the one to start tongues wagging.

“She usually has it out for multiple people,” Georgia said, walking back over to the table. “She’s great at multitasking.”

“I know she’s your sister-in-law.”

“She ceased being my sister-in-law the moment she killed my brother,” she said bitterly.

“I heard Louise was friends with your daughter, Cassie.”

She nodded. “Walter was a lot younger than me. He actually met Louise when she was at our house hanging out with Cassie.”

“How old were they?”

“Louise was seventeen. Walter was in his mid-twenties. He was taken in by her charm. He married her because she was pregnant, but he would have married her even if she hadn’t been. He loved her, and then she killed him.”

“So you think she was the one who pulled the trigger?”

“She’d used him and was done with him. Claiming he was drowning Lula was a convenient excuse.”

“But Lula says she remembers being drowned.”

Georgia emphatically shook her head. “Walter loved that girl more than anything in the world. He would have sooner shot himself than hurt a hair on her head.”

“What if he found out he wasn’t her biological father?” I asked, figuring I wasn’t giving too much away. Given Louise’s sexual history, it was entirely plausible. Although Louise had flat out told me that Bart had tried to drown Lula, and Lula herself remembered something along those lines, that didn’t necessarily make it true. I couldn’t ignore that Louise was a liar, and Lula’s memories weren’t reliable. Everything related to the murder and what had preceded it was jumbled in her head.

“He figured it out before he supposedly tried to drown her.” Her face crumpled. “Lula can’t roll her tongue.”

“What?” I asked in confusion, and then it hit me.

“The ability to do it is a genetic trait. Recessive. She was learning about it in school and needed to figure out which parent she got the trait from. Both Louise and Walter could do it. But Walter lied and told her he couldn’t either. It tore him up to find out he wasn’t her father, but he wasn’t all that surprised. He came to us right afterward and told us.” Tears filled her eyes. “That was only a few months before she shot him.”

So Bart couldn’t roll his tongue. I added that to my list of useless facts. “Did he confront Louise?”

“Not that I know of. He was scared to push his luck. He figured she might take Lula from him.”

“So why do you think she decided to shoot him that day?” I asked. “Something must have prompted her. Were they fighting?”

Wet paper towel still in hand, she began to scrub again. “I can’t help you there. That’s something you’ll have to ask Hank.”

“Why would Hank know about their fight?”

She gave me a blank stare.

Then I realized Georgia had just confirmed a connection between Louise and Hank. “So Louise does have it out for him.”

“Seems more like he’ll be wantin’ to deal with her now that she’s back.”

Should I confess what Louise told me about Hank’s fortune? It didn’t seem wise, so I decided to play dumb. “Why’s that?”

“Louise took something of Hank’s, and he wants it back.” Her brow lifted. “If you want to know what it was, you’ll have to ask him.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Do you know how Hank got into the pot-selling business?”

She released a laugh and started scrubbing the table again. “I do, actually. You want the story?”

“If you feel comfortable sharing.”

She snorted. “As long as you aren’t some undercover agent . . . but I suspect anyone with a professional interest in prying out Hank’s secrets would have tried years ago. Wouldn’t be much point goin’ after him now. I’m sure the statute of limitations has long since expired on most of it.”

“I assure you, Georgia, the very last thing I want to do is hurt Hank. He took me in and treated me like a daughter. I would never betray him.”

She studied me for a long moment. “No. I can see you wouldn’t.” She resumed wiping. “I think the story starts with Mary.”

I gave her a look of surprise.

“I heard she died from cancer.”

“That’s right. Breast cancer. Sadly, they caught it too late, but she still put up a valiant fight for nearly ten years. Some days were better than others, but she was in bad shape for the last year or two. I suspect she only hung on as long as she did for her family.

“She and Hank eloped.” She lowered her voice. “She was only sixteen, you know.”

My eyes flew wide. “No. I didn’t.”

“Her parents wouldn’t give their permission, so Hank took her down to Georgia. The age of consent was fourteen then.” Her eyes went wide. “Can you believe it?”

“No. It’s shocking.”

“I know.” She tutted her disapproval. “Hank was older. Twenty-one? Twenty-two? Her parents flat out forbade her to see him, so Hank and Mary saw gettin’ married as a way to solve that little problem.”

I picked up one of the wet towels and continued cleaning. “Why did they disapprove of him? I take it he hadn’t started his business yet, since you said it started with Mary. Was it just his age?”

“Well . . . you’re right. He hadn’t, and he wasn’t known for holding a steady job. It didn’t help that his parents were known as poor white trash.”

“Like Louise’s family?” I asked.

She paused before nodding—“Yeah,”—then made a half-hearted swipe across the table. “Mary’s folks had a little bit of money. They weren’t rich, mind you, but they were more than comfortable. Her father was a foreman at the lumber yard, and he had a hankering for her to wed Bart Drummond.”

“What?” I practically screeched.

Georgia laughed. “That was Mary’s reaction too. She couldn’t stand him. She went on a couple of dates with him to appease her father and Bart’s daddy, but he was a pompous ass even then.” She turned pensive, sinking momentarily into her thoughts. “Lookin’ back, I suspect she started datin’ Hank as a way to rebel against her father and take control of her own life.” A faraway look stole over her. “It may have started out that way, but there was no doubt she loved him. He worshipped the ground she walked on. He would have given her the moon if she’d asked.”

“I was surprised they lived in such a small house,” I said. “It’s nearly falling apart now.”

“That was all Mary,” she said, shaking her head. “Once Hank was makin’ money hand over fist, he wanted to give her something grand, but she insisted they stay in their tiny house. She wouldn’t even fix it up. Said it had been good enough for them in the beginning, when they were desperate for a home, and it was still plenty fine. I’m sure it was her way of provin’ her parents wrong, long after she’d buried them.”

“Did she have any brothers and sisters?”

“Oh, no. She was an only child. It broke her heart when she struggled to get pregnant with Barbara—even more so when she couldn’t carry another baby to term after she was born. She had several miscarriages, some of them quite late.” The painted tables forgotten, she sat in one of the small chairs. “If you ask me, the fact that her babies were buried on that land was the real reason she refused to move. She couldn’t bear to leave them. I still say it was a blessing she departed before Barbara did, but then again, Barbara might not have fled so far down that path if Mary had lived.” She gave me a sad look. “The grief’s what killed her. She started with Mary’s pain pills and worked her way up from there.”

Hank had told me that much. After witnessing his daughter’s decline, he was so against opioids that he’d refused to take pain pills when he’d come home after his leg amputation.

She inhaled deep, seeming to give herself a mental shake. “Anyway, Hank tried workin’ for the lumber mill and a few businesses in town. We had a lot of tourism back then. People loved takin’ road trips to small towns near state parks. But Hank wasn’t so good with customer service, and he got fired from the lumber mill once Bart’s father caught wind that Hank was interested in Mary. As for how he started his pot business, well, he grew it for himself and Mary, although he smoked it more than she did. Then he started sharing it with friends and realized he could make money from it.”

“Did Mary help him?”

She chuckled. “She organized the whole thing. Hank was a mighty fine-lookin’ man, but he wasn’t much with organization and follow-through. At least not back then. It all changed after the business started takin’ off. Mary was tryin’ to get pregnant, and she didn’t think it would be fittin’ for a mother to be managing a pot empire. Hank had grown up by then, and under his direction it grew into something even bigger than Mary had considered possible. Still, while she was proud of Hank and their enterprise, part of her was ashamed. Her parents had both cut her off. She tried to hide it from Barbara, but there was no hidin’ it. Not really. Not when the entire town knew.”

“So Mary didn’t have anything to do with the business after Hank took over?”

She frowned. “After Barbara was born, Mary never talked about the business. For all I know, she could have gotten involved again, but I doubt it. In the end, she hated it.”

“Did they have any trouble affording Mary’s medical bills?” I asked.

“Cancer treatments aren’t cheap, but they had private insurance. I never heard her complain about not bein’ able to afford it.”

“Would she have complained?” I asked.

“No. She wasn’t the complainin’ type.”

“What do you remember about Barbara?” I knew I was pushing my luck, but I might as well try.

To my surprise, Georgia answered. “She was always a happy child. She had a run-in with drugs in her teens, but she cleaned up. She tried goin’ to college, then came home pregnant. She didn’t graduate.” She hung her head. “Such a waste. She lived with her parents, but she and Hank butted heads at times. Then she lived with one man after the other, draggin’ poor Seth around with her. She started doin’ drugs again after Mary died, and she and the boy moved back in with Hank.”

A wave of grief swept through me. “That’s sad. She lived thirty-some years, and that’s what she’s remembered for. At least Seth was known for his politeness and his determination. His talent in drawing and his devotion to finding the person responsible for his mother’s death.”

She pushed out a sigh. “People are born and then they die. It’s the way of life. No matter how hard you try to remember them, give it another generation, and they’ll be long forgotten.”

“Miss Georgia, can I ask you something else?”

“You can ask,” she said with a grin belied by the sadness still lurking in her eyes, “but I might not answer.”

“What do you know about Bruce Abernathy?”

She pressed a hand to her chest. “God rest his soul.”

“I heard he was arrested after he and Joe got into a fight with Todd Bingham. Do you know what it was about?”

“I don’t have a clue.”

She seemed restless and I knew I was on borrowed time. “Do you think Cassie would be willing to talk to me?”

“Whatever for?”

“I’d love to talk to her about Barb.”

She gave me a tight smile, then walked around the table, stopping next to me.

“You just leave that table be,” she said, then tossed her paper towels in the trash can and headed for the door. “This is Penelope’s mess. She should be cleanin’ it.”

I guessed that was a no.

As she left the room, I couldn’t help thinking that her comment applied to the situation I was in now. Someone else should be cleaning up Louise’s mess.

Yet here I was, smack in the middle of it, with little more than paper towels to clean up after her.

Chapter Fourteen

When I walked outside, Ricky was standing in the shade of the building with his friends, drinking from a can of Coke. He glanced up, giving a tentative smile in response to my wave. “Hey, Miss Carly.”

The other boys oohed around him, but he ignored them and walked over to me.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” I said softly when he reached me, out of earshot of the others.

He made a face. “Yeah, well my dad . . .”

I nodded. His father considered himself devout and sent his kids to church whenever the doors were open, which seemed ironic since he was an abusive asshole. I couldn’t help thinking how hard it had to be for Ricky to come here when it had been the site of his younger brother’s sexual abuse.

“What are you doin’ here?” he asked, glancing over to my car.

“I came to see Miss Georgia. I heard she was friends with Seth’s grandmother, and I wanted to talk to her.” I felt guilty for lying, but I couldn’t tell him the truth.

“Oh,” he said, looking confused. “Still tryin’ to find out more about Seth?”

I’d only recently discovered Ricky had been Seth’s best friend. At our first meeting, I’d told him I would love to hear stories about Seth. He’d seemed disinterested, to say the least. Then, to my surprise, Ricky had shown up at the tavern after Jerry’s funeral, ready to tell me everything I wanted to know. We’d sat on a bench outside, staring at the parking lot across the street where Seth had died. I told Ricky what I remembered about that night and what I’d learned about Seth’s plot to bring down the men who’d killed his mother with tainted drugs, and he shared stories about the boy he’d grown up with.

“Yeah,” I said, then put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m so grateful for everything you told me about him. Miss Georgia was telling me a bit about Mary and Barb. It’s nice to hear more about Hank’s family.” That much was true, plus Ricky had been through enough. I didn’t want him getting wrapped up in this mess.

He made a face. “Miss Georgia couldn’t stand Seth’s momma. So Seth couldn’t stand her.”

“Really?” I peered back at the church as I dropped my hand, trying to reconcile the woman I’d just talked to with the picture Ricky was painting. “She seemed so nice.”

“She can be as sweet as sugar. Then she goes and talks about you behind your back. She’s probably in there gossipin’ about you right now.”

I frowned. I supposed she probably would talk about me to someone—I’d definitely be telling Marco if someone started asking questions about my past—but I hoped she wasn’t as two-faced as Ricky claimed.

“There’s nothing I can do about that,” I said with a shrug. “You know, I’m still available to talk anytime you want. But I’m not staying with Hank right now. If you need me for the next few weeks, I’ll be at Marco’s.”

He nodded.

I started to walk to my car, but he called after me, “If you want to find out more about Seth’s mom, you should talk to Michelle Abernathy. They were good friends.”

I stared at him in disbelief. Georgia hadn’t mentioned that. “Do you know if her husband worked for Hank?”

“I don’t know about him, but I know Michelle used to. Her and Barb mentioned it before.”

“I’m not sure if she’d talk to me,” I said. “She doesn’t know me from Adam.”

“I can tell her you want to talk to her about Barb and Seth,” he said.

I felt guilty asking him to do that, especially when Marco had given me her contact information, but she’d be more likely to talk with an introduction. Besides, this way I wouldn’t have to put Marco’s job at risk.

Ricky pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll send her a text and let you know what she says.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“No problem,” he said, already typing. His voice turned gruff. “You helped my brother.”

But not his mother. She was still in jail awaiting trial for the murder of his brother’s abuser.

“You know you can call me anytime you need help,” I said in a low tone. “For any reason.”

He finished tapping on his phone and looked up at me. “I know, Miss Carly. Trust me, I know.” His phone vibrated, and he glanced down at the screen. “She says she can meet you in fifteen minutes.”

“Really?”

“She says she’s at the Bluebird Café on the square. Does that work?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

He sent her a quick message, then smiled at me. “Done.”

“Thanks, Ricky. I owe you.”

He grinned. “I’ll collect sometime.”

As he headed back to his group, his friends teased him, asking if he’d gotten my number.

Back in my car, I sent Marco a couple of texts, telling him I’d talked to Georgia and Ricky, and was on my way to meet Michelle at the Bluebird Café. He didn’t respond, and I wondered if he was still tied up with the teen he was trying to help. I hoped he’d answer before I headed back to Drum, otherwise I’d never see his response. The service usually kicked out about five miles outside of the Ewing city limits.

The restaurant was on the town square, and I lucked into a parking space close by. I was a few minutes early, but there was a middle-aged woman in a blue shirt sitting at a table with a cup of coffee and two pieces of pie.

She glanced up when she heard me walking toward her. “You snooze, you lose.”

I stared at her in confusion. “Michelle?”

Lifting her fork, she said, “I got the last pieces of lemon meringue and peach cobbler.” She gestured to the chair in front of her. “Have a seat.”

Caught off guard, I sat down across from her as she flagged down the waitress, a young woman in her twenties.

“Coffee, hun?” she asked sweetly, lifting the pot she carried.

“Uh, yeah.” I’d already had enough caffeine to power the entire mountain, but I found myself flipping over the cup on the table anyway.

“Bring ’er a piece of pie,” Michelle said, jamming her fork into the lemon meringue to scoop off a big bite. “You like key lime?” she asked me. “They got good key lime here.”

“Yeah, sure.” I glanced up at the waitress. “That sounds great.”

“Coming right up!” The waitress bounded back to the kitchen, way too chipper for a Wednesday afternoon.

“So you want to know about Barb, huh?” Michelle asked through a mouthful of pie.

“I’d love to hear anything you’re willing to share.”

“How far back do you want me to go?” She picked up a spoon and scooped out some cobbler while still chewing her pie.

“As far back as you feel comfortable.”

“We met back in grade school. Drum Elementary wasn’t that big, and the classes were small.” She shoved the spoon into her mouth.

“So you were good friends from the start?”

She burst out laughing, and a few piecrust crumbs shot out of her mouth. “Oh, hell no.” She swallowed, then said, “She hung around with that prissy Cassie Carpenter—Cassie Nabors now. I became friends with Barb after Bruce started working for Hank.”

So Bruce had worked for Hank.

I wanted to press her on that, but I decided she might not be open to discussing her husband’s work history with a drug distributor. Especially not with a stranger. So I shifted to a topic I wasn’t sure was any better. “Did Louise Baker go to school with y’all?”

She sat back in her seat and pierced her lemon meringue. “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”

The look on her face suggested she wished the streak had continued. She had a suspicious glint in her eyes, which was understandable since I’d brought Louise up out of the blue.

Thinking fast, I lied and said, “I came across a notebook that I think belonged to Seth. He mentioned something about Cassie Carpenter having a falling-out with Louise.”

“They stopped being friends long before Seth was born. Why would he have written about that?”

Shit. “Good question. Maybe he heard about it from his mother. He wrote that in conjunction with something about his grandfather hating Louise.”

I hated lying but told myself it was for a good cause.

She snorted. “That’s an understatement. Him and half the town.”

“I’m not sure whether Ricky told you that I live with Hank,” I said. “I’m the person who found Seth.”

Tears filled her eyes. “That stupid boy. His mother would have skinned him alive for thinkin’ he could take on criminals like that.”

Her words were harsh, but her tone was full of affection and sorrow.

I wasn’t sure how to answer that.

She swiped angrily at a tear, giving herself over to indignation. “Hank had a certain code when he was in business. What happened to Barb or Seth would have never happened on his watch.”

And that was the opening I needed. “Did people like working for Hank?”

“He was a fair boss, but if you crossed him . . .” Her eyes darkened momentarily, then she shrugged it off. “Most of the people who worked for him were loyal, and not just because they feared him.”

“But Louise Baker wasn’t loyal.”

She made a face. “Louise Baker never worked for him. Not really. Mary hired her for odd jobs is all.”

“Like what kind of jobs?”

“Helping out with the house and some gardening stuff. Truth is, I think Mary mostly did it for Walter. The Bakers were always hard up for money, although I don’t know why because Hank paid decent wages. Bruce never complained, anyway.” Suddenly, she had a ferocious, almost feral look in her eyes, like she wanted to rip someone’s head off. Something about the mention of Louise’s financial hardships had set her off, though I couldn’t fathom why. But she seemed to catch herself, and tried to cover it up with a strained smile and a shrug.

“So Walter worked for Hank?” I asked cautiously.

“Sure. He was too dumb to work anywhere else.” She lowered her voice. “Rumor had it he got kicked in the head by a horse when he was a kid, and he wasn’t the same afterward. But everyone liked him. He was a good father.” She shook her head. “There’s no way he would have drowned that child. She was his whole life.”

Georgia hadn’t mentioned her brother’s head injury, if it was true. Gossip could have distorted the story.

“So Hank gave him a job?”

“Happened after Walter was let go from the lumber mill for not meetin’ some quota. Walter came to see Hank and begged for work. Now, Hank couldn’t stand Louise, but he took Walter on anyway—both to piss Bart off, since Bart had just fired Walter, and because of that little girl.”

“If Hank felt that strongly about Louise, it’s surprising Mary hired her to work around the house.”

“I heard they had a real row about it, but she wouldn’t back down.” She scooped a bite of pie and waved her spoon. “You know, some people claim Hank went to Louise’s cabin to kill her that day. They say Walter tried to protect her and got shot instead.”

I’d heard a different version of that story, one that had cast Hank as the man who’d attempted to drown Lula, but I didn’t believe it for a moment. Even if Louise had lied about Bart being the assailant.

“If he’d gone to shoot Louise, then why just stop with Walter?”

“Dunno,” she said, finally sticking the spoon in her mouth.

That story didn’t make any sense to me. I was relieved that Louise’s and Lula’s recollections about Bart were a better fit.

The waitress appeared next to the table and slid a small plate with a piece of pie in front of me. “Can I get you ladies anything else?”

“I’m good,” I said as Michelle said, “I’ll take a scoop of ice cream to go with the rest of my cobbler.”

“Good choice,” the waitress said, still as cheerful as could be, and took off for the back.

“What did Bruce do after Hank sold his business to Bingham? Did he go with the business?” While I knew what had happened to him, I needed to hear her version.

Anger filled her eyes again, but she shut it down just as quickly as it had appeared. “Bruce died a year before Hank sold his business.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, placing my hand on my chest. “What happened?”

“An unfortunate accident.”

I understood why she didn’t want to tell me he’d hanged himself. It felt wrong to push her, but the more information I got, the closer I’d be to bringing Bart to justice. “There seem to be a lot of car accidents around here. It must be the curvy mountain roads.”

“It wasn’t a car accident,” she said, glancing down at her pie. “Bruce died in the county jail.”

I gasped. “Michelle, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

But I had, of course, and I felt lower than slug slime.

She peered out the window as she said, “It’s common knowledge around here, so it’s not like you wouldn’t hear about it from someone else.” She turned back to face me. “Bruce hanged himself in his cell.”

“I’m so sorry,” I repeated.

“It happened thirteen years ago,” she said with a sigh. “Water under the bridge.”

“Time doesn’t heal all wounds,” I said softly. “Sometimes grief stays with us forever.”

She gave me an inquisitive look.

“My mother died when I was younger. We were very close. Honestly, I’ve never truly gotten over it.” I took a risk telling her that. Carly Moore’s mother was supposed to be alive and well in Michigan, but I never talked about my fake mother. I hadn’t even created a story about her. It would have felt like a betrayal to my actual mother.

She started to say something, then stopped and leaned forward. “What are you after? What’s your endgame?”

Her question caught me by surprise. “What?”

“Ricky said you wanted to talk about Barb, but you’ve hardly asked me anything about her.”

Shit. She was right. I’d screwed this up, so I might as well go with the truth. Or at least part of it. “I think Hank’s in some kind of trouble, and I want to help him.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and studied me for several long seconds. “I believe that, but there’s more to it. It goes deeper.”

Understanding lit up her eyes. “I get it now. You’re one of those kind.”

“What kind?”

“Do-gooder kind,” she sneered. “You know. The kind of folk who pick up stray puppies and give money to homeless people.”

“Why do you make that sound like a negative character trait?”

“Because it makes you a Pollyanna. People like you look at the world through an unrealistic lens. That’s why you’re always the victim.” She tilted her head and gave me a sly look. “I bet all kinds of people have taken advantage of you.”

My ex-fiancé, Jake, instantly popped into my head, and Michelle laughed. “Told you.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know more than you think. I know you’re from Georgia but you don’t have a Georgia accent. I know that you work at Max’s Tavern, and I already knew you live with Hank.” She paused, and then her tone turned heavier, uglier. “I know you’re sleepin’ with a deputy sheriff.”

She’d been spying on me. Why? Was she working for Bart Drummond? I suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable.

“You think I’m here to find out information about Hank and turn it over to the sheriff’s department?” I asked with a snort. I reached for my wallet in my purse. If she thought I was a snitch or informant, she was never going to talk, and trying to convince her otherwise would only make me look guiltier. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.” I pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and put it on the table. “You have a nice day.”

I got up and left, half hoping she’d call me back, but she didn’t. I got all the way out to my car and had pulled out of the parking spot before I let myself dwell on just how badly I’d messed up. Then again, I suspected she’d only met with me because she’d wanted to fish for information too.

I pulled up to a stop sign and grabbed my cell phone out of my purse. Marco had called and left a text message. I’m free. Call me if you haven’t left Ewing yet.

I placed the call and put him on speaker before setting the phone in my lap.

“Hey,” he said in an eager tone. “How’s your afternoon goin’?”

“I’m one for two so far. How about you?”

“Kept a kid out of juvie and instead landed him in foster care. I’m not sure which option’s better.” The defeat in his voice made me frown.

“You don’t mean that,” I said softly. “Foster care has to be better than juvie.”

“Yeah, it is,” he admitted with a sigh. “But I may have just blown any trust I’d built with the kid.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too,” he said, then perked up. “One for two. Does that mean you got Georgia to talk at least a little?”

“Georgia was very forthcoming about Louise, Walter, and Hank. Michelle, not so much. She didn’t trust me.”

“You called her, huh?”

“Actually, I ran into Ricky at the church, and he set up the meeting. I got a bit of information from her, but then it went to hell. Turns out she knows a lot about me. Like that I live with Hank, work at the tavern, and am sleeping with you. Either she spied on me or talked to someone who did. Like Bart.”

“You think she’s workin’ for him?”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” I said, feeling close to tears. “This stupid town is making me paranoid.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Sorry you’re stuck in this mess, Care. But maybe she didn’t hear it from him.” Then he added in a smug tone, “Word about my relationship status travels fast.”

I couldn’t help laughing.

“What? Are ladies around the county cryin’ themselves to sleep at night because Marco Roland is off the market?” I teased.

He laughed. “More like the outsider snagged herself a Drum man.”

I shrugged even though he couldn’t see me. It could have been either or both. “I think she was more worried I was going to feed whatever she told me to you.”

“Shit,” he grumbled.

“Hey, it makes sense, but I’m not sorry, Marco,” I said defensively. “If people don’t trust me, so be it. If it weren’t because of my connection to you, it would be because I’m an outsider.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I still haven’t talked to Cassie Nabors—Georgia’s daughter—but I don’t know how to contact her yet. I asked Georgia to connect us, but she gave me a look that suggested that was never going to happen. I think I’ll just head back to Drum so I’m not late for Tutoring Club. I can work on finding Cassie tomorrow.”

“Good plan.”

It didn’t feel all that great, but it was the only plan I had at the moment. I caught a glimpse of the clock on my car’s dashboard, and a new idea hit me. I was probably pushing my luck, but I might have time to visit one more person before I needed to be at the tavern.

Chapter Fifteen

After ending the call with Marco, I turned off into a grocery store parking lot and pulled up Lula’s number. She answered but sounded hesitant. “Hello?”

“Hey, Lula. It’s Carly.”

“Oh!” Her voice was full of relief. “I didn’t recognize your number.”

Was she worried I was her mother calling?

“That’s because it’s my cell phone,” I said in a breezy tone. “I’m in Ewing, where it actually works.”

“Maybe we’ll actually get cell service with the resort, like Bart claims,” she said. “Then our phones will be more than cameras and iPods.”

“Say, I found the cutest little bee plushy here in Ewing, and I wondered if I could drop it by for Beatrice before I head into work.” Not really a lie. I had found the stuffed animal in Ewing, just not today. It was in my trunk, and I’d planned to give it to Lula the next time I saw her. It worked as a great excuse now.

When she didn’t respond, I added, “I don’t plan on staying long. I have Tutoring Club.”

“Sure. Of course,” she said. “Bea’s down for her nap, but she might be up by the time you get here.”

“Oh, good! I’d love to give her a hug, but if she’s asleep, I’ll be quiet so I don’t wake her.”

“I know she’d love to see her Aunt Carly. See you soon.”

I hung up and headed toward Drum, ruminating on how to address the topic of her mother. By the time I pulled up to her house about thirty minutes later, I’d decided to just wing it, but I wasn’t opposed to telling her that I’d seen Louise. On the off chance she didn’t know, she needed to be warned.

I got the bag with the stuffed animal out of the trunk, then walked up to the front porch. The door opened as I reached the top porch step, Lula appearing in the opening with Beatrice in her arms.

My heart filled with joy at the sight of her.

“You want to hold her?” Lula asked as she backed up to let me in.

My response was to reach for her, handing off the bag during the exchange.

Lula laughed. “She just woke up. I think she knew you were comin’. Come on in.” She gestured to the living room. “You can sit anywhere.”

I hadn’t seen much of the interior of Bingham’s house before it became Lula’s, but the whole room had the feel of her—bright, airy colors and a new overstuffed sofa and chairs. Every time I came by, she’d added something else. As I lowered onto the sofa, I noticed the white curtains on the front windows with a pattern of bluebirds and yellow flowers.

“Your home just gets more and more beautiful every time I come over,” I said, meaning every word.

She beamed at me, her cheeks flushing. “I always wanted a nice home, and Todd lets me do just about anything I want.”

“Speaking of Todd.” It felt weird to call him by his first name, but I forged ahead. “I accidently clipped his truck last week when I was rushing off to find Marco. I’ve been waiting for him to ask me to pay for the damages, but I haven’t heard a word from him.”

She dismissed my concerns with a wave of her hand. “Shoot, he swapped out the bumper the next day from a truck on the lot. It’s no big deal.”

Maybe not to her, but I wasn’t so sure he planned to let it go.

She stood next to one of the chairs. “Would you like something to drink? I have some fresh-squeezed lemonade.”

My eyes lit up. “Oh. Fancy. Max’s lemonade comes in powder form.”

She laughed. “I remember it well. I made a batch once, but I put in too much powder and it was so strong we had to throw it out. Ruthie was fit to be tied.”

“As tempting as that sounds, I need to pass. I can only stay a few minutes.”

Lula took a seat in the chair, then pulled the stuffed animal out of the bag. “It’s so cute!”

“I saw it and thought of her,” I said, staring down at the wide-eyed baby. I gave her my finger and she held on tight.

“I never thought of decoratin’ with bees when I named her. But I like the books with the rabbits.”

“You named her after Beatrix Potter?” I asked in surprise.

She cringed. “I guess that’s weird, ain’t it?”

“No!” I protested. “I love it. My mother read me Peter Rabbit books when I was little.”

“My mother didn’t ever read to me,” she said, glancing down at the toy in her hands and squeezing. “But I remembered this nice older woman reading the stories to me.” She gave me a sad look. “Some memories of that time have been coming back, and just the other day I realized it was Hank Chalmers’s wife.”

“Mary?”

She nodded. “I think Momma used to clean her house. She’d spend time with me while Momma was working.”

“Someone told me that recently. I think your mother worked for Mary up until your father’s death.” Then, because Lula needed to be prepared more than I needed to be cagey, I said, “Lula, your mom is back in town.”

She kept her gaze on the stuffed bee. “I know. She tried to contact me, and Todd told her that if she ever stepped foot on his property she’d never walk off it.”

I hated that she’d called it his property, but right now her mother was the bigger issue. “So you didn’t talk to her?”

“No.”

“She reached out to me, Lula.”

Her gaze jerked up, her eyes wide with surprise.

“She wants me to help her find something, a black metal toolbox. Do you know what’s in it?”

“You’re helpin’ my momma?” she asked in horror.

“No,” I said emphatically, shaking my head. “But I am trying to find out what she’s up to.”

“Why would she ask you to help her? Because you and me are friends?”

“Maybe,” I admitted, “but she claims it’s because I’m good at sleuthing. She implied she has information to prove Bart was behind Jerry’s car accident.”

She hugged the stuffed animal to her chest as tears filled her eyes.

Then it hit me. “But you already knew that he was.”

A tear fell down her cheek. “Todd thinks so anyway.”

Bingham thought Bart was behind the crash. Did he know who had sent that man to threaten me at Marco’s place?

“Does he plan to do anything about it?” I asked.

She shook her head, her gaze dropping to the arm of her chair. “No. He says he’s working on his own plan.”

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. “A plan for Bart?”

She nodded.

“Can you tell me what it is?” When she didn’t answer, I said, “Lula, I’m trying to bring him down too.”

“Why?” she asked, jerking her head up to meet my gaze.

“I still think he was behind Seth’s death, and even if he wasn’t, he had Jerry killed to get me to back off. Then there’s what he did to you. Who knows what he would have done to you if Max and Wyatt hadn’t stepped in. He’s a poison to this town.”

“Todd’s takin’ care of him for me,” she said. Another tear spilled down her cheek, and she reached up to brush it away. “So I never have to worry about him again.”

But Bingham didn’t give two figs about Jerry or Seth. I supposed it didn’t matter why Bart went down, just so long as he went. So why didn’t it sit right?

“I needed to talk to him about something he knows,” I said. “He agreed to talk to me the night of Jerry’s accident. But then I got scared that Bart might have done something to Marco, so I drove out to find him. Which meant I left a very pissed Bingham in the parking lot.”

“He likes to be the top priority,” she said. Then her gaze landed on the baby in my arms and a softness filled her eyes. “Well, except for when it comes to Beatrice. She always takes the prize.” She pushed out a sigh. “I’ll talk to him and convince him to listen to you.”

“You don’t have to do that, Lula. That’s not why I’m here.”

“I know you’re not. You came to warn me about my mother.”

“Do you know anything about the toolbox?”

She slumped forward, hurt etched into her eyes. “I thought you weren’t helpin’ my momma.”

“I’m not. But there’s something in that toolbox that’s related to Hank.”

Her eyes widened in evident fear. “Hank Chalmers?”

“Yeah.” I tilted my head. “Why are you scared of him, Lula?” I’d known she was for a while. She’d practically run off the first time I’d mentioned him to her, back when she was in trouble.

“He was there that day. I’m sure of it.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“What day?” But I already knew the answer.

“The day I was nearly drowned.”

“What do you remember?” I asked softly. “Your mother told me that she planted false memories of your father trying to drown you in your head. She said Bart was the one trying to drown you and your father tried to stop him.”

Her hands shook as she nodded. “I remember Bart shouting at Momma and then grabbin’ my arms and holding me underwater. I woke up on the bank, my daddy lyin’ next to me with a bullet hole in his chest. The rest of it is a mixed-up jumble. I was sure that Bart was the one who tried to drown me, but now I realize that Hank was there after I woke up. He was standing somewhere in the background, soaking wet.”

I tried not to panic. I’d been so certain there was no way he would hurt her, but I’d also been warned that he was a different man back then. He’d called himself a monster just this morning. If Louise had stolen his fortune, would he have used her daughter to get it back? Had he overestimated her motherly instincts?

No. The more likely answer was that Hank had tried to stop Bart, and for the time being, I refused to believe anything else.

“Lula,” I said, “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t have nothin’ to do with it,” she said with a sigh. “Besides, it’s all in the past.”

“Just because it happened in the past doesn’t mean you left it there. Trust me. I know from personal experience.” The alarm on my phone went off, a low tone since I’d turned it down before I came in, and I pulled it from my pocket and turned it off. “I’m so sorry, but I really have to go.”

“That’s okay,” she said.

I took in the content baby in my arms. I couldn’t help but think of Lula as a baby—innocent and sweet and totally reliant on Louise to take care of her. Louise had never deserved such a treasure. Then my mind jumped to my mother holding me in her arms. Maybe I needed to stop trying to fix Drum and focus on my own issues.

“Thanks for letting me get my Beatrice fix,” I said as I got to my feet. “She has a way of making the world seem less crazy.”

“You should try gettin’ up with her at her three a.m. feedin’,” she said with a laugh.

“I’ll take your word for it.” I handed the baby over, feeling the loss of her sweet warmth.

“Are you helpin’ my mother?” Lula asked in a quiet voice.

“I think she has answers to some of my questions.”

“So that’s a yes,” she said, disappointment heavy in her voice.

I reached out and took her hand. “Lula, do you trust me?”

She looked deeply into my eyes. “I think you’re gonna have to make a choice about Hank.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Did you ever stop to think that she might be usin’ you to bring him down for her own reasons? Or because he did try to drown me?” I gasped, and she continued, “It’s the kind of thing she’d do, Carly. When she found out I was sleepin’ with Todd, she told me he was my real daddy. She did that to her own daughter. There’s no lie she wouldn’t tell you to get you to do what she wanted.”

“I could never condone Hank drownin’ you,” I said, my eyes burning. “No matter how good he is to me now.”

“I know,” she said, crying again. “That’s why I’m worried about you.”

I gave her a tight hug, careful not to crush Beatrice, then hurried out the front door, beginning to question everything.

“Carly?”

I’d reached the bottom of the porch steps and turned around to face her.

She stood in the doorway, leaning her shoulder into the doorjamb. “There’s always been a black toolbox in the loft at the cabin. I always wondered what was in it, but it was padlocked shut and I didn’t have the key.”

My chest tightened. Someone took it? “When was the last time you saw it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a couple of months ago?”

So it had been taken recently. “Could you tell what might be inside it?”

She shook her head. “Not tools, that’s for certain. It was too light. Something clanked around inside it, but whatever it was didn’t weigh much.”

“Thank you, Lula.”

“Just be careful, Carly. Okay?”

I nodded, then got in my car, but I couldn’t help thinking I was long past careful.

Chapter Sixteen

I arrived at the tavern a few minutes late, and to my surprise, Max met me at the back door. He had a strange expression, and for a moment, I wondered if he intended to scold me. Instead, he wrung his hands and said, “My mother’s here, and she wants to see you.”

I swallowed hard. “Do you know what about?”

“No. She has a file box and says this is between you and her. She’s up in my apartment.” He gave me a worried look. “You can say no, Carly. You don’t have to go up there.”

I suspected she was here for a report on how my talk with Bingham went, and if so, she was in for a disappointment. I could have walked away, but I was curious what was in the box. “No. I’ll see her. Tell the kids I’ll be out in a minute.”

He gave me a grim nod, then walked back into the dining room.

My heart pounded like I’d just run a marathon as I climbed the stairs and opened the apartment door without knocking.

Emily Drummond was sitting on Max’s sofa, glared at me the moment she saw me. A cardboard file box sat on the coffee table.

“I thought you would take promptness more seriously,” she said.

“You and I didn’t have a meeting scheduled,” I said, closing the door behind me and then walking closer.

“No, but you do have your children’s tutoring group. I’m surprised you’re late to that.”

At first, I was shocked she knew about Tutoring Club, and I feared that she was watching my every move, but then I realized she may have simply asked Max when I usually came in. I was going with the latter on this one.

I stopped in front of the coffee table. “Max said you wanted to see me.”

“Yes.” She placed her hand on the file box. “I know you were close to Jerry Nelson. He had moved all of his things into his cabin, and well . . .” She made a face. “Bart would just as soon toss them into the garbage, but that didn’t feel right.” She gave me a soft smile. “From what I’ve heard, you’re probably the closest he had to a next of kin, so I packed up his personal effects and brought them to you.”

Surely that wasn’t true. Max had taken care of him for years, giving him free food, and I was sure he gave him a break on his lodging. So why was she giving his belongings to me?

Still, I was honored to receive them, and my hand flew up to my chest. “I don’t know what to say, Emily. Thank you.”

She could very well be playing a game, but I wanted to believe she had some humanity in her. She had raised Max, after all, and he’d turned out decent. The jury was still out on Wyatt.

“He still has some clothes that need packing up,” she said, “but honestly, most are pretty worn. He did have a newer-looking coat that you might want to donate to a charity.”

Tears stung my eyes. I’d bought him that coat.

I nodded. “Thanks.”

“I was really sorry to hear what happened to him,” she said, patting the box again.

That stirred my anger. “Do you know what happened to him?” I bit out.

“Did you speak to the third party I mentioned when we last spoke?”

“I tried. He refused to talk to me.”

