Her Scream in the Silence: Carly Moore #2

by Denise Grover Swank

  “Or you could get Bingham to steal it so you can file an insurance claim,” Hank muttered, staring out the window.

  “I thought Bingham was the local drug dealer.”

  “Bingham believes in diversification,” Hank said. “He ran the chop shop before he took over the drug business. After I relinquished my business, he got himself a cook from Chicago, but he can’t grow weed like I could.” A hint of a smile lit up his eyes.

  “A few weeks ago, Wyatt thought that Bingham had asked you to grow pot for him. Is that an issue for him?”

  He chuckled. “He’s asked a time or two, but I always turn him down. I ain’t got the stamina for it no more.”

  “Do you think Bingham will pressure you into it?” I asked.

  “He ain’t got nothin’ to pressure me with. You and Wyatt are off-limits. I ain’t got nothin’ else left.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. Bingham had found a work-around with Hank’s grandson—he’d helped Seth spy on the rival drug dealers because Seth had come to him rather than the other way around—which meant he wasn’t above thinking outside the box. “Bingham was watching Lula last night, and not in a good way. Got any idea why?”

  “You hear me, girly, you need to stay far away from Todd Bingham. You got lucky last time, but the next time might not end in a happily ever after.”

  I laughed. “Are you callin’ this a happily ever after?”

  “You’re alive, ain’t ya? That looks mighty happy to me.”

  I had to admit that he had a point, but I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a fairy-tale ending. Not after my breakup with Wyatt. I needed to focus on more important things. “Back to Lula—”

  “I ain’t got no idea why he was glarin’ at her. Rumor has it he’s got him some prostitutes. Maybe she worked for him on the side.”

  “I don’t see how that’s possible,” I said. “Not with the hours Ruth and I work.”

  “Then maybe it’s drugs. Like I said, the girl’s not right in the head. Maybe she tried to rip ’im off.”

  “Maybe…” I mused. But that didn’t seem likely either.

  “It makes no nevermind to you what he was glarin’ at her for. That’s their business, not yours.”

  I disagreed with that, but I could see there was no convincing him. His only concern in this situation was my safety. “I’m just trying to figure out what to tell my friend Marco.”

  Hank snorted so hard I thought he was going to spit out his tonsils. After that, I couldn’t get him to spill anything else about Bingham or Lula. Knowing him, I decided I’d just have to bide my time and ask him later.

  When we got home, Hank went inside as I carried in the food and Target bags, leaving Ruth’s purchases in the car. Hank settled into his recliner and turned on the television, grumbling that he’d missed the first few minutes of Ellen. I made him test his blood sugar, and not surprisingly, he needed a dose of insulin, so I got him squared away before heading to the kitchen.

  I found Marco’s phone number on my cell phone, which was pretty much a glorified phone book in the mountains, and dialed it into Hank’s rotary phone. Since the phone had a long cord that would allow me plenty of leeway to move around the kitchen, I started putting away the groceries while I waited for him to pick up.

  Marco answered after a couple of rings, breathless. “Carly? What’s up?”

  “You got a minute?” I asked as I put a container of almond milk in the back of the fridge, trying to hide it from Hank.

  “For you? You bet.”

  Marco and I had barely known each other before our big showdown with Carson Purdy. Beyond the fact that we were both around the same age, we didn’t have much in common—he was a good ole boy who lived to hunt and fish, and I was a former city girl who thought the outdoors was best observed through a window. But life-and-death situations had a way of bringing unlikely people together.

  Marco had been shot twice by Carson in an attempt to protect me. I’d tried to drag Marco to the safety of his car. I hadn’t been successful, and Carson had nearly shot him again—we both had Jerry to thank for our lives—but Marco had claimed most people would have taken off and left him to fend for himself. I’d countered that if most of the people he knew would have left him behind in a life-or-death situation, then he needed to find better company. We’d been friends ever since.

  “What do you know about Lula?” I asked.

  “Lula Baker who works at the tavern? I heard she was back. I planned to come in tonight to see her.”

  The way he said it made me think she was one of his many conquests in the area. Like Max, Marco was too handsome for his own good, with his blond hair, blue-green eyes, and his roguish looks. I’d taken him to dinner to celebrate his release from the hospital, and judging from the half a dozen women who’d greeted him with starry eyes, Marco Roland was a popular man with the ladies. No wonder he and Max were such good friends.

  “Don’t waste your gas money,” I said. “She’s gone.”

  “Already?” he asked in dismay.

  “Yeah, except I don’t think she left on her own, Marco.”