She frowned, and I suddenly wondered if she was suggesting there was a connection.

“Did Bingham have something to do with Jerry’s murder?”

“Murder,” she scoffed, but it sounded forced. “He was run off the road. It was an accident.” Except the look in her eyes suggested she didn’t believe it. Why wouldn’t she just say so?

I pushed out a breath. I was tired of stupid games.

“Louise Baker came to see my husband,” Emily said in a flat tone. “Do you happen to know anything about that?”

“You mean since she got back from prison? No. Seems to me you’d be in a better position to have that information.”

She sniffed. “I was out when she showed up. My housekeeper told me. They had a ten-minute meeting, and then she left.”

I cocked my head. “Do you happen to know how she got there?”

“A vehicle of some sort,” she taunted.

“I know, but do you know what kind? Or if someone drove her? I’ve seen her in town, but I’ve never seen how she gets around.”

She wrinkled up her nose. “I never thought to ask.”

“Do you think your housekeeper might remember?”

“I can check.”

“Thank you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You and I both want the same thing, Caroline. We should work together.”

“Have you stopped to think that perhaps you’re the one standing in the way of that?”

Her mouth twisted and she held out a palm in concession. “Perhaps you have a point, but I have far more to lose than you do. I’m not sure I can trust you.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“Then perhaps we should try to find a way to close the gap in trust.”

I didn’t have an answer to that, so I didn’t offer one.

With a sigh, she got to her feet. “Well, perhaps another time.”

She smiled at me with a knowing look. “Men think they rule the world, but they have no idea what women orchestrate behind the scenes. I find I’m tired of staying in the background and quietly maneuvering events to go my way. I think it’s time things changed.”

She walked up to me and looked me in the eyes. “Are you tired of your father controlling your life? Don’t you want to be free?”

I gasped. It wasn’t surprising she knew who I was—she’d made that quite clear on our last meeting, but last time she hadn’t been so open about it.

“In case I’ve been too subtle, Caroline, I know who you are. I know your father has offered a reward for your safe return. And I know you’re hiding from him. I just can’t figure out why, and neither can Bart.” Her brow lifted. “It’s driving him crazy, you know. I can see a time when he’ll want to know more, but for now, his attention is focused much closer to home. It’s on Louise Baker, to be precise. Use that to your advantage.”

She took a few steps toward the door before stopping and glancing over her shoulder. “Oh, and let me know what you want to do with Jerry’s clothes.”

With that, she opened the door and walked out.

For a moment I just stared at the door, half expecting her to come back and laugh at me or throw more truth bombs at me or . . . God only knew.

Then I sat down in a chair, trying to process what had just happened.

She’d brought Jerry’s things.

I walked over to the box and lifted the lid, tears filling my eyes when I saw the contents. There were a couple of framed photos. An old photo of a little girl with blond hair who looked like a preschooler. Then another of the same girl with a man and woman. The man was young—in his early twenties—but I still recognized Jerry. He’d had a daughter? He’d never mentioned her, and given that I was apparently his closest living contact, I suspected she had passed.

Underneath the photos were newspaper clippings of the shootout with Carson Purdy and Seth’s murder. Even Barb’s death and the shooting of her boyfriend. Jerry had seen a deputy sheriff murder Barb’s boyfriend and had kept it quiet for over a year, terrified what would happen to him if he told anyone what he saw. I knew he felt responsible for the deputy going free. It seemed odd that Emily had included them instead of seeing them as trash.

There were other papers, but I was running seriously late now and decided I could look at them later.

It was depressing to think that Jerry’s life had fit into a small cardboard box. A fresh batch of tears appeared and streamed down my face. A good man had died because of my snooping. Why was I still putting people at risk?

Because letting Bart get away with it didn’t feel right either. The man had to be stopped. But at what cost?

I left the box on the coffee table and headed downstairs. I’d been late before, but now I was seriously late for my regular meeting with the two middle school students who always came in half an hour before the official meeting. Since we’d missed most of our time together, I promised to give them more time after the younger kids arrived at three thirty.

Max gave me a questioning look from the bar, but I smiled, mouthing, It’s okay. He didn’t look like he believed me.

The little kids were wound up, not that I was surprised since it was summer vacation. The mothers kept glancing at me and talking in undertones that suggested they were discussing me and Wyatt. Probably because my shirtsleeves ended above my elbow, making my bruises visible to anyone looking for them. I was too busy thinking about Emily’s visit to care.

When the last kid left, Ruth held out a black T-shirt with the old Max’s Tavern logo.

“What happened to the new ones?” I asked as I took it, taking a peek at Max, who was behind the bar reading a book.

“Max and I reached a compromise. He’ll sell the merch with the new logo, but we get to keep wearin’ our old shirts.”

“He meant well,” I said, feeling the need to defend him.

“I’m sure he did, but a hard lesson was learned, and that lesson is that Max is shit at pickin’ out good designs. He’s gonna try it again with input from us.”

“He’s going to order all new stuff?”

She shrugged. “I guess we’ll see.”

How much would that cost? How much money was he losing?

If she knew or cared about Emily’s visit, she didn’t say so. I wondered if she just thought Emily had dropped by to see her son, although that was a pretty rare occurrence. Maybe Ruth didn’t know she’d dropped by. But the building wasn’t huge. How could she have missed it? Then again, Emily had orchestrated a meeting with me during the block party, and all were none the wiser. For all I knew, Max had snuck her in through the back door.

Could I trust Max? Given who his parents were, I was inclined to say no, I should say no. But it was obvious he was worried about me. Even now, the way he frowned as he looked at me, the perpetual worry lines carved into his face—it was oddly reassuring.

That had to mean something. Right?

Chapter Seventeen

I didn’t have much time to think about Emily’s unexpected visit or Jerry or much of anything at all because the dinner rush was heavier than usual, but there had to be a full moon, because few people asked me about Wyatt. Ruth and Max were both in surprisingly good moods given the whole logo debacle, and customers seemed happy that the special was meatloaf.

Around eight thirty, things had finally slowed down some. Most of the patrons had been tended to and were drinking their beers, watching the Braves game, and I was bent over a table, wiping it down when a woman I’d never seen before walked in and headed to the bar. She said something to Max, whose eyes widened in surprise.

He cast a glance in my direction, and her gaze followed.

She was tall with shoulder-length dark brown hair and looked to be in her late thirties or early forties. A tattoo covered her upper right arm.

“Who’s that?” Ruth asked, walking up beside me.

“I don’t know,” I said hesitantly as I stood upright. At least she had a friendly expression.

“Max told me about the weird woman yesterday.” When I didn’t respond, she added, “The one after the lunch rush.”

Then for some weird reason—probably because I really felt like I needed a friend—I said, “That was Louise Baker.”

Ruth’s jaw dropped so far I was surprised it didn’t hit her chest. “What?”

“Shh!” I whisper-shouted, tugging on her arm. “I don’t want people to know.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

It struck me that Ruth might have some insights into the whole mess, and I should have asked her about it sooner. “Because she was looking for me.”

“What on earth for?”

“She wants me to help her find a missing toolbox.”

She arched a brow. “Say what now? Does she think you took it?”

“No, but she heard I was good at sleuthing.”

“I suppose that’s true, but what do you get out of it?” she scoffed.

Should I tell her about Hank? I figured I’d work my way up to him. “She says she knows something about Jerry getting run off the road.”

Her eyes flew wide. “You have to tell Marco!”

“I already did,” I said insistently, glancing around to see who’d noticed us—plenty of people—and then dragging her toward the back. “But she’ll deny it if he goes to her and asks. She’s using it as a bargaining chip to get me to help her.”

She was quiet for a moment. “What do you know about this toolbox?”

“Pretty much nothing. She said it was stolen from her property, but she doesn’t know when. Could have happened any time between when she was arrested and now.” Although, from what Lula said, it had probably happened within the last few months.

“What’s in it?”

I exhaled a slow breath. “I have absolutely no idea.”

She pursed her lips. “She must not want it back very badly if she didn’t give you anything else to go on.”

“Agreed.”

Her gaze wandered out to the dining room. “That woman out there definitely wants to talk to you. Do you think Louise sent her?”

I hadn’t considered that. Louise hadn’t told me when she’d come for my answer, and I hadn’t considered that she might send someone else for it. What if this woman was her accomplice? Then again she looked too well-groomed to be working with Louise.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m about to find out.” I started for the dining room, but Ruth grabbed my wrist and tugged me back.

“Louise Baker is dangerous, Carly. I’m not sure you should be playin’ her game. There’s a good chance she doesn’t know shit about Jerry. She’s a known liar.”

“So I’ve heard. But if there’s even a tiny chance she does know, I can’t ignore her, can I?”

Her gaze held mine. “Let me help.”

“What?” I asked in shock.

Determination filled her eyes, and her head bobbed in affirmation. “Jerry was good people, and the person who ran him off the road needs to be brought to justice. Let me help.”

Tears stung my eyes, and I took her hand in mine and pulled her farther down the hall to Max’s office, out of sight of the customers. “Ruth, you need to know that Jerry’s accident probably wasn’t random.”

Her jaw quivered, and she cleared her throat. “I ain’t stupid, Carly. I knew it wasn’t an accident.”

I stood agape.

“I also know Bart Drummond is part of this somehow, just like I’d bet Tiny’s biscuit recipe that he’s tied up in Louise and her mysterious toolbox.”

I knew I should say something, but I was a blank.

“I know you don’t know much about him, but he’s not a good person, Carly.”

I started to laugh.

“What?” she asked with a worried look.

I couldn’t stop laughing.

“Carly, what the hell’s so funny?” she fumed.

I took a breath and held it for a moment before speaking. “Ruth, Bart Drummond is blackmailing me.”

Her eyes went wide, but she quickly got ahold of herself. “We need to talk. Tonight. Neither one of us is leaving until I know what the hell is goin’ on.”

“You can’t tell Max,” I said. “Please.”

She held my gaze and then nodded. “Agreed. We need to keep him out of this as much as possible.”

“Thank you.”

“Let’s go see what this woman wants.” She headed for the dining room, tugging me behind her, but I pulled her to a halt before we reached the doorway.

“Let me handle it. I don’t want to scare her off.” While I was somewhat relieved and a good bit terrified about what I’d just admitted, I wasn’t ready to share all my secrets with Ruth. I had no idea what this woman wanted or why she was here, but I intended to find out.

I headed toward the bar, nearly laughing at Max’s look of confusion upon seeing his two waitresses emerge from the back. He intercepted me before I reached the bar.

“Do I even want to know what that was about?” He motioned his head toward Ruth.

“An employee meeting about what to do with the pink T-shirts. Ruth said something about making a circus tent out of them and selling them on eBay.”

He rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”

“What’s up with the woman at the bar?”

“She says she’s here to see you. Says her name’s Cassie Nabors.” His forehead creased with concern as he added, “She said Ricky Crimshaw sent her?”

This time I couldn’t help but laugh. “I love that kid.”

“What the hell is goin’ on?”

“Nothing, Max. I promise. Ricky said that Cassie was close with Barb Chalmers, and I wanted to talk to her is all.”

He squinted at me. “What on earth for?”

“Does it really matter?”

“Well . . . I . . .”

I could see I’d stumped him.

“Look,” I said in a softer tone. “It’s no big deal. I’ve been talking to people who knew Mary, Barb, and Seth.”

“Does Hank know you’re doin’ this?” he fretted.

“No.” Before he could ask me to explain what I was up to, I asked, “Do you mind if I take a short break to talk to her?”

He gave me an aggravated look. “Weren’t you gonna do it anyway?”

“Not if you insisted I keep working.”

He grinned. “I guess I keep expectin’ you to start actin’ like Ruth and makin’ your own rules.”

“You’re still the boss, Max,” I called behind me as I walked away.

Except when it came to which shirts we wore, how we were paid, and what kind of merchandise the restaurant carried.

I stopped next to Cassie, who was sitting on a barstool sipping a clear drink with a lemon. “I’m Carly.”

She held out her hand. “Hey, Carly. I’m Cassie. Ricky said you needed to talk to me.”

I gave her an apologetic look. “I do, but it’s definitely not urgent. I’m sorry if you changed any plans to come here.”

She laughed. “I didn’t have anything goin’. And yeah, Ricky seemed insistent, but I have to admit that I was intrigued. He said you wanted to know about Barb Chalmers and her son.”

I gestured to an empty booth near the front window. “Why don’t we go sit down and you can tell me what you remember about her.” I paused. “Do you mind if I take notes?”

“Not at all.”

I hurried to the back and grabbed my notebook out of my purse before returning to the booth and sitting down opposite Cassie.

“What do you want to know?” she said, then took a sip of her drink.

“I don’t know if Ricky told you, but I was the person who found Seth after he was shot. I hate that his death was the only part of him I knew, so I’ve been asking people to tell me about him.”

“That’s sweet,” she said. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out a small photo album. “I brought some pictures, if you’d like to start with them.”

A huge smile spread across my face. “I’d love that.”

She turned the photo album around to face me, then opened the cover. “I made this album after Barb died.”

The first photos were elementary class photos. “This is us in fourth grade,” she said, pointing to a stereotypical riser photo of Mrs. Franklin’s class. “This is me,” she said, pointing to a cute blonde girl. “And this is Barb.” Barb had pigtails and a wide smile. “We were close friends back then.”

“Is one of them Michelle Abernathy?” I asked.

She gave me a surprised look but pointed out a girl with dark hair. “This is her. She struggled in school and kind of kept to herself, until she started workin’ for Hank. Then she and Barb got kind of close.”

Michelle had called Cassie “prissy,” but I wasn’t getting any animosity from her.

“Was Louise Baker in your grade?” I asked.

She blinked at me, taken back.

“You’re related, right?”

“I don’t claim her if I can help it,” she said, forcing a laugh. Then she drew a breath and said, “We were friends until she started dating my uncle Walter, and then it was just weird, you know?”

“I can imagine,” I said sympathetically.

“Plus, she was sleepin’ around and cheatin’ on Walter.” She paused. “I couldn’t sit back and watch her break his heart, so I stopped hanging out with her.” She made a face. “Not that she seemed to mind all that much. She was too busy with all her gentlemen friends.”

I couldn’t say I blamed her for backing off.

She turned the page in the photo album. “I started hanging out more with Barb before she left for college, and then we saw a lot of each other when she came home over the summers. Our mommas were best friends, you know. I was the one Barb called when she found out she was pregnant with Seth. Some boy from college, but she’d never tell her daddy who he was. I sat with her when she told them, and Hank was fit to be tied when she wouldn’t reveal the baby daddy’s name, but it was a smart move on Barb’s part. I suspect he might have cut the guy’s balls off.”

I cringed, because I didn’t have trouble believing he would.

Then she showed me some photos of herself and Barb in high school and in swimming suits by a pool.

“Where was this one taken?” I asked, pointing to one of the pool pictures, wondering why it looked vaguely familiar.

“Down at the Mountain View Lodge. They used to let the locals swim on Tuesdays and Thursdays for a dollar each,” she said with a soft smile. “We spent a lot of time at that pool. Barb used to keep her bikinis at my house and she’d change in the car. Hank had forbidden her to wear anything but a one-piece. If he’d found out, he would have strung us both up.” She released a short laugh.

“So he was a strict father?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” she said. “Barb loved him to death, but she kind of rebelled.”

“Did she know what her father did for a living?”

“Her mom used to tell people he was an entrepreneur, but Barb knew he was a drug dealer.”

“Did you know?”

“Oh, yeah. I figured it out because Dad worked for him, but Barb didn’t keep it a secret from her friends. Still, she made sure to tell us he was the nice kind. Not the heroin kind.”

“Did the teachers know?”

“Everyone knew. I’m not sure why Mary tried to pretend otherwise. But Barb was right—Hank was never scary, so no one thought anything of it. Hell, the Drummonds were respected, and they’d made moonshine for decades. Pot ain’t all that different, ya know?”

“Yeah.” I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “I heard that Barb got involved with drugs when she was in high school.”

Cassie shrugged. “We all did, you know? Small towns are boring as shit, so drinking, drugs, and sex helped us occupy the time. Mary was glad when Barb went to college. What she didn’t know was that Barb thought Knoxville was far enough away to get away with bad behavior.”

“Was Hank pissed when she told him she was pregnant?”

“Well, sure,” she said with a soft smile. “He wasn’t thrilled, of course. But Mary was the one who really went wild over it. Hank kept tellin’ her the horse had been let out of the barn, so they might as well make the most of it. But Barb wasn’t happy about moving back into that tiny house.”

“Seems like that would have been a good time to move into a bigger one,” I suggested.

“Hank told Mary and Barb that he was gonna give them a bigger house on their land. He said he had some big deal in the works, and when it came through, they could have whatever they wanted. A heated swimming pool even. But then the whole mess with Louise went down, and soon after, Hank told them they’d have to put their plans on hold for a while longer. And then Mary got sick, and Hank said it was a bad time, and so on and so on. Barb told me she thought Hank had gone broke. And then he sold the business to Todd Bingham, and there was some money for a while, but Mary’s treatments were expensive.” She pushed out a sigh. “And then Mary died, and Barb was furious with her father for having kept her in that shack. She got back into drugs after that. It started with Mary’s leftover pain pills, then more pills. Then meth.”

“Did she get the meth from Bingham?”

“Nah,” she said with a frown. “Bingham had made some deal with Hank that he would never sell drugs to his kin. Made it harder for her to get her supply. But then some new guys started sellin’ and she bought from them. Until it killed her.”

We were silent for a moment—Cassie lost in her sadness, and me lost in thought.

“She was more than drugs and shady men,” she said softly. “She didn’t want to be pregnant, but once she decided to keep the baby, she was all in. She was a good mother, and she loved that boy, but sometimes a person has so much sadness that lovin’ someone isn’t enough. And the love of other people isn’t enough either.”

“Did Seth know that?” I asked, my heart breaking. “Did he think he wasn’t enough?”

Her mouth dropped open, and then she quickly closed it. “It wasn’t like that.”

“I’m not judging her,” I said gently. “It sounds like she took Mary’s death hard. I guess takin’ drugs was her way of self-medicating.”

“Yeah,” she said, her expression growing hard. “But I blame Hank. If he’d just let her get drugs from Bingham’s guys, she wouldn’t have died.”

“You can’t know that,” I said. “She could have ODed on anything.”

“She didn’t OD. She died because the drugs she took were bad. Bingham might be a lowlife, but his drugs are good quality.”

I knew firsthand about those bad drugs. I’d been injected with them and barely survived. I couldn’t help wondering if Hank believed the same thing and blamed himself. Did he have regrets about not giving Barb and Mary that nice house they wanted?

“Did Barb ever work for Hank?”

“Not before she left for college, but she did after she came home. Mary was none too happy about that either. She wanted better for Barb.” Cassie paused. “Mary . . .” She scowled. “She changed after Louise was arrested. It seemed to break Mary’s heart.”

“Why?” I asked.

“She tried to give Louise a chance. She told Barb and my mom that the reason Louise was so difficult was because she’d never had much love in her life. Plus she felt bad for Lula. She wanted a better life for them, and after everything went down with Walter and Louise, well, her heart just hurt over the whole thing.” She turned momentarily pensive. “Barb wasn’t so keen on Louise. She was really pissed when she found out that Louise had been sleepin’ with Bruce Abernathy.”

I did a double take. “What?”

“Oh, you didn’t know that part? I figured Michelle would have told you. She’s still bitter over it.”

“No . . .” Dumfounded, I stared at her, trying to process what she’d said. And then I found myself processing out loud, starting with what I knew to be true. “Bruce worked for Hank.”

“Yeah.”

“And Bruce was arrested after getting into a fight with Todd Bingham two days after Walter died?”

“Yep . . .”

“Do you know why?”

“Don’t have a clue,” she said. “But it’s pretty suspicious, isn’t it?”

“Surely there were rumors,” I suggested.

“Some people thought Louise and Todd Bingham were screwin’,” she said. “I don’t know if it’s true, but I wouldn’t put it past her. Either one of ’em could’ve started a fight over her.”

“Or they could have been fighting about Hank’s business. Bingham was probably after it then,” I said.

“Maybe,” she said. “Or it could have just been a bar fight.”

“So why did he kill himself?”

“People who knew he was screwin’ Louise thought he did it because he loved her and couldn’t live without her, but that’s plain bullshit. Bruce was too self-centered to care about anyone but himself.”

“What do you think?” I asked.

She made a shrugging gesture. “I’ve got no idea. But I know Michelle wasn’t all that upset by it.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Even if she let the world think she was a grieving widow.”

The front door opened, and a group of people walked in. To my surprise, it was Bingham and four of his crew, but Lula wasn’t with him. I hadn’t seen him since the night of Jerry’s murder. I’d called him, telling him I needed to talk to him ASAP, and he’d shown up, pissed that I’d summoned him. Then he tried to reset our power dynamic by insisting I meet him in the parking lot to discuss. Instead, I’d rushed off to find Marco, clipping the bumper of Bingham’s truck in the process. His parting words hadn’t exactly been full of sugar.

They sat at a table in my section, so I gave Cassie an apologetic smile. “Sorry, but I need to get back to work.”

She openly stared at the group, then whispered, “Is that Todd Bingham?”

“One and the same.”

Her eyes rounded. “You don’t think someone heard me talkin’ about him and told him?”

I couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Don’t worry. He’s a regular here, but I do need to take care of his group.”

“You ain’t scared?” she asked in terror.

“Nah. They look plenty scary, but they’re just men.”

“They ain’t just men,” she said. “They’re dangerous.” Then she started to slide out of the booth.

“Can you leave me your number?” I asked, pulling my order pad from my apron pocket and handing it over. “In case I have any more questions about Barb.”

She hesitated, then scribbled down her name and number. “I work as a cook at Jack’s Wing Shack in Ewing most afternoons and evenings, but I usually have mornings off.”

If I’d wanted to ask a parting question, I didn’t get the chance. She practically bolted out the front door.

I couldn’t help thinking she was a whole lot smarter than me.

I cast a glance at Max behind the bar, and he looked as baffled as I felt. But there was no time to talk to Max now, so I picked up my notebook, stuffed it into my apron along with the order pad, and headed to Bingham’s table.

“Ms. Moore,” he said in a mocking tone, “I’m glad you finally found time in your schedule to drop by and take our orders.”

“What can I get you and your gentlemen?”

He leaned closer and shot daggers at me. “I’ve come to discuss a few things.”

That didn’t sound good.

“And you needed all these men to protect you from little old me?” I teased, my nerves strained. It couldn’t be coincidence that he’d come by mere hours after I’d dropped in to see Lula.

He didn’t look amused. “First,” he said, slipping a folded paper out of his back jeans pocket and placing it on the table. He slid it toward me. “This here’s the bill for the damages to my truck.”

I picked up the paper and opened it, ready to work out some kind of agreement until I saw the total on the page.

“Twenty-five hundred dollars?” I asked in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? Lula said you changed out the bumper with one you had on the lot.” I was getting screwed.

He gave me a deadpan look. “Do I look like I’m kiddin’ you?”

No. He most certainly did not.

“I don’t have twenty-five hundred dollars.” Even if I did, I wouldn’t want to give it to him. I needed it for my Get Out of Drum fund. Not for a smashed bumper.

A slow smile spread across his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Then I’m sure we can work out some kind of arrangement.”

An arrangement I doubted would be to my advantage. He’d never planned for me to accept his invoice. He’d been playing me, and I’d fallen right into his trap.

Chapter Eighteen

I propped a hand on my hip. “And what might that be?”

“Perhaps we should go to our customary office.” He nodded toward the booth I’d just vacated with Cassie. The closest customer was several tables away, so there was little chance of being overheard.

I wanted to talk to him, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to do it when he was in such a foul mood. Plus, I was still miffed that he’d given me an ultimatum the night of Jerry’s death—talk to him then and there or not at all. Instead of working with me to make Bart pay for his crimes, he was playing useless power games. “I just got off break, and I’m sure your boys are thirsty.”

He looked over at his men, then barked, “Y’all head over to the bar for your drinks. Ms. Moore is indisposed.”

“You’re messing with my tips,” I said in exasperation.

“You ain’t missin’ out on nothin’,” Bingham said as he got to his feet. “They wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t come in for a chat.”

There was no way out of this, so I walked over to the booth and slid into my seat. He sat down across from me and rested his forearms on the table.

“You’ve been a busy girl,” he grunted.

I sat back in the seat and crossed my arms. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

The right corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “I heard about your meeting with Louise this mornin’.”

While I’d told Lula I’d met with her mother, I hadn’t given her specifics about the meeting. “Do you have spies watching me?”

He snorted. “Don’t be so damn full of yourself. I have someone posted on her.”

That was reassuring and made a whole lot more sense.

He leaned his face closer, lowering his voice. “Why didn’t you bring this to my attention?”

My brow shot up. “Why would I?” I asked sarcastically. “The last time I tried to bring something to your attention, you turned your back on me, all because I wouldn’t play your game.”

Anger flashed in his eyes. “You’ve gotten away with sass before, and that’s on me for lettin’ it happen. And sure, you bein’ one of Bea’s godmothers has kept you safe up until now, but you should bear in mind that my generosity only stretches so thin.”

I tried to swallow my fear. “What are you going to do to me, Bingham? Kill me? If something happened to me, you’d be a primary suspect, and don’t think it would get swept under the rug. My boyfriend is a bulldog of a deputy sheriff, and he wouldn’t rest until he made you pay.”

He gave me a dry look. “There are plenty of ways to put people in their place that don’t involve murder. And there are plenty of ways to make a person disappear. If you don’t show up for work one day, who’s to say you didn’t just decide to take off? After all, you showed up in town out of nowhere last year. Who’s to say you don’t decide to leave the same way?”

He sat back and stretched his arms across the back of the seat. “Bear in mind I’m a creative man.”

I had no desire to investigate that creativity, but I wasn’t going to grovel either.

“I’m never going to kowtow to you, Bingham,” I said, sounding more courageous than I felt. “So this is all a waste of time and breath.” I held his gaze. “As I already pointed out, the last time I saw you, you made it very clear that you didn’t want to talk to me again. The night Jerry died.” My voice cracked from the burst of pain.

He ignored my show of emotion. “First of all, I didn’t even want to hear your proposition. But you insisted, and against my better judgment, I agreed to meet with you. I held up my end of the bargain. You’re the one who walked away.”

“I chose to go find out if Marco had been hurt or killed.”

He held out his hands, palm up. “Like I said. You made a choice.”

“You’re telling me that if I came to you now with information that might implicate an enemy—say, Bart—you’d stick around and chat even if you knew Lula was in danger?”

He leaned forward. “Business always comes first.”

“So you’re holing up on your compound for business?” I asked. “And not to keep Lula and Beatrice safe?”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare insinuate I’m hidin’ like a coward.”

“You’re the last person I’d ever accuse of being a coward, not to mention sometimes the best offense is to sit and wait a person out.”

“You sound like you have plenty of experience with that,” he said in a derisive tone.

“Isn’t that what I’m doing with Bart Drummond?”

“Sittin’ around and waitin’ for someone else to make the first move is cowardice.”

Which meant he had some kind of plan in play to deal with Louise. Was I about to get caught up in it?

“I’m not sure whether you’ve talked to your wife,” I said in a snotty tone, “but I stopped by your house this afternoon to warn her that her mother was in town.”

“I know all about that,” he said, then shifted his weight. His body language was making it hard for me to figure out if he was telling the truth. “What did Louise want?”

Had Lula really not told him about our talk? Surely, she’d told him what Louise had asked of me. It was possible she’d purposefully kept it from him, but Bingham might also be testing me. In the end, I figured I had more to lose by not telling him. Like possibly my life.

“She wants me to find a black metal toolbox. Know anything about that?”

“Why would I know about a toolbox?” The twitch of his right eyelid suggested he was lying.

So Lula had told him. That or he really did know what Louise was up to.

“For the record,” I said, “I never told Louise I’d help her, and even if I found the toolbox, I’m not at all sure I’d give it to her.”

“Why would you consider helpin’ her at all?” he asked. “What did she offer you?”

“She says she has information about who ran Jerry off the road.”

“What’s it to you who ran him off the road?” he asked.

“Because I’m pretty damn sure it was the same person who showed up at Marco’s house that same morning, warning me to back off or else people I cared about would find themselves in accidents. That night Jerry was run off the road.”

He shrugged, looking annoyed. “Sounds like a personal problem to me.”

“Have you no compassion?” I asked in disgust.

“No, and the sooner you realize that, the safer you’ll be. What else did she offer?”

“Telling me who killed my friend isn’t enough?”

“Not by a damn long shot. And how the hell would she know unless she ran him off the road herself?” He grinned. “Did you stop to consider that?”

It had run through my mind, but I wasn’t going to admit it. “Has Lula told you what she remembers about who tried to drown her?”

He gave me a dark look. “We don’t keep any secrets.”

“Louise told me it was Bart Drummond and not Walter Baker.”

“He didn’t take kindly to the news that he was the father of a bouncing eight-year-old girl?”

Did this mean Lula hadn’t told him about her new memories? About Hank sopping wet in the background?

I hoped not. Because if he knew, he might go after Hank without bothering to find out what it all meant.

“So I heard,” I said, “but I can’t help thinking there’s more to the whole story. Louise indicated she had a plan to get even. I think she hid something before she was arrested. What if she came back to town because she plans on finally cashing it in?”

“What the hell was it?”

Part of me wanted to admit that she’d claimed to have stolen Hank’s money, but I didn’t like the idea of Bingham holding all the cards. He sure wasn’t showing me his hand. “Emily said that Louise went to see Bart the day Walter died. Do you think the purpose of the visit was to bring Bart a box of cigars and deliver the It’s a Girl! good news? If so, why wait eight years? It seems to me that it was something different, something bigger—Lula’s parentage was only part of their discussion. Maybe even an aside. What if Louise was there for something else? And suppose she wasn’t happy with the outcome. She seems like the kind of woman who keeps plenty of cards up her sleeve, and maybe telling Bart he had a daughter was part of her B-game.”

He frowned. “Seems plausible.”

“Walter used to work for Hank, and Louise worked for Mary, which means the information or task or whatever Bart had wanted from her was likely related to Hank.”

He shifted in his seat, leaning closer as he tapped the table. “Or maybe she found information about Hank and offered it to Bart in exchange for something she wanted.” He seemed lost in thought for a moment. “But what was it?”

“Whatever it was must have fit in a toolbox.”

“Could’ve been one helluva big toolbox. I’ve got some massive ones at my shop.”

“She claims it was small.” I held my hands out to show him the approximate size.

“About two feet,” he grumbled. “Can’t fit much in something that small.”

“She said it was padlocked.”

“Pfft. That doesn’t mean nothing,” he scoffed. “I could’ve cut that off in seconds.”

“So how do we go about finding what she might have hidden inside it?” I asked.

A slow grin spread across his face. “By findin’ the toolbox.”

“Louise claimed it was on the property somewhere.” I started to tell him that Lula had seen it, but I really didn’t want to get her in trouble, so I said, “I remember seeing it in the loft the first time I was there looking for Lula.”

His brow shot up. “Did you now?”

But if Louise is telling the truth, then the toolbox is gone. She claims it was stolen, and she wants me to look for it.”

“Louise has always loved to stir up shit,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “Did you stop to consider that she’s sweeping you up into a big pile of it now?”

“Yes,” I said, sitting up. “There’s every chance she’s stringing me along.”

“But there’s also a good chance she really had something,” he said. “And it’s either connected with Drummond or Chalmers.”

“Louise said she took the fall for her husband’s murder for a Bart favor. But her debt is paid. I think she’s going after him.”

“We can’t discount the idea she had something on Hank,” he said.

“How much did you pay him when you bought his business?” I asked.

He snorted. “That’s confidential information. If you want to know, go ask your kin,” he mocked.

“Give me a ballpark figure.”

“It wasn’t worth much at that point. He lost interest when Mary got sick.” He paused. “It was in the high five figures.”

Not much in the scheme of things.

“So let’s go with the assumption that she had something on Hank,” Bingham said. “Do you know what it might be?”

“How would I know?” I asked in disbelief.

“You’re the one close to him now. Surely he talks.”

“Not about his past. I can tell he has a lot of regrets.”

“Maybe it’s one of those regrets she’s in ownership of.”

I squinted at him. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“Blackmail.”

“Like if she had proof that he was sleepin’ with someone else?” Only why would he care now? Mary, Barb, and Seth were all gone. No one to hurt and embarrass now.

“Hank Chalmers had eyes for one woman. He would sooner shoot off his own dick than stick it in another woman.”

I cringed. “Thanks for the visual on that.”

“It was something to do with his business,” Bingham said, tapping on the table again with a distant look in his eye. “Something big. Maybe she had proof of him killing someone.”

Ice filled my veins. I knew Hank had killed people, but I couldn’t believe he was capable of cold-blooded murder. “If she did, maybe it was unintentional.”

He released a bitter laugh. “You just can’t stand the thought of your precious Hank bein’ a bad guy. Unintentional. Girl, Hank Chalmers never did an unintentional thing in his life. He was cold and calculatin’, and no one pulled the wool over his eyes, not even Louise Baker.”

“What if she claims she did?”

His eyes narrowed. “Then I’d say she’s lyin’. What claim did she make, exactly?”

I lifted my shoulder into a shrug, then lied. “She made a vague insinuation. I spent half the day talking to Mary and Barb’s old friends, trying to see if they might know anything.”

“Did they enlighten you?” he asked in mock amusement. He suspected I was lying.

“No. Not really.”

“What does not really mean?”

“It means I couldn’t flat out ask them if they thought Louise had pulled a fast one on Hank, so I had to tiptoe around it.”

He snorted. “You don’t come across as a tiptoer. You’re more like a bull in a china shop.”

“I have my moments.”

His eyes narrowed again. “I think you’re lyin’.”

“About which part?” I asked in frustration.

“All of it. Part of it. What the fuck does it matter? If you’re lyin’ about one part, you might as well be lyin’ about the rest.” He leaned forward, the veins in his neck bulging. “Are you lyin’ to me, Carly Moore?”

“What would I possibly gain by lyin’ to you?”

For some reason my answer only seemed to enrage him. “You’re no fool. You knew I’d want to know if she reached out to you. I gave you a day to contact me, and you didn’t. Now there’s a price to be paid.”

“Another bill?” I asked sarcastically. “And here we haven’t worked out the terms of the first one. But before you toss another invoice at me, perhaps you should take a few things into consideration. It was Lula I should have contacted, not you, and I did exactly that. And two, Louise’s request has nothing to do with you.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked like it was taking every ounce of strength to keep from lunging over the table at me.

I lowered my voice, my own anger surpassing my fear. I suspected that made me a fool, but the title seemed to fit me lately. “I am not under your employ, nor are we under any type of agreement. I thought we had an understanding of sorts, but you made it very clear when you blew me off that we didn’t. So other than asking a reasonable amount for your bumper repair, don’t you dare come in here and talk about what I owe you. I’m Hank Chalmers’s kin, and if you hurt a hair on my head, he will kill you, likely with his bare hands, then pump you full of lead from his shotgun for good measure.”

He started to jerk forward, but suddenly Max appeared at the side of our table, the knife he kept strapped to his leg now jammed into the table, mere inches from Bingham’s hands.

“Is there a problem I should know about, Carly?” Max asked in a dry tone.

I held Bingham’s hateful gaze. “No. I think Mr. Bingham was about to let me get back to work.”

“Is that so, Bingham?” Max asked, his tone still dry.

Bingham swept his hand toward the dining area. “By all means.”

Then his gaze shifted up to Max. “Don’t think the fact that you share some DNA with Lula will save you either.”

He got out of the seat, the edge of his body purposely hitting Max as he strode for the door.

His men watched him leave and grudgingly followed, a few quickly downing the remainder of their drinks before they left.

It was only after the door shut behind them that it occurred to me that I’d sat down across from Todd Bingham for a good fifteen minutes, and I hadn’t asked him a single thing about his fight with Bruce Abernathy.

Shit.

Max stood next to the table, watching them go. Once the last man was out the door, he took Bingham’s seat. “What the hell just happened?”

I could fudge the truth, but Max deserved at least part of the truth, especially since Louise had threatened him too. “You know that woman who dropped by yesterday?”

“Dirty pie lady?” he asked. “What about her?”

She hadn’t been dirty, necessarily, just not well dressed, but I wasn’t going to argue the point. “She approached me again. Max . . .” I leaned over the table. “That was Louise Baker.”

His eyes widened. “Lula’s mother?”

“Yeah. And Bingham was here because apparently he’s had someone following her, and he discovered that I met with her at the laundromat this morning.”

He flinched. “You did what now?”

“She was waiting for me in the parking lot last night. She told me to meet her this morning.”

“Why in the Sam Hill would you go?”

This was where I decided to fudge, because I gave him only part of the truth, not the full crap sundae. “Because she claims to have information about who ran Jerry off the road.”

His face paled.

“Marco says the deputies are hitting dead ends. If there’s any chance she’ll tell me something, I have to take it.”

Confusion filled his eyes. “But how would she know who did it?”

“I don’t know.”

“And what does she want in exchange?”

“She wants me to find something for her.”

“What?”

I hesitated. “I can’t tell you.”

He recoiled slightly, his eyes etched with hurt. “After all this time, you still don’t trust me.”

“I want to, Max,” I pleaded, “but your dad . . .”

He glanced away, his lips pressed together. Finally, he said, “So this is about him?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. But I do know that Louise claims it was your dad drowning Lula that day, not Walter.”

He swallowed, and his eyes glistened as he stared across the room. “I know that too.”

I gasped.

He turned back to face me. “Lula told me. The memory came back when we were hidin’ her from our dad.” A bitter look washed over his face. “Why do you think we believed he was the one trying to kill her in December? He’d tried it before. Stood to reason he’d do it again.”

I stared at him in shock. “You have to do something.”

“We did,” he whisper-shouted. “We sent her to live with Bingham. There’s no way he’ll let our father hurt her.”

“I’m talking about turning him in, Max,” I said insistently. “He tried to murder an eight-year-old child!”

“It’s her word against his Carly,” he spat.

“Louise would back it up.”

“Well, why didn’t I think of that?” he said in mock excitement. “A jury’s sure gonna believe her.”

He had a point.

“Do you seriously think I would condone him walking free after what he did?” he asked in disgust.

“He’s your dad, Max.”

He slowly shook his head. “Would you let your dad get away with murder?”

His words struck deep. Hadn’t I already? For a year, I’d suspected my father of murdering my mother and possibly my birth father, and up until now, I’d just let him get away with it. Sure, I’d started looking into it on my own—many months later—but to anyone analyzing the situation from an outside perspective, it would appear I’d run away like a coward and let him go unpunished. How was my situation all that different from Max’s?

He had been studying my face, and realization dawned in his eyes. “Jesus. You have.”

Fear seeped into my blood, momentarily freezing me.

I could see him putting things together.

“I knew you were on the run, but I always assumed it was from an abusive relationship.” When I didn’t call bullshit, he continued. “I was right about you running from a man. I just had the relationship wrong.”

My throat burned. My entire life was unraveling around me, yet I was tired of keeping so many secrets from the people I cared about.

He sucked in a breath as another piece fell into place. “You told Wyatt. That’s why he still has an interest in you.”

I nodded and stared at a spot on the wall, not wanting him to see the tears pooling in my eyes. “Yeah. He guessed, and I was stupid enough to confirm it. He knows a lot more detail. A lot.”

He cringed. “Does Marco know?”

I nodded again. “And Hank.”

“Anyone else?”

I hesitated, then turned back to face him. “Your father.”

Fear filled his eyes. “Fuck.”

I swallowed and tried to smile. “Plus your mother, although I have no idea how much she knows.”

“Anyone else?”

“No.”

He reached over the table and grabbed my hand. “You can’t tell anyone else.”

“I was going to tell Ruth later. I told her that Louise is back and claims to know something about Jerry. We’re supposed to talk after work. I was going to tell her who I really am.”

His hand tightened. “No. Don’t.”

“You don’t trust her?”

A pained look filled his eyes as he cast a glance in her direction. “I don’t know. Just hold off, okay?”

I couldn’t hide my shock. “You don’t even know who I really am.”

“Tell me later. I want to talk to you and Marco together, okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, relieved that I wasn’t going to have to keep this from him anymore. “Okay.”

Ruth shot us a questioning look from across the room.

I hated that Max had insinuated that I couldn’t trust her. While I hadn’t trusted her with my identity up until now, it wasn’t because of a lack of trust—more from the theory that the fewer people who knew the better. I didn’t want people to slip up and accidentally tell someone with more nefarious motives. It wasn’t that I’d thought she might betray me—rather I’d feared she would slip up.

It was Max I hadn’t fully trusted. Had I done the right thing trusting him now?

It was too late to turn back.

Chapter Nineteen

Ruth wanted to know why Bingham had shown up, and I told her the truth—that he was pissed off because I’d talked to Louise without telling him about it. But I’d let her believe my conversation with Max had been about how to deal with Bingham. Thankfully, she’d bought it.

It was after ten before I realized Marco hadn’t come in for his dinner break. It wasn’t unusual for him to go somewhere else if he was too far away when his break rolled around, but he’d usually call and leave a message with Max. He hadn’t. Uneasiness crept through me.

I was in the process of settling a tab with a customer when a deputy walked through the door with a nervous expression and headed straight for the bar. He looked young, like he should be at home doing his algebra homework instead of wearing a uniform and a gun.

My heart fell to my feet, and my head swam.

“Marco.” I grabbed the back of an empty chair to keep myself upright.

Max exchanged words with the deputy—then, wearing a disapproving look, pointed him toward Ruth.

I turned to face her in surprise. Why was a deputy here looking for Ruth?

The fear on her face spurred me into action. I hurried over to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Ruth Bristol?”

She nodded but didn’t speak.

“My name is Deputy Weaver. Your boyfriend Franklin was in an accident.”

Her knees buckled, and I fought to hold her up, but Max was already rushing over to help. He came around to her other side, wrapping an arm around her back.

“It happened by County Road 83,” the deputy continued, his hands shaking. I wondered if it was the first time he’d had to share this kind of news. “There was another car involved, but it’s no longer at the scene of the crime. Hit-and-run.”

Oh, my God. Had the person who’d run Jerry off the road just gone after Franklin?

Ruth shook her head, her expression stricken. Was she thinking the same thing?

Max stepped in. “Just tell the woman if her boyfriend is okay!” he said, his tone good and pissed.

“Oh,” the deputy said. “Yeah. His truck is totaled, and he’s pretty banged up, but he’s okay.”

“He’s okay?” Ruth repeated.

“Yeah. He needs stitches on his forehead, but Deputy Roland says to tell you he’s madder than a bobcat on a griddle.”

“Marco’s there?” I asked, surprised at how relieved I felt.

“Yeah. I’m supposed to tell his girlfriend that he’s tied up at the scene and won’t be here before she gets off.” He glanced around. “Is she around?”

Max rolled his eyes. “She’s standin’ right in front of you.”

The deputy narrowed his eyes at Ruth. “I thought you were Franklin’s girlfriend.”

Max gave Ruth a look that read, You good? She nodded, and Max let go of her and turned to the deputy, pointing to me. “The other woman is his girlfriend.”

“Oh.” He shrugged. “My bad.”

Max rolled his eyes, then told Ruth, “You go to Tater and take him to get stitches. Carly and I have got this.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice breaking.

“And tell Marco that I’m gonna follow Carly back to his place, and we’ll meet him there.”

I started to protest, then stopped. Marco didn’t want me to be alone out there at night. And given that this was the second hit-and-run in a little over a week, he wasn’t wrong. It would put him at ease if Max followed me.

Fear and guilt skated through me again. Was Franklin’s accident my fault?

Ruth looked surprised but didn’t argue. She hugged us both, handed me her tip money and tickets, then ran out the back door.

I spent the next hour and a half tallying up the receipts. I tucked Ruth’s tips in an envelope and put it in Max’s office. When I walked back out to the dining room, Max was locking the front door and putting up the closed sign.

“It’s only a little after eleven.”

“The last customers have left, and no one else is comin’ in. Let’s get you home.”

Home. Where was home for me now? It wasn’t Hank’s right now, and deep in my heart, I wondered if he’d ever let me come back.

“I’m staying at Marco’s right now.”

“I figured we were headin’ there anyway. Come on,” Max said, heading toward the back of the dining room.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Tiny said, untying his apron strings. He usually cleaned up the kitchen as he went, so he was ready to leave as soon as people stopped ordering food. The other cook had left after the dinner rush.

“I’ll follow you out there,” Max told me again, turning lights off as he made his way down the hall.

He did, and I had to admit it made me feel better, seeing the lights of his truck in my rearview mirror.

Marco had left on the porch lights and a lamp in the living room. I unlocked the door and dropped my purse on the dining room table before heading into the kitchen. “Are you hungry? We have some leftover chicken stir-fry.”

He hesitated as he glanced around the house. “Don’t go to any trouble.”

“No trouble. Let me heat you up a bowl.” I scooped a generous portion into a bowl and put it in the microwave, then walked into the living room.

Max was still looking around. “Did you help him decorate?”

“Nope,” I said, leaning my shoulder into the doorjamb between the living area and kitchen. “It was pretty much like this the first time I saw it last November.” I squinted at him. “You haven’t been out here?”

“Not since a month or so after he bought it.”

“I thought you came out to check on me when I had the flu.”

“He wouldn’t let me through the front door.” He gave me a sad look. “And we both know you didn’t have the flu.”

We stared at each other for a few seconds. Then the microwave dinged and broke the moment.

I gave him a tight smile. “I’ll go grab that. Want something to drink? Water? Tea? Beer?”

“Water’s fine.”

I got his food and some ice water and brought it out to the dining room table. “Here you go.”

“Are you not eatin’?” he asked as he ambled over and took a seat.

“I’m not hungry just now. I’m going to grab a glass of water, and I’ll sit and talk while you eat.”

I joined him less than a minute later, sitting down on the opposite side of the table. He’d already eaten a good portion of his stir-fry.

“You must be starving,” I said. “I can heat up more.”

“No, this is good,” he said, pointing to the bowl with his spoon. “It’s kind of funny seein’ you all domestic.”

I grinned. “As opposed to seeing me feral?”

“More like in the wild.” He glanced down at this bowl. “Do you have any idea how many gray hairs you’ve given me from all your encounters with Bingham? I thought he was going to throttle you tonight.”

“Yeah, well . . . to be fair, I was a little worried too.” I took a breath. “You guessed that I’m running away from someone, and you’re right. My real name isn’t Carly Moore. It’s Caroline Blakely.”

He stared at me with an expressionless gaze. “That explains why Mom called you Caroline. And you’re runnin’ from your father?”

I gave him a weak smile. “There’s a whole long sob story, but I’ll move us along to the bottom line. The night before my wedding, I heard my father and my fiancé plotting my murder.”

His eyes bugged out. “Say what?”

“My father is a wealthy oil magnate, but he’s also one-third of a powerful crime syndicate. He knew I’d never approve of his activities, so he planned to have my new husband assume the duties I would have inherited. But according to the rules of the crime organization, my husband couldn’t take over unless I was dead.”

“Jesus, Carly.” He shook his head in disgust. “And here I thought my father was bad.”

“Your father is bad. My father just wins the prize for most evil.” I shrugged. “Or maybe not, since your father tried to drown his daughter in a creek.”

“Touché.” He was silent for a moment, just staring down at his half-empty bowl. “So you ran?”

“Yeah. I landed in a town in Arkansas for a couple of months, but the crime syndicate had a foothold there, and we’d caught word that they might have found me. So my friends gave me a new identity and sent me on my way with a beat-up car and a couple thousand dollars in my bank account. I had no idea where I was going, but I ended up breaking down on the overlook.” I released a short laugh. “And the rest is history.”

“That’s why you had a gun that night you found Seth.”

I nodded. “My friends gave me that too.” I gave him a pleading look. “I hated keeping all of this from you, Max, but my father offered a half-million-dollar reward for my safe return. I know you would never go for that, but the more people who know, the riskier it is for me.”

“Loose lips sink ships.” He rested the tip of his spoon on his bowl and grinned. “You didn’t think I’d try to get the reward? A half million dollars is a lot of money.”

I laughed. “If you were interested in money, you wouldn’t be working seven days a week in the tavern. You would have started your club in Nashville with Marco.”

He made a face. “I guess.”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know where you stood with your father, and honestly, I still don’t. But like I said, he already knows the truth, so why not tell you too?”

“You said Wyatt already knows?”

“We were on our way back to Drum from Greeneville, and my dad came on the radio, pleading for my safe return and offering a reward to anyone who found me. I didn’t play it cool at all.” I released a bitter laugh. “Wyatt knew something was fishy, and later he caught me at a moment of weakness. Our agreement was I’d tell him about my father and the syndicate, and he would tell me about your father, but he never fulfilled his end of the bargain.” I scoffed. “For all I know, he was the one who told your father.”

When Max didn’t answer, I felt a twinge of disappointment in Wyatt—something I’d thought was no longer possible. “You think it’s a possibility.”

“I’d like to say no, but I have no idea where his loyalty lies. If pressed, I’d say Wyatt’s loyal to himself.”

“That sounds about right,” I said, my tone a touch more bitter than I’d like.

“Why was he all fired up last night?”

“My friends in Arkansas must have orchestrated a big sting, because the crime syndicate is in ashes. It happened a week ago, but Marco only found out yesterday. Wyatt must have heard too, because he confronted me about it last night. Wanted to know when I plan on leaving Drum. He was pissed I was still here.”

He rested his forearm on the table. “You mean he thinks it’s safe for you to become Caroline Blakely again?”

“I guess? The thing is, my father isn’t going to let this go. He sees me as a liability, and now that he no longer needs me alive to marry Jake, he can flat out kill me. If anything, I’m in more danger than before, and Wyatt’s lack of discretion is making me more vulnerable.”

He frowned. “So you plannin’ to stay here forever?”

My heart twisted. “Honestly? I don’t know what I’m going to do. But I do know that I love Hank and Marco. Hank’s been more of a father to me than my own father ever saw fit to be. I can’t just walk away from them. I can’t just walk away from you either. You’ve always had my back and protected me from the dangers in Drum. I don’t take that lightly, Max. Which is why I’ve hated keeping so much from you.”

He scooped up rice in his spoon. “Don’t you be worryin’ about my hurt feelin’s, because there aren’t any. You did exactly the right thing.” He took a bite, his expression serious and thoughtful, then asked, “So Marco knows everything?”

“Yeah.”

He smiled. “Marco Roland is a good man, Carly.” The smile wobbled into a look of uncertainty. “I know that’s not your real name, but I’m not sure it’s safe to call you Caroline.”

“Carly’s fine. My mother used to call me Carly, so Jed—that’s my friend in Arkansas—he tried to find me an alias that would work with Carly.”

“Charlene,” he said, his head bobbing in affirmation as he scooped up more rice.

“Yep.” I hesitated. “You asked if I was staying in Drum, and I can’t answer that. But I do know that I’ll never be Caroline Blakely again. At least not as she was before. She was too trusting. Too naïve. I’m not that woman anymore.”

“But you had a whole lot more money,” he said with a laugh. “And here I put you in the Alpine Inn that first night. You were probably used to the Waldorf Astoria.”

It was my turn to laugh. “No. My father had pretty much cut me off from everything, not that I wanted his money. I supported myself.” My smile softened. “As a third-grade teacher.”

His eyes widened with the realization. “Tutoring Club.”

“I loved being a teacher, but my new identity didn’t come with an advanced degree. Charlene’s dossier said she’d lived in Atlanta and worked in retail after moving there from Michigan.”

“Where did you really live before all this?” he asked.

“Dallas.”

He sank into the silence for a long moment. “I’m nearly a year too late, but I’m sorry this happened to you. And while I understand why you kept it from me, part of me wishes I’d known so I could have tried to make things easier for you.”

“You did help, even if you didn’t realize it.” It was my turn to pause. “Marco has missed you. I’m glad you two are getting closer again.”

He glanced down at the table. “Yeah. I’ve got some things to sort out, but I’m workin’ on it.” He waited a beat. “Why did my mom come to see you?”

“She brought me some of Jerry’s belongings.”

“Really?”

“She said she thought I should have them. Apparently your dad was getting ready to throw it all away.” I held his gaze. “I noticed you didn’t respond when I said I didn’t know where you stood with your father.”

He tapped the table with one finger, growing agitated. “It’s complicated.” Then he raised his head to look at me, his eyes filled with intensity. “But know this…I won’t betray you, and I’ll protect you as best I can.” A crooked grin twisted his mouth. “You’re my employee, which makes you family, Carly Moore. Doubly so since Marco loves you.”

Tears stung my eyes. “Thank you, Max.”

He scooped up the last of his rice, then downed it with his water. “You look beat. Why don’t you go to bed, and I’ll stretch out here on the sofa until Marco comes home?”

“I hate that we’re putting you out.”

“You’re not,” he said, getting to his feet. “Marco’s been there for me more times than I can count. It’s only right for me to be there for him when he needs me.” Then he added good-naturedly, “It’s pure bonus that I’m doing it for you.”

I got up and gave him a hug, squeezing him tight.

He kissed my forehead. “Go to bed, Charlene.”

I laughed and released him. “Feel free to watch TV if you want.” I waggled my eyebrows. “Marco has a satellite dish.”

Chapter Twenty

I was asleep when Marco came home. I felt his arm wrap around me and pull me close, enveloping me in a cocoon of love and protection.

His lips brushed my cheek, and I released a contented sigh as I rolled over to face him.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmured. “Go back to sleep.”

I gave him a soft kiss as I cradled his cheek. “Is Franklin okay?”

“Just shaken up. His truck’s totaled, and I suspect he got five or six stitches on his forehead.”

“The deputy scared Ruth half to death.”

I felt his cheek shift beneath my hand as he grinned. “Yeah, Max gave me an earful. I’ll be sure to talk to him. He’s a bit green.”

“Was it really a hit-and-run?”

He hesitated. “Deputy Weaver never should have said all of that. This is an active investigation.”

“You don’t think it was the same person who ran Jerry off the road, do you?” I asked.

“No.” He gave me a reassuring kiss and stroked my hair. “No, Care. I really don’t. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

Could it really be a coincidence that two people connected to me had been run off the road within a week of each other? Sure, Franklin wasn’t a close friend, but Ruth was a different story. Still, I knew he wouldn’t knowingly lie to me.

“All right,” I muttered.

He held me quietly for a few moments before he said, “I heard about your run-in with Bingham. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just the usual butting of heads.”

“Sounded more serious than that.”

“Max probably made too big a deal out of it.” I sighed deeply. “I forgot to ask Bingham about Bruce Abernathy.”

He stroked my head again, then sank his fingers into my hair. “Tell me about it in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” I murmured, feeling drowsy.

“We have to get up early. How long do you need to get ready?”

That got my attention. “What?”

“I’ll tell you what we’re doin’ in the morning. Presumin’ you want to fix your hair and do your makeup, how long would you need to get ready?”

“Thirty minutes without distractions.” I kissed him, sucking his bottom lip between mine and biting lightly. “Longer with.”

He groaned, pushing me onto my back. “How about we take care of the distraction now?”

“Glad you can pick up on my clues, Detective Roland,” I said, grinning.

He laughed. “I’m not detective yet, so maybe I need some practice. Are you offering yourself up as my tutor?”

“I’ll even give you a special rate.”

The alarm went off at five thirty, much earlier than either one of us usually got up. I struggled to wake up, closing my eyes and drifting off to sleep only to wake up to the smell of coffee next to me. I cracked open an eye to see a bare-chested Marco sitting next to me on the bed, holding a steaming cup of coffee.

“There’s my girl,” he teased, getting up and taking a step backward. “You’re goin’ to like my surprise, but we need to keep on schedule.”

I sat up, more interested in the surprise than the coffee he’d just pulled away from me. “Where are we going?”

He grew serious. “Atlanta.”

I shook my head. “We have more important things to deal with than a wild-goose chase to Atlanta. I need to stay in Drum and do more digging.”

“We’re not goin’ on a goose chase, Care. We have an appointment at eleven to talk to Tiffany Olson at her office. But we need to get moving so we’re not late.”

“What? How?”

“I called her company yesterday afternoon and told them I was a deputy from Tennessee and needed to talk to her about a case from Texas. They were reluctant at first, but said she’d give me fifteen minutes at eleven.”

My stomach cramped. “Does she know it’s about me?”

“No. I said it was about your mother.”

“Can you do that?” I asked, sounding more terrified than I’d intended.

He sat back down on the bed. “I already did.”

“But will you get in trouble?”

“No. It’s a legit case. I’m protecting you.”

I wasn’t so certain, but I decided not to press it. He wasn’t going to change his mind, and selfishly, I didn’t want him to. “Don’t you have to work?”

“I traded days with someone, although I’ll need to go in to wrap up some paperwork when we get back. I told Max you might be late.”

“Sounds like you thought of everything.” I slid out of bed and headed into the bathroom. Marco followed and set the mug on the counter. “I figured you’d want some time to yourself to think, so I already showered.” He gave me a kiss. “No distractions.”

I reached for him as he turned to leave. “Thank you.”

He gave me an ornery grin. “I know how much you like your caffeine in the morning.”

“I wasn’t talking about the coffee.”

“I know. I love you. Now get ready so we’re not late.

A half hour later, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, wondering if Tiffany would see past my disguise and believe it was really me. I was wearing a pink sundress and white sandals, and I’d put on makeup, although I’d gone for the natural look. My blond hair was still dyed auburn, cut into an inexpert bob. I tugged at a strand, as though that would make it longer.

“Do you miss your blond hair?” Marco asked quietly from behind me. He was wearing gray dress pants, a light-blue long-sleeve button-down shirt, and a blue tie.

“You look stunning,” I said to him in the mirror. He was a handsome man, and while it was his heart that had won me over, I wasn’t complaining that he came in a very nice package.

He grinned. “I clean up pretty nice.” He took a step into the bathroom, then repeated in a serious tone, “Do you miss being blonde?”

“I think I miss it being long more.”

“Then grow it out.”

I gave him an exasperated look in the mirror.

“The color is the more distinguishable aspect, not the length. Soon you’ll be safe to wear your hair however you choose. We’re gonna make sure of that.”

I was trying not to let myself think that far ahead. “Do you think you’d prefer my hair blond?”

He stood behind me and wrapped an arm around my waist, lowering his mouth to my neck. “I prefer you alive. Your hair color is merely icing on the cake.”

“But you wouldn’t prefer a different icing?”

He laughed, setting me loose. “For some reason you seem to find this hard to believe, but no. I’ll take whatever icing I can get.” He paused and turned serious. “Max said his mother came to see you yesterday. He says she brought you a box with Jerry’s personal belongings?”

Crap. I’d forgotten the box in Max’s apartment. I could retrieve it later. I wasn’t worried about Max looking inside. “Yes, if you can believe it. She said Bart wanted to throw it all out, but she didn’t think it was right.”

“Max said something about that. What kind of stuff did she bring you?”

“It was just some photos and newspaper clippings about Carson Purdy, Seth, and Barb, plus a bunch of papers. I was running late, so I left it in Max’s apartment, figuring I could go through everything later. Then I forgot it at his place.”

Marco looked alarmed.

He studied my reflection for several seconds before nodding. “You’re right.”

“Emily told me something else. Louise came to see Bart last week while Emily was out of the house. She doesn’t know why, but her housekeeper told her Louise was there for about ten minutes. No notion of how Louise got there. I asked Emily if she could find out, but even if she does, I’m not sure she’ll actually tell me.”

“I wonder what that meetin’ was about?” Marco asked with a worried look.

“You and me both. One more mystery to pile onto the heap.”

“One we’re not gonna solve right now. Come on. I made breakfast sandwiches for the road.”

Sure enough, he’d baked canned biscuits and made us sausage, egg, and cheese sandwiches for the road. We prepared two travel mugs of coffee and headed out in his Explorer.

It was a four-hour drive to Atlanta, which gave me plenty of time to tell Marco about everything I’d learned the day before. I started off by telling him what Georgia had said about the beginning of Hank and Mary’s relationship and the drug business.

“So Mary played a big part in the business,” he said after I told him about my conversation with Georgia. “I’m not sure why I find that surprising.”

“I was surprised too, but I’m not sure how involved she was by the end.”

Then I told him about my conversation with Michelle Abernathy. “She obviously doesn’t trust me,” I said. “But she did tell me a few interesting things. First of all, her husband worked for Hank too. She also told me Louise had worked for Mary, not Hank, and Walter worked for the drug business. She told me that Hank hired him partially for Lula and maybe a little bit to spite Bart, who’d fired him from the lumber mill.”

Marco nodded.

I told him about seeing Ricky at the church. “He was the one who set up my meetings with Michelle and Cassie.”

“You gained that kid’s confidence,” he said with a frown, and I wondered if he was thinking about the kid he’d been trying to help.

“Cassie said Hank didn’t want Mary to hire Louise, and Mary was pretty upset after Louise was arrested. She was also upset that Louise had been having an affair with Bruce Abernathy.”

He did a double take. “Say what?”

“You heard right. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Bruce supposedly hung himself a few days after his arrest.” I took a breath. “If Louise really did steal Hank’s fortune, it makes me wonder if she coerced Bruce into helping her. Then maybe someone higher up found out and staged his death to look like a suicide.”

“It’s not that preposterous of a thought.”

“Yeah,” I said, staring out at the green landscape of South Carolina. “Isn’t it funny that I’ve been telling everyone that I’m from Atlanta, but I thought it would be faster to get there driving through Tennessee?”

His gaze swung toward me. “Other than Greeneville and Ewing, you’ve pretty much been holed up in Drum for half a year. After we talk to Tiffany—”

I held up a hand. “I’m not getting my hopes up. If she had a way to pin my mother’s death on my father, don’t you think she would have already done it?”

Marco tapped his thumb on the steering wheel. “If she and your mom were really close, she might remember something we can look into. Anything is helpful at this point.”

I nodded.

“Tell me more about Bingham. Did he just show up or had you arranged to meet him?”

“He’s having Louise followed, so he knew about our meeting at the laundromat. He showed up to let me know he was pissed that I hadn’t told him.”

Marco’s body stiffened. “You’re not one of his employees. You don’t owe that man shit.”

I sighed. “Obviously he doesn’t see it that way. I did actually stop by to see Lula on the way to work, but I’m not sure she told him. I couldn’t tell.”

I went on to tell him what she’d said about the toolbox.

“Back to Bingham,” he said, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Is he pissed at you?”

“Well, he’s not happy.”

“Does he plan to retaliate?”

“Not for the Louise thing. He’s still pretty annoyed that I ran out on him the day of Jerry’s hit-and-run. Doesn’t care why I did it.” I paused. “I told him about the toolbox but not what Lula said to me.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“It seemed like it was worth the risk. I was hoping he’d give me something in return.”

“Did he?”

“He said Hank’s business wasn’t worth much when he bought it. He was under the impression it was run-down because Mary was sick.”

“But you think it might have been because Louise stole Hank’s fortune?”

I ran my hand over my head. “I don’t know. I just don’t see how she could have. Or how it could fit in a toolbox. We already established that he probably didn’t have any offshore accounts, so it’s probably not a flash drive with account numbers and passwords.”

“Maybe she’s lyin’ about the toolbox.”

“Maybe,” I conceded.

“Did you tell Bingham what she said about Hank’s money?”

“No, but he’s not naïve enough to think I’d help her out of the goodness of my heart, so I told him what she said about Jerry’s killer.” My chest tightened. “He didn’t believe that was enough motivation. He was sure that I had some other reason for looking into it.”

He twisted up his mouth. “I hate to say it, but he’s not wrong. There is another motivation, but you would have still looked without it.”

He was right, and it made me feel terrible. Jerry should be enough. He was killed in cold blood, for no greater crime than being my friend. “I guess.”

He reached for my hand in my lap and squeezed. “There’s not a single thing wrong with having two different purposes. Lord knows we’ve been spinning our wheels for months. Besides, I’m sure Louise has lots of things cooking. It stands to reason we can get answers to more than one puzzle through her.”

“If she knows anything at all,” I grumbled. How many people now had suggested Louise was stringing me along? Every single one of them knew her better than I did. “Why wouldn’t she lie to me? I’m not Bingham. She has to know I’m not going to hurt her if she doesn’t come through on her end of the deal.”

“I suppose.”

I huffed out a breath, disgusted with myself. “I still can’t believe I didn’t ask Bingham about the fight between him and Bruce Abernathy.”

“Do you think he would have told you what it was about?”

“That’s just it. I’m not sure.” And there was no use dwelling on it now.

I shifted to face him. “Louise must have told Bart that he was Lula’s father on her visit to his house the day of Walter’s murder, but Bingham and I both think she went there for a different purpose, something related to Hank. What if she went there to give Bart information about Hank, but he didn’t like what she had to say? Or maybe he found out she’d stolen Hank’s money, and he was pissed she’d kept it. Then things escalated and she dropped her daddy bombshell.”

“Maybe.” He cast a glance my way. “It’s all speculation, Care. And the only two people who know about that conversation are Louise and Bart.”

“Maybe not,” I said. “What about Emily?”

His mouth twisted in displeasure. “She’s already playin’ a game with you. She’s not gonna give you anything. Honestly, I’m surprised she didn’t make a bigger deal about you not talking to Bingham.”

I frowned. “It’s not my fault Bingham won’t cooperate.”

“Do you really think that matters to her? Besides, she might be the person responsible for hiring the guy who threatened you. There’s too much we don’t know.”

I thought about all the unknowns, and how one man had a lot of the answers. “Maybe it’s time to tell Hank everything I know.”

Marco was silent for several seconds. “Maybe . . . but in an investigation, you never go to the person you’re lookin’ into right away and lay all your cards on the table. You ask some preliminary questions. Then you circle around the subject of the investigation, talking to friends and associates, getting all the peripheral details and spiraling in, closer and closer. And when you finally reach the target, hopefully you have a stack of evidence to support your case.”

My heart squeezed. “Hank’s not the criminal in this instance.”

“Except he actually was a criminal,” Marco said carefully.

“But Louise is the one who supposedly stole his fortune,” I protested. “I want to find out if it’s true.”

“Look,” he said, casting me a glance. “We both know Hank won’t talk to you, and he might even make it more difficult for you to investigate. I say you hold off talkin’ to him until you have more information. It will make it harder for him to blow you off.”

I pressed my lips together. “Yeah. If I go to him right now, he’ll just tell me to let him take care of it.”

“Do you think you should?” he asked in a neutral tone.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. “Are you telling me to let this go?”

“No. I’m askin’ if that’s what you want to do.”

“Why would I?”

“What if Tiffany gives us a strong lead to follow? Maybe we should focus on makin’ your father pay for what he did to your mother. Hell, Carly, your life is in danger. Maybe we should be focusin’ on that.”

I nearly told him that my life wasn’t in any more danger than it had been for the past ten months, but that didn’t feel true.

“You think we should let Bart go?”

“No. Not let him go. Sadly, he’s not goin’ anywhere.”

“But he’s still killing people.”

“Like Jerry? We have no proof it was him or Emily.”

“Please,” I said sarcastically. “Someone showed up at your house to tell me to back off. That same someone drives a black truck like the one that killed Jerry. It was one of them, but my money’s on him. And there’s a chance he hasn’t stopped. I know you said it wasn’t the same guy, but it seems like an awfully big coincidence that Tater got run off the road last night.”

A pained look washed over his face. “If you back off and focus on your own situation, Bart will back off too.” When I didn’t respond, he squeezed my hand. “Don’t get mad at me, Care.”

“I’m not mad,” I said, staring out the windshield.

“This isn’t a case of you sayin’ you’re not mad even though you’re spitting nails, is it? You’ve always been straight with me, so I want to take you at your word.”

Despite the struggle brewing in my head, I couldn’t stop a small smile. “You’re right. I’m not going to do that to you.” Then I added, “Caroline would. She was great at letting people walk all over her and smiling and pretending everything was okay. But I don’t want to do that anymore.” I turned to face him. “Especially with you, Marco. You’ve gone above and beyond to always be truthful with me. It would be selfish of me to not be equally as genuine. So yes, I guess I’m a little upset.”

He squeezed my hand again. “I love you. I have nothing to hide. Ask me anything you want at any time, and I’ll tell you. If it’s about a case, though, I won’t be able to talk about it.” He darted me a look. “Unless it pertains to Jerry or the Drummonds. And in another instance of tellin’ you something I shouldn’t . . .” He drew a deep breath. “I’m not so sure Franklin was run off the road at all, let alone by a man in a black truck.”

I gasped. “What?”

“This is confidential, Carly. You can’t tell anyone. But I can’t watch you blame yourself for what happened to Tater.”

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise. So what happened?”

“He definitely hit a tree, and yeah, he said it was a black truck that sideswiped him. But his story isn’t consistent.”

I took a second to let that sink in. “He lied.”

“Yeah, but . . .” He made a face. “Maybe he fell asleep at the wheel and was too embarrassed to admit it.”

“So he claimed he was run off the road? That seems extreme.”

“Maybe, but I can see how he might do it to save face.”

I wasn’t so convinced, but I was thankful to know it probably hadn’t been my fault. But if he was lying . . . I couldn’t help thinking about Max’s warning not to trust Ruth.

What did Max know that I didn’t?

I was lost in thought when Marco said, “So you told Max about who you really are.”

“Yeah. I figured his entire family knows. He might as well know too.” I tilted my head. “You talked about it with him?”

“Yeah. When I got home. He was honored you trusted him enough to tell him.”

I shrugged as if it were nothing. “What’s he going to do with the information? Turn me in to my father? He’s too loyal to the people he cares about, and I’m lucky enough to fall into that category. Besides, his mother called me Caroline in front of him the night of the street party.” I sighed. “I’m tired of secrets, Marco.”

“I know. All the more reason to focus on getting you safe. Louise may have stolen Hank’s money, but he’s lived just fine without it. And if he’s gathering his troops to go after her, maybe we should just let him.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Let’s focus on this meeting with Tiffany, then figure out what to do from there, okay? Ultimately, it’s your life. Your decision. I’m goin’ to give you my opinion, because as the man who loves you and likes picturin’ a very long life with you, I think I have that right. But you’re the one that has to decide what you can live with.”

It struck me that I’d spent so long focusing on not dying that I hadn’t given much thought on the living part. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was time to change that.

Chapter Twenty-One

The headquarters for Simply Stunning Cosmetics was in a skyscraper in downtown Atlanta. Marco parked in the garage attached to the building, and when we got out of his car, he slipped on a suit coat and pocketed the ticket inside his jacket.

“For validation,” he said with a shrug when he noticed I was watching.

I tried to force a laugh, but I was too nervous.

“Hey,” he said, pulling me into a hug. “No matter what happens, it’s gonna be okay.”

I gave him a wry smile. “You kind of have to say that.”

He grinned. “Would you rather I say it’s gonna be terrible, and she’s gonna throw us out of the building without validating our parking?”

My stomach dropped. “Do you think that’s what’s going to happen?”

He leaned down and gave me a soft kiss. “No. You told me about how much she loved your mother. I think she’s going to be overjoyed to see you.”

I nodded. In theory, I agreed with him, but I was still nervous. I’d stood up to Todd Bingham, a murderer and a man who terrified half the town, yet I was scared to see my mother’s best friend. It made zero sense.

He hesitated, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’d like to treat this like we’re seeing her about a case.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I want to go in as Deputy Roland, and you’re with me because it pertains to you.” He gave me a wary smile. “Which means I don’t want her to know we’re involved.”

“Why?”

“I think she’ll be more honest and forthcoming if she believes this is official and not a chat.”

I considered it for a moment.. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

But it bothered me that he thought she might need added incentive to tell the truth.

He took my hand. “But we don’t have to be professional until we get into her office, okay?” A beat later, he added, “Once we get there, let me take the lead.”

“That seems appropriate given we’re here about a case,” I said, grinning wryly.

Marco started across the parking garage, walking with a very noticeable limp. He grimaced with each step.

“Marco, you need to see the doctor,” I admonished.

“I’ll go if it’s not better by next week. It’s only like this because I sat in the car so long. It’ll work itself out before we reach Tiffany’s office.”

We walked into the building, my clammy hand nestled in his grip, his reassurance seeping into me. Sure enough, his limp became less noticeable, but I was still worried about him.

We found the elevator bank, and Marco pushed the button. The door opened moments later. Several people got off, and we walked into the empty car.

The air felt thin, making me light-headed.

Marco dropped my hand and wrapped an arm around me, whispering in my ear. “Breathe, Care.”

I looked up at him, taking in the love and adoration in his eyes. He didn’t need words to reassure me that I wasn’t facing this alone. That look assured me that he was going to be with me every step of the way.

The elevator made multiple stops, taking on and letting off other passengers, but we were alone again by the time the elevator stopped on the forty-eighth floor. When the door started to open, Marco stepped away from me. “Let’s get some answers.”

The first thing that hit me as we walked off the elevator was that I felt blinded by white. Almost everything was white—the Carrara marble flooring, the walls, the pillars, the furniture. The only color was a full wall of pink roses, the flowers arranged to reveal the Simply Stunning logo with a white background showing through.

I followed Marco to the two receptionists at the marble front desk. Both were young, but the blonde seemed to be taking a call on her earbuds. The other had long, dark hair. Both women wore white dresses and appeared to be in their twenties.

The brunette receptionist looked up at us, her bright red lips stretched into a wide smile as she looked Marco up and down.

“Hi,” he said in a friendly tone as he stopped in front of her. “I’m Deputy Marco Roland with the Hensen County, Tennessee, sheriff’s department. I have an appointment with Ms. Olson at eleven.”

The receptionist looked at the tablet on her desk. “Yes, I see you here, Deputy Roland.” Her gaze shifted to me. “But I only have you down, not your associate.”

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem, will it?” Marco asked in a congenial tone. Then he added, “Since this is an official visit.”

Her smile wavered, and for a moment I worried she’d tell us it wasn’t fine, but she said, “Of course. Would either of you like a glass of fruit-infused water?”

Marco shot me a look that clearly asked, What the hell is fruit-infused water?

“No, thank you,” I said.

“None for me,” Marco said.

She smiled, then motioned to a white leather sofa to the right side of the lobby. “I’m Sydney. You can take a seat while you wait. I’ll be right over here if you need anything.”

Then, having dismissed us, she turned her attention back to her tablet.

I headed over to the sofa and perched on the edge of the middle cushion, but Marco walked around the lobby, looking everything over. It was a sea of white except for the pink wall of roses, and the décor and aesthetic were so far removed from Drum that we might as well have been on the moon. But Marco didn’t seem intimidated or out of place. After all, he hadn’t spent his entire life in Drum. He’d gone to college in Knoxville.

Still, this was a bit much. Even for me. It all felt empty and soulless.

My father’s reception area was like that too, although the décor was as stereotypically male as this was feminine—all dark wood, brown leather, and expensive paintings of eighteenth-century English hunts with men on horseback following dogs. I’d always felt like I was suffocating whenever in that place, even before my mother’s death. Then again, I’d only been to his office three times after. Once when the nanny made the mistake of thinking my father might want to have lunch with me. Once when I was in high school and needed him to sign a permission slip. And once when I’d come with Jake after we were engaged.

Sydney stood and called out, “Ms. Olson is ready to see you now, Deputy.” She walked around the desk. “Follow me.”

We headed down a long white hallway past glass offices that overlooked downtown Atlanta. Sydney stopped in front of an elevator marked Executive and pressed the button.

“This is the elevator to the executives’ offices on the top floor. That’s where the vice presidents work. And Ms. Olson, of course.”

“Hence the executive,” Marco said with a smile, gesturing to the sign.

She laughed. “Pretty observant. But then I guess you need to be since you’re a detective.”

She batted her eyes and I realized she was flirting with him.

The elevator doors opened, and we walked in.

“Not a detective yet,” Marco said in a friendly tone, although not so friendly that it sounded like he was flirting back.

“Maybe this will be the case that gets you your promotion.” She leaned closer and stage-whispered, “What are you investigating, by the way?”

“That would be considered confidential, Sydney,” he said with a grin.