  “Well, she usually hitches a ride,” he said. “Her car’s shit. I told her once to have Wyatt look at it, but she claimed it was fine. I’m pretty sure she had one of the Grisham boys look at it.”

  I wondered why she hadn’t asked Wyatt. Was it money? She couldn’t have many expenses living where she did, and a car was a necessity in these parts. Had she been sending all her money to her mother? “If she hitched a ride, I’m not sure it was voluntary, or at least she left in a hurry.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I dropped by her house, which is a generous description of where she lives.”

  “I take it she wasn’t there?” After I described what I’d found, he asked, “What exactly are you askin’ for, Carly?”

  “I’m askin’ you which deputy I should call. We both know that a good many of them are corrupt. I want someone who will really look into this.”

  “Then your answer is none of ’em,” he said. “But not for the reason you think. Lula’s got a history of runnin’ off, and she hasn’t even been gone twenty-four hours, let alone the forty-eight we tend to wait.”

  “I’m telling you, Marco. She didn’t run off. She told me last night that she needed her job at least until the spring when her mother gets out of prison.”

  “That doesn’t mean nothin’, Carly. Not with Lula.”

  “She told me something else. Something I promised to keep secret. But it makes me believe she wouldn’t leave. And on top of that, Todd Bingham was watching her like a hawk last night. Was there bad blood between them?”

  “Not that I know of, and from what I saw about six months ago, I’d say it was more like hot blood.”

  “What did you see?”

  “Seriously, Carly?” he groaned good-naturedly. “I never took you as the kind of girl who’d want to know the details of other people’s sex lives.”

  “They were havin’ sex? You’re sure you didn’t misconstrue it?”

  “He had her pinned to the brick wall behind the tavern, drivin’ her home, if you know what I mean, his bare ass shinin’ in the moonlight. She seemed to be enjoyin’ every minute of it, so I turned tail and ran back inside for another beer. When she came back in about five minutes later, she had the look of a satisfied woman.”

  My face heated. “I could have done without that image.”

  “Hey, you asked if I was sure.”

  I had, and now adrenaline zipped through my blood. So they had been an item of some kind, even if it was just for one night, and if she was about five months pregnant, it very well could be his child. Had Bingham kidnapped her so he could keep his kid? Or…

  I couldn’t help thinking about Rose. She was carrying the baby of the local crime lord, and he hadn’t exactly celebrated the news. What if Bingham hadn’t taken it well?

  Lula had told me herself that Bingham made people disappear. And now Lula
was gone.

  Except she’d been adamant about keeping her pregnancy secret, and I didn’t feel I could break her trust and tell Marco. Not without knowing more about the situation.

  “Marco,” I pleaded, not above begging. “Will you please have someone look into this? I have a really bad feeling.”

  After a moment of silence, he sighed and said, “I can’t turn it over to anyone, because no one will look into it. Not now, and likely not even after forty-eight hours. She’s just run off too many times before.”

  Just when I was about to thank him for his time and hang up, he added, “But I’ll help you.”

  His response caught me by surprise. “You’re still on medical leave.”

  “That’s right, which means this won’t be an official investigation. It’ll just be two friends checkin’ on her.”

  “Thank you, Marco!”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “For now, I’m only committin’ to checkin’ her house.”

  Something I’d already done, although he was bound to notice more than I would.

  “We’ll figure out where to go from there,” he continued, “if we go somewhere from there. How soon can you meet me at Lula’s house?”

  I glanced around the kitchen. I’d only put half the food away and still had to make Hank’s dinner. Or did I? After Hank’s release from the hospital, Wyatt and I had agreed to share the responsibility of taking care of him. Surely he could do his part.

  I mentally added up how long it would take me to finish with the groceries, grab my work shirt, and drive to Lula’s. “About thirty minutes. Do you need directions?”

  “Nah,” he said, “I ain’t never been to her house, but I know the turnoff. I’ll meet you in a half hour.”

  I hung up the phone and called the garage, my stomach clenching at the thought of talking to Wyatt. I prayed that his employee, Junior, answered instead.

  Of course, luck was against me.

  “Drummond Auto Repair and Towing,” Wyatt answered.

  My breath caught in my throat. Why did I have to like him so much? Why did my body react to him like it had never reacted to anyone else? Why couldn’t he be more forthcoming?

  “Wyatt, it’s Carly.”

  I heard him exhale in relief. “I’m glad you called. I was givin’ you some space, but I planned to come see you tonight.”

  “Were you coming to tell me your secrets?” I asked, my voice stiff.