“Let me guess, if you told me, then you’d have to kill me.”

“And that would be the CIA,” Marco said. “The rest of us try to keep our citizens alive.”

She laughed, and Marco winked at me.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head, realizing he’d drawn out his conversation with Sydney to distract me.

The doors opened, revealing another white hallway with lots of glass walls. I’d feel like I was working in a fishbowl here, and I doubted I’d last two hours before I stained my white clothing. This sterile environment couldn’t be less like the warm, welcoming home that Tiffany had lived in when my mother was alive.

“This way,” Sydney said, stepping out of the elevator and heading down the hall, the click-clack of our heels echoing around us. We followed her around a corner, stopping at glass double doors that opened to a large corner office with windows on both sides.

Directly across from us, in front of the wall of windows, a woman in a white leather office chair sat behind a white marble desk, focused on her desktop computer. She wore a white dress with a V-neck. I knew she was in her fifties, but I never would have guessed. With her smooth face and immaculate makeup, she looked to be in her early forties, at most. In fact, she hadn’t changed much since I’d last seen her seventeen years ago, and I wondered if her cosmetics company had found the fountain of youth.

Then I realized that instead of feeling overjoyed at potentially finding an ally in my fight against my father, I was leery. I couldn’t fathom why.

“Ms. Olson,” Sydney said in a cheerful tone. “Your eleven o’clock appointment is here.”

Tiffany kept her gaze on her computer. “Please come in.”

I hesitated at the door, my heart pounding, but Marco waited for me to walk into the room before striding toward her desk and extending his hand.

“Ms. Olson, I’m Deputy Marco Roland. Thank you for taking the time to meet with us.”

She looked up and gave him a polite smile, then shook his hand over her desk without getting up from her chair. It seemed like she was purposefully establishing who really ran the show. I needed to keep that in mind as we talked to her.

I walked closer to Marco but stopped partway into the room, about ten feet behind him and to the side.

“Deputy Roland,” Tiffany said in a congenial tone that reminded me of the one my mother had used when she was unhappy with someone but felt obligated to be polite “I confess I’m curious as to why an Eastern Tennessee deputy is here about a Texas case.”

“I’ll be happy to clear that up.” He glanced back at me. “This is . . .” His voice trailed off as he met my gaze and held it, letting me decide which name to give her.

She took me in, and then her mouth dropped open. “You look just like . . .”

“Mary Caroline Henderson,” I said. “But I knew her as Mary Blakely.”

She got to her feet and pressed her hands to her chest.

“Caroline?” she asked in a gasp that made it obvious she never opened that email.

I nodded, and she rushed around the desk, hurrying toward me. She started to cry as she engulfed me in a tight hug.

“I thought you were dead.”

“Alive and well,” I said, surprised that I felt nothing. No happiness. No sorrow. Nothing. My past and my present were colliding, and every emotion in me had bled out. What was wrong with me?

“Where have you been?” She released me and turned to look at Marco. “Is she in trouble? Is that why you’re here? Why didn’t you tell me this was about Caroline?” The last sentence was an accusation.

Marco glanced from me to Tiffany. “We decided it was best to use discretion.”

“I sent you an email,” I said lamely.

She shook her head. “I never got it.”

“I only sent it yesterday,” I said. “I used the email address on your website.”

She looked horrified. “I have someone who screens my email. I’ll talk to her immediately.”

“Honestly, I figured it was a long shot to reach you that way. Marco decided we should take a more direct approach.”

She turned her attention to Marco, giving him a closer perusal. “And you’re from Eastern Tennessee?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, clasping his hands together in front of him.

She turned back to me. “Caroline, how did you end up in Tennessee? Your father is worried sick. Why haven’t you reached out to him?” Her eyes flew wide. “Were you kidnapped? Were you just rescued?”

I stared at Marco, hoping he’d take the lead like he’d said, since I had no idea what to say.

“Ms. Olson,” he said, giving me a worried look. “Why don’t we all sit down? I have a few questions I’d like to ask you.”

“Questions for me?” she asked in surprise. “I don’t understand.” Her face shuttered. “Should I contact my attorney?”

Her attorney?

“You are well within your rights to ask your attorney to be present,” Marco said patiently. “But I assure you, we don’t suspect you of any wrongdoin’. We were just hopin’ to ask you some questions about Ms. Blakely’s mother.”

Her eyes widened in shock, likely from the topic he wanted to discuss, but a sense of unease ran through me at hearing him call me Ms. Blakely. Other than a handful of instances, I hadn’t been called that name in over a year. It felt wrong coming from Marco’s mouth.

“Yes, of course,” she said, looking flustered. “Where are my manners? You must be tired from your drive. How long was it?” Resorting to Southern hospitality, she ushered us to a sitting area to the left of her desk.

“Uh . . . four hours,” I said, trying to keep my wits about me.

Why did this woman have me practically shaking in my shoes? One thing was certain, if I couldn’t handle talking to Tiffany—a neutral party—I wasn’t even close to being ready to take on my father. The realization was followed by disappointment and then, to my shock, relief.

Did I not want to face my father? Was that why I was miring myself in Drum business?

But I didn’t have time to consider it, because Marco was ushering me to the white leather sofa. He sat next to me, leaving a good six inches between us to look professional. Tiffany sat in an armchair that had a high back and reminded me of a throne. It was obviously her usual chair.

Marco pulled out his phone. “Do you mind if I record this conversation?” When she hesitated, he said, “Again, you are not suspected of any wrongdoing. Just something I can refer back to later if need be.”

She hesitated, then nodded.

“Of course. I have nothing to hide,” she added with a forced smile. “Other than the recipes for my moisturizers and face creams.” She patted her cheek.

“You look remarkably young, Ms. Olson,” Marco said as he set up his recording app and turned his phone facedown on the table. “I thought you must have been your daughter.”

A bemused look covered her face, but it looked dulled from overuse. She obviously heard some version of that compliment several times a day. I’m sure her wrinkle-free and toned face helped sell those lotions and creams, although I suspected it was more likely a product of genetics and Botox.

“I was never blessed with children,” she said. “But thank you for your compliment.”

She was now staring at me in blatant fascination. When she realized what she was doing, she offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you look exactly like your mother.”

I gave her a tight smile in return. “So I’ve been told.”

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she seemed to regain control, narrowing her eyes and saying in a stern, motherly tone, “Caroline, where have you been?”

I hesitated, unsure how much to tell her. “Eastern Tennessee.”

“Why haven’t you contacted your father? He’s worried sick. He’s contacted me, you know. Sounds like he’s doing everything he can to find you.”

I jerked my gaze to Marco. Why hadn’t I considered that he’d contact her? Now I realized why Marco hadn’t mentioned my name when he’d made the appointment. She likely would have called him.

“How long ago did he contact you?” Marco asked in a casual tone.

“I don’t know,” she said absently, with an unfocused gaze. “A month or so after the wedding? Well, when the wedding was supposed to take place. I think it was last September.”

“When he contacted you, how did he sound?”

“Worried half to death, of course,” she said in disgust. “How else would he sound? She disappeared the night before her wedding. We didn’t find out until about ten minutes after the ceremony was supposed to start.”

“You were at the wedding?” I asked in shock. More to the point, why hadn’t they called off the wedding? While I’d done plenty of internet searches using my name, Jake’s, and my father’s, I’d never come across anything indicating they’d let things go that far before cancelling the ceremony.

Except . . . they didn’t know why I’d run. Maybe in the beginning they’d fooled themselves into thinking I really did have cold feet.

Tiffany’s back stiffened. “You didn’t invite me?”

“No, but it wasn’t because I didn’t want you there. My father hired a wedding planner who took care of everything, including the guest list. I didn’t want a big wedding, but he insisted on having a public ceremony for some of his business contacts. I gave the planner a list of some previous work colleagues and college friends. My father and Jake invited the rest.”

When she looked hurt, I added, “I hadn’t talked to you since Mom’s funeral. I just . . .”

Something cracked in my heart, oozing a thin stream of pain that stole my breath.

Her lack of contact had hurt me more than I’d realized. She’d been my Aunt Tiffany, and after my mother died, she was just one more person who’d abandoned me.

“What did Randall say at the wedding?” Marco asked. “When he announced it had been called off.”

“That the bride had gotten cold feet. He thanked everyone for attending but said there would be no wedding today.” She added, “He stressed the word today.”

That didn’t surprise me.

“Did the police contact you about her disappearance?” Marco asked. “Did they talk to any of the other guests?”

Frowning, she shook her head. “No. I never spoke to anyone about it until Randall called me.”

“What did he say?” Marco asked.

She casually rested her hand on the arm of her chair, but I got the impression it was for show. “He told me that Caroline had gone missing before the wedding, but they hadn’t alerted the authorities because of the potential bad publicity.”

“Didn’t you find that odd?” Marco asked.

She squinted at him, and wrinkles creased her forehead. So no Botox . . .

“He didn’t want it to reflect badly on Caroline. He said she’d been in a poor mental state before she left . . . that she hadn’t been thinking rationally. It was embarrassing enough to walk away from five hundred guests and a wedding that cost well over a hundred thousand dollars, so why bring national attention to her humiliation?”

“Did you agree with his plan?”

“No,” she said with a frown. “I admonished him and said if she was in a poor mental state it was all the more reason to find her quickly and get her help. He told me he’d hired private investigators to track her down. That was when he admitted they”—she shot a glance at me—“you’d had a falling-out at the rehearsal dinner. He said his first theory was that Caroline had run off, but the investigators hadn’t found any trace of her. That was why he was contacting me. He thought she might go to someone from her past.”

My heart skipped a beat, and the back of my neck felt clammy.

He’d thought right. When I’d broken down in Arkansas last summer, I’d told Rose that I was on my way to Georgia, but I hadn’t consciously thought about her. Maybe my subconscious mind had made the connection.

“What did you tell him?” Marco asked.

“That I hadn’t heard from her, of course. He begged me to tell him if I did. He seemed desperate to make things right. I repeated my suggestion that he should contact the police. People would get over the runaway bride story, and finding her and bringing her home safely was the most important thing. Then he told me they had another working theory. He said he has some powerful enemies, and he was worried she might have been kidnapped. He hadn’t contacted the police yet because he thought it might be safer for her if they didn’t involve the authorities, but he was very concerned because no ransom note had arrived. He said he had special people looking into it. People who would have a better chance of success than the proper channels.”

Had he really believed I’d been kidnapped? I was sure the Hardshaw Group had enemies who might have stolen the daughter of one of the top Hardshaw men the night before her wedding as a power play. But I doubted they would have held on to me for a month without breathing a word. In all likelihood, they probably would have killed me and then sent my father the photos . . . that or pieces of my body. I’m sure he knew that too, so when a month had passed and no one had claimed responsibility for my abduction, he’d pushed harder on the runaway theory.

“Did he say who those powerful people might be?” Marco asked, looking intrigued.

“No,” she said. “And I didn’t ask. But when you’re in a position of power and wealth like Randall Blakely, you’re bound to attract enemies.”

“Did he contact you again?” Marco asked. “Looking for his daughter?”

“No. I haven’t heard from him since. But then a month or so later, I heard he’d gone public and offered a half-million-dollar reward.” She narrowed her gaze on me. “Did you run off, Caroline?”

Marco sat up straighter. “Ms. Olson, I’d like to ask you some questions about Ms. Blakely’s mother.”

She looked caught off guard. “Mary Caroline died years ago.”

“Yes, Ms. Blakely mentioned she was in a car accident. Do you remember the details of her accident?” Marco asked.

“It was raining,” Tiffany said, looking uncomfortable. “She lost control of the car and crashed.”

“How close were you and Mary Caroline?”

“What does Mary Caroline have to do with her daughter’s disappearance?” she stammered in confusion. But the words had no sooner left her lips than her face paled. She reached over to a side table and pressed a button. “Claire? Can you please bring in some water?”

“Yes, ma’am,” a voice responded, and a woman sitting at a desk in a nearby office hopped up and disappeared down the hall.

“Do you need a moment?” Marco asked softly.

She nodded, staring at me like I was the ghost of my mother come from the grave to haunt her.

“I remember you,” I said, “but I’ll admit that I don’t remember much about you.”

“You were so young,” she said. “And you only saw me a few times a year.”

“I don’t remember seeing you at all after Mom died.”

“It wasn’t for lack of trying,” she said. “After the funeral your father said you needed time to grieve and that seeing me was too hard for you. Later, he said you didn’t want to see me at all, so eventually I stopped trying. Which was why I was so shocked to get the invitation to your wedding.”

“I never said any of that. In fact, he wouldn’t have been in a position to know how I felt.” But I wasn’t surprised my father had purposefully cut me off from someone who had been close to my mother.

A woman walked in with a tray topped with three empty glasses and a pitcher of water with cucumber, orange, and lemon slices floating amid ice cubes. She set it down on the coffee table and started filling the glasses and passing them out.

Marco immediately set his glass on the table next to him, but I took several long sips before setting my partially full glass on the coffee table in front of us.

Tiffany took her water, then turned to the woman. “Claire. Please close my door as you leave, and hold my calls.”

“Yes, Ms. Olson.”

Tiffany waited until her assistant left before speaking again.

“Randall led me to believe he was a doting father. He and Mary Caroline fought bitterly the last month or so before the accident, but he’d seemed so devoted to his daughter. He loved you,” she said in a pleading tone.

“What were my parents fighting about?” I asked. “I remember Mom and I came to see you in Atlanta. I know she was upset about Dad. What happened?”

She looked away. “I’m not sure I should be telling you any of this.”

“If you’re worried that I’ll think less of my mother because she had an affair, I’m long past any shock or disappointment.”

“So you know.” She picked up her glass with a shaky hand and took a sip.

“How long did it last?” I asked.

“A year. No more than that,” she said, then took another drink. “It was early in her marriage. She knew it was a mistake, and she ended it. But Randall found out about a month before the accident. He was upset by the news, even though your mother assured him it had ended years ago. You and your momma came to spend some time with me while Mary Caroline figured out what to do.”

“You mean whether to get a divorce?” I asked.

“It wasn’t that easy, Caroline. Your mother didn’t have a job and focused on volunteer work for charities. It made your father look good. He needed her for that as well as business functions. They needed each other.”

“So she decided to stay?”

She hesitated. “When she went back home, she did so with the mindset of trying to save her marriage. She thought it would be the best thing for both of you. She realized your family might not feel or look the same as it had before, but she wanted to try anyway.”

“And did my father agree to that plan?”

“Surprisingly, yes. He told your mother that the time away had made him realize that he didn’t want to lose his family, but he lost her anyway. Two weeks later, she was gone.”

“And you went to the funeral?” Marco asked.

She flinched. “Yes. Of course. She was my best friend.”

“How did Randall seem?”

“Grief-stricken, as you would imagine,” she said, but something about the way she said it seemed off.

“And little Caroline?” Marco asked.

She wrapped her arms over her chest. “Lost. I tried to speak to her privately, but Randall said she couldn’t handle the stress. Honestly, I think he’d drugged her. She had a dazed look in her eyes.”

“And that didn’t concern you?” Marco asked, his voice on edge. It was the first non-neutral tone he’d used since walking into her office.

“Of course it concerned me,” she protested, dropping her hands to rest on the arms of her chair. “But I also know how attached Caroline was to her mother. She had to be beyond devastated, but there was a large crowd for the funeral and Randall needed her to get through it. I presumed it was prescribed under a doctor’s supervision. How else would he have gotten it?”

I felt nauseated. He’d drugged me? Why did that surprise me after everything he’d said and done?

And was she lying to us or to herself? Everyone in this room knew my father could have easily gotten something to dull his hysterical daughter. No prescription needed.

“Did Mary Caroline have many assets of her own?” Marco asked. “Or did she acquire most of it through marriage?”

She looked confused by the question, but said, “She inherited a little money after her parents died. But it was peanuts compared to Randall’s fortune.”

“When and how did her parents die?”

“A car accident,” she said. “About a month before she got married.”

My heart skipped a beat, but Marco looked unfazed. My mother had never told me they’d died in a car accident. She’d only said they’d died before I was born, and I’d never thought to ask questions.

“Did her parents approve of Randall Blakely?” he asked.

Her hand went to the hollow of her throat, and she couldn’t look Marco in the eye. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because . . .” She paused. “They thought she was still in love with someone else. Her mother wanted her to call off the wedding.”

“What did Randall think of her parents?”

“He wasn’t pleased they were meddling, as he called it. But he told Mary Caroline that he loved her and could deal with her parents.” Her face lost more color.

“And how long after that conversation did their accident occur?” Marco asked matter-of-factly.

Her horrified gaze lifted to his. “A week.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

I thought Marco would go in for the obvious kill, to get her to tie both accidents together. The look in her eye made it obvious she didn’t think they were any more random than we did. But he didn’t. Instead, he asked, “How did Mary Caroline handle their deaths?”

“Not well.” Tiffany’s voice shook. “She was close to her mother. She definitely wanted to call off the wedding after that, but Randall told her the best way to honor her parents’ memory was to create a family of her own. With him.”

“So she went through with it?” Marco asked.

She nodded. “Yes. She tried so hard to be happy. To love Randall like she thought he deserved.”

“But she wasn’t happy,” Marco said. Not a question. A statement.

She wrapped her arms around herself as though she were cold. “No. Her mother was right. She was still in love with someone else.”

“And Randall discovered this about a month before Mary Caroline’s accident? That discovery is what led to their disagreements?”

“It might have been a little over a month.” She shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

Marco nodded absently, then crossed his arm.. “Before Randall found out about the affair, how was their marriage?”

“We lived a thousand miles or so apart,” Tiffany said, “so I only saw them a few times a year, and most people try to put on a show. They don’t like to look bad.”

“So you’re sayin’ if your best friend was having marital issues there’s a good chance she hid them from you?” Marco asked.

She started to say something, then stopped. “What does this have to do with Caroline’s disappearance?” She turned to face me, looking resentful. “I still don’t know what happened to you.”

I sucked in a breath, caught off guard by her hostility.

“Humor me,” Marco said good-naturedly, as though he’d missed her tension-laden comment. “Is there a chance they had marital issues before Randall found out? I mean”—he extended his hand—“she did have an affair. She must not have been happy in the beginning. You said she was still in love with someone else.”

“I don’t feel right discussing this in front of Caroline,” Tiffany said, tugging at the neckline of her dress.

“I knew she had an affair,” I said in a flat voice. “You’re not going to shock me or damage my image of her. Tell us.”

Her lips pressed together. “As I mentioned, there was another man before Randall, but he refused to marry Mary Caroline. She began dating Randall soon after their breakup, and it didn’t take them long to marry.” She gave me a pleading look. “But she learned to love your father.”

“She had an affair with the man she was previously involved with, correct?” Marco asked. “She married Randall, but she couldn’t let the other guy go.”

Tiffany stared at me with tears in her eyes. “No good comes from dragging skeletons out of closets.”

“It might, when that skeleton happens to be my biological father,” I said, holding her gaze.

She sat back in her chair, her face now pale enough that none of her bronzer powders could have helped her.

“Ms. Blakely remembers her parents fighting, but since she was just a slip of a girl, she only recalls bits and pieces. But she does remember that her parents were tryin’ to have a baby, without much success. They visited a fertility clinic and through that process discovered that Randall was actually sterile.”

Tiffany’s eyes widened in horror. “You weren’t . . . how . . . did . . .”

“Children are pretty intuitive,” Marco said. “You’d be surprised what they pick up on. Ms. Blakely discovered through her parents’ argument that her father was incapable of havin’ children, but it took her a few years and some maturity to fully acknowledge what that actually meant regardin’ her own parentage.” He paused a beat. “And why her father shunned her after the funeral.”

“What?” she asked in horror. “No. One of the reasons Mary Caroline decided to fight for her marriage was because he threatened to sue her for full custody and cut Caroline out of her life forever. Why would he do that if he didn’t want you?”

“Seriously?” I said before I could stop myself. “Randall Blakely is like a toddler who doesn’t want anyone else to have his toys, even if he doesn’t want them either.” I took a breath. “In case that analogy wasn’t clear enough, I was the toy.”

Her face was expressionless. “I didn’t know. He told me . . .”

“Did Randall ever hurt Mary Caroline?” Marco asked, as if she hadn’t said anything.

“What?” She jerked her gaze back to him. “No. Randall didn’t use fists. He used other things.”

“Such as intimidation?” Marco asked. “Seems like it was pretty effective when Mary Caroline was considerin’ a divorce.”

She didn’t respond.

“Was Mary Caroline afraid of her husband?”

She took a breath, then exhaled. “You mean did she think he would ever hurt her? No.”

“Did you think perhaps she underestimated him?”

Whatever leeriness I’d felt, still feel, in having come here, it shook me a little to see this strong, powerful woman on the verge of tears and struggling to speak. Maybe Aunt Tiffany was still in there somewhere. “I’ve always wondered,” she said, “if he had something to do with her parents’ accident, but I told myself it was paranoia. I didn’t really care for Randall much myself, and I agreed with her parents. She was still in love with another man, and Randall was too cold and calculating for her. If he loved her, it was because she was beautiful and agreeable. I think she felt guilty that she didn’t love him as much as he loved her. She definitely felt guilty for all her secret rendezvous. But when she became pregnant, she ended her affair and devoted herself to their marriage. She was thrilled to be expecting Caroline and found a deeper sense of happiness. And Randall became even more devoted to her. They were the it couple. ‘Relationship goals,’ as they say these days,” she said with a slight smile.

“He never suspected she was having an affair?” Marco asked.

“No, and trust me, she would have known if he did.” Tears filled her eyes again. “He probably would have killed her sooner.”

So she thought he’d killed her too.

“How long have you suspected Randall Blakely had his wife killed?” Marco asked.

Tears streaked down her face, and she swiped at her cheek. “Immediately after.”

“Did you alert anyone to your concern?”

“I hired a PI to look into it. I petitioned to have her car looked over for evidence of tampering, but he had it destroyed within a week after the funeral. I tried to be discreet about my inquiries, but Randall must have found out. I always wondered if that was why I was barred from seeing Caroline. So I circumvented him and went directly to her nanny. She told me herself that Caroline had no interest in talking to me.”

“What do you know about the accident?” Marco asked.

“Only that her car hydroplaned and crashed. She died from internal injuries.”

“Was there an official accident report?”

“Yes,” she said. “My PI got a copy.”

“Do you happen to still have it?” Marco asked. “I’d like to have a look.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Can’t you just request a copy yourself?”

“I could,” Marco said. “But I’m worried that Randall Blakely will be alerted that a deputy in Hensen County, Tennessee, is requesting information about his dead wife’s accident. And if he finds out . . .”

“It will lead him directly to me,” I said quietly.

She sucked in a sharp breath.

“Aunt Tiffany,” I said. “We both know he’s killed people he supposedly cares about before. And trust me, he doesn’t care for me at all. I’m now a loose end that he needs to dispose of. Up until now, I’ve managed to hide from him, but I can’t hide forever.” I paused. “Deputy Roland has offered to help me, but it’s not without risks.”

“What took you so long to reach out to me?” she asked, grabbing a tissue from a nearby box and dabbing her face.

“I wasn’t ready to fight my father on my own. But I think I might be strong enough now.”

Tiffany turned to Marco. “No offense, but what’s a sheriff deputy from a poor Appalachian county going to be able to do to help my goddaughter?”

Her lack of confidence in him was palpable.

That pissed me off. “Do you think Deputy Roland is the first law enforcement official I’ve talked to? Hardly, but he’s the first one to agree to help me.”

Tiffany narrowed her gaze on Marco. “And what makes you think you can deal with someone so much more powerful than you?”

“You mean you think Caroline needs an ally who’s not a good ole boy from Drum, Tennessee?” Marco asked, laying his twang on thick.

“No offense,” Tiffany said half-heartedly, raising her hand in surrender.

“Well, I’m offended,” I snapped.

“Carly,” Marco said softly. “You don’t need to defend me.”

“Carly?” she asked in surprise. “Your mother used to call you that. When did you start using that nickname?”

“After I ran.”

She nodded. “Your father hated it.” A soft smile lit up her eyes. “Good choice.”

“We’re takin’ this slow,” Marco said. “Baby steps. Gathering information. Carly’s not ready to make herself known, but she also realizes she can’t hide forever. If you could show us whatever your investigators found, it would be helpful.”

She nodded. “Of course. It’s all digital, so if you give me an email address, I’ll have it sent to you.”

“We’d very much appreciate that,” he said. “There’s one thing you haven’t told us, something Carly’s very much interested in, so I need to ask, who was the man Mary Caroline had an affair with?”

She sucked in a breath. “That’s not really for me to say.”

“Was it my Uncle William?” I asked bluntly.

Fear filled her eyes.

“I heard my parents arguing about him, and I remember him being around before Mom’s murder but not after. Did my father kill him too?”

“What? No. Will . . .” She paused. “When he found out that he was likely your father, he fled. Moved to Maine and changed his name. That was a few weeks before Mary Caroline’s accident.”

“What did he change it to?” I asked.

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She held my gaze. “Caroline, you need to let that man go. He let your mother go long before Randall discovered the truth.”

“Did my mother know William was my biological father?”

“She always suspected, but I think she convinced herself that you were Randall’s. Until she found out that he was sterile.”

“We’re going to need any information you have about William,” Marco said in a no-nonsense tone.

She snorted in disgust. “Nothing good will come from talking to William Blakely.”

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Marco said, then turned to me. “Carly, do you have any more questions?”

I shook my head. I’d heard enough.

“Thank you for your time, Ms. Olson,” Marco said as he got to his feet. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card as I got up beside him. “My number and email address are on there.” He handed the card to Tiffany. “I’d appreciate it if you’d send what you have right away. Obviously, we’d also appreciate it if you’d keep silent about meetin’ Carly. I think it’s obvious to state that you could endanger her life if you let Randall Blakely know her whereabouts.”

She stood, glancing between the two of us. “At least tell me why he wants her dead. He’s known she wasn’t biologically his for years. Why hurt her now?”

“Those details are better kept quiet for now.”

She frowned at me. “Where are you going? Back to Hensen County?” Grabbing my arm, she said, “Stay here with me. You can stay at my house, and I’ll hire security to protect you. Randall’s already looked for you here, and he knows I was clueless.”

“No, thank—” I started to decline her offer, but Marco interrupted.

“Carly, can I speak with you for a moment?”

I gave him a confused look and followed him toward the glass doors.

He cupped my upper arm as he lowered his face next to mine, whispering, “Maybe you should stay here with her.”

My heart felt like it was being ripped out of my chest. “You want me to stay here?”

Agony filled his eyes. “No. I don’t want you to stay here, but back in Drum you not only have to worry about your father but also people like Bingham and Bart Drummond.”

“You think I’ll be safer here.”

“That’s just it. I don’t know. But there’s no doubt that Tiffany has more resources to protect you than I do.”

My panic rose because I could see how he would think that.

“Don’t you dare leave me here, Marco. I’m not helpless. I have you, and Max, and Hank. I have protection.”

Plus, though I couldn’t put it into words, something felt off with Tiffany. I wasn’t one hundred percent certain I could trust her.

“This is your way out of Drum, Carly,” he said insistently. “Your way out of a crappy job in a crappy town. Tiffany probably lives in an even nicer house than when you last stayed with her. A mansion, I’ll bet. You’ll be more comfortable staying there until this is resolved.”

Tears stung my eyes. Did he think I was that shallow? “Do you think I give a shit about any of that? I grew up in a mansion, Marco, and I was absolutely miserable. If you knew anything about me, you’d know that.”

His hand tightened on my arm. “Don’t say that, Care. I know you were, but you deserve so much better than what you have right now.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. I never had love in my father’s house, but I have it in Drum. I need love and friendship more than I need protection.”

“But Tiffany—”

“I’m coming home with you, Marco.” A lump filled my throat. “Don’t you want me to come home with you?” I had worried I wasn’t ready to live with him, but in that moment I realized I’d been wrong. Or maybe I’d just been scared.

“I—” His voice broke, his eyes pleading with me. “I can’t imagine going home without you, but I also want to do everything I can to protect you.”

I steeled my back. “I’m going home with you.”

His resolve wavered and his mouth lifted into a wobbly smile. “Okay.”

But he didn’t sound confident that he’d made the right choice.

I turned back to Tiffany. “I’ll be going back to Hensen County. We would appreciate it if you sent everything you have on my father to the address Marco just gave you.”

Disappointment filled her eyes, but she nodded. “I respect your decision. I promise to have everything sent this afternoon. But Caroline, before you go, could I have a few minutes alone with you?”

Marco gave me a questioning look. When I nodded, he walked over to the coffee table and picked up his phone. He crossed to the door, glancing back at me. “I’ll wait for you by the elevator.”

I mouthed thank you, and he walked out of the office.

“Come,” she said, moving over to the sofa. She sat and patted the space next to her.

I did as she’d requested, sitting next to her. She took my hand and cradled it between both of hers. “Let me look at you.” She touched a lock of my hair. “You’ve always been blonde.”

“I colored it.”

“You should consider going back. Your mother had beautiful blond hair. I think it would suit you better.” When I stared at her, unsure how to respond, she smiled and smoothed my hair back from my face. “Sorry. This is my profession. Sometimes it’s hard to keep my opinions to myself.”

I smiled but still didn’t say anything.

“Your mother would be so proud of you. You’re such a beautiful girl. Randall said you were a third-grade teacher at the school you attended as a girl.”

This conversation felt surreal. We were talking about another lifetime. Another person. “That’s right.”

She stroked the side of my head. “I should have done a better job of watching over you. Mary Caroline would be so disappointed in me.”

Did she feel guilty? Did she want me to absolve her? Maybe I didn’t distrust her. Maybe I was just pissed as hell. She’d suspected my father had killed three people, yet she’d left me in his clutches.

Still, I had to remember that she’d had no legal standing against my father, and apparently, she’d made multiple attempts to contact me. Maybe I wasn’t being fair. “I’m sure you did what you thought was right.”

“But that’s not much consolation now, is it? Not if you went through hell.”

“There’s nothing to be done about it now,” I said, suddenly exhausted and ready to get out of here. “We can’t change anything. We can only go forward.”

She nodded, dropping her hand from my cheek and taking my hand again. “I never had children, Caroline. Stay with me, and I’ll give you a job in my company.”

I gasped in shock. “I don’t know the first thing about cosmetics.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll teach you everything you need to know.” Tears filled her eyes. “You can become the daughter I never had. I can protect you, Caroline. I have the money and the resources. I want to do it. I need to do this for my best friend.”

Was I foolish to refuse her help? Would I have accepted if Marco weren’t in the picture? But I thought about the office full of white and glass walls. The model-thin employees looking like they were ready for a photo shoot. I’d barely worn makeup since August, and my idea of nice clothes was shopping at Target instead of Dollar General. I would hate this life.

Caroline Blakely would have found a way to make it work. She’d have settled.

Well, Carly Moore didn’t settle.

“Those are both very generous offers,” I said carefully, “but I can’t accept.”

“What do you do in Eastern Tennessee? Where do you live?” She paused. “Are you in a relationship with that deputy? He seems very concerned about you.”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you any of that.”

Her face dropped. “You don’t trust me.”

“I don’t fully trust anyone other than Marco.”

“So you are in a relationship with him.” She frowned. “How much can a sheriff deputy from some Appalachian mountain town make? It can’t be much. And how are you making money? Are you teaching school? Between your two salaries, you’d be lucky to be above the poverty line.”

“I’m not going hungry, and I have a roof over my head.” Then I added, “And a sheriff’s department is a county law enforcement agency.”

“I understand his appeal,” she said with a knowing smile. “He’s quite a handsome man, and his job probably gives you a sense of security, but it’s never a good idea to hitch your future to a man. Your mother did that, and look what happened to her.”

“I am not my mother.” As much as it hurt me to admit it, there was no denying it was true. She had always been my model of the ideal woman, and in my own eyes, I’d invariably fallen short. The realization that she’d been far from perfect was making me question everything.

“No,” she said softly. “I can see that.” She squeezed my hand. “We have so much to catch up on. At least stay a few days. If you still want to go back, I’ll arrange for a private car. Your Deputy Roland won’t have to make the trip.”

“As much as I’d love to do that, this trip was spur of the moment, and I have responsibilities I need to get back to.”

She released a frustrated breath. “At least tell me why you ran from your father? What happened?”

“Did my mother love Uncle William?”

She blinked in surprise. “Yes, she thought she did.”

“Why didn’t he want to marry her?”

After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “Because his brother saw her first and decided he wanted to marry her. Will said he’d never defy his brother.”

I let out a puff of air. “So he figured it would be better to screw his brother’s wife behind his back?”

She shot me a glare. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t it?”

“Don’t talk about my best friend like that,” she admonished, but she sounded more tired than angry.

“How did Uncle William take Mom’s death?”

“He was devastated—so devastated he actually risked everything by returning from Maine for her funeral. Truly, it nearly killed him. He looked like walking death looking over her casket. Somehow, he managed to leave and return to Maine without meeting his own death. Then again, maybe it was enough for Randall to have taken Mary Caroline from this world. What better punishment than making William live without the love of his life, knowing his indiscretion was the reason for it?”

“What about his child?”

She was quiet for a moment. “I think Will always suspected you were his, even before anyone discovered Randall was sterile. I saw the way he treated you. He thought you hung the moon. But ultimately Randall’s name was on the birth certificate.”

“Why didn’t he at least insist on a DNA test?”

She shook her head, distraught. “Caroline . . . I don’t know.”

“You both thought he murdered my mother, and yet you left me there with him.”

Tears flooded Tiffany’s eyes again. “There was nothing I could do, Caroline. Trust me, I would have sent someone to kidnap you and bring you to me if I thought I could have gotten away with it. I took my role as your godmother seriously.” She leaned her face closer to mine. “I still do. Carly, please . . . reconsider. Come stay with me. I’ll protect you, I swear.”

My goddaughter came to mind, and I tried to put myself in Tiffany’s shoes. What would I do if I found out that Bingham had killed Lula?

I didn’t even have to think about it. Although I barely knew Beatrice and I certainly wasn’t Lula’s best friend, I’d do everything in my power to protect that little girl. Even if it meant kidnapping her and living on the run. I would never leave her to her father’s mercy because Todd Bingham had no mercy.

And neither did Randall Blakely.

Tiffany had been my mother’s best friend. She’d known me since I was born. She claimed to care about me, yet she’d left me to that hell.

No wonder my feelings about her weren’t all warm and fuzzy. What guarantee did I have that she wouldn’t abandon me again at the first sign of trouble?

“I appreciate that,” I said, slowly tugging my hand free of hers, “but I’m not a little girl who needs saving anymore.”

She started to protest, then stopped. “Yes, I can see that too, but I hope now that you’ve opened the door we can stay in touch.”

I smiled, but it was forced. “I’d like that.”

“And when you have the opportunity, come and spend a weekend with me. You can even bring your handsome deputy with you.” She gave me a sweet smile.

I held firm. “I need William’s new name, Aunt Tiffany.”

She started to ask who, then stopped. “What happened with your father?”

“Give me Uncle William’s new name, and I’ll tell you.”

“Grayson Matthews,” she said. “He lives in Kennebunkport, Maine.”

“Does my father know?”

“I’m sure he does.” She gave me a stern look. “Now, why are you scared of your father?”

“You really don’t know?” I asked. “The night of the wedding rehearsal, I heard him planning to kill me.”

“Why?” she asked in horror. “Why now?”

“Because once I was married, I would be superfluous.”

Then I got up and walked out of the office.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Marco was waiting for me by the elevator. He looked me up and down as though to make sure I was okay.

I gave him a smile, then reached out and took his hand. “I got his name.”

He looked surprised but pushed the down button with his free hand. “William Blakely’s?”

“Yep, he goes by Grayson Matthews, and he lives in Kennebunkport, Maine.”

Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a small notebook and wrote the information down. “Good work.”

We were silent all the way to his car, but he held on to my hand as though he was worried that he might lose me in the crowded elevator and lobby.

He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door, staying put while I climbed onto my seat. “How are you, Care? Really?”

“I don’t know,” I said, turning toward him and looking into his eyes. “Did I find out what I wanted to know? Yeah, I guess, but does it change anything? Not really. We know he killed my mother, and it sounds like he killed her parents too. But we have no proof and no solid leads to follow. We both know that Tiffany isn’t going to say anything else to the authorities. She’d look paranoid and delusional. Not to mention she probably realizes what my father would do to her.”

I sank back in the seat and pushed out a sigh. “Maybe I should let this go. Just stay in hiding and be Carly Moore forever.”

He was silent for a moment. “And always be watchin’ over your shoulder, wonderin’ if he’d find you?” He paused. “I can’t stop thinkin’ you might be safer living out in the open.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean?”

“It would have been easy for him to make you vanish before you fled. I looked you up on the internet, Carly. You lived a very private life. The only photos of you were the ones your father released when he said he was lookin’ for you. You were hardly on social media, and besides your weddin’ announcement, you hadn’t been mentioned in any articles since your mother’s death. You could have disappeared and hardly anyone would have noticed.”

He wasn’t saying anything I didn’t already know.

“But he made you newsworthy by offering that reward. You couldn’t resurface and then disappear again without it makin’ the news. So if you were livin’ out in the open—”

“Stop right there. My mother lived a very public life, and he killed her in a car ‘accident.’ He killed her parents that way too. So that blows your theory, Marco.”

“I’m scared, Carly,” he said, cupping my cheek. “Can’t you see that? What if your father catches wind that we went to see Tiffany? She knows my name. Hell, she knows what town you live in. I think I just fucked you over.”

“I’m scared too, but I’m glad we went to see her. We have more answers, and we know I’m not crazy.”

“You have to leave Drum eventually,” he said. “Maybe we should consider moving up the timeline.”

“Not yet,” I said. “I’m not finished in Drum yet.”

He studied me for several moments, then finally leaned forward and kissed me. “Okay. Not yet.” He pulled back a little, his expression serious. “Besides, we have a much more serious immediate concern.”

“What’s that?” My heart skipped a beat.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the parking slip. “I forgot to get this validated.”

I broke into laughter and threw my arms around his neck.

No, I wouldn’t be going anywhere without Marco. I needed him too much.

We stopped for lunch once we were outside of Atlanta, picking a booth that overlooked the parking lot. After we ordered our food, Marco got out his phone and a laptop he’d retrieved from a bag in the back of his car. He checked his email first, confirming Tiffany had followed through with her promise to send the information she’d gotten from her private investigator, and then concentrated on looking up Grayson Matthews.

He found him in a matter of seconds, turning his computer around so we could both see the screen. “I think this is him. I see a resemblance to your father.”

The image of a man on a yacht filled the screen. Although his hair was grayer and his face more wrinkled than I remembered it, he did look familiar. I zoomed in on his face.

“You have his eyes,” Marco said softly.

A tear slid down my cheek.

Alarmed, Marco got out of his seat and slid in next to me, wrapping his arm around my back.

I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize. You’ve been through hell this morning.”

“Thanks for arranging the meeting with her,” I said. “I realize I’m kind of a mess right now, but I still appreciate it.”

“I’d think there was something wrong with you if you weren’t kind of a mess,” he said.

I pointed to the screen, my voice breaking. “I lived . . . I was alone.” I choked back a sob, embarrassed. “I lived with that murderer, and the man who supposedly thought I hung the moon has been sailing on his yacht.”

While I’d suspected William Blakely had run away, I’d pictured him living like me—holed up off the grid, surviving from paycheck to paycheck. I didn’t know much about Kennebunkport, but I suspected it wasn’t cheap to live there. Or to own a yacht.

William Blakely hadn’t been hiding in fear. He’d been exiled, sure, but plenty of money had helped blunt the sting.

Something inside me broke.

“Care.” He hugged me tighter. “Let’s get our lunch to go.”

I wiped my cheeks, even more embarrassed now. “I’ll be okay.”

“No,” he said, closing his laptop and then flagging down the waitress. “We need to get that order to go.”

“Of course,” she said, her voice full of understanding when she saw my face. “It’s almost ready.”

“Marco.” I intended to protest, but the words didn’t come out.

“Carly,” he said, turning toward me. “Do you know I’ve never once seen you cry over this mess? Sure, a few tears here and there, but no bare-your-soul sobbing.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I think you’re due a good cry, Care. It doesn’t mean you’re weak.” He gave me a wry smile. “If this was happening to me, I would have been bawling before we left the parking garage.”

I released a laugh and promptly choked on another sob.

He gave me a soft kiss. “Come on. Let’s go out to the car, and I’ll come back in for our order.”

I waited at the table while he explained the situation to the waitress, and then he stuffed his laptop into the bag and led me out the front door. As soon as we reached Marco’s Explorer, the dam burst loose.

Standing next to the still-closed passenger door, Marco pulled me to his chest and wrapped his arms around my back. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

I sobbed into his shoulder, deep, gut-wrenching sobs, as all the pain and heartache of the past year gushed out in an ugly mess. I wasn’t sure how long I cried, I only knew I was safe because Marco was there, absorbing my pain.

When I finally settled down, he wiped my cheek with his hand, staring at me with so much love it took my breath away. “You said he left you alone, but you don’t have to do this alone anymore. I’m in this with you now, and I’m not leavin’, okay?”

“I love you,” I said, feeling like the words weren’t enough to tell him how I felt.

He smiled. “I love you too. I’m gonna go check on our lunch.”

But he didn’t leave until I was settled comfortably into the front seat. He came back out a few minutes later, carrying a bag. I reached over the driver’s seat to pop open the rear hatch and got out of the car.

He met me next to my door, giving me a questioning look. I took his hand and led him to the back, then sat down with my legs hanging over the bumper.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“It beats sitting in the front seat.”

He gave me an apologetic grin. “I guess we tend not to eat in restaurants.”

“This time it was my fault.”

He handed me a to-go container before sitting down next to me. “I think we should focus on you, Care, and let this Louise issue rest right now. It worries me that Tiffany knows so much. If your father contacts her again, there’s a chance she might give something away. Even if she doesn’t intend to.”

“Agreed,” I said, opening the lid of my container. “But that’s not to say we should take off. We have at least a few days to decide what to do.” I took a bite of my turkey sandwich, and even though it was probably fine, it tasted like dust at that moment. “It would look pretty suspicious if we just left, you know. Especially since neither one of us has been talking about leaving. Besides, you’re a deputy sheriff, Marco. They might think you did something wrong and start digging.”

It hit me that everything Wyatt had warned me about was true, and part of me hated him for it.

“Okay. Then we need to keep you safe until we can leave,” he said. He’d opened the lid to his burger and fries but hadn’t taken a bite. “I’m gonna talk to Hank about moving you back in with him. I can’t be home all the time, and there’s no one else in Drum that I’d trust more to protect you.”

“So that’s our plan? Just hole up and hide?” I said, something rebellious in me starting to rise.

“Until we can work out an exit strategy.”

“What then? You were right earlier. I’m tired of running, Marco. I’d rather fight my father from somewhere I know. Where we have people watching our backs.” I shoved my sandwich away. “Facing Tiffany scared the crap out of me. I felt like scared, weak Caroline Blakely again, not Carly Moore. It was like every bit of strength I’ve gained over the last ten months had vanished.”

“Not at the end,” he said. “You were strong at the end.”

“But I had to work up to it.”

He gave me an encouraging smile. “But at least you found it. Consider that a win.”

I wasn’t so sure. “If I face my father as Caroline, I’ll never survive. I can only do this as Carly. Besides, we can’t leave Max alone with his mother and father. We can’t leave Hank either, not knowing that Bart and Louise both have it out for him.”

“But you won’t go out in the open,” he said.

“No, not yet. We still have work to do.”

“What are you suggestin’?” he asked, sounding guarded.

“Let’s finish what we started. We’ll bring Bart down before we even think of leaving.”

“Your father is still a threat.”

“So we tell the people close to me that I’m in danger, and they’ll watch my back.”

His brow lifted. “Or turn you in for the reward. Half a million dollars is a lot of money.”

I snorted. “He’ll never pay it. Not when he can just send someone to kill me.”

He frowned. “He’s not going to send a sniper. Based on his history, he’s more likely to send someone to tamper with your car.” A surly look washed over his face. “We need to talk to Wyatt.”

I shot him a surprised look. “Why? To see if he’s been asked to cut my brake lines?”

“No, to ask him how to tell if someone’s tampered with it.” He hesitated. “He still cares about you.”

I shook my head. “No. I don’t think he really likes me. I think he’s a Drummond who is used to getting his own way, and I was the first person to tell him no. He can’t stand it, so he can’t let me go.”

“I’m not sure it’s that simple, Care.”

“Honestly,” I said, already exhausted by talking about Wyatt, “I don’t care why he can’t let me go. He just needs to learn to accept it.”

“But he hasn’t yet, which means he’ll help protect you.”

I leaned my head back and groaned.

“You want to stay in Drum, and you know this is the best way to keep you safe.”

“Fine, I’ll talk to Wyatt.” Besides, I could use the opportunity to ask him if he remembered the bar fight between Bruce Abernathy and Todd Bingham.

“Tonight.”

I checked the time on my phone. “If we head back now and don’t get delayed by traffic, we should be back in Drum by five. I won’t be late for work, but there won’t be any time to spare.”

“So ask him to come into the tavern. If you don’t want to call him, have Max do it. But talk to him tonight.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to him.” I leaned over and gave him a soft kiss. “Happy now?”

“As long as I have you safe and still loving me, then yes.” Worry filled his eyes. “But I’ll never be truly happy until we’ve eliminated the threat of your father.”

I couldn’t help wondering if that would ever come to pass.

Chapter Twenty-Four

I drove for half the trip so Marco could study the file Tiffany had sent. She’d also sent me a personal note in the email, giving me her cell number and begging me to call her.

“‘I want to make up for all the years I let that monster hurt you,’” Marco read. “‘I’ll never forgive myself for letting Mary Caroline down.’”

I kept my eyes on the road. “I won’t even consider it until after my father is apprehended. And even then . . .” I drew a breath. “I have a lot of resentment, whether it’s deserved or not. It’s going to take some time.”

“Understandable,” he said.

The PI’s report didn’t have much more information than what Tiffany had shared with us, but it did include my mother’s and grandparents’ accident reports. My mother’s report said she’d lost control of the car and had run into a nearby tree. They hadn’t determined an external cause for the crash, and her toxicology report had come back clean. The cause was determined to be a distracted driver, although the only person who knew for certain was dead.

“What about the people in the other car?” I asked. “I’d never heard another car was involved.”

“Killed on impact,” Marco said. “He killed three people that day.”

I bit my lower lip to keep from crying. How much destruction could one man cause? And he wasn’t done yet. It also confirmed what I’d already suspected—he’d have no qualms about killing the people around me to make sure I was gone.

“The report backs up everything else she told us. Tiffany tried to have the car examined, but the salvage yard crushed it at your father’s insistence. She requested an autopsy, but he denied it.” He glanced up at me. “I suspect that’s one of the reasons he refused to let her see you.”

“It was punishment.” I turned to look at him.

“And he couldn’t let her see how different your life had become. She might have been able to fight him legally.”

I shook my head. “No. She wouldn’t have. She could have, and she didn’t.”

He reached over and took my hand, squeezing, then returned to studying his laptop. “There’s an accident report for your grandparents. It says they were traveling on a highway at a high rate of speed and ran into another car that had slowed down in front of them.”

“That doesn’t necessarily sound like foul play.”

“Their brakes failed. A leak in the brake fluid line.” He drew in a breath. “I don’t believe for a moment it was a leak. It was cut.”

“But we can’t prove it.”

“We’ll find something, Care.”

“Just like we’ve found something on Bart,” I said sarcastically.

“We’ll take care of them both.”

There was nothing else that stood out to him, and I refused to discuss it anymore. Instead, I told him that he needed to get a Netflix subscription once his internet was installed. We discussed what series to binge on the next time we both had a day off and settled on Schitt’s Creek, because neither of us had seen it and we wanted something light and fun.

Part of me felt certain it would never happen.

Marco dropped me off at the tavern, promising to be back after the dinner rush, and then headed to Ewing to work on his paperwork at the sheriff’s office.

I walked through the back door and quickly changed into jeans and a black Max’s Tavern T-shirt in the bathroom.

Ruth was in the dining room, and I walked over to join her.

“How’s Franklin?” I asked, watching her closely to see if she was in on his lie.

“It’s a good thing he’s so hardheaded,” she said, shaking her head. “The doctor said it’s the only thing that kept him from scrambling his brains.”

“How’s his truck?”

“Totaled, damn fool. It was almost paid off too.”

“I’m sorry, Ruth.”

“Thanks, but I wouldn’t mind taking some of your lunch shifts and staying until close over the next couple of weeks so I can help him raise enough money to get a new truck. He had insurance, but it’s not enough to cover a decent down payment.”

I wouldn’t mind going home around ten every night for a while, and if I had afternoons free, I could do more investigating. Besides, I wanted to help Ruth if I could. I liked Ruth. In fact, after what Marco had told me, I couldn’t help wondering if Franklin was lying to her too.

“Of course, Ruth. Anything you need.” Then I asked, “Did he say anything about the person who ran him off the road?”

She shook her head, glancing over at a couple walking through the door. “He doesn’t remember much. Only that it was a black truck. Just like with Jerry.”

“That’s so scary,” I said, forcing myself to sound sympathetic. “And he doesn’t know why they ran him off the road?”

“Because there’s a maniac on the loose?” she asked sarcastically.

“What was he doing out there so late?” I asked, realizing that he’d been out close to Louise’s property, which was on the opposite side of Drum from where he and Ruth lived.

“I don’t know,” she said, sounding agitated. “He said he was drinking with his friends.”

Had he been drunk? Marco hadn’t mentioned doing a blood alcohol test on him or making him do a field sobriety test. If he’d been inebriated, I could see him coming up with the black truck excuse as a cover. But surely Marco would have smelled the alcohol on his breath.

And why was Ruth agitated? Because I was asking questions or because she was ticked at her boyfriend?

She turned to face me. “We were due for a talk, weren’t we?” she asked. “Do you want to hang out tonight?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Marco dropped me off, and he’s picking me up after work.”

“Oh,” she said, looking hurt. “Okay.”

“Maybe we can find time before I go,” I said.

“Yeah.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her we should meet for breakfast in the morning, maybe invite her out to Marco’s house, but I kept hearing Max in my head, warning me not to tell her. It broke my heart that he didn’t trust her, but he obviously cared about her a great deal and knew her better than I did. And now the whole Franklin situation wasn’t sitting right.

“I’m glad Franklin’s okay,” I said, offering her an apologetic smile.

“Yeah, me too.” Then she turned to get a refill for a customer.

I walked over to the bar to talk to Max. He gave me a grim look, then flicked his eyes to Ruth and back to me.

“You have a successful trip?” he asked in a low tone.

“I’m not sure,” I said, distracted. I hated that I’d hurt Ruth’s feelings.

“You can’t tell her,” Max said.

I stepped closer to the bar and lowered my voice. “Why not?”

“It’s just a hunch, Carly.”

“If you don’t trust her, why do you let her work here?”

“That’s just it. I usually do trust her. I trust her with everything to do with this business.” His lips pressed together. “But something doesn’t feel right about tellin’ her about you.”

“You think she’d turn me in for the reward?” I asked in disbelief. I knew she needed money, but she was also loyal.

“I don’t know,” he said, getting agitated. “Just trust me.”

Something didn’t sit right with his just trust me plea, but it didn’t seem like the right time to discuss it.

“Can you call Wyatt and see if he’ll come in tonight?” I asked. “I need to talk to him about something.”

His eyes widened slightly. “What about?”

“A car question,” I said, hating that I was being evasive, but now he was being cagey with me. Or maybe I was just paranoid.

“I would but he said he was goin’ to Nashville for the day. Pickin’ up some special part.”

I frowned. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“Sometime tomorrow, I reckon.”

“Okay.”

“Is Hank havin’ trouble with his car? I thought Wyatt got that lever thing all sorted out so he could drive.”

“I just had a couple of questions. I guess it’s no hurry, but I don’t want it to fall off my radar. I have a lot going on.”

He gave me a look that suggested that was an understatement. A family walked in and sat in my section, so I headed over to take their order.

We had a bigger crowd than usual, so we kept busy. Just when the dinner crowd started thinning out, about ten customers came in to watch baseball. Then, to my surprise, Michelle Abernathy walked through the front door at around eight and headed straight toward the bar.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Ruth said next to me, staring at her. “What’s she doin’ here?”

“You know her?” I asked in surprise.

“Yeah, she used to be a regular back when Wyatt ran the place.”

Crap. Why hadn’t I thought to ask Ruth? She’d worked at the tavern before Max had taken over. “Do you know much about her husband, Bruce? I heard he was arrested after a bar fight here.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You won’t share with me, yet you’re askin’ me questions.”

“That’s fair,” I said, “but my story can’t be told while bussing a table. It’s more of a bottle of wine kind of story.”

Her brow shot up. “That good, huh?”

I wasn’t sure I appreciated the excitement in her eyes. “Yeah. Now tell me about Bruce.”

“Why are you so interested in him?”

“I know he worked for Hank,” I said, “and now that Hank’s getting together with all his old work buddies . . . let’s just say I’m curious.”

She studied me for a moment. “Okay, but let’s take these plates to the back. I don’t think we should be talkin’ about it out here with Michelle watchin’.”

I glanced over, and sure enough, Michelle was watching us. I picked up a stack of plates and a couple of glasses, Ruth picked up flatware from the next table, and we headed to the back.

“Okay,” Ruth said once we were out of sight. “Bruce started working for Hank when he was like sixteen or seventeen. He quit school to do it.”

“He was older than you, wasn’t he?” I said. “How do you know that?”

Ruth rolled her eyes. “Please. I’ve worked here for years. People talk.”

She had a point.

“Rumor had it he had his eyes set on Barb Chalmers, but Hank wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Why not?”

“Because Hank wanted his baby girl to go to college, and he didn’t want her comin’ back when she was done. In fact, everyone said he and Mary planned to move to Florida at some point, but then Barb came home pregnant. Bruce was still interested in her, but Hank put his foot down.”

“Why?”

“Because Bruce Abernathy was a lowlife, opportunistic scumbag, and he saw gettin’ involved with Barb as his opportunity to get his hands on Hank’s riches.”

My mouth parted in surprise. In light of this new information, Bruce’s involvement with Louise seemed more than suspicious. What if he’d decided to go after Hank’s fortune in a different way because his first attempt hadn’t worked?

“So he married Michelle instead?” I asked.

“Yep, but Michelle always knew she played second fiddle and didn’t like it. In fact, she insisted he quit workin’ for Hank—she didn’t want him anywhere near Barb—but he refused.”

“I thought Michelle was friends with Barb.”

“I guess it was a keep-your-enemies-close type situation.”

Gross. But I decided to give Michelle the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she really had cared about Barb, and it was her husband she hadn’t trusted. With reason, it would seem.

Speaking of. “Cassie told me that Bruce had an affair with Louise Baker.”

Ruth snorted. “Who didn’t?”

“So why did Bruce get into a fight with Bingham that night?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea.” Her eyes narrowed. “Does this have anything to do with the black toolbox?”

I wanted to tell her the truth. I was tired of parceling out information in small bits and trying to remember what I’d said and to whom. But that was how it had to be for now. Marco had warned me about Franklin, and Max’s words were bouncing around in my head. Only . . . why had he refused to tell me why he didn’t trust her?

What if it’s Max you can’t trust?

I refused to consider it. Marco trusted him for the most part, and besides, Max had never shown any sign of being out to get me. If anything, he’d gone out of his way to keep me safe.

“I don’t know,” I said, honestly, because all I had to link Bruce to the toolbox was a hunch, and for all I knew, he hadn’t known squat about it. Shoot, the stupid toolbox might not even be real . . . except Lula said she’d seen it. “I guess I’m trying to figure that out.”

She nodded. “Why don’t you go talk to her? To the best of my knowledge, she hasn’t been in here for years. The last time I remember seein’ her here was before the night Bruce got in a fight. I’m guessin’ she’s here to see you.”

“Thanks, Ruth.”

“We girls gotta have each other’s backs,” she said with a warm smile.

My guilt increased tenfold, but I walked back out to the dining room, not surprised to see Michelle in a booth in my section nursing a bottle of beer. It was the booth, in fact—the same one Bingham always sat in when he showed up to talk to me.

Max caught my eye and nodded toward her, so I headed over and slid into the seat opposite her.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” I said. “I got the impression you’d said your piece and were done.”

“Yeah, well . . .” She took a pull from her bottle, and I recognized it for the stalling tactic it was. She lowered the bottle. “I thought of a few other things.”

“I’d love to hear anything you have to say, but first I need to know how you know about me.”

Her bottom lip puffed out. “I heard you were livin’ with Hank Chalmers, and I wanted to know things. So I asked around.”

“Why would you want to know about a woman you’d never met before?” I asked, not hiding my suspicion.

“I’m a curious gal, okay?” she said defensively. Then she glanced around the room before turning back to me, lowering her voice. “If I had some good information, do you think Hank would pay a finder’s fee?”

Okay, so I hadn’t expected that. “I can’t really say. Honestly, he doesn’t have much money.”

She nodded and took a sip of her beer before setting it back down. “What if I said I knew where it went?”

I tried to control my reaction, but my brow still shot up. “Hank’s money?”

“It ain’t buried in his yard like people suspect, but it is buried. If I can help you recover it, do you think Hank would give me a finder’s fee?”

I squirmed in my seat. “I can’t really speak on Hank’s behalf.”

“That’s not what I heard from Big Joe. He says you’ve got Hank buyin’ you a washin’ machine.”

“You’ve talked to Big Joe?” I asked in disbelief. I’d gotten the impression the Carpenters and the Abernathys weren’t the best of friends.

“He knew Bruce,” she said with a shrug, as though that explained it all.

“Does Big Joe know where Hank’s fortune is buried?”

She snorted. “I ain’t stupid. He’d as soon kill me and take it for himself if he knew.”

“He wouldn’t give it back to Hank?”

She took another long drink. “No. He’d definitely take it and run.”

Did Hank know that?

“Where exactly did Big Joe and Bruce fit into the hierarchy of Hank’s organization?”

“Bruce was a grunt worker. He aspired to more, but Hank held him back. Bruce thought it was because Hank was threatened by him.”

That didn’t seem likely, but I thought it best not to say so.

“And Big Joe?” I asked.

“His right-hand man.”

Shit. If Big Joe had been Hank’s right-hand man, why was he talking to the widow of the guy who’d potentially stolen his money? Then again, Hank had called a meeting with his old associates under the guise of a poker game. Maybe Big Joe was playing Michelle, making her think he wants the money for himself, to see what he could find for Hank.

“So do you know where the money is buried?” I asked.

She made a face. “Not exactly . . .” Then she finished off her bottle. “I’m gonna need another one of these.”

I stared at her for a long moment, then grabbed her empty bottle, got up from the table and headed to the bar.

“She needs another beer,” I said, thunking the empty bottle on the countertop.

“What’s she up to?” Max asked under her breath.

“Reminiscing about her husband.”

“And who’s that?”

“You don’t know who she is?” I asked as Max grabbed a new bottle out of an under-the-counter fridge.

“Nope,” he said, popping the top. “Should I?”

“No. I suppose she was before your time.”

“So who is she?”

For some reason I didn’t want to tell him her name outright. “Her husband got into a fight here at the tavern with Bingham, but it was before you took over the bar. You were still at college.”

He gave me a quizzical look. “So?”

“So her husband hanged himself a few days later in the county jail.”

He grimaced and set the beer bottle on the counter. “No shit.”

“Yeah.” I reached for the bottle, but Max didn’t release it.

His gaze held mine. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

But maybe it was too late to be careful. He knew my secrets, and so did Tiffany. The walls were caving in.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I took the bottle back to the table and sat down, feeling more unsettled than ever.

What the hell was going on in this town?

I gave Michelle a forced smile as I slid the bottle over to her. “You were saying that you know that Hank’s money was buried. You have some idea where it is, or you wouldn’t expect a finder’s fee. But you also can’t get it back without help. Otherwise you would have dug it up yourself.”

She placed her finger and thumb on the neck of the bottle and twisted, keeping her gaze on the spinning bottle. “I heard you were smart.”

I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that. “Who told you that?”

She shook her head. “Don’t matter. It’s the money you need to be concernin’ yourself with.”

“Okay, what can you tell me?”

She looked around again, then leaned forward, lowering her voice. “It was a three-man job. Louise, Bruce, and someone else I don’t know about.”

I couldn’t believe she was telling me this. “Someone who worked for Hank?”

“Someone who was close to him.” She gave me a knowing look.

I sucked in a breath. “Are you suggesting that Barb might have had something to do with it?”

She lifted her shoulders into an exaggerated shrug. “Dunno. But it was someone who had access to Hank’s comin’s and goin’s.”

“So it could have been Big Joe.”

“Maybe.” But I could tell she liked the idea of the third person being Barb.

“Did Bruce and Barb date?” Then I added, “I heard Hank didn’t want them to date, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t seeing each other.”

She looked ready to spit nails. “I wouldn’t say date. More like screwin’.” She gave me a sly grin. “She really liked screwin’.”

Gross. “You look pretty happy to be discussing a woman who potentially slept with your husband.”

“Nothing potential about it. They did.”

“So he was sleeping with Louise and Barb at the same time?” I sputtered.

A grimace spread across her face. “Well . . . Bruce and Barb might not have been involved at the end.”

Suddenly, her story was starting to seem less plausible. Why would two women sleeping with the same man choose to work together? “So . . . you say it was a three-person job, Bruce, Louise, and a third person close to Hank—possibly Big Joe, possibly Barb. Or maybe someone else altogether.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“So what happened to the money? Why’s it still buried?”

“Because one person was conveniently locked away for years, another was murdered, and the third didn’t know what had happened to it.”

I took a second to think about what she’d said. It was obvious Louise didn’t know where the money was, and Michelle had flat out told me the third person didn’t know. Which left one person. “Bruce buried it.”

“Yep. He told me he wrote down the location, but then she was arrested, and he was killed.”

“Did he happen to hide the information in a black toolbox?”

She looked leery, like maybe I held more cards than she’d realized. “He told me it was in a toolbox, and I searched our garage and all over our property and never found it.”

“And you think the location of the money is inside?”

She nodded, then took a drink.

I narrowed my eyes. “When did he tell you that he’d buried it?”

There had been a very short window between Walter’s murder and Bruce’s arrest, not to mention it sounded like Michelle and Bruce hadn’t been close near the end.

“When I visited him in jail and told him I couldn’t make bail. He said the whole thing wasn’t sittin’ right. He thought he was being purposely kept in jail until they found out where he’d put it.”

“Who was keeping him there?”

“He wouldn’t say, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Bart Drummond. He had that kind of power.”

So I’d heard.

“I never got the chance to ask him again, because the next time I saw him he was dead.”

“Have you told anyone about any of this?”

“No. You’re the first person I’ve mentioned it to. I don’t trust nobody, but when I was askin’ around about you, I heard how you helped those Crimshaw boys, not to mention Hank’s grandson. Plus, I know you’re living with Hank.” She hesitated. “I figured maybe you could approach him for me.”

“But if you don’t know where the toolbox is, how can he find the money?”

Frowning, she tapped the side of her bottle. “I might know where the toolbox is.”

“I thought you already looked.”

Her gaze lifted to mine. “On my property. Not Louise Baker’s land.”

Should I tell her that Louise knew about the box and was looking too? No. I was keeping my cards as close to the vest as possible. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Relief filled her eyes. “I’d appreciate it.”

“Can I ask you a question?” It was a long shot, but I figured she might be agreeable since she wanted me to talk to Hank for her.

“Shoot.”

“How do you know Bart Drummond?”

Her eyes widened and her face paled.

Crap. She did. I tried to rein in my disappointment. “Is this all for him?”

“What?” she gasped. “No.”

“Then what kind of relationship do you have with him?”

“It was a long time ago,” she said. “Somehow it had gotten back to Bart that Bruce had taken something from Hank, and Bart wanted to know what it was.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I didn’t know—which was true. Bruce claimed to have stolen his fortune, but I didn’t know what it was.”

“And Bart accepted that?”

“He wasn’t happy, but what could he do?”

A lot. The man was capable of a lot. “Was this before or after Bruce was arrested for his fight with Todd Bingham?”

Fear filled her eyes. “Before.”

“So you didn’t tell Bart about the toolbox?”

“No.”

“Do you think Bart tried to get the information from Bruce in jail and had him killed?”

Tears filled her eyes. “I dunno.”

“Are you working with him now?”

Her head jerked violently side to side. “No. I hate the man. I’d sooner eat a cockroach before I help him again.”

But according to what she’d told me, she hadn’t helped him before, that she hadn’t told him anything about Hank’s money or the toolbox. Was that a slip of the tongue, or had she done something else for him?

“Don’t you want to keep the money for yourself?” I asked. “Why bring me and Hank into this at all?”

“I’ve struck out tryin’ to find it on my own.”

“I’ll talk to Hank tonight.” A talk about his past was long overdue, and I was going to insist on answers this time. “You know, if we don’t find the money, he’s not going to give you anything.”

“I know.” Hope filled her eyes, but I wasn’t so certain it was warranted. That toolbox was gone, which meant someone had taken it. I doubted she’d be able to tell us anything useful. “You’re sure you didn’t tell anyone else about the toolbox?”

“Yeah.”

I pushed out a sigh. “Okay. Leave me your number, and I’ll get in touch with you after I talk to Hank.”

I wasn’t sure how he’d react to Michelle keeping this to herself all this time.

I gave her a ticket from my order pad, and she wrote her number on the back. I slipped it into my pocket and then left the booth, leaving Michelle to finish her beer.

As I walked over to check on a table of customers, I spotted a guy I recognized sitting at the bar. He was in his thirties and kind of rough around the edges. Short beard and dark brown hair in need of a cut. I didn’t know his name, but I knew who he usually came in with—Bingham.

Our eyes locked, and he gave me a deadpan stare, leading to a five-second game of chicken. As much as I wanted to wait him out, the customer calling my name behind me forced me to end the match and take their drink order.

What was Bingham’s guy doing here? From the looks of it, he was keeping tabs on me. Had he seen me talking to Michelle? I looked over at the booth, and she was gone.

Marco came in around eight thirty, walking with a slight limp. He sat down at the bar with Max, several stools away from Bingham’s guy. Max glanced over at me, and I gave him a warm smile. He looked exhausted.

Bingham’s guy peered at Marco over his shoulder and reached for his wallet. After he placed several bills on the bar top, he headed out the door.

I wasn’t sure what to make of it—had he been watching me, or was it a coincidence?— but another table grabbed my attention before I could give the matter any more thought. After I walked their wing order over to Tiny, I sidled up to Marco at the bar and kissed him hello. Several people broke into cheers, and I turned around to face them with a smile.

“Let’s give them a real show,” Marco said in an undertone, grinning. He pulled me back into his arms and kissed me again, dipping me slightly backward this time.

More cheers erupted. When he pulled back, we were both grinning. Things in my life were crap right now, but at least I had this man with me.

“Take her home, Marco,” Ruth said from behind me.

Marco gave her a surprised look.

Max laughed. “Ruth wants more hours to help replace Tater’s truck, and I suspect she’s worried Carly’s gonna get more tips after that show.”

“I am not,” Ruth teased, “but I can see you two need to go home.”

Marco eyed me hopefully.

“It’s only eight thirty,” I protested. Ruth and Max would be handling the place alone.

“Go home already,” Ruth said. “There’s not a big crowd tonight. I can handle it.” She leaned closer. “We both know I need the tips.”

I could have argued with her, but I was eager to tell Marco about everything I’d learned. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me twice.” Turning to Marco, I said, “I need to go in the back to get my things.”

“I’m parked back there, so I’ll walk with you.”

He hopped off his stool and put his arm around my back, ushering me to the storeroom.

“Carly,” Ruth called after me. “Call me.”

I glanced back at her and nodded. I couldn’t put off talking to her forever. I just needed to figure out how much to tell her.

As soon as we got into the Explorer, I said, “Don’t go yet. I need to tell you about my visitors tonight.”

I told him what Michelle had said about Louise and Bruce working together with a third person who likely had access to Hank’s schedule.

“Who do you think it was?” Marco asked.

“I figure two strong possibilities are Barb or Big Joe.”

“Hank won’t take it well if either of them betrayed him. Especially Barb.”

“We have to tell him,” I said. “It’s time to make Hank talk to me.”

“I don’t think he’s gonna be thrilled Michelle’s been sittin’ on this information either.”

Talk about an understatement.

“You know,” he said, his eyes lighting up, “there’ve been reports of vandalism on several properties over the last week. I hadn’t put it together until now, but people are reporting that multiple big holes have been dug on their properties.”

“Like someone’s looking for a buried treasure?”

“Yep.”

Michelle had seemed certain the fortune was buried.

“Do you think they buried a bunch of cash?”

“Stands to reason,” he said with a small shrug.

I drew in a breath and sat back in my seat. “I’ve seen Ozark, Marco. I’ve seen how much space ten million dollars takes.” I turned to look at him. “I presume we’re talking about that much money.”

His mouth twisted to the side. “I haven’t seen Ozark, but I do know it would take more space than people realize. And I think we’re looking for at least ten million, maybe more. Hank was king back in the day, and he hardly spent any of it.”

“What was the point of it, then?” I asked. “Why make that much money and do nothing with it?”

“You’ll have to ask Hank that question.”

I intended to.

“Who do you think is digging those holes?” I asked. “Louise and her accomplice?”

“Maybe. But from the looks of it, they’re just diggin’ random holes. They need the toolbox, which is why she contacted you.”

“It’s obvious the third person doesn’t know where the money is,” I said. “If Barb got it, she would have left. Same with Big Joe.”

“If either of those two were even involved. The third person could have been someone totally different.”

“Okay,” I said, “let’s put that aside for now. Louise needs the toolbox because Bruce hid the location inside it. Maybe he told her about the toolbox but didn’t tell the third person. Maybe that’s what got Bruce killed.”

“The third person killed him?” Marco asked. “Or it could have been someone like Bingham. They did get in a fight two days after Walter’s murder.”

“But where does Bart come into this?” I asked. “Louise went to see him, so he has to factor in somehow.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“So where do we go from here?” I asked.

He lifted a brow. “I know one person who potentially has answers to a lot of our questions.”

“I can think of three people.” But I figured we needed to start with the one least likely to kill me. “Let’s go talk to Hank.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Marco pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward Hank’s.

“Do you think Bingham could potentially be doing the digging?” he asked.

“If he’s looking for it, Lula didn’t seem to know. Then again, I doubt he’d tell her. He seems to genuinely love her, but his business always takes priority. So, yeah, I can definitely see him looking for the money himself.”

“What about Bart Drummond?” he asked.

“Yep, he’s the third person who might have answers to our questions, but I have a feeling he has less of them than he’d like.” I twisted my mouth. “Although I have nothing to back that up. Just a hunch.”

“I get the feeling Bart is taking a back seat to all of this,” he said, “but you know who else is taking a back seat?” He darted a look at me. “Louise Baker.”

“What are you talking about? She started this whole thing.”

“Exactly. She dropped in, tossed out some breadcrumbs, told you she’ll be in touch, and you haven’t heard a word since.” His grip on the steering wheel tightened. “What if she did this to get you churnin’ the pot, and she’s plannin’ to swoop in and skim the cream of your labors off the top.”

I frowned. He was hardly the first person to have suggested something like that, and there was no denying I’d played right into her hands.

“Maybe.” I said. “Do you think we should stop?”

“No. But I think we need to start thinkin’ about what Louise might gain from this, because the possibility of her runnin’ off with Hank’s loot scot-free seems pretty unlikely at this point. There are too many parties involved.”

He was right. So what was her endgame?

“Who else came to see you?” he asked. “You said you had visitors. Plural.”

“One of Bingham’s men was there. He was watching me, and I’m pretty sure he saw me talking to Michelle. He left soon after you walked in.”

His brow furrowed.

“I know that I’m sounding paranoid again . . .”

“No. It’s entirely plausible, and it was smart of you to notice. Obviously Bingham feels like he has a stake in this. You said he was upset you hadn’t told him what was going on, so maybe he’s got someone watchin’ you too.” He cast a glance at me. “Did you get a chance to talk to Wyatt?”

“Max said he went to Nashville to pick up a part and won’t be back until tomorrow.”

“Okay, so we’ll check back tomorrow.”

“I did find some information about Bruce from Ruth.” I filled him in on what she’d said.

“So she didn’t know what the fight was about,” he said with a frown. “Then Wyatt probably won’t know either.”

I could kick myself for not asking Bingham when I had the chance.

“I plan to find out.” I twisted my hands in my lap. “I’m nervous about confronting Hank. I think he’s going to be mad at me. He asked me to leave this alone, and I’ve been poking around, asking questions.”

“So maybe you lead with what you know about Michelle and Big Joe.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

He gave me a sidelong glance. “Care, even if he gets angry, he’s not going to disown you or send you away.”

“He’s already sent me away to stay with you,” I said with a hint of bitterness.

“He did it to protect you.”

“My head knows that, but my heart still hurts. It’s stupid, I know.”

He reached out and took my hand. “You’re entitled to your feelings, but I’m telling you right now that Hank is no Randall Blakely. He loves you, and askin’ him questions isn’t gonna change that.”

I hoped he was right.

The house was lit up when we pulled into the driveway, and I was surprised to see several cars and trucks parked in front of it. The same vehicles I’d seen at his place on poker night.

“His friends are here,” I said, my stomach dropping to my feet.

“What do you want to do?”

“I need to talk to him, but I don’t want to do it in front of them. I guess we should just head back to your house, and I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

“You don’t even want to go inside and say hi?”

“This is why he asked me to move out, Marco.” I gestured to the cars. “He told me I could drop by to see him, but he specifically said I could come over all I want in the mornings. He doesn’t want me to walk in on anything, and I need to respect that.”

He leaned over and gave me a soft kiss. “Tomorrow it is.”

Turning the car around, he started down the country road to the highway, but he hadn’t gone far before he slowed to a crawl. “They’re not gonna stay there all night.”

“Are you suggesting we go see Hank after they leave?”

“No, I want to follow his friends. Do you know what Big Joe drives?”

My heart thudded against my rib cage. “No.”

“You up for waiting a bit?”

“Yeah.”

He sped up a little, then stopped and backed into a gravel drive surrounded by trees.

“What did you do after you dropped me off at work?” I asked after he killed the engine. “Get caught up on paperwork?”

“Yeah, after I finished my paperwork, I checked on Adam.” He shot me a pained grimace. “That’s the boy I’m trying to help. He’s acting out in his foster home. If he keeps it up, they’re going to kick him out, and he’ll have to go to a group home.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. You’ve been doing everything you can for the kids around here. Education is their key to having a future, and kids like Adam and the Crimshaws . . .sometimes they just need to know someone cares about them, you know?” He released a self-conscious laugh. “Of course you know.”

“Maybe that’s why we work so well together. Because we share the same goals and values.” I reached over and squeezed his hand. “We both want to help other people.”

He leaned over and placed a soft kiss on my lips. I wrapped my hand around the back of his neck and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.

Groaning, he said, “I can think of a few other ways we work well together. How do you feel about car sex?”

I laughed. “We might have a tough time zooming off after one of Hank’s buddies if I’m sitting on top of you.”

He groaned again and shifted in his seat. “Jesus, woman. That visual is killin’ me.”

I laughed again, reaching over to cover his crotch with my hand. “There are other ways to do this.”

He leaned his head back on his seat and released a few sounds that told me he wasn’t opposed to what I was doing over his jeans.

We heard a car approaching from the direction of Hank’s house, and my hand stilled.

A huge sedan passed us, heading toward the highway.

“That was Ruth’s car,” I said, sitting up and pulling my hand away.

“I thought she was at work,” he said, sounding pained.

“She doesn’t get off for another three hours. Franklin’s probably driving her car.”

“Given he lied about the black truck, I suspect he’s up to something,” Marco said, sitting up and grabbing the steering wheel. “Odds are it relates to you. I say we follow him instead.”

“Agreed.” But I wasn’t happy about it. Franklin had always been nice to me, and Ruth was my friend. I didn’t want him to be up to something. Still, following him made sense. Maybe we’d find out he was innocent of wrongdoing, and it would ease my mind. “Follow him.”

Marco started the engine, inched to the edge of the road, and headed toward the highway. The taillights of Ruth’s car were visible up ahead as it rounded a curve.

“I asked Ruth about Franklin’s accident.” I leaned forward, propping my hand on the dashboard. “I was trying to see if she knew he was lying.”

“And?”

I frowned. “I couldn’t tell.”

He didn’t say anything, and we followed Franklin in silence. He turned left, toward the lookout, a known meeting place for people who were up to no good.

We rode in silence, Marco staying a good distance behind Franklin. I fully expected him to go to the lookout, but to my surprise, Franklin turned onto the road leading to the building site of Bart Drummond’s resort.

“What’s he doin’ there?” Marco mused outloud. As he turned onto the road, he slowed down and turned off his lights, creeping about fifty feet behind.

“We can’t keep following him, or he’ll figure out something’s up,” Marco said. “I say we pull onto one of the side roads and park the Explorer out of sight. We can sneak over to the construction site to find out what he’s up to.”

I was wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and my tennis shoes, but Marco was still in the dress pants and button-down shirt he’d worn for the meeting with Tiffany, not to mention his nice dress shoes. “You might ruin your clothes.”

“If we catch him meeting with Bart Drummond, it’ll be worth it.” He flipped a switch to turn off the interior lights, then got out and opened the back hatch.

I followed him.

“I suppose it’s wasted breath to ask you to stay in the car,” he said, opening the safe where he stowed his gun when he was off duty.

My breath hitched. He was preparing for trouble. “I’m not letting you go alone.”

He released a halting chuckle, sounding more anxious than jovial. “I’m trained to deal with this, Care.”

“I’m going with you.”

The safe opened, and he grabbed his service weapon and popped in a clip. “We’ll walk along the road until we get close, then duck into the trees. You have to stay behind me and do as I say.”

“Of course.”

He placed a couple of extra clips in his pants pocket, grabbed a flashlight and a pair of binoculars, and shut the hatch. “Okay. Let’s go.”

He looped the binoculars over his neck, and then we started walking toward the construction site. My mind was racing, coming up with endless scenarios about what all Franklin could be doing, making me feel like we were dillydallying, taking forever to get there. He worked for the county’s road maintenance division. He had no good reason to be out here, but there were plenty of possible bad ones. I started to jog.

Marco did the same, casting me a worried glance.

I made a face and whispered, “I don’t want to miss anything.”

“Then you set the pace,” he whispered back.

I ran faster, and Marco kept up, but he had a noticeable limp. Cursing myself for being so thoughtless, I cast him a glance and started to slow down.

“Don’t slow down on my account,” he grunted. “Keep going.”

Part of me knew we should slow down for Marco’s sake, but I had to know what Franklin was up to.

I was out of breath by the time we reached the curve in the road that turned toward the resort. Marco slowed to a jog, then lifted a finger to his lips and pointed to the woods.

I followed him into the pine trees, grateful that the ground was relatively bare so we weren’t making noise. The lights of Ruth’s car glowed through the trees and illuminated the side of the partially constructed resort. There were no other vehicles in sight, no voices.

Marco continued walking through the trees until we were a little closer. Then he lifted his binoculars and studied the construction site. The exterior walls had been erected, but there weren’t any doors or windows. It was too dark to see the state of the interior.

My heart was beating wildly. Marco lowered the binoculars and shook his head before walking a little further through the trees, edging closer to the side of the building.

After we’d moved another fifty feet, we were nearly parallel to Ruth’s car, which was parked next to an opening for a bank of doors that hadn’t been installed yet. A dim light shone from inside the building. Marco lifted his binoculars again, scanning the side of the building and inside. I could see the metal framework for interior walls, but they hadn’t put up Sheetrock yet, likely giving Marco a clear view through the building.

“He’s inside talkin’ to someone, but I can’t tell who it is,” he whispered.

“Are you sure it’s Franklin?”

“Yeah,” he said, sounding disappointed.

I had to admit I was disappointed too. In the back of my mind, I’d hoped it was someone else. “Is it a man or woman?”

“Definitely a man.” He lowered the binoculars and walked parallel to the building, heading farther down the length of it. He stopped again and resumed his watch. Seconds later, he grabbed my arm and tugged me back a few feet deeper into the trees before dropping into a squat and pulling me down with him.

Franklin came out of the building and stomped toward the car. He got inside and slammed the door shut, then sped off, kicking up gravel behind him.

I thought Marco would get up and run through the woods back to his car, but he stayed in place, lifting his binoculars again. A light still glowed in the building, and it slowly began to dim.

“The guy he was meetin’ is leavin’,” Marco said, still watching. “He’s going to the other side of the building. Stay here.” Before I could answer, he shot up and darted across the parking lot and into the dark shadows of the building.

Crickets began to chirp around me, and I waited for what seemed like forever, my nerves so tightly wound they felt like rubber bands on the verge of snapping. I was about to go into the building to make sure Marco was okay when he came out, limping. He wasn’t trying to hide, so I stood and walked out to greet him.

“I lost him,” he said quietly.

“Was it Bart?”

“I don’t know,” he said as he reached me. “Whoever he was, he headed out toward Bart’s property. I followed him for a bit, but my leg slowed me down.” He rubbed his outer thigh.

“So it was probably Bart.”

He made a face, hesitating. “If I had to bet, I’d say yes, but I couldn’t swear to it.”

My stomach churned. “What’s Franklin doing meeting with Bart Drummond?”

“I don’t know, Care. I wish I did.”

I wish I knew too, but one thing was certain—I couldn’t trust Ruth. Not until I knew what Franklin was up to.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

We walked back to Marco’s Explorer. Marco was in too much pain to run this time.

“Let’s get you home and into the shower,” I said, worried about him. “We’ll warm up your leg, and then I’ll massage it.”

“We need to find Franklin. Watch him to see what he does next.”

“He’s long gone, Marco. We’re both tired, so let’s go home.”

He wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “You called my house home.”

I glanced up at him, remembering the revelation I’d had earlier, when we were in Tiffany’s stark, monochrome office. “I suppose it is.”

He leaned over and kissed me. “I love you, Carly.”

“I love you too.”

When we reached his car, his leg was spasming, so I drove, shooting him worried looks.

“I’m fine,” he said, sounding exasperated. “It’s just a cramp. It’s like I said earlier. It’s probably just because I sat so long in the car today.”

I didn’t answer, but I was worried. Given the mess of trouble we were in, odds were good we’d find ourselves running or chasing someone in the not-too-distant future. Would Marco be able to keep up?

I had him take a muscle relaxer and a long, warm shower, then massaged his thigh in bed. But he rolled me over before long and said he had something else in mind to help him relax.

The next morning we woke up and decided the first thing that needed to happen was for me to talk to Hank. I was dreading the conversation, but we both agreed it would be best if I spoke to him by myself. Still, Marco didn’t want to leave me alone, so he planned to drive and wait outside or in his car.

Hank wasn’t on the porch like usual when Marco pulled onto his property. Worry burrowed in my gut as I hopped out and rushed through the door, calling out, “Hank?”

“In here,” he answered, and seconds later he appeared in the kitchen doorway with a shotgun in his hand. “What’s wrong?”

I placed my hand on my chest. “Oh, my God. You scared me half to death.”

“You’re the one bustin’ in shoutin’ my name,” he grumbled. “Why do you sound so terrified?”

“You weren’t on the porch. I thought something had happened to you.”

He snorted. “I’m makin’ my breakfast.”

“With a shotgun?” I said. “And you usually eat earlier than this.”

“Since when did you become the breakfast police?” he grumped, then headed back into the kitchen.

“Am I safe in assuming you greeted me with a shotgun because Louise Baker is back in town?” I asked sarcastically, following him.

The kittens were under the table, playing with a cat toy. Letty looked up when I walked in, and I thought she might come to me, but she decided her toy was more interesting.

Hank stood at the stove, flipping sausage links. I couldn’t help smiling because they were the chicken sausages I’d bought for him rather than the pork ones he preferred. He’d practically refused to eat them in the beginning, but he’d grudgingly said they were okay. Now he was cooking them on his own.

My grin must have irritated him because he said, “Yeah, so I’m eatin’ that stupid sausage, and how do you know Louise Baker’s back in town?”

“Because she’s paid me a couple of visits.”

His eyebrows shot up his forehead. “What did that witch want?”

“She wants me to help her find something. She claims she has proof that Bart had Jerry killed.”

“She’s lyin’,” he snarled, turning his back to me as he tended to the skillet. “She’s tryin’ to get to me through you.” He pointed a spatula at me. “You stay far away from that woman.”

“She told me she stole your fortune, Hank. Is that true?”

He froze for a couple of seconds, then said softly, “Just the other day, you told me you didn’t give a shit about my money.”

“I don’t. Your money is your money, but if she took it, then I have no qualms trying to find it and return it to you.”

“She’s usin’ you, girlie,” he said, sounding exhausted. “You need to stay away from that woman.”

“Did she take your money, Hank?”

He dumped his sausage on a plate with scrambled eggs that were a pale yellow. He’d thrown some of the egg yolks out, just like I always did.

Hopping, he carried the plate to the table, then motioned for me to take a seat.

“You eat yet?” he asked, sitting down.

“Marco fed me.”

He kept his attention on his plate as he picked up a fork and sawed into a sausage link. “He’s a good man, that Marco Roland. You can’t do much better than him.”

“I know, but we’re talking about you right now. Did Louise take your money?”

“No,” he said, then lifted his eyes to mine, looking older than I’d ever seen him.

“She stole my gold.”

“What?”

He turned his gaze back to his plate. “I didn’t keep cash. Too risky. And I couldn’t put it in the bank, so I bought gold.”

“She stole your gold?”

“She had help. A guy named Abernathy helped her. He worked for me, and the two of ’em must have plotted it together. The damn pile weighed a few hundred pounds.”

I stared at him in shock. I couldn’t believe he’d had that much gold, let alone that he was admitting to it. “How much was it worth?”

“In today’s money? About twenty mill.”

My mouth dropped open, and it took me a few seconds to recover enough to ask, “How in the world did they get their hands on it?”

“I don’t know how they found it, but Mary had hired that bitch to clean. Gave her too much free rein in the house. Still,” he said, sawing off another piece of sausage, “it wasn’t in the house. It was hidden in the garage.”

“You kept twenty million dollars’ worth of gold in your garage?” I cried.

“Yep, in three forty-gallon barrels. The question is how they found out it was there. If you popped the tops off them, they looked like they were full of used tools.” He shrugged. “Mary wanted to use china, but I told her no one would buy a barrel of china that heavy, so she relented.”

I could hardly wrap my mind around it. He’d had twenty million dollars. In gold. In his garage. In barrels. “Couldn’t you have put it in a safety-deposit box or something?”

“That much gold?” He shook his head, still focused on his breakfast. “Seemed like a good place to keep it.” He shrugged. “Well…until it was gone.”

“So they just found a way to make off with your barrels of gold, then?”

“Nope, they were sneakier than that. They cut a hole out of the back of each of ’em. I figure it must’ve taken ’em a week or more to carry it all off the property without being noticed. We searched bags and shit as people left the pot manufacturing site, but not here. Mary claimed we didn’t have much worth stealing.” He snorted, shaking his head.

“How’d you figure out Bruce Abernathy helped her?” I asked.

His face lifted. “The question is how did you?” He rolled his eyes. “You’ve been sleuthin’.”

“I was never out to steal your money, Hank,” I protested.

He reached over and patted my hand. “Girlie, I know that, but I don’t want you anywhere near this mess. And what a mess it is.”

“Is that why you asked me to leave? So you could strategize with your old work buddies?”

“Partly. We’re trying to find out what that bitch knows, but Bingham’s after her too.”

“He wants the money?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind, but he seems more interested in settlin’ a score.”

“For how she treated Lula?”

“I’d like to say that’s the reason, but somehow I doubt it. He may love that girl, but he loves himself more. I suspect she wronged him too before she was locked up. She stirred up plenty of shit in this here town. I suspect that’s why she didn’t fight the prison sentence. She gave things time to die down before comin’ back and stirrin’ everyone up again.”

As clear as it was that he detested Louise, he seemed to be taking this whole thing remarkably well.

“Why aren’t you more pissed? You sure seemed to hate her whenever I asked anything about her before she got out of prison.”

“Because I was bidin’ my time, waitin’, and now it’s time for action.”

“You’re tryin’ to get your gold back?”

“That too.”

What else did he want?

Then it hit me. “You want revenge.”

He didn’t answer, just took another bite of eggs.

“Are your guys the ones digging holes all over the county?”

His head jerked up in surprise. “That would be a fool’s errand. We’d need to know where it was buried first.”

“Who do you think’s doing it?”

“Eh, could be Louise herself. Bruce likely moved it after she was arrested. He wasn’t exactly the sharing type.”

“Doesn’t sound like a man intent on killing himself.”

He snorted.

“What does that mean? You think he did hang himself?”

“Might have done. He took my gold, and the fool knew I’d expect an equal amount of flesh in repayment.” He gave me a sly look. “Which wouldn’t work out too well for him considering he didn’t weigh six hundred pounds.”

“So you think he killed himself because he was scared of what you’d do to him?” I shook my head. “I don’t believe it.”

He lifted a brow in question. “You don’t believe people were scared of me?”

“Sure, but he went to all the trouble of taking it. Why end it all when he knew where twenty million in gold was hidden?”

He pointed his fork at me. “Unless he’d already lost it all, and he knew he was as good as dead as soon as he was released.”

“How would he have lost it?”

He shrugged.

“Does that mean you don’t know?”

“It means I’m speculatin’.”

“Did you talk to him while he was in jail?” I paused, running through the likely scenario. “Or have someone do it for you?”

“I may have had a guy get arrested for a minor possession charge to get access to him.”

“And did he find out anything?”

He paused. “No.”

I wasn’t sure whether to believe him.

After some hesitation, I asked a question I was afraid to get the answer to. “Did you stage his suicide?”

“Nope. As far as I’m concerned, he got off easy. He needed to pay for stealin’ what was mine.”

“You would have killed him?” I asked, feeling sick.

His eyes darkened. “People don’t fear a dog that’s all bark. Gotta have some bite too.”

“You’re not a dog, Hank,” I chided, not hiding my disappointment.

“No, I’m not. I’m a man who ran a multi-million-dollar pot distribution ring. I wasn’t playin’ with Boy Scouts, girlie. They had to know I meant business.”

I’d always suspected that Hank had killed people in his business—shoot, he’d shot a man who was about to kill me without the slightest hesitation. He was obviously a man used to killing, but it had been easier to dismiss when I’d known he was protecting me. It had seemed less questionable.

“You think less of me now?” he barked.

I held his gaze. “Honestly, I don’t know what to think.”

“I got a past, and I ain’t gonna pretend I wasn’t that man. If it’s easier for you to pretend otherwise, I suppose that’s fine, but I gotta confess, wonderin’ what you think of me could get me killed.”

I grabbed his hand. “Hank.”

“I’m gonna get blood on my hands before this is done. Can you live with that?”

“I think the real question is can you,” I said.

“The world will be a better place when Louise Baker is no longer breathin’ in it. If I happen to be the person who puts her down, I won’t have one iota of trouble sleepin’ at night.”

“Hank,” I admonished.

“This is why you have to go away, Carly. You can’t be around for this, because I know what you’ll do.”

This didn’t seem like a good time to bring up the possibility that Bruce and Louise had worked with a third party, given Hank was talking about killing people, but I had to warn him in case the other person had been Big Joe. Plus, I’d told Michelle I’d ask Hank about a finder’s fee. I only hoped it didn’t backfire.

“You said Louise and Bruce stole your money, but what if I told you that someone informed me there was a third person?”

He set down his fork, looking at me with an icy stare. “Who?”

“Who was the third person? I don’t know. A couple of names were mentioned, but my source wasn’t sure.”

“Who’s your source?”

“I can’t tell you that, but for the most part, I believe them.”

“For the most part,” he scoffed.

“Would I stake my life on it? No. But their story makes sense.”

“And what’s their story?”

“That it was a three-person job and the third person was someone close to you. Someone you trusted.”

His eyes turned piercing, and if I hadn’t known he loved me and would never hurt me, that look would have scared me. “So why does their story make sense?”

“My source knows things that aren’t publicly known, plus they have access to an important person involved in all of this. They’re in a position to know things.”

Hank didn’t look happy.

“This person . . .” I took a deep breath. “This person wants to know if you’d pay a finder’s fee if their information leads to the recovery of your fortune.”

He shook his fork at me. “That right there, that’s why you can’t trust a damn thing this person says. Cause they want somethin’.”

“But the finder’s fee aside, what if there was someone else working with Louise and Bruce?”

“Someone close to me?” He sneered. “No one would dare.”

We were getting nowhere with this discussion, so I decided to shift to another. “Why did Louise meet with Bart the day Walter was murdered?”

“How would I know?”

“Do you think she took him information about you?”

“Is this one of your interviews?” he asked in disgust.

“I’m tryin’ to help you, Hank,” I said in exasperation.

“I don’t need your help!” he shouted. “I need you to stay out of it!”

I stared at him. agape. He’d never once raised his voice to me.

His eyes were wide, his breathing heavy, and he seemed just as surprised as I was.

“Carly?” Marco called from the front door. “Is everything okay in there?”

“Everything’s fine,” I said, keeping my attention on Hank. “We’re almost done. I’ll be out soon.”

“I’m right out here on the porch if you need me.”

“Okay.”

Hank and I continued looking at one another. He was already pissed, so I decided to ask the big question, but I had to ask it just right. “Were you on Louise Baker’s property when Walter Baker was shot?”

“How can you ask me that?”

“Because Lula remembers seeing you there.”

“She was barely right in the head before her drowning, let alone after.”

“Were you there?”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t look as angry as I’d expected. “You have no right to ask questions about that day, Carly.”

My heart beat wildly in my chest. “I noticed you didn’t answer the question, Hank. Were you there?”

He pushed out a breath and stared at the wall. “And if I was?”

“I’d ask what happened.”

He turned to look at me. “Do you think I tried to drown that girl?”

“I know that Lula is terrified of you.”

“So you think I did it?” he growled.

“Lula remembers you being there, your clothes soaking wet, when she came to, but no, Hank. You may have been a lot of things, but a child murderer isn’t one of them.”

His shoulders sank. “And what if I told you that I did? What if I told you I used that girl to get her mother to tell me where she’d hidden my gold?”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

My eyes stung with tears. “I’d say you’re lying.”

He slowly shook his head.

“No,” I said in horror.

“I was a desperate man, Carly.”

“You’re gonna have to do better than that, Hank,” I said, my voice breaking. “I need the full story. Now.”

“Just because you want something, doesn’t mean you’re gonna get it.”

“I’ve been living in this house with you for seven months. I think you owe it to me.”

“I don’t owe you shit.”

I started to cry. “I love you, Hank. You’re more of a father to me than my own father ever was, but I need to know whether it’s true.”

He sank back in his chair. After several seconds of heavy silence, he pushed his plate away. “I’d discovered the gold was missing. Like I said, I think it took ’em a few days, maybe a week, to get as much as they did. Louise was working for Mary every day, so she definitely had access. But she wouldn’t have known how to cut the back out of the barrels. That’s where Abernathy came in.” He gave me a pointed look. “He told the guy I sent into the jail.”

I nodded, terrified to hear any more.

“We weren’t sure how Louise got access to the garage, or how she even realized the gold was out there.” He seemed lost in thought. “Mary loved spendin’ time with Louise’s little girl. Mary told her she could bring her with her while she worked. She’d always wanted more kids but could never carry one to term. She saw how Louise never cared much for the girl and loved showering Lula with attention. They used to do all sorts of things together—bake cookies and cupcakes, read, do arts and crafts . . .” His eyes hardened. “We think Louise used her daughter to distract Mary so she could go out to the garage. Then one day, Louise and Walter didn’t show up to work without callin’ in, and I knew something was up. I just didn’t know what. I went out into the garage to look things over, and I gave one of the barrels a shove. It was much lighter. Sure enough, they all were. Most of the gold was gone.” He looked directly at me now with an expression so unguarded and hostile, I flinched. “And I sure knew who did it.”

“So you went to confront her?” I asked in a shaky voice.

“When I got there, Drummond was already there.”

“Why was he there?”

“He was shoutin’ that Lula wasn’t his, while Louise was shoutin’ that she was and Drummond was gonna pay her child support. Then Drummond said he’d take care of that, all right, and he dragged the girl out to the creek and started to drown her. Right about then, Walter showed up and tried to stop him.”

“Louise wasn’t trying to stop him?”

“No.” He frowned. “But I wasn’t either. Walter grabbed his shotgun and shot at Drummond and missed. Drummond rushed him, grabbed the gun, and didn’t miss.”

I gasped.

“Drummond shoved the shotgun at Louise and told her she was takin’ the fall. She cussed him out a blue streak, all while Walter lay bleedin’ out on the ground and Lula was floatin’ downstream. I grabbed the girl and hauled her back up toward the house, wadin’ through the creek. Drummond took off, and Louise saw me holdin’ her girl. I asked her where my gold went, but she told me she didn’t give a shit about the gold. She wanted me to help her get Walter into her car so she could take him to the hospital, but any fool could see he’d never make it to Ewing, let alone Greeneville, so I told her to tell me or I’d finish drownin’ her girl.” He gave me a hard look. “She told me to drown her.”

I knew I should be shocked, but I wasn’t.

“Lula was passed out. For all I knew she was dead, and I’m ashamed to say I held her underwater for about a few seconds, and the bitch just glared at me. So I pulled her up, and carried her to the bank and checked her pulse, all while Louise kept shoutin’ at me to leave her be and help Walter instead. Lula had a weak pulse but wasn’t breathin’, so I did a couple of rounds of mouth-to-mouth, and the girl started coughing. I lied and told Louise that I’d help her get Walter into her car if she told me where to find the gold. She said she didn’t know, that one of my employees had taken care of it. I could hear sirens in the distance, which was surprising given Walter hadn’t been down more than five minutes at most. Drummond must have planned to set Louise up for Lula’s murder. Louise wasn’t talkin’, and I had no desire to be anywhere nearby when the sheriff’s deputies showed up. But I ran into them anyway as they pulled up, so I paid ’em a couple grand to forget I was there.”

Hank settled back in his chair, his story finished, and was still trying to process it all. It was a lot to take in all at once. But one thing felt very clear to me. “You didn’t drown Lula, Hank.”

Shame filled his eyes. “I held her underwater. That’s the definition of drownin’.”

“But you saved her in the end.”

He didn’t respond.

There was a knock at the door, and Marco called out, “Carly? I hate to interrupt, but can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Yeah.” I got up and headed to the front door.

His eyes were a stormy mix of blue and green—his worried look. “I hate to do this, but I need to go. I just got a call that Adam ran away from the foster home. I think I know where he went, but I want to be the one to find him. I think he’ll run otherwise.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Go.”

He shot a cursory glance toward the kitchen. “Are you okay stayin’ here? I don’t want you to be alone.”

“We’re good.”

“Sorry,” he said, leaning forward and giving me a kiss. “Thanks for understandin’.”

“Of course. Go get things straightened out.”

I watched him head out to his car and drive away before I returned to the kitchen. “Marco had an emergency call. So you’re stuck with me for a bit.”

He studied me with a serious expression. “Are you sure you wanna stay with me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, moving over to the sink and turning on the water. “I probably shouldn’t be by myself right now anyway. Marco and I went to Atlanta yesterday to visit my mother’s best friend, and we’re worried my father will be able to find me now.”

“What? What happened?”

I gave him a quick summary of our visit with Tiffany.

“Marco brought up a good point,” I added. “My father had a pattern of killing people with car accidents. He’s not going to send a sniper to kill me. He’ll try to stage another accident.” I made a face. “Marco thinks I need to ask Wyatt what to look for on my car to see if it’s been tampered with.”

He didn’t look happy. “So we need to go see Wyatt.”

“Wait. No,” I stammered. “You don’t have to go, Hank.”

“Was Marco gonna take you?”

“Well, yeah, but I’m not even sure Wyatt’s back yet. Max said he went to Nashville yesterday. He’s coming back sometime today.”

Hank pushed back his chair and reached for the phone on the wall, then punched in a number from memory.

“Junior?” he said. “This is Hank Chalmers. When’s Wyatt supposed to be back in town?” His eyes widened. “Oh, really? Okay. Thanks.”

He hung up and said, “Wyatt’s already at the garage.”

“Didn’t he go to Nashville yesterday?” I asked in confusion.

Given that it was nearly a five-hour drive one way, that was an awfully fast return.

“He didn’t say, but I say we get in my car and drive into Drum.”

“You’re going to chauffeur me for a change?” I teased, even though I wasn’t feeling even remotely lighthearted.

His halting laugh told me he felt the same way.

We left the dirty dishes, and less than ten minutes later we were in his car and headed toward town. His crutch and his shotgun lay on the back seat.

“The gun’s a little much, don’t you think?” I’d asked as he set it in the car.

His dark glare had suggested he held a differing opinion.

“Have you and your men made any progress finding your gold?” I asked after we’d ridden in silence for a few minutes.

“You don’t need to be part of that nonsense,” he said in a gruff tone. “That’s my mess, not yours.” His hands were in near-constant motion, so deftly using the hand levers Wyatt had attached to the gas and brake pedals. It was fascinating how well they worked, and difficult not to get distracted from what was, far all intents and purposes, a serious conversation.

“What if Louise really does have evidence of Bart’s involvement in Jerry’s murder? Wouldn’t that be good for all of us?”

“Louise Baker is full of horseshit,” he grunted. “You need to leave her to me and deal with your own business.”

“You mean my father.”

“That’s exactly what I mean. Me gettin’ my gold back don’t mean shit in the long run. I’ve lived just fine without it, and it don’t seem right to use it now that my Mary’s gone. Hell, Barb and Seth aren’t even here to enjoy it.”

I prayed that Barb hadn’t been the third person. I didn’t want Hank to have to deal with another huge loss. I had no plans to suggest it unless it looked glaringly obvious that she had.

He drew a breath. “The only reason I’m goin’ after it now is because I’m not lettin’ that bitch get away with it.” He cast a brief glance my way before shifting his gaze back to the road. “So you let me deal with her.”

“Well, do you at least want to know what I’ve found out so far?” I asked in frustration.

He made a face, then said, “Shoot.”

I spent the rest of the drive giving him a rundown of who I’d talked to and what I’d learned. I left out Barb’s name when I summarized my talk with my anonymous source (Michelle) the night before. A dark look crossed his face when I mentioned Big Joe, but it soon faded. When I finished, he looked impressed.

“You ever think of joinin’ the sheriff’s office and sniffin’ out crimes?”

I laughed. “It would never work.”

“Why not?”

“I hate the uniforms.”

He burst out laughing and shook his head. “I love you, girlie.”

I gave him a soft smile as my heart soaked in his affection. “I love you too, Hank.”

His smile faded as we approached the stop sign at the end of town. “So let’s focus on keepin’ you safe.”

We fell silent as he drove the three blocks through town, then turned into the garage parking lot at the curve of the highway.

The garage bays were open, with a pick-up truck in Junior’s bay and an old Camaro in Wyatt’s.

“I’d like to be part of the conversation about keepin’ your car safe,” he said, as though asking permission.

“Of course, Hank.” I opened the car door and got out, turning my gaze back to the town and the darkening clouds in the sky. It looked like a storm was coming.

Hank got out, then hopped to the front of the car on his crutch.

I hadn’t seen any sign of either man in the garage, but Wyatt walked out of the office to greet us.

“Hank. Carly.” He gave me a wry look. “I’m surprised to see you here after your boyfriend paid me a visit a couple days ago.”

Hank gave me a questioning look, then squinted at Wyatt.

Wyatt’s gaze shifted from Hank to the car and then back to Hank. “You havin’ car troubles? The lever givin’ you problems?”

“No, nothin’ like that,” Hank said warily. He then took a deep inhale, as if shifting gears mentally. “We need you to tell us what to look out for in case someone tries to mess with Carly’s car.”

Wyatt’s eyes flashed. “What makes you think someone’s gonna mess with it?”

“Humor an old man and let us know.”

Wyatt drew in a breath and slowly let it out as he ran a hand over his head. “Well . . . it would have been a hell of a lot easier if you’d brought her car instead of yours.”

“It can’t be all that different,” Hank said.

“Actually,” Wyatt said in an aggrieved tone, “it is.” He turned to me. “If you’d just get the hell out of town, you wouldn’t need to be dealin’ with this nonsense. Who’s after you now? Louise Baker? Did Bingham turn on you? Or did you set off Crimshaw after you interfered with his family?”

“Fine,” I snapped. “You’ve made it pretty clear you’re not interested in helping. Let’s go, Hank.”

I wheeled around to head back to the car, steaming, but Hank said, “You get back here.”

I stopped in my tracks, still pissed. “That man doesn’t want any part of this, Hank, and I’m not gonna make him!”

“That man will tell you what to look for, or I’ll take my crutch to him.”

Wyatt looked just as pissed as I felt, but he flung a hand toward Hank’s car. “Open the hood,” he barked.

I figured it would be easier for me to do it than Hank, so I stepped forward and took care of it, popping the hood release inside the car. When I shut the car door and walked around to the front, Wyatt was propping the hood open.

“There’s lots of ways to disable a car. The first is if they don’t want it to start at all. They can disconnect or cut the cables to the battery. Either will work, although cuttin’ them is a surefire way to keep you put.” He pointed to the battery and the cables connected to the positive and negative bolts. “See?”

“Yeah.”

“Another way to make sure you’re not goin’ anywhere is to either let the air out of your tires or puncture them. If they let the air out, you can refill it with an air compressor—if you have one. If it’s a puncture, a can of something like Fix-a-Flat might work temporarily, but if it’s slashed, no go.”

“What about disablin’ it while it’s movin’?” Hank asked. “So she crashes?”

Wyatt put his hands on his hips and squinted. “You mean like Jerry?” He shook his head. “Someone ran him off the road. His truck wasn’t disabled.”

“Humor me,” Hank said.

“Well . . . I guess the best method would be faulty brakes. They could cut the brake line so the fluid leaks out. You’d still be able to stop and slow down, but it would be harder on these mountain curves.” His anger seemed to be bleeding away as awareness filled his eyes. And well it should. He knew I suspected my father of having murdered my mother.

“How would she be able to tell?” Hank pressed.

Wyatt squatted and pointed under the car. “You’re gonna want to look for brown fluid. If it’s someone out to get you, they likely won’t go for subtle, so look for a gush of fluid. A slower leak, and you’ll find some spots.”

“Okay,” I said.

He stood and turned to face me. “Another thing they might go for is the power steering. Again, those curves would be difficult to manage without it. That fluid’s gonna be red or reddish-brown. Or they could loosen the lug nuts on one of your tires. It’ll vibrate at first and then get progressively worse until the tire falls off. Of course, if the internet were better around here, they could find a way to hack into your car’s computer.”

I swallowed. “I’m suddenly feeling like walking or riding a bicycle is a good idea.”

“Or,” Wyatt retorted with plenty of bite, “you could leave town. Hardshaw’s gone. You should be too.”

I gasped as Hank reached out and grabbed the front of Wyatt’s T-shirt, hauling him closer until they were just a foot apart, Hank staring up at him. “Listen here, you fucker. Her father may have figured out where to find her, and we have reason to believe he’ll tamper with her car, not have someone bring her home for tea. And given that she now has to watch her back twenty-four seven, she’s gonna need people who give a shit surrounding her at all times to make sure she’s protected. So you either get with the program or get the fuck out. Which is it?”

Wyatt stared at me in confusion. “But . . . I thought he needed you to marry that bastard Jake. Now that Hardshaw’s gone . . .”

“You stupid fool,” Hank snapped, giving him a slight shove as he released his shirt. “You think an asshole like her father is just gonna let this go? Fuck no. He’s gonna come after her just to show her who’s boss. I can’t believe you’re too stupid to figure that out on your own.”

Wyatt opened his mouth to speak but quickly shut it. He swallowed. “If you ever feel the need to have your car looked over, bring it by and I’ll take a look. Free of charge. I’ll be one of the people who gives a shit.”

Hank nodded, adding a gruff, “Good.”

He started to head to the driver’s door, but I didn’t budge.

“There’s one more thing,” I said to Wyatt. “Not related to my father or my car.” I smiled weakly, trying to reassure him. “When you ran the tavern, there was a fight between Todd Bingham and Bruce Abernathy. Do you remember?”

I doubted he’d tell me a damn thing, and sure enough, his expression shuttered. “Why are you askin’ about fights from a long time ago?”

“It would have happened about thirteen years ago. Two days after Louise Baker shot her husband.” When he didn’t answer, I asked, “Did you have a lot of fights back then?”

“More so than Max does now,” he said, looking distracted. His gaze darted to the street behind me before it returned to my face. “Max made it more of a family establishment. Mine was more hard drinkin’.”

I resisted the urge to see what he’d been looking at. “So you’re saying you don’t remember it?”

“Like I said, it was rougher. There were plenty of fights.”

“That’s funny,” I said. “I never got that impression from Ruth. She remembered the fight, no problem at all.”

“If she remembers it, then why are you askin’ me?” he asked, back to being annoyed.

“Because you must have been the one to call the cops. Bruce Abernathy and Joe Carpenter were both arrested.”

He lifted his hands and took a step back. “I never called them. Involving the sheriff’s department would have been bad for business.”

“So who did?”

“I don’t know. All I know was they were roughin’ each other up, and a couple of sheriff’s deputies busted in and arrested ’em.”

I tried to piece it all together. “So it was a setup.”

“Beats me.” He took another step backward, suddenly looking like he was in a hurry to get away from me.

“Did you see who threw the first punch?”

He rubbed his forehead. “Seems to me it was Big Joe”

“You’re sure?” I glanced over at Hank standing next to the open driver’s door.

“Yeah. Abernathy was sitting at the bar, mindin’ his own business. Then Carpenter walked in and had a few words with him. Carpenter gave him a shit-eatin’ grin and then marched over to Bingham and threw a punch, sayin’ it was from Abernathy. Even went to the trouble of pointing him out. Bingham went after Abernathy, of course, and the deputies came in about a minute later.”

I looked over at Hank again. “Anything else you’d like to know?”

Fire flared in his eyes. “I think I’ve heard enough.”

“What’s this all about?” Wyatt asked.

“None of your concern,” Hank snapped, then got inside the car.

Wyatt’s irritation was back, and he turned the force of it on me. “Whatever he’s up to, you need to stay out of it. I have reason to believe he and his old cronies are cookin’ up something for Louise Baker, and you don’t need to be any part of that.”

Before I could respond, he turned around and headed back into the garage, only to immediately head out the back door.

What was he up to?

I opened the passenger door, but instead of getting in, I leaned down to talk to Hank. “Wyatt’s acting weird. I’m gonna sneak around the building and see what he’s doing out back.”

“Maybe he’s meetin’ the truck that pulled in back there,” he said with a smug look.

“What truck?”

“It drove past us on the highway. Hell, Wyatt looked at it, then it turned the corner and drove around to the back of the building.”

Horror built in my chest. “What color was it?”

“Black.”

“Shit.” I didn’t even bother shutting the door. I just ran, my foot slipping on a couple of pieces of gravel on the asphalt. I ran alongside the building and stopped at the back corner, staring in shock as I saw Wyatt leaning into the driver’s window of a black truck. A black truck with a missing taillight. I stood fixed, hardly able to breathe.

The driver of that truck had broken into Marco’s house, and I was nearly certain he was the same person who’d run Jerry off the road. I made a mental note of the license plate number, repeating it over and over in my head.

Should I confront Wyatt? Would he admit to being involved, or would he make one of his many excuses?

The best use of my time was to follow that truck and see where it went.

I ran back to Hank’s car and slammed the door shut, just as the black truck drove down the side road toward the highway.

“What the hell?” Hank barked.

“Follow that truck!”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“That’s the guy who broke into Marco’s house and threatened me!” I shouted as the truck turned onto the highway in the direction of the Ewing turnoff.

Wyatt appeared in the garage opening, staring at us with wide eyes. He ran for Hank’s car, but Hank pulled out of the parking spot and turned before Wyatt could reach us.

“Why’s he chasing us?” he asked as he maneuvered onto the highway.

“I think he realizes I recognized the truck,” I said, bitterly disappointed.

“How would he know . . . ?” Hank cursed a blue streak. “That’s why you ran back there. To catch him talkin’ to the fucker.”

I studied the road ahead of us. The truck wasn’t in sight, but after we rounded a curve, there would be a straight stretch of highway. “Do you think he’ll realize we’re tailing him?”

“I’ll hang back enough that he won’t.”

I lifted a hand to my forehead. “This is one time I’m grateful for no cell phone service. At least Wyatt can’t call him and tip him off.”

“No, but he could radio him,” Hank said, his gaze focused on the road.

“So is this too risky?”

He looked in the rearview mirror. “Drummond ain’t followin’ us, so yeah. I think we should try it.”

I wasn’t so certain. Would it be better to let him go and have Marco run the license plate? Realizing that I still hadn’t written it down, I pulled out my notebook and scrawled it from memory. “I need to get this license plate number to Marco.”

“We might not need him to look it up,” Hank said idly, fiercely concentrating on driving.

I tapped out a text on my phone to Marco, telling him that we’d spotted the truck at Wyatt’s garage and had the license plate number. I typed the number out, then pressed send, knowing it wouldn’t go through unless we passed through an area with coverage.

Hank stayed at least fifty to seventy feet back, so we nearly missed which direction the truck took at the turnoff to Ewing.

“It’s up ahead,” Hank said, grabbing the steering wheel and pulling himself up straighter in the seat. “He’s headed in the direction of Louise’s cabin.”

My stomach dropped. “None of this makes sense. How is Wyatt involved with this guy?”

“I don’t know. I’m as surprised as you are.”

I gestured to the side of the road, pointing out a tree that had part of its trunk gouged out. The weeds around it looked trampled. “That must be where Franklin ran off the road a couple of nights ago.”

“Franklin Tate?” he asked in surprise. “Tater? Ruth’s fella?”

“Yeah. He claims a black truck ran him off the road. Marco worked the accident.”

He frowned. “Huh.”

He sounded skeptical, and I could hardly blame him. If someone was after the people closest to me, Franklin wouldn’t be one of them. I shot him a sidelong glance. “You can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.”

“Okay.”

“Marco said there’s no evidence to back up his story.”

Hmm,” he said, his brow furrowed.

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t know. Just filin’ it away for later.” Hank focused on keeping the truck in sight, and I told him about following Franklin to the resort construction site and that Marco saw him talking to someone—most likely Bart. Hank was listening, but I could see the gears turning in his head. I was just wrapping up my summary of last night’s events, telling him that Bart or whoever had gotten away, when sure enough, the black truck turned onto the county road leading to Louise’s cabin.

“He’s going to see Louise,” I said.

“That or to search her land. Maybe he’s looking for that toolbox too.”

“We can’t follow him down that lane to her house,” I said. “He’ll see us.”

“I can drive down the road and park back a ways, so we can follow him when he leaves.”

“Yeah,” I said, grabbing my purse and digging inside. I pulled out my small digital camera and turned it on, relieved that it had twenty percent battery. “But first you’re going to drop me off on the side of the road.”

“What?”

“I’m going to go through the woods and watch what he does. If nothing else, I can get a photo to show Marco.” I pointed to the county road. “Turn here. I’ll tell you when to stop so I can get out.”

“I don’t like this plan,” Hank said, sounding wary.

“Well, it’s the best one we’ve got. I need to know if he’s working with Louise, or here to threaten her.” I gave him a tight smile. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

“Take my shotgun.”

“I’m not taking your gun!” I had a handgun, but I hadn’t put it in my purse. I’d planned on spending the day with Marco, and we hadn’t planned on doing anything dangerous.

“Take it,” he barked. “If you don’t want the shotgun, take my revolver from the glove compartment.”

I opened the drop-down door and found an ancient-looking six-barreled handgun that looked like it had come straight from the Wild West.

“It’s old,” he said. “It was my grandfather’s, but it’s aim is true. It’s got a kick, so be prepared.” He motioned toward it. “Take it.”

“Hank.”

“The only way I’m letting you out of this car is if you take the gun.”

I grabbed it and popped open the barrel. All six chambers were loaded.

“You know how to use that thing?”

“No.”

He made quick work of explaining how to cock the hammer and avoid shooting myself in the foot.

I could see the entrance to Louise’s property up ahead.

“Stop up there,” I said. “Drop me off next to that big tree.”

He slowed down, but he still didn’t look happy about it.

“I’ll be fine, Hank. My plan is to not be seen. I’m more worried about you.”

“I’ll turn around, then wait for you down the road. And don’t you spare a worry for me. I’ll have my shotgun to keep me company.” He pulled to a stop in the middle of the road. “I think it goes without sayin’, but be careful.”

I reached for the door handle. “I will.”

He grabbed my wrist. “I can’t lose anyone else I love,” he said, his voice breaking. “I need you to be careful, girlie.”

I leaned forward and hugged him. “I’ll be fine. Unfortunately, I know this property well.”

I kissed his cheek and, before he could say anything else, opened the door and got out. I crossed in front of his car, across the other lane, then slid into the woods.

There was a lot more growth than there’d been the last time I was out here, so I had to pick my way around vegetation. As I neared the edge of the tree line, I could make out two vehicles parked out front. The black truck and an old, rusted silver Honda. There was no sign of the truck driver or Louise.

I set the gun on the ground and turned on the camera, zooming in on the truck. It was pointed toward the cabin, so I only had clear view of the driver’s door. I needed to get a look at the passenger side to check if it had any smudges of paint from the truck Jerry was driving. The problem was the cabin was about twenty feet from the creek, and any tree cover was across the way. If I wanted to get a look at the other side, I’d have to step out into the open. It wasn’t worth the risk.

“You’re out of control!” a man shouted from inside the cabin.

A woman’s voice responded, but it was so muffled I couldn’t make out what she said.

“We’re no closer to finding that gold than when we started!” he bellowed.

She responded again, but I couldn’t make it out.

“She’s stirrin’ up shit, is what she’s doin’,” the guy said. Then he appeared on the front porch.

I snapped several photos. It was the same guy who had come to see me at Marco’s house. His dark brown hair brushed his shoulders, and his jaw was covered in a scruffy beard.

His foot crashed through a rotten piece of wood on the porch. For several seconds, he swore up and down, most of it aimed at Louise, who came out the front door.

She laughed, but it sounded bitter. “That’s what you get, you stupid shithead. You just had to go and kill ’im.”

While I’d already known, or at least strongly suspected, he was Jerry’s killer, it was still caught me off guard to hear her say it so baldly.

“You said it got her motivated,” he countered as he pried his foot out of the hole, then stumbled down the steps to the yard.

He had absolutely no remorse.

Then I realized what he’d said. He’d killed Jerry to get me motivated. He hadn’t done it to stop me. He’d done it to keep me going.

“Besides,” he added. “You know he had to go. He knew too much. Are you any closer to findin’ what he took?”

Jerry had taken something that belonged to Louise? Was it the location of the gold? How would he have gotten it?

“I could have gotten it out of ’im,” she whined as she followed him down the steps. “I have my ways.”

“That’s disgusting,” the man said. “He was an old man.”

She sidled up to him and lowered her voice suggestively. “Someone’s jealous.”

“He was old.”

“Your daddy’s old.”

He made a retching noise. “I don’t wanna hear about that.”

She wrapped her arm around his neck and gave him a deep kiss. It took everything in me not to lose my breakfast. I took a couple of photos, although I had no idea what I’d do with them.

“You get on to work,” she said, then swatted him on the butt.

He glanced back at the cabin. “How can you stand to live out here?”

“It ain’t forever,” she said. “Once I get the gold, I’ll be livin’ in a mansion.”

“Can you get a mansion with only ten million dollars?” he asked.

“Of course, you idiot. Now go.” She gave him a shove.

He got into the truck and turned it on. He gave her a long look, then backed the truck up, giving me a perfect view of the dented and red-streaked front panel over his tire. I snapped a few more photos to give to Marco.

Louise stood in front of the house, watching him go, then got into the other car and drove away.

I started to turn around to leave, but I decided to take the opportunity to search the inside of her cabin. I doubted she’d have anything inside that could help me, but it was worth the few minutes it would take.

As soon as I heard her car on the road behind me, I picked up the gun and ran over to the cabin and climbed the steps, surprised to find she’d left the front door standing wide open.

It was dark inside, but I found a flashlight on the counter and flipped it on to search the one-room cabin.

While it had still been a pit, Lula had at least tried to keep the place picked up. Louise, on the other hand, had made a mess. Papers were scattered all over the kitchen table, but most of them were receipts. A few were pages she’d ripped out from a notebook and crumpled into balls. I set the gun down on the table and unwrapped one of the papers, surprised to see it was a letter addressed to Lula. It didn’t take more than a few sentences to figure out she wasn’t asking for a reconciliation. Instead, Louise had blasted her daughter for turning her back on her. The words “ungrateful,” describing Lula, and “sacrifice,” describing Louise, had been used liberally. Several more wadded-up papers were different versions of the same thing. I’d spent nearly five minutes searching the place, finding nothing helpful, when I heard a car engine approaching.

I rushed over to the table to grab the gun and crept to the door. There was only one way in and out. If Louise had come back, I was in big trouble. But a quick glimpse around the door showed that it was Hank.

I stepped into the opening, and he shouted out his open window, “What the hell is taking so long?”

“Louise left, so I decided to take a look around. I’m almost done.” I sure wasn’t leaving until I checked out the loft.

I set down the gun again and made my way up to the loft, where I checked out the boxes and things piled at the back. There wasn’t any sign of a black toolbox, not that I’d expected to find it so easily. Still, it would have seemed irresponsible not to take a peek.

I climbed back down, put the flashlight back where I’d found it, and picked up the gun, carrying it out to Hank’s car and getting into the passenger seat.

“Find anything?” he asked.

“I guess it depends on how you define finding something. I got a photo of the guy who threatened me. He’s in some kind of weird relationship with Louise.” I turned on the camera and showed him one of the photos.

He took the camera and squinted at it.

“I can make it bigger.”

“I didn’t bring my damn readers.”

I took the camera and zoomed in on the man’s face before handing it back to him.

“That’s Derek. Derek Carpenter.”

Relief that Barb wasn’t the third person hit me so hard, it took me a moment to put two and two together.

“Wait.” I sat up straighter. I’d seen this man’s name in my internet search a couple days before. “Big Joe’s son?”

His eye twitched. “One and the same.”

I sat back in my seat. “How?”

He put the car in reverse, then took off down the long driveway to the county road. “I don’t know, but I need to pay a visit to Big Joe, and you can’t be anywhere around when I do.”

“Before you do that, let’s talk about what they said.” I closed my eyes and focused on the memory. “They were in the cabin when I got there, and he was shouting at her. He told her she was out of control. Then something along the lines of ‘she’s stirring up shit like you want her to.’” I opened my eyes. “I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she wasn’t yelling.”

“Who’s the ‘she’ that’s stirrin’ up shit?”

“Marco thinks that Louise never really expected me to help her. He thinks her plan was to get me to start digging and flush things out for her. That phrase makes it sound like Marco could have been right.”

His lips pursed. “Agreed.”

“He also said they were no closer to finding the gold than when they first started.”

His jaw clenched. “What else?”

He turned onto the county road, heading toward the highway.

“Louise wasn’t happy he’d killed ‘him.’” I used air quotes around him. “The guy said it got ‘her’ motivated.”

Hank looked like he was ready to throttle someone.

“Then the guy said he’d had to go because he knew too much. I’m presuming he was talking about Jerry. Louise said no, that she could have worked her wiles on him. That disgusted Derek, and he reminded her that he was old, and she countered by saying his father is old, which only disgusted him more. Then she kissed him and sent him on his way.”

He was silent for a moment. “That’s a lot to take in.”

“Bottom line: Derek Carpenter killed Jerry, partially to get me motivated.” My voice broke. “And partially because Jerry knew too much about something.”

“What would he know too much about?”

“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “I thought the guy who came to see me did it because Bart was trying to warn me off, but it sounds like Louise was trying to light a fire under me. Except, to do what? Dig up more dirt on Bart? And what does Jerry have to do with any of it?” Then it hit me. “Louise went to see Bart about a week ago. Right around the time that Jerry was killed.”

“What was she doin’ visitin’ Drummond?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know. But what if Jerry heard or saw something he wasn’t supposed to? And they killed him, thinking I’d presume it was Bart. And Derek dropped by Marco’s house that morning to make sure I got that very impression.”

“What could Jerry have seen?” Hank asked.

I ran through the possibilities, then gasped. “Emily.”

“Emily was doin’ something? Why would Louise care?”

“No. Emily came to Max’s apartment a couple of days go and brought me a box with Jerry’s things, but I forgot all about it. It’s still in Max’s apartment.” I turned to look at him, my mind racing. “Hank, she made a big deal about giving me the contents of that box. She said Jerry would want me to have it….What if what he found out is in that file box?”

“There’s only one way to find out.” He glanced at me pointedly, his eyes steely and determined. “We’re going to get that box.”

Chapter Thirty

I put Hank’s gun back in the glove compartment and then checked my phone. The text to Marco still hadn’t gone through, not that I was surprised.

“You’re sure you saw Wyatt talkin’ to Derek behind the garage?” Hank asked.

“Yeah.” I hadn’t fully processed the implications of that until now. “Do you think he’s working with Louise?”

He grunted. “We need to ask him what he’s up to.”

“You really think he’s going to tell us the truth?” I scoffed. “That man dodges questions like a fast-footed kid in a dodgeball game. Where does Franklin come into this?”

“He’s friends with Derek.”

“What? No. Franklin comes into the tavern all the time with his friends, and Derek has never once been with them.”

“I don’t know if they’re still friends, but they were close back in school. Their fathers are cousins.”

“It’s hard to believe he’s working with Derek and Louise, but the truck crash was pretty suspicious. Still, why would he claim that a black truck had run him off the road? Doesn’t seem like that would be in Derek’s best interest.”

“I don’t know,” Hank said. “I don’t know either one of ’em well enough to know what they’re up to, but you can’t ignore that Franklin was out meetin’ someone at Drummond’s resort. Likely Drummond himself.”

We sat silently mulling over our thoughts as Hank drove back into town. I cast a glance at Wyatt’s garage, not letting myself jump too far down the rabbit hole of wondering what connections he had to the pair—and to Jerry’s murder.

Hank parked behind the tavern, and I hopped out and rushed to the back door, unlocking it. It was early enough that Tiny wasn’t in yet, and Max still hadn’t come down from his apartment. Had Max kept the box in his apartment, or would he have brought it down?

I searched the storeroom and Max’s office and didn’t find it, which suggested it was still up in Max’s apartment.

He was likely sleeping, and I knew I should probably wait, but I couldn’t. I needed to see what was in there. But first I picked up the phone on Max’s desk and dialed Marco’s cell phone.

“Max?” Marco said when he answered the phone.

“No. It’s me.”

“Carly? What are you doin’ at the tavern already? I left you with Hank.” Then he added, sounding panicked, “You’re not out on your own, are you?”

“I’m still with Hank.” I rubbed my forehead. “Or I left him out in the parking lot. We dropped by to get the box Emily gave me. But that’s not why we left the house. Hank took me to see Wyatt so he could tell me what to look for in case someone tampered with my car.”

“Was he helpful?”

“He was, after Hank jerked some sense into him.” I took a deep, bolstering breath, then spilled out the rest of the story—including our decision to follow the truck and the pictures I’d taken from the woods near Louise’s cabin.

“You were in the woods?”

“I snuck in from the road. They never saw me. I was perfectly safe.”

“But they could have seen you, Care!”

“I had Hank’s gun, okay? He made me take it from his glove box. I could have defended myself if I had to, but I didn’t need to. Given everything I overheard, it was worth the risk.”

“So Big Joe’s son is working with Louise?”

“Looks like it.”

“What does Hank make of all of this?”

“He’s been pretty mum about the whole thing, but he did tell me that Franklin is something like a second cousin to Derek.”

“So Franklin’s in on this?”

“I mean, maybe?” I said. “The crash and his explanation for it don’t seem to align with Derek and Louise’s plan. Plus we saw him meet up with someone at Bart’s resort. It doesn’t add up, because I’m pretty sure Louise wanted me to think Bart killed Jerry so I’d ‘stir up shit,’ to quote Derek.”

“Okay. You two stay put. I’m wrapping things up, and we’ll sort everything out once I get there, okay?”

“Yeah. I’m about to go upstairs and get the box of Jerry’s things from Max. Derek and Louise said Jerry knew too much, and as weird as Emily was acting a couple of days ago, I think evidence of what he saw might be hidden with his belongings. But the box is in Max’s apartment, and I hate to wake him.”

“Wake him. He’ll understand. I should be there in about twenty-five minutes.” He paused. “And Care?”

“Yeah?”

“Get Hank’s gun. I didn’t want to tell you until you got through with your story, but they found Michelle Abernathy dead this morning.”

I gasped. “What? Was she run off the road?”

“No. She was shot. I’ll see you soon, Carly. Stay put.”

I hung up and took a deep breath. Had Michelle been killed because she’d talked to me? I sat on the edge of Max’s desk to pull myself together. Was there another death on my head?

I needed to find out what Jerry had discovered, which meant I needed that box. But first I had to tell Hank and get that gun.

I went out the back door, propping it open, then headed straight to Hank. His window was rolled down, and even before I’d reached him, I started talking at him, struggling to keep my voice steady.

“Marco’s on his way. He said that Michelle Abernathy was found shot to death this morning. He wants us to stay put and wait for him. He’ll be here in about twenty-five minutes.”

His expression turned dark and inscrutable. He’d known Michelle. Was he upset about her death? Or pissed that Marco wanted us to stay here?

“He also said for me to get the gun out of your glove compartment.”

“My gun,” he said flatly.

“Yes, your gun. Hank, Michelle was my source. She’s the one who told me about a third person stealing your gold with Louise and Bruce. She’s the one who wanted a finder’s fee if she helped you find it. And now she’s dead.”

“If they killed her, they might go after you next,” he said, understanding dawning.

“I think that’s what Marco’s afraid of.”

Without a second’s delay, Hank retrieved the gun from his glove box and handed it to me.

My chest tightened with anxiety. “Jerry’s box is still up in Max’s apartment. I’ll bring it down to the dining room, and we can go through it together.”

“I don’t know what you hope to find,” he said, “but there won’t be nothin’ about my gold in there.”

I stared at him in shock. Was that all he cared about?

He gave me an exasperated look. “Derek Carpenter killed Jerry Nelson. He got caught up in Derek’s plot to set you up for something heinous. The whys of it don’t matter. What does matter is that he has to pay.” Only the look on his face suggested he wasn’t talking about runnin’ him through the justice system.

“Hank . . .” There was no point in discussing this now. We needed to go through that box. “Just come inside, and we’ll deal with it once Marco gets here.”

He slowly shook his head. “No. Part of this is my business. You stay here with Max and wait for Marco. I need to go talk to Derek’s father.” He punctuated his statement by turning on the engine. “Lock the door behind you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Hank,” I protested.

He gave me a pointed look. “Stay away from the gold, Carly. I mean it.”

Before I could respond, he pulled out of his parking space and turned toward the highway. I followed him to the edge of the lot, getting there in time to see him turning toward the highway to Ewing and Louise’s property.

Dammit. What was he planning to do? Was he planning to do something terrible to Big Joe? Should I tell Marco so he could stop him? Was it wrong if I didn’t want to?

I couldn’t follow him, so I went back inside and closed the door before heading up to Max’s apartment. I knocked on the door several times—no answer—then tried the doorknob and found it unlocked. Pushing the door open, I called out his name, but he still didn’t respond.

I took a step inside and saw the file box still on his coffee table. There was no sign of Max. Was he still in bed? Would he mind if I brought the box downstairs and sorted through it while I waited for Marco? That seemed like the best plan, although I suspected Marco wouldn’t agree. He’d made it clear he didn’t want me to be alone. But I didn’t want to wake Max up just so he could babysit me, so I decided to let him sleep and go through the box in his living room.

Taking a seat on the sofa, I started to pull out the items one by one.

The framed photos were first. I nearly set them aside, but I knew I was looking for something important, so I took the backs off the frames and looked underneath, finding nothing other than a name on the back of the girl’s photo. Cecelia.

His daughter’s name was Cecelia. I couldn’t help wondering what had happened to her, but that was just one more mystery I didn’t have time to solve. I put the frames back together, then pulled out the newspaper clippings and looked them over, trying to decide if they held any clues, but they just looked like the clippings of a lonely man.

Tears fell down my cheeks. Derek Carpenter had killed Jerry not just to motivate me but to keep him quiet, and I was determined to find out why. My mind kept skipping back to the way Emily had patted the box during our conversation. Did she know what was going on?

Next, I started to rifle through the pile of papers I hadn’t had a chance to examine before.

Medicare statements and legal paperwork. Nestled underneath them was a sheaf of old papers that looked like children’s drawings—three stick figures holding hands, and pictures of grass and trees. A drawing of a man pushing a girl on a swing. Cecelia’s artwork. Jerry had kept them all these years. He’d loved her with all his being, and I’d never known she’d even existed. I felt like I’d failed him somehow.

Beneath those was a small photo album, filled with more images of the couple and Cecelia, from when she was a small baby up until she was about five or six. And then no more. I set the album aside, all the more distraught for Jerry.

There was also an old cigar box, and when I lifted the lid, I found two wedding rings—one a man’s, the other a woman’s—an old Timex watch with a metal band, a heart-shaped locket of burnished gold with Cecelia’s name engraved on one side and a date on the other. And finally, a cell phone.

It was a new iPhone, and I had never once seen Jerry with it. Had Bart given it to him? Was it someone else’s? Seth’s or Louise’s?

I tried to turn it on, but nothing happened. The battery must have died, and there wasn’t a charger in the box. We had one down in the bar, though, under the counter. A tourist had left it behind several months ago, and we occasionally pulled it out for anyone who needed to charge their phone.

I stood, about to head downstairs, when Max’s apartment door opened. I was so sure it was Marco that I started to say that I hadn’t expected him so soon, but I stopped short, in total shock when I found myself face-to-face with Wyatt, who looked just as surprised to see me.

Chapter Thirty-One

He recovered faster than I did, his eyes darkening. “What are you doin’ up here?”

I tucked the phone into my hand, holding it against my side, where he wouldn’t see it. “I could say the same to you.”

His gaze shifted to the pile on the coffee table. “You goin’ through Max’s things?”

“Those things belong to me, thank you very much.” I tried to sound indignant, but I was terrified. Wyatt was working with Derek Carpenter, who had killed Jerry. Although I struggled to believe he’d been part of it all along, given how torn up he’d seemed at Jerry’s funeral, I could hardly ignore the evidence staring me in the face. And he sure wasn’t in a hurry to offer an explanation. I had to treat Wyatt as a danger, because based on what I’d seen, it was true.

Hank’s gun was on the coffee table next to the box. Could I get to it if I needed to?

“What’s it doin’ up here in Max’s apartment?” Wyatt demanded.

“He’s been kind enough to hold this box for me,” I said with plenty of attitude, hoping my voice didn’t shake. “You can ask him if you like. He’ll back me up.” I narrowed my eyes. “I’m not a liar like you.”

“When did I lie to you?” he demanded, taking several more steps into the room.

Why had I gone down that particular path? I had no plans to tell him what I knew.

“Forget it,” I said, turning back to the box and stuffing everything back inside. The phone, I tucked into my jeans pocket. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“What were you doin’ behind my shop this mornin’?”

“Nothin’.”

“Don’t lie to me, Carly!” he shouted.

I startled, his anger catching me off guard, but then I wasn’t sure why. He’d been pissed enough to strong-arm me a couple of days ago. I finished gathering up the items and closed the box lid. “It’s none of your business.”

“It became my business the moment you started snoopin’ on me!”

“What’s goin’ on?” Max called out as he walked into the living room, wearing a pair of pajama pants and no shirt, sporting a serious case of bed head. He did a double take when he saw the both of us. “What are you two doin’ here?”

“I was just getting my box,” I said, purposely leaving Jerry’s and Emily’s names out of it. Hopefully, Max would take the hint. I picked up the box, trying to hide my gun from Wyatt on the side of it, but Max’s eyes widened slightly when he saw it.

“Okay,” he said, sounding confused, then scrutinized his brother. “What about you?”

“I needed to talk to you about something, but now seems like a bad time.”

Max cast a worried glance in my direction. “Yeah, maybe you should come back later.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “I got what I came for, and now I’m leaving.”

The worry lines on Max’s forehead deepened, but he didn’t say anything as I bolted for the exit.

Wyatt was the one who stepped between me and the door, blocking my path. “Where’s your car?”

I stopped in my tracks. “What?”

“You were ridin’ with Hank, but his car’s not out back. Where’s yours?”

“Since when do you give a shit about my car?” I asked, my anger igniting. “Hank had to practically threaten you before you’d tell me how to spot if it had been sabotaged.”

“Whoa!” Max said, holding up both hands. “What happened to your car?”

“Nothing. Yet,” I said, keeping my gaze pinned on Wyatt. “But that seems to be my father’s modus operandi for getting rid of people. He’s killed at least three people that way, likely more, so I figured I should be prepared.”

“You didn’t want to help her?” Max asked in disbelief.

“That’s not how it was,” Wyatt grunted, looking pissed.

I tried to get around him, but he blocked my path again. “Where did you and Hank go after you left my shop?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” I snapped. “I don’t answer to you.”

“You need to let this go, Carly,” Wyatt said, anger flashing in his eyes. “You have no idea what you’re gettin’ messed up in.”

Like a fool, I taunted, “Oh, I know more than you think I do.”

I tried to get around him again, but he took a step back and blocked the door.

“What the hell is goin’ on, Wyatt?” Max asked in a combination of anger and exasperation.

“Yeah, Wyatt,” I said, “what the hell is going on? Why don’t you enlighten us both?”

His expression changed as realization dawned, and then his jaw tightened.

“Not going to tell your brother who you’ve been meeting?” I asked. “Or what your friend has been up to?”

“Is that why you have Hank’s revolver in your hand?” Wyatt sneered.

“You tell me,” I said. “I’m just a pawn in this game. You’re one of the puppet masters.”

“What the hell is goin’ on?” Max shouted.

“Ask Wyatt. He’s the one with all the answers. Be sure to ask him about Jerry too,” I sneered as I faced Wyatt, tears stinging my eyes. “Ask him what part he played in running Jerry off the road.”

“What?” Max roared.

“You have no idea what you’re talkin’ about, Carly,” Wyatt grunted, reaching for my arm.

I took a step back. “Don’t you touch me. Hank tells me that his gun has a kick but it’s aim is true. I shouldn’t have much trouble from this close.”

“You’re gonna shoot me?” Wyatt asked in angry disbelief.

“If you don’t let me go? Yes, Wyatt. I will shoot you.”

“Did you hear her?” Wyatt demanded, his gaze shifting to his brother.

“Did you play a part in Jerry’s murder?” Max asked, his voice breaking.

Wyatt’s anger faded. “Max. You need to let me explain.”

“Carly,” Max said in a deadly calm voice. “Feel free to take your leave.”

Wyatt tried to block my path again. “Carly, goddammit. Will you fuckin’ listen to me?”

“Are you working with Derek Carpenter?” I asked through gritted teeth.

He started to say something, then stopped. Resignation filled his eyes. “Yes.”

Pain stabbed my heart. How far back did this go? My mind quickly reviewed everything he’d helped me with. Oh. God. Had he deleted the videos Seth had died to get?

“Derek Carpenter?” Max asked in an aggravated tone.

I shook my head in dismay and started to cry. He’d been betraying me from the moment I’d arrived in Drum.

“Just this morning, I heard Derek Carpenter admit to killing Jerry. How could you?” I asked, my voice breaking.

“I had no part in that,” Wyatt said, pleading with me. “I swear.”

“Jesus Christ, Wyatt,” Max said, his voice tight with pain as he sank onto the coffee table. “You didn’t.”

Wyatt turned to his brother. “Max.”

“Carly,” Max said, my name sounding strangled. “Go.”

But Wyatt didn’t move out of the way, and his expression hardened. “I need to know what’s in that box.”

Max got to his feet and said in a threatening tone, “Back off.”

He didn’t, of course. Instead, he jerked the box out of my hands. I cried out in protest as he ripped off the lid, dumping the contents onto the floor. Glass cracked on one of the frames, and the cigarette box flew open, sending the rings tumbling across the floor.

“Jesus, Wyatt!” Max shouted. “Those are Jerry’s personal belongings! Mom gave ’em to Carly. Show some fuckin’ respect!”

Wyatt dropped to the floor and started sifting through everything.

I didn’t have to ask him what he was doing. He knew that Jerry had seen or found something. He was after whatever it was.

Which meant he truly was allied with Derek and Louise.

I lifted a terrified gaze to Max. He looked just as scared, but he nodded to the door and mouthed, Go.

I started to dart around Wyatt, but he snaked out a hand and grabbed my ankle. “You found something.”

“Let go of me!” I jerked my leg, trying to get free.

“If you give it to Hank, they’ll kill him, Carly! Give it to me!”

The cocking of a gun made us both freeze, and I turned to see Max pointing a shotgun at his brother. “Let her go.”

“Max!”

“Let her go.”

Wyatt looked up me. “Carly. Please.”

“Are you going to give it to Derek?”

Uncertainty flashed in his eyes, but then it turned into pleading. “You called me a liar, but I’m not, and I’m not going to start lyin’ to you now.”

My back stiffened. “So you are.”

“You have to trust me, Carly.”

I released a bitter laugh. “I haven’t trusted you for six months. Why the hell would I start now? With this?”

Wyatt released my ankle in defeat, and I raced down the stairs, even as I heard the two brothers shouting at each other behind me. When I reached the bottom of the steps, I raced around the corner toward the back door just as it opened—and ran right into someone.

I screamed and lifted the gun just as I realized it was Marco.

“Carly?” he asked, his eyes wide.

“Carly?” Max shouted, his footsteps pounding as he raced down the stairs.

I shoved the gun at Marco, butt first. I’d nearly shot him, and I wanted nothing to do with it. He took it, bewildered.

Max appeared in the stairwell entrance, his shotgun in his hand. He slumped against the wall when he realized it was Marco. “Jesus. I’m gonna be gray-headed before this is all said and done.”

“What the hell is goin’ on here?” Marco blared.

“Get her out of here,” Max said. “She’ll fill you in.”

He didn’t have to suggest it twice. I bolted out the door to Marco’s Explorer, opening the passenger door and getting in before Marco reached the car. But I noticed he had a heavy limp as he got in.

“What happened to your leg?” I cried, needing to get my mind off the fact that I’d nearly killed him in a blind panic.

He lifted the center console and put the gun inside. “I think what just happened up in Max’s apartment seems more pressing. I’m guessing Hank didn’t cotton to the idea of stickin’ around.”

“Get out of here, and I’ll tell you everything.”

He pulled out of the parking lot, heading to Old Mill Park when I didn’t offer a destination, and I told him what had just transpired, trying to keep my voice steady. Halfway through my explanation, we arrived, but he just parked, and I continued talking until I reached the bitter end.

“Wyatt was part of this?” he asked in dismay. “We’ve had our differences, but . . .” He shook his head. “How are you dealin’ with all of this?”

I dug the phone out of my pocket. “We need to get an iPhone charger.”

He took it from me and looked at the bottom. “I have one.”

He opened the console again and pulled out a white charger cord, which he plugged into the phone. “Now we wait.” His gaze narrowed, scrutinizing me. “You didn’t answer my question about how you’re doin’.”

“And you didn’t answer mine about why you’re limping.”

“I talked to Adam this morning.” He grimaced. “Let’s just say it didn’t go well. I ended up having to run after him. But the good news is we had a good talk after that, and he’s gonna make an effort in his foster home.”

“But you hurt your leg in the process.” I pushed out a breath. “And to answer your question . . . I’ve had better days.” I motioned to the phone. “How long do you think it will take before it’s charged enough for us to see what’s on there.”

“Not long. Maybe five minutes or less. The question is how we’re gonna get into it. It’s bound to be locked with a password. Do you have any idea what Jerry’s could be? Presuming it’s Jerry’s.”

“No, and I’m not certain it was his. He never had a cell phone.”

“Bart might have had him carry one so he could get a hold of him whenever he needed.”

I shook my head. “Maybe.” But there was limited cell phone coverage. Maybe it was for whenever Jerry ran into Ewing.

He took both of my hands and squeezed them. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

“I should have looked closer at what was in the box when Emily brought it to me.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” he said firmly. “Nothing would have changed.”

“Michelle Abernathy might not be dead.” I still struggled to believe she was. I’d seen her just last night.

“No,” he said. “I think they would have killed her regardless.”

But he didn’t know that. Neither of us did, any more than we knew that the phone would be of use to us.

As if on cue, it sprang to life. The background was a generic screen that had likely come with the phone, but there was nothing to indicate whether it had been Jerry’s.

Marco looked up at me. “Okay. It’s go time.”

“We only get so many shots at this before it locks us out, right?”

“If I remember right, we get ten tries.”

I wasn’t sure that was enough. “Okay. I say we go with the obvious. One, two, three, four.”

“Jerry was a simple man. That seems logical.” He opened the screen to input the passcode and cursed. “We need six numbers.”

“Then add five, six.”

He nodded and tapped them in, then got an error.

“This just got a whole lot harder,” I said.

We tried putting in the numbers that coordinated with the letters of his last name and then his first name and the first letter of his last name. For lack of a better option, we tried a simple 000000. Of course that didn’t work. Then in exasperation, we tried the numbers one to six in reverse order. All five attempts struck out.

“Try his birthdate,” I said, feeling like a fool. “I know it from the funeral.” I recited it for him, using double digits for the month and the date and the last two of the year.

He grimaced. “And now we’re locked out for a minute.”

I spent a few seconds mentally combing through everything in Jerry’s box. Which was when it hit me. “I think we’re onto something with the birthdate. We just had the wrong one.”

“Obviously.”

I shot him a dry look. “He had two framed photos of his daughter. I bet it’s her birthdate. I’d have said the numbers tied to her name might have worked, but it has too many letters.”

His eyes widened. “Jerry had a daughter?”

“I’m pretty sure she died when she was a little girl, but he still had lots of photos of her as well as a locket with her name. It’s got to be her birthdate.”

“So we go to the courthouse and look for a death certificate? I can probably find it at the station.”

“No,” I said softly. “It was engraved on the locket. July 2, 1979.”

“Okay,” he said, grabbing my hand and linking our fingers. “We’ll try that next.”

We watched the timer count down, and when it reached zero, he kissed the back of my hand.

“For luck,” he said, smiling up at me. Then he entered the number.

Both of us released loud exhales when it worked.

“Now what?” I asked, looking at him.

“Now we start diggin’ around.”

But it didn’t take him long to find out why the phone was so important. He pulled up the open apps, and the icon for photos was on top. Marco clicked through.

“There are three videos,” he said. “Are you ready?”

I nodded.

Marco played the video that had been recorded first. It was dated the day before Jerry’s death, 9:23 p.m.

The screen was dark at the start of the video. I could barely make out a figure slipping into a house. Then I realized it was the Drummond house, and a woman had gone in through the side door.

Whoever was holding the phone, presumably Jerry, crossed the driveway and went around to the back of the house, entering that way. He crept down a hall I recognized from my visit with Bart and then stopped next to a partially closed door. Bart’s office. I could hear a man and a woman conversing inside.

“I’ve got information that will end you,” Louise said. “All you have to do is pay me a million dollars, and I’ll make it all go away.”

“You’re bluffing,” Bart said.

“Am I? Remember that kid from fifteen years ago? I sure do.”

Bart was quiet for a moment. “If you remember it so well, then why did you tell me about Lula?”

“It was worth the risk,” Louise said. “And if you’d killed her, well . . . I figured I’d have one less thing dependin’ on me.”

I gasped at her callous disregard for her daughter. But then, I knew she was a monster. Why did the proof of it still surprise me?

“And if I don’t pay the one million?” Bart asked on the video.

“I think it goes without sayin’ that I’ll have to share what I know with the world,” Louise said in a smug tone.

“I don’t believe you have proof,” he sneered.

“Oh, I got it all right. Right next to my golden ticket out of this shit town.” She released a raspy laugh. “Literally.”

The video ended, and Marco turned to me. “In all your research on Bart’s favors, did you come across anything about a kid being murdered fifteen years ago?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’d remember a child, Marco. I didn’t find anything.”

“Okay. Ready for the next one?”

I nodded.

The video was dated ten minutes after the first one. A parked car in the Drummond driveway filled the screen, the trees opposite the house in the background. Jerry must have been standing in the shadows of the house, and I felt a pulse of pride in him. Few people had given him credit for it, but when it had counted, he’d always shown himself to be a very brave man.

A man got out of the car as Louise emerged from the house’s side entrance.

“Well?” the man asked. I couldn’t see his face very well, but I recognized his voice. It was Derek Carpenter.

“He’s gonna play hardball,” Louise said in a low voice, trying to keep quiet, but the microphone of the phone picked it up. “We need to get us some bolt cutters before we head out to my property. I never got the key to the padlock on the toolbox. Stupid Bruce got himself killed before he could hand it over. Michelle’s had it all this time and never realized it.”

“If you’d just told me it was at your place, I could have picked it up before I got you from the bus station,” Derek grumbled. “If nothin’ else, we should have gotten it before we came here.”

“You’ve been waitin’ thirteen years, you can wait an hour longer. It ain’t goin’ nowhere. And I ain’t stupid enough to believe you would have held my share until I got out.” She tugged on his arm. “Come on. I’m hungry.”

They got in the car, and the video turned off.

“So Derek was the third man,” Marco said. “I never saw that comin’.”

“Hank thinks it might have been Big Joe. I think he went to confront him.”

“Shit.”

The third video was dated the next day, at two in the morning. A selfie of Jerry filled the screen. He was sitting in the cab of a truck in the dark, his face lit by the glow of his screen.

“Carly, if you’re seein’ this, then I’m probably dead.”

Lifting a hand to my mouth, I choked back a sob.

“I tried to be careful, but I think Louise saw me when I was drivin’ away from her property, and she’ll likely come after me. Especially when she realizes the toolbox is gone.” He swallowed. “I took it.”

I turned to Marco, who looked just as surprised as I felt.

“After I took that last video, I raced out to the Baker property. I’d done a repair on Lula’s roof a couple of years ago, and I remembered seein’ a toolbox with a padlock. I thought it was funny since it was locked up tight but light as a feather. I took it back to the Drummonds’, then cut it open.” He swallowed again. “Carly, the location of Hank’s gold was in it, as well as a key to a safe-deposit box at the Drum Savings and Loan. The box is in Lula’s name. I think there’s proof in that safe-deposit box that Bart killed a little girl who was his daughter. Whatever’s in the box should be enough to put him away for good.”

I gasped.

“I hid the contents of that toolbox somewhere very special to me. Your love warmed me on the inside, but your gift warmed me all over. You know what you need to do.”

The video ended, and I turned to Marco in a daze. “His coat. It’s in the coat I gave him.”

“Where’s his coat?”

“In his cabin,” I said. “On Drummond land.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

“How do you know it’s there?” he asked.

“Because Emily told me. She said Bart wanted to throw everything away and that most of Jerry’s clothes were threadbare, but his coat was in excellent condition.” I ran a hand through my hair. “She specifically mentioned his coat. Do you think she knows?”

“How could she? Emily would have to know Cecelia’s birthday to get into his phone. Do you think she knew that?”

I thought for a moment. It seemed improbable, but it had been on that locket. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to think when it comes to Emily Drummond.”

At the same time, it did seem like she’d set things up for me to find Jerry’s clues. Did she really want to put Bart away? If so, why didn’t she do it herself?

She was still playing games, and I didn’t trust her, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t still try to get the information in that coat.

“How are we going to get onto the Drummonds’ land?” Marco asked.

“I’m going to call Emily and tell her I’m coming for the rest of Jerry’s things. But I need to get to a phone, and I can’t go back to the tavern.”

“The laundromat has a pay phone,” Marco said.

He drove over to the parking lot and pulled out a couple of quarters, handing them to me. “Do you know her number?”

“Not off the top of my head.” I pulled my cell phone out of my purse. “But I have it listed in here.”

“You go on inside. I’ll keep watch.”

I nodded, then got out of the car and walked into the laundromat. An older woman was sitting in the corner while a dryer tumbled clothes next to her. She was bent over a knitting project and barely glanced up at me.

Turning my back to her, I dropped the quarters into the phone and punched in the number. My heart raced when the phone began to ring.

“Drummond residence,” answered Emily’s loyal housekeeper. I recognized her voice immediately.

“Annie, this is Carly Moore. May I speak to Emily, please?”

She hesitated. “I’m afraid she’s busy right now. She’ll have to call you back.”

To my surprise, she sounded much less adversarial than she had when Emily had invited me for tea.

“Emily told me that Jerry’s things were still in the cabin he’d been staying in, and that I was welcome to his belongings. Would it be all right if I come out now to pick them up?”

“It’s a good thing you called today,” she said. “Bart is having somebody bag it all up and throw it out tomorrow. Feel free to come on by. Do you know how to get to his cabin?”

“No. But I’ll have Marco Roland with me.” Anyone who knew Marco knew he’d spent half his childhood with Max Drummond.

She laughed. “Marco knows the way. He and Max used to spend plenty of time out there, stirring up trouble. If anyone stops you, tell them Mrs. Drummond gave you permission.”

She hung up, and I stared at the phone, wondering again if I was being set up. Annie couldn’t stand me the last time she saw me.

Still . . . it didn’t matter. It couldn’t. If there was evidence in there that could put Bart away, I was going to find it.

I walked out and got into the car. “She wasn’t there, but her housekeeper knew all about it. She said Bart’s throwing out Jerry’s stuff tomorrow, so this was good timing.”

“All right,” he said as he backed out of the parking space. “Looks like we’ve got our in.”

We were silent on the drive. I kept rolling everything over in my head, trying to make sense of it all.

It sounded like Louise and Derek had known what they were doing. Mostly. Why bring Wyatt into it? And what about Franklin? Had he really met Bart Drummond on that construction site? Either way, it didn’t feel like he was part of Derek and Louise’s plan either.

We were getting answers, but we still had a lot more questions.

Marco pulled up to the entrance of the Drummond property and rolled slowly through the gates.

“How long has it been since you were out at the overseer’s cabin?” I asked him.

“Since I was a boy,” he said, surveying the land in front of us. “But I remember how to get there. We’ll turn off before we get close to the main house.”

He drove for a couple of minutes, then veered onto a gravel road surrounded by pine trees. The road went on for about a quarter mile before it ended in a clearing. A small, well-maintained house sat in the middle of it. There was a porch in front, and two rocking chairs flanked a large picture window.

The homey sight brought tears to my eyes. Sure, this house belonged to Bart Drummond, but I couldn’t help thinking how much Jerry must have loved living here, even if it was only for a short time.

Marco turned off his car, and we got out and walked up to the front door. I was surprised to find it unlocked, but Marco said no one locked anything out here. Bart Drummond thought he was safe from everything on his land. Locking up would be considered a sign of weakness.

The inside of the house featured an open-concept floor plan, with a living room, kitchen, and a small dining set all tucked into a cozy space. Jerry’s clothes were piled in a heap in the middle of the living room. His newer jeans and shirts were on top, and the red coat I had bought him last fall had been hung over the back of a kitchen chair.

I picked it up and held it close, wishing the man who had worn it was here instead of the evidence he’d left behind. Whatever he’d found hadn’t been worth his life. But he’d died to get it, and I wasn’t going to squander his sacrifice.

Lowering the coat to the kitchen table, I began to search the pockets. There was nothing in the outer pockets—not even an old receipt or used tissue—and I started to panic.

What if someone else had figured this out before I had?

The two inner pockets, tucked behind the outer pockets, were empty too. I put the coat down, about to give up, when I remembered that Jerry had said something in the video about warming his heart. Sure enough, there was a pocket on the inside of his coat, which would have lay directly over his heart. Reaching inside, I found a folded piece of paper and a small, thick, rectangular envelope. Drum Savings and Loan was printed across the front, with a three-digit number stamped on the bottom. Lula’s name was handwritten on the outer flap.

“It’s here,” I said, showing Marco the envelope and the folded paper.

“Did he really have the location of Hank’s gold?” he asked, pointing to the paper.

I opened it up and scanned the words scrawled on the paper. “Yeah,” I said in awe. “I think so. You’re never gonna believe where it’s buried.

“Where?”

I handed him the paper.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he said in amazement. Then he sobered. “Do you want to take anything else?”

I looked at the pile of clothes. I hated that his life was being thrown away, but Emily had been right. Most of the clothes were worn and not even suitable for a thrift store, but I grabbed a red and white flannel shirt I’d seen him wear dozens of times last winter and held it close. “This is all.”

“Okay,” he said, picking up the coat. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” I asked. “We need to find Hank.”

“We’ll give him the location after you and I go to the Hensen County Sheriff’s Department. We’re going to turn in the phone, the coat, and the safe-deposit box key.”

“What about the location of the gold?”

“What gold?” he said in a sly tone.

I reached for him and pulled him into a hug.

He held me close for several long moments, then kissed the top of my head. “Come on. I hate bein’ out on this land. The sooner we leave the Drummond property, the better.”

“Agreed.”

We walked out of the house and got into the Explorer. Marco opened the console and put in the phone, bank envelope, and the paper with the location. Then he opened the back hatch, headed to the back, and pulled his service weapon out of his vault. He put on his deputy utility belt and inserted his gun into his holster, then got back in the car.

“Do you think Wyatt will come after us?” he asked as he headed down the gravel lane.

I shook my head, but my nerves were still prickling. “No. I don’t think Max will let him go. He was really, really upset.”

“Is Max gonna turn him in?”

“I don’t know.”

Marco looked anxious, checking his rearview mirror and scanning the gravel road ahead.

“Do you think Bart will try to stop us?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think he realizes Jerry had what we found. Otherwise, he would have gotten it himself.”

“Unless he didn’t know where Jerry had hidden it.”

“And he was waiting for you to get it,” he said. “I admit, I’m worried Emily might have set you up.”

So was I, and I was practically biting my nails by the time we reached the main road.

When Marco turned toward town and the turnoff to Ewing, I pushed out a sigh of relief, but he still seemed on edge.

“Are you worried about Wyatt finding us?” I asked.

“Him and Derek Carpenter,” he answered, and I could hear the tension in his voice. He reached for his radio and turned it on, then radioed dispatch that he was coming in with evidence for a case with an ETA of approximately thirty minutes. The dispatcher acknowledged his transmission, and Marco hung up the receiver.

I gave him a questioning look.

“I figure it can’t hurt for them to be expecting us.”

I nodded and sat on my hands, wishing we could teleport to Ewing.

We sat in silence for several minutes, Marco glancing into his rearview mirror regularly for signs of trouble. Finally, I was so frazzled I reached forward and turned on his stereo system. Country music filled the car.

“Sorry,” I said. “I can’t handle the silence.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “Tell me about your talk with Hank this morning. Sounds like it got a little heated.”

That seemed like days ago rather than a couple of hours. “It did, but we worked it out. He told me what happened the day Walter was murdered.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

He prompted me with an expectant look.

“Sorry,” I said, worried about his reaction. “I feel like it’s not my story to share.”

He was silent for a long moment before he nodded. “I get that, and I understand.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. If you felt I needed to know, you’d tell me. Right?”

As Marco drove through town, we looked searchingly at the tavern and Wyatt’s garage. We didn’t see any sign of Wyatt at either place, and his red truck wasn’t parked in front of the garage like it usually was.

“Where do you think he went?” I asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Had he gone to tell Derek and Louise that I’d found something in Jerry’s belongings?

I still couldn’t believe he’d betray us. Not like that. He’d attempted to protect me enough times that I knew he didn’t want me dead.

Marco took the turn toward Ewing, and he picked up the radio and gave the dispatcher an ETA of twenty minutes. Both of us tensed as he took the twists and turns of the road, but it wasn’t until we were about halfway there, on a particularly twisty part of the road, that a black truck appeared in the rearview mirror.

“Marco.”

“I see it,” he said, sounding strained. He grabbed the radio receiver and told the dispatcher we were being followed by the suspect who’d run Jerry Nelson off the road, sharing the license plate number and Derek’s name and description. The dispatcher told him there had been a multicar accident north of Ewing, but they’d find a unit to send out.

“What’s that mean?” I asked, dismayed when I realized the black truck was gaining on us.

“It means we’re not likely to get backup soon.”

He took the next curve so fast the tires screeched on the pavement. Another one came up, and he took it just as fast, but when we got to a short straightaway, the truck had edged even closer.

Marco sped into the next curve, and the top-heavy Explorer felt unstable as he whipped around first that one and then another. A large delivery truck blew past us in the opposite lane, and the Explorer shook from the wind gust. Marco fought the wheel. We took one more curve before we reached the short downhill straight portion of the road. The black truck was only twenty feet behind us.

I turned around and saw Derek behind the wheel, a maniacal smile on his face.

“How did he find us?” I asked.

“Me,” Marco said. “I probably alerted him when I radioed dispatch. I knew it was a risk, but I wanted to keep them aware of what was going on in case we encountered some trouble, with Bart, or him and Louise.” He shot me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop. You did the right thing. I suspect he would have found us anyway. At least now if he manages to run us off the road, we won’t be missing for hours before anyone starts looking,” I said, gripping the door. “Just keep driving.”

We went through another set of curves before we came to a straightaway that stretched on for several hundred feet, trees on either side.

The truck sped up and slammed into our back bumper.

The Explorer shook and skidded to the side of the road before Marco righted it, but the truck hit us again, and Marco braked hard. The Explorer went sliding, weaving all over the road, then shot over the shoulder and down a ravine.

My seat belt locked, cutting into my neck, and I clutched the door and the console as we bounced down the hill and crashed into a tree.

Then everything faded to black.

Chapter Thirty-Three

“Carly? Carly!”

I could hear Marco’s voice as he shook my shoulder.

I felt like my head had been split in two, and when I cracked my eyes open, the light made me want to close them again. There was an uncomfortable pressure on my chest, and my arms felt heavy. As I opened my eyes, I realized the truck had pitched forward, and I was hanging forward around my belt. The smell of gasoline permeated the air.

Marco had a streak of blood running down his face. He’d gotten out of his seat belt and was bracing himself against the dashboard.

“We have to get out, Carly. I’m going to unbuckle you, but first I need to know if you hurt anywhere.”

I released a soft laugh. “I hurt everywhere.”

“Carly Moore!” Derek called out from up the hill. “We need to have a chat.”

My eyes shot open with fear.

Marco wrapped an arm around my waist and moved in front of me as he unbuckled the seat belt. As soon as it released, I fell, but he caught me with his arm and his body.

A sharp pain pierced my side and I cried out.

“Sorry,” he grunted as he opened the passenger door. It took two attempts before he could get it open with his feet. He climbed out, carrying me with him, and we fell to the ground. The jolt sent another piercing pain through my side, powerful enough that it stole my breath.

A shot rang out, ricocheting off a tree to our side, and Marco scrambled down the hill about twenty feet, pulling me with him until we were behind a boulder large enough to conceal both of us. He propped my back against the rock and cupped my face. Concern filled his eyes as he held up his hand and lowered several fingers. “How many fingers?”

I winced. “Two. I’m fine. Deal with that asshole.”

He gave me a quick kiss, then rose up to look over the top of the rock. “Derek Carpenter, you just ran a Hensen County deputy sheriff off the road. Backup is on the way. Put your weapon down and give yourself up.”

Derek laughed. “Very funny, but my business is with Carly. Did you find the toolbox?”

“No,” I called out.

“You’re a liar. Otherwise, why would you be headed to Ewing to turn in evidence?”

“What about any of that concerns you?” Marco asked, wiping a hand over his forehead to clear away the blood dripping in his eye.

“I’m not stupid,” Derek said, his voice drawing closer. “We set Carly loose to dig it up, and I’m sure she didn’t disappoint. Just give it to me, and you can be on your way. If you give me what I want, I have no reason to harm either of you.”

“He’s lyin’,” Marco said under his breath.

I didn’t need his badge and sheriff training to figure that out.

Then a thought entered my fuzzy head. Had Marco gotten the things we’d found out of the console? I hadn’t seen him go for them, and he never would have grabbed them before he got me out.

Marco squatted next to me and whispered, “Let’s see if we can wait him out until backup gets here. I swerved all over that road, so no one could miss where we went off.”

“That’s good,” I mumbled, closing my eyes to help the pounding in my head.

Marco didn’t say anything.

“Where’s the gold, Carly?” Derek shouted, starting to sound irritated. I wasn’t sure he was going to hold out long enough for help to arrive.

“I told you. I never found the toolbox,” I called out. The effort to shout intensified the pain in my side, and I wondered if I’d broken some ribs.

“You found something, though,” Derek bellowed. “What did you find?”

I took a breath to shout back, trying to ignore the pain. Sweat beaded on my forehead. “I found evidence to use against Bart Drummond. Nothing to do with you.”

“You’re lyin’!” he shouted, sounding close to losing control. The gun went off again to prove it, the bullet striking our boulder and chipping off some of the rock.

Marco shot me a worried look.

“Shooting me won’t get it for you,” I said. “Look what happened when you killed Jerry. You sure screwed that up. I bet Louise wasn’t happy.”

“So I acted prematurely,” he conceded. “Don’t worry. I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t let you die until I get what I need.”

Anger tightened Marco’s jaw. There was no way Derek was getting around him. “Keep him talkin’,” he whispered. “He’s hidin’ in the trees.”

To my surprise, Marco pulled out his phone and turned on the recording app. He set it on a ridge of rock, a little below the top.

I nodded, and pain shot through my head. Gritting my teeth, I called out, “How’d you get hooked up with Louise and Bruce?”

“She and I had a thing goin’ on,” he said. “And I knew Hank’s schedule through my dad. But Louise got arrested the day after we took the money. Stupid idiot didn’t go to work and Hank got suspicious. Bruce visited her in jail and told her he’d buried it and put it in a safe location. We’d get it back together as soon as she got out.” He released a bitter laugh. “I think he would have followed through too.” His tone turned menacing. “Until Hank had him killed.” His voice trailed off, sounding like he was moving to my left. “I kept in contact with her. Even visited her from time to time. We started talking about building a future together once she got out.”

“With the gold of course,” I said.

“She loves me with or without the gold. And I love her. Even if she doesn’t look the way she used to.”

“The gold helps him see past that,” Marco quipped.

“Hey!” Derek shouted, definitely closer and still to my left. “It ain’t like that! We’re gonna run away together.”

Marco turned in Derek’s direction, stepping to the other side of me.

“As long as you get her the gold,” I called out, holding my side. “When did you figure out that Jerry had something?”

“The night Louise got back to town. I picked her up from the bus station, and she wanted to go directly to Bart Drummond’s house. So I took her out there, then out to dinner, and then back to her cabin. The toolbox was gone, and there were fresh tire tracks in the yard as well as footprints on the porch and inside. We had seen Jerry lurkin’ outside Drummond’s house, and then a Drummond truck driving down the county road to her house, so it wasn’t hard to put it together. Louise then decided to take care of two problems at once. She hated Bart for forcin’ her to go to prison, and she hated you for your part in turnin’ her own daughter against her. So she came up with the idea of sending me to threaten you. She figured it’d light a fire under you, because you’d think I’d been sent by Bart. But after Jerry died, you went quiet instead of diggin’ more. Louise was pissed.”

“I was grieving my friend,” I said.

“She figured you needed another push, so she decided to go to you directly. Everyone in this town knows you have a penchant for investigatin’ things, and she thought you might flush out the information—either through talkin’ to people who knew something or findin’ out what Jerry had discovered.”

He was quiet for a moment, and Marco pushed his legs against my side, signaling for me to scoot around the side of the rock. Derek was getting too close.

“How did you find it?” Derek asked, his voice practically upon us, but he was hidden in the trees. Which meant we were exposed, and he was still protected. I started to scoot more, until I heard a voice I recognized directly behind us.

“My mother helped her,” Wyatt said in an emotionless tone.

My heart sank, and I lifted my gaze to Marco. He looked just as stricken as I felt.

Wyatt stepped out of the trees, his gun on me. “Drop your gun, Roland, or I’ll shoot her.”

“You wouldn’t,” Marco said, turning his gun on Wyatt.

“Go ahead and try me.” Wyatt’s gaze dropped to me, and anger flashed in his eyes. “I mean it, Marco. Drop the gun, or I’ll shoot her and then you.”

“Don’t do it,” I pleaded with Marco.

But he lowered to a squat and tossed his gun a few feet away.

Wyatt’s expression darkened. “I’ve got ’em, Carpenter. Come on out.”

“How could you, Wyatt?” I seethed. “Was my father’s reward not enough? You needed the gold too?”

“You don’t know what I want,” he snapped. “You never did.”

“So enlighten me,” I forced through gritted teeth.

“What’s she talkin’ about?” Derek asked as he walked out of the trees.

“Nothin’ of consequence,” Wyatt said with a frown.

Derek laughed. “Lover’s spat?”

“Nothin’ you need to concern yourself with,” Wyatt said, still pointing the gun at me, but his gaze lifted to Derek’s. “The car accidents are gettin’ out of control, Carpenter. I told you I’d get the information out of her.”

Sirens started to wail in the distance.

A panicked look lit up Derek’s eyes.

“In fact,” Wyatt said, “it’s time for you to make yourself scarce. I’ll clean up your mess, then meet up with you later.”

Derek looked confused, but then his face hardened. “And let you keep the gold all to yourself? No, thanks.” His looked directly at me. “How about I take her with me?”

“Over my dead body,” Marco ground out, stepping between us.

A slow smile spread across Derek’s face as he aimed his handgun at Marco’s chest. “That can be arranged.”

“Don’t be stupid!” Wyatt spat. “You don’t want to add killin’ a deputy sheriff to your list of charges.”

“They won’t know it was me,” Derek sneered.

“They will,” I said, terrified he’d actually fire his gun. “Marco gave them your license plate number this morning. They know plenty.”

“The plate is registered to my dad,” he countered. “They’ll think it’s him.”

“No,” I said in a rush, “he told them it was you driving.” Then, for good measure, I lied. “They know everything. That you threatened me at Marco’s house. That you’re involved in this with Louise. That you killed Jerry. They’ll come lookin’ for you.”

“Fuck!” Derek shouted.

“You want the location of the gold?” I asked. “I’ll tell you. Just don’t shoot Marco, okay?”

The sirens were getting louder.

Derek was becoming frantic. “Where is it?”

“Bruce buried it between the Drummonds’ land and Bingham’s property,” I said. “Out by the construction site.”

“You’re lyin’,” Derek sneered.

“It’s true,” Marco said. “He figured that Bingham’s family had lots of unmarked graves out there. He might as well take advantage of the loose soil.”

“It’s a wonder they never found it with the construction,” I said. “But then, isn’t that why you had Franklin meet Bart out there last night?”

Derek’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talkin’ about?”

He seemed genuinely perplexed. Which meant he didn’t know what Franklin was up to.

“You’ve got to go, Carpenter!” Wyatt shouted. “Go tell Louise the location, and I’ll meet you there.”

“How do I know it’s real?” Derek asked.

“Because it sounds logical,” Wyatt snapped. “No one would have thought to look there. I’ll take care of these two. Go!”

Derek threw us one last look, then took off up the hill.

I shot daggers of hate at Wyatt, but he was focused on Marco.

“How do you plan to keep us quiet, Wyatt?” I asked. “Do you plan to shoot us and blame it on Derek?”

Wyatt glanced up the hill, anger in his eyes.

Marco squatted down next to me.

“You’re not really with him, are you?” he asked him.

“Are you askin’ if I’m usin’ him?” Wyatt asked. “Then the answer is yes.”

“You’re workin’ for your father?” I asked in disgust.

“I know what I’m doin’,” Wyatt snarled. “But I need you two to keep my involvement with Derek out of this when the deputies show up.”

“So you can go get the gold yourself?” I snapped.

“Please,” he sneered. “We all know that’s not where the gold is located. But that was a great location to come up with on the fly.” His expression softened. “You got it, though, right?”

I didn’t answer.

“Marco,” Wyatt said, turning to him, “don’t give it to the deputies. Give it back to Hank. It’s his by rights, if not by law.”

This man was confusing the hell out of me.

“If you keep my name out of this mess, then I’ll work with you,” Wyatt continued, squatting to slide his gun into an ankle holster. He held my gaze, his voice softer now. “Last November, you said you wanted my help to bring my father down. I’m ready to help you now. We can do it together, but I can’t help you if I’m in jail.”

The sirens came to a stop overhead, and a man shouted, “Deputy Roland? Are you down there?”

“We’re here,” Marco yelled back. “I need an ambulance for Carly!”

Wyatt’s eyes widened as he stared at me.

“Calling it in now!” the deputy returned.

“Fine,” Marco said, shooting Wyatt a scathing glance as he reached over and snatched his weapon off the ground. “We’ll hold your name for now. I’ll say you came down and ran Derek Carpenter off because he didn’t want any witnesses. But if you double-cross Carly, I’ll withdraw my statement and throw you to the wolves.”

“You’ll be throwin’ yourself too,” Wyatt said, his voice tight. “You’ll lose your job.”

“So be it,” Marco said flippantly.

“No, Marco,” I protested. “It’s not worth it.” It was one more compromise. One more chip off his principles. One more gouge in his soul…or me. I didn’t want to be responsible for that.

He ignored me. “How do you plan to keep Derek from talkin’?”

“You don’t need to worry about Derek tellin’ anyone anythin’.” Then Wyatt started up the hill. I could hear him shouting to the deputy that he’d found the accident and overheard a man threatening us. That the guy had realized he was there and taken off.

“How does he plan to keep Derek quiet?” I whispered.

“I don’t know,” Marco said with a furrowed brow.

“Do you think he’ll kill him?”

“A year ago, I would have said no. Now . . .” His voice trailed off. “Now I’m not sure.”

I tried to get up, but Marco nudged me back down. “Just wait here. EMT’s will come down to get you.”

I shook my head, ignoring the pain. “No. Who knows when they’ll get here. I’m walking up.”

“I think you have broken ribs, Carly. Not to mention a possible concussion.”

“So help me up,” I said. “I can’t stay down here, wondering if Derek is comin’ back to finish the job.”

“Okay,” he said grudgingly.

He pulled me to a standing position, then wrapped the arm of my uninjured side over his shoulder, and we slowly started up the hill. Halfway up, the deputy who’d responded came down to help, but Marco waved him away and helped me the rest of the way up. By the time we got to the top, I was light-headed and covered in sweat, but I felt immensely safer.

Until I saw Wyatt standing to the side, giving a formal statement to the deputy.

Lying through his teeth.

Marco helped me into the front passenger seat of the deputy’s car while we waited for the ambulance. He left the door open and stood next to me, watching Wyatt, and I couldn’t help but wonder if we’d made a mistake letting him off.

I closed my eyes, and was about to drift off to sleep when I smelled smoke.

“I think I have a concussion,” I said. “Is smelling smoke a sign?”

Marco straighened. “No. I smell it too.”

Then he moved to the edge of the shoulder.

“Marco—”

An explosion fractured the air. Marco, Wyatt, and the deputy all hit the ground. Shock radiated through me, and in its wake, I realized Marco’s Explorer had just exploded.

He scrambled to his feet and rushed to check me. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. What about you?”

“I’m fine,” he said, sounding irritated. His gaze dropped down the hill to the ball of flames. “The phone was in there. There went our evidence for a case against Derek and Louise, not to mention the safe-deposit box key.”

“I have photos on the camera,” I reminded him.

“Which makes you a witness to a break-in at my house that we never reported,” he said.

Crap. He was right.

I shot a glance at Wyatt. He was staring down the hill with a knowing look. I couldn’t help thinking he was about to double-cross us. Then his gaze shifted to me, and I knew deep in my gut somehow he’d been responsible for that explosion. He’d started that fire.

He was working on some master scheme. I only hoped it would work out in my favor.

Chapter Thirty-Four

“Okay,” Marco said as he opened his front door. “Let’s get you settled.”

He wrapped an arm around my back and ushered me inside. A mountain of pillows was stacked up on the sofa, as well as a rectangular box wrapped in white paper and topped with a red bow.

“What’s that?” I asked as he led me to the sofa.

“Nothin’ gets past you,” he said with a laugh.

“It’s sitting right out in the open,” I said in exasperation. “I’d have to be blind to miss it.”

“It’s a welcome home, I’m glad you didn’t die present.”

“My favorite kind,” I said as I sat down.

I’d been released from the hospital in Greeneville that morning after a two-night stay. I wasn’t happy about that, especially since I was mostly fine—my concussion had been mild, and although my ribs were badly bruised, they weren’t broken. Then there was the fact that I didn’t have any health insurance. But Hank had come the day after I was admitted and told me not to worry about a thing.

“It’s a father’s job to take care of his daughter.”

“Hank,” I’d protested. “My hospital bill is not your responsibility.”

He’d walked over to my hospital bed and clasped my hand. “Carly, girl. It’s not gonna be a hardship.”

I gasped. “Marco told you.”

He nodded.

“Did you check? Is it there?”

He winked. “Not anymore.”

“So what are you going to do now?” I asked. “Move to Florida?”

“I’m not gonna do a damn thing,” he said. “I like my house and my life. Why change it?”

“But you got your money back.”

“It was the principle of it. It was mine, and I get to decide what to do with it. And the first thing I intend to do is pay for your hospital bill.”

“Hank, I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothin’ to say. And another thing, you don’t have to work at the tavern anymore. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

I stared at him in disbelief, and then I realized something. Even if I didn’t have to do it anymore, I wanted to. “I like working at the tavern.”

Besides, Max and Tiny would have my back. My father was still out there, and I was far more exposed than I had been.

He grinned. “I had a feelin’ you’d say that, but if you ever change your mind, you let me know.”

“You didn’t . . . hurt Big Joe, did you?”

He laughed. “We had a scuffle. Bet you never saw a one-legged man throw a punch, have ya? Let me just say, it throws off his balance something good, and we landed in a heap together.”

“So you figured out he wasn’t involved?”

“I went there knowin’ he wasn’t. I threw the punch because he suspected his son had ripped me off and he’d never said nothin’.”

“What about the fight with Bruce and Bingham thirteen years ago.?”

“We both suspected Bruce was workin’ with Louise, so he’d started the fight with Bingham to get Bruce thrown in jail.”

“Last I heard, the deputies haven’t found Derek yet.”

All his humor vanished. “And they won’t.”

I gasped.

“That’s enough dark talk for now,” he’d said, then kissed the top of my head. “One more thing.” He gave me a loving smile. “You’re stayin’ with Marco when you go home. There’s no threat to you from my end, but that man will lose his ever-lovin’ mind if you’re too far away. At least at first, give him that, girlie. He loves you like you deserve to be loved.”

“I know,” I said, a lump filling my throat. “Thank you.”

When Marco had picked me up this morning, I’d insisted we drive by the spot where Hank’s gold had been buried—under the dilapidated mill by the river on the east side of town. How many times had I stared at that death trap and never once suspected what was buried inside? How many people had walked past it, never once guessing they were so close to over twenty million dollars’ worth of gold?

“How is it that no one’s ever found it?” I asked.

“Simple. No one pays attention to that run-down heap. Hank and his men worked out here two nights ago, and no one noticed a thing.” He winked. “Or so I’ve been told. Probably just an urban legend.”

Then he’d driven me home.

Marco had reinjured his leg in the crash, and his doctor wanted him to take a week off to rest it. He wasn’t happy about it, but in the end, he decided to cooperate because it meant he could stay home with me without taking vacation days.

After I got settled on the sofa, Marco sat next to me and pointed to a security system panel on the hall wall. “You’ll notice we have a new security system. They installed it early while you were in the hospital.”

“So that’s why I couldn’t come home until today.” It also explained why Hank had insisted I stay here.

His eyes clouded. “You couldn’t come home until it was safe.”

“I’m safe now,” I said, tugging him over so I could kiss him. “But I’m not an invalid. In fact, I’m supposed to walk around. If anything, I’m more worried about you.”

“Walking and icing are my orders,” he said. “Same as you.”

I laughed. “We’re like a couple of old geezers with our aches and pains.”

“As long as I’m growing old with you.” He reached over and grabbed the gift and handed it to me.

It was heavy, so I set it on my legs to unwrap it, surprised when I saw it was a laptop.

“Now that we have the internet, you need something to use,” he said. Then he gave me a cheesy smile. “Welcome home and thank you for not dyin’.”

“In that case,” I said, laughing, “I need to get you a thank you for not dyin’ gift too.”

He grinned. “I think we can work something out.”

I laughed, then grabbed my side. “Maybe in a few days.”

He wrapped an arm around me and held me close. “Deal.”

While he helped me open the box and get the computer set up, I asked, “Did you talk to Max?”

He didn’t answer right away, looking pensive. “He didn’t know Wyatt was working with Derek and Louise, and he has no earthly idea what he’s up to. He reminded me he’d been estranged from his brother until last November, and there’s still plenty about his life he doesn’t know about. But he says that whenever Wyatt fulfills his bargain to help us bring down Bart, he wants to be part of it.” He gave me a questioning look. “Are you okay with that?”

“We can trust him,” I said. “I stand by that. What did he say about Franklin?”

“He said Franklin has been actin’ fishy for the past month or so. He’s sure he’s working with Bart somehow, but he doesn’t know if Ruth’s involved. So we have to keep all of this from her. Just in case.”

I nodded. I didn’t want to hurt her, nor did I want her to keep living with Franklin without knowing what he was up to, but we had to be safe.

“Anyone heard anything from Louise?”

“No,” he said. “She’s gone underground, like the snake she is. If she’s smart, she got the hell out of town. But I’m not so sure she’s smart. Then again, she seems to have managed to get a leg up on Bart somehow. First by telling him about Lula, and then thirteen years later, somehow securing blackmail evidence that he’d killed a child fifteen years ago . . . though we never did find out exactly why she went to see Bart the day Walter died. Or what Bart gave her in exchange for taking the fall for Walter’s murder.”

“Do you think we ever will?”

“I suspect we haven’t seen the last of her yet. Maybe we’ll find out then.”

But something told me Emily Drummond had the answers to both of those questions. Would she be willing to talk to me now?

“What about Derek Carpenter?” I asked.

“Drowned.”

“What?” I asked in surprise.

“In a pond out on his father’s land. The story Big Joe told the responding deputies is that he went fishin’ with a six-pack of beer. He never came back, and Big Joe found him floatin’ in the pond. He theorized Derek fell in and was too drunk to get out. Toxicology report confirms he was twice the legal limit.”

I gave him a hard stare. “Do you believe that story about him falling in and drowning?”

“Not for a hot minute.”

“Do you think Hank drowned him?”

“Honestly? I think Big Joe did.”

My jaw dropped. “His own son?”

He looked troubled. “His loyalty to Hank ran deep.”

Deeper than to his own son? Then again, Derek had been a loose cannon. Maybe Big Joe had felt threatened by that. But I couldn’t help thinking about Georgia and Cassie. They had to be devastated.

“Who killed Michelle?”

He made a face. “Derek Carpenter conveniently left his gun next to the pond, and I have a sneaking suspicion the bullets that killed her will match his weapon. Louise thought Michelle knew where the gold was buried, and I suspect they killed her trying to get it.”

So did Michelle actually have any idea where the toolbox was? Would she have known that Jerry took it? Or was she just hoping she’d get a cut if they found it based on her knowledge of who the third accomplice was in the theft?

“But why do it now?” I asked. “Why wait until after I talked to her?”

“I suppose it might not have been him,” Marco admitted. “For all we know, it was Bingham. We don’t have the test results on the gun and bullets back yet, but the caliber’s right.”

“I’m still not sure who killed Bruce,” I said with a sigh. “Derek claimed it was Hank, but Hank says he didn’t do it.”

“Honestly,” Marco said, propping his legs up on the coffee table and sinking back into the cushions, “I think he hanged himself. He had a lot of people waiting for him to get out of that jail and little chance of walkin’ away with the gold.”

We were silent for a moment, before I asked, “So when do we start bringing down Bart Drummond?”

He released a nervous laugh. “I think we need to get you healed first.”

“He may not have killed Jerry, but he’s wicked all the way through. I’m sure he was behind Seth’s murder, he tried to kill Lula, and—” I cut myself off, realizing I’d forgotten something. “Did you tell Lula about the box at the Drum Savings and Loan?”

“I did.”

“Is she going to find out what’s in it?” It was under her name, so she could retrieve it, key or no key.

He made a face. “Bingham made it very clear that whatever’s in the box is a family matter and not a concern for me or the sheriff’s department.”

“Maybe I can call her.”

“Don’t. I think she wants to tell us, but Bingham is dead set against it. And I don’t have grounds for a search warrant, which is the only way I’d be able to get my hands on it.”

“Then we’ll have to find out another way,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said, sounding discouraged.

I couldn’t help thinking that Todd Bingham potentially had two things on Bart Drummond in his back pocket—whatever was in the bank box and whatever information Emily claimed Bingham had on her husband. What did he plan on doing with them?

“Hey,” I said, running my fingers over the trackpad of my new laptop. “I’m a genius at googling.”

He grinned. “So I’ve discovered.”

“We’ve got a week to lie around and use your brand-new internet to surf the web. Who knows what we’ll find?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his eyes etched with worry. “Who knows.”

Only two more books in the Carly Moore series!

Shades of Truth

Carly Moore #6

September 28, 2021

Untitled

Carly Moore #7

Winter 2022

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Also by Denise Grover Swank

Carly Moore

A Cry in the Dark

Her Scream in the Silence

One Foot in the Grave

Buried in Secrets

The Lies She Told

Shades of Truth

September 28, 2021

Untitled (last book)

Winter 2022

Asheville Brewing

Rom com series

Cowritten with A.R. Casella

Any Luck at All

Better Luck Next Time

Getting Lucky

Bad Luck Club

Luck of the Draw

Rose And Neely Kate reading order:

Family Jewels

Trailer Trash

For the Birds

Hell in a Handbasket

In High Cotton

Up Shute Creek

Come Rain or Shine

Dirty Money

When the Bough Breaks

It All Falls Down

Rose Gardner Investigations

Family Jewels

For the Birds

Hell in a Handbasket

Up Shute Creek

Come Rain or Shine

When the Bough Breaks

It All Falls Down

(February 2021)

Neely Kate Mystery

Trailer Trash

In High Cotton

Dirty Money

Magnolia Steele Mystery

Center Stage

Act Two

Call Back

Curtain Call

Darling Investigations

(Humorous mystery romance)

Deadly Summer

Blazing Summer

Rose Gardner Mysteries

Novellas are bonus material

TWENTY-EIGHT AND A HALF WISHES

TWENTY-NINE AND A HALF REASONS

THIRTY AND A HALF EXCUSES

FALLING TO PIECES (novella)

THIRTY-ONE AND A HALF REGRETS

THIRTY-TWO AND A HALF COMPLICATIONS

PICKING UP THE PIECES (novella)

THIRTY-THREE AND A HALF SHENANIGANS

ROSE AND HELENA SAVE CHRISTMAS (novella)

RIPPLE OF SECRETS (novella)

THIRTY-FOUR AND A HALF PREDICAMENTS

THIRTY-FIVE AND A HALF CONSPIRACIES

THIRTY-SIX AND A HALF MOTIVES

SINS OF THE FATHER (novella)

Asheville Brewing

Rom com series

Cowritten with A.R. Casella

Any Luck at All

Better Luck Next Time

Getting Lucky

Bad Luck Club

The Wedding Pact

(Humorous contemporary romance)

THE SUBSTITUTE

THE PLAYER

THE GAMBLER

THE VALENTINE (short story)

Bachelor Brotherhood

Spinoff of The Wedding Pact series

ONLY YOU

UNTIL YOU

ALWAYS YOU

From the Ashes

Paranormal Women’s Fiction

Let it All Burn

Bluebird Bay

Women’s fiction

Cowritten with Christine Gael

Finding Tomorrow

Finding Home

Finding Peace

Young adult contemporary romance

ONE PARIS SUMMER

Off the Subject Series

(New adult contemporary romance)

AFTER MATH

REDESIGNED

BUSINESS AS USUAL

Also by Denise Grover Swank writing as D.G. Swank

CURSE KEEPERS WORLD

(Urban fantasy)

Curse Keepers Trilogy

The Curse Keepers

The Curse Breakers

The Curse Defiers

Curse Keepers Collection (box set)

Piper Lancaster Series

Of Ash and Spirit

Of Fire and Storm

Of Blood and Monsters

The Chosen Series

(Adult urban fantasy)

Chosen

Hunted

Sacrifice

Redemption

Book of Sindal

Descended from Shadows

Reign of Mist

Crown of Blood

On the Otherside Series

(Young adult sci fi romance)

Here

There

About the Author

Denise Grover Swank was born in Kansas City, Missouri and lived in the area until she was nineteen. Then she became a nomad, living in five cities, four states and ten houses over the course of ten years before she moved back to her roots. She speaks English and smattering of Spanish and Chinese which she learned through an intensive Nick Jr. immersion period. Her hobbies include witty Facebook comments (in own her mind) and dancing in her kitchen with her children. (Quite badly if you believe her offspring.) Hidden talents include the gift of justification and the ability to drink massive amounts of caffeine and still fall asleep within two minutes. Her lack of the sense of smell allows her to perform many unspeakable tasks. She has six children and hasn’t lost her sanity. Or so she leads you to believe.

For urban fantasy: dgswank.com

For mystery and romance: denisegroverswank.com

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Table of Contents

- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Contents
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Also by Denise Grover Swank

- Also by Denise Grover Swank writing as D.G. Swank

- About the Author