  He hesitated. “Carly…”

  “I’m not calling about me,” I said. “Hank and I just got back from Greeneville, and I don’t have time to make him dinner before I leave. Can you come to Hank’s and make sure he eats something healthy? He had Popeyes for lunch, so he really needs to eat something on his diet.”

  “Yeah, but I still want to see you.”

  “Don’t be coming to the tavern expecting to talk to me,” I said. “It’s Friday night and we’ll be busy. And unless you’re planning on sharing at least one of your secrets, don’t bother talking to me when you get to Hank’s either.”

  “I need a little time, Carly, if you’d just—”

  I had no idea what else he planned to say, since I hung up. I had bigger issues to contend with than my love life. I needed to focus on what had happened to Lula, because I was sure it was nothing good.

  Chapter Nine

  Marco’s black Ford Explorer was parked perpendicular to Lula’s driveway, his engine running. Making a U-turn, I parked along the side of the street in front of him. I got out and walked to his driver’s side, wearing my snow boots.

  He rolled down his window and said, “Get in. We’ll drive down to her house in my car.”

  I walked around the other side and climbed in, nearly salivating over the heated leather seats. I’d had a nice car in my other life—an Acura with a luxury interior and a nice stereo system.

  Caroline Blakely would never have thought she’d end up searching a one-room shack for a pregnant waitress who’d been sleeping with a dangerous drug dealer.

  He backed up, then turned down the lane, coming to a halt within a few feet of pulling in.

  “Did you drive down here before?” he asked, pointing to the drive that was still partially snow-covered.

  I wouldn’t have noticed, but now that he mentioned it, I saw some patterns in the mud.

  A chill zipped down my spine.

  “No. I parked on the street because I was worried I’d get stuck. I didn’t drive down last night either. I dropped her off and watched her walk toward the house.”

  He stared out at the lane. “You don’t say. Then I wonder how those tire tracks got there.” Reaching into the backseat, he grabbed a nice digital camera with a long lens. He flipped a switch, turning it on. “Do me a favor and take some photos of those tire tracks.”

  I didn’t have to ask why he needed the help. The crutches in the back confirmed that he was still using them, and likely would for weeks to come. “Yeah. Of course, but I thought you weren’t investigating.”

  “I’m not,” he countered good-naturedly. “But if this does turn out to be something, then I’m not destroyin’ any evidence. I can’t walk down there, but I can drive on the side and preserve some of the tracks. We’ll get photos of the rest.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Focus on getting photos of the right side of the lane. That’s where I plan to drive.”

  “Okay,” I repeated and opened the door as I looped the camera strap around my neck.

  Staying to the right, I started snapping photos of the barely visible tracks. The tires had been wide, and now that I was looking, I could see several sections of mud embedded with tire treads. I took a ton of photos, then headed back to Marco’s SUV, handing him the camera once I was inside.

  “Are these good?”

  He scanned the screen, quickly shuffling through the images. “They’ll work for now. When we come back out, I want you to get closer to those tread marks in the mud.”

  “Yeah. Of course.”

  He gave me a tight smile. “Let’s go check out the cabin.”

  He backed up, giving himself more room to maneuver, and then drove slowly down the side of the lane, so far to the right of the lane that tree branches scraped the side of his vehicle.

  When the shack came into view, Marco’s jaw tightened. “Shit. I can’t believe she was livin’ like this.”

  “She told me she’s been living here alone since she was sixteen.”

  He stared at the house for a few seconds, his forehead wrinkling. Finally, he released another heavy sigh. “Okay. Let’s go check it out.”

  He opened his car door and started to get out.

  “Let me get your crutches,” I said as I hopped out. But by the time I made it around the car, Marco was already standing at the back door, grabbing his crutches from the backseat.

  He grinned when he glanced up. “I’m a pretty self-sufficient guy. Much to the ladies’ dismay. A few of them would love nothin’ more than to wait on me hand and foot.”

  “Most men would love that,” I teased.

  “Not this guy. I make no secret that I like a good tumble in the sheets and no commitment.” He got the crutches positioned under his armpits, then shut the door. “Okay, let’s go.”

  I expected him to make slow going of getting to the house, but he’d obviously regained quite a bit of strength since I’d last seen him—a surprising feat given he was also recovering from an abdominal wound.

  “The porch is rotten in a lot of places,” I warned him, “so be careful.”

  “Yeah,” he said with a frown. “I can see that.”

  I walked up first, testing the floorboards so he knew where it was safe to step. I knocked on the door again, calling out Lula’s name to be sure she hadn’t returned, then opened it so Marco could hop across the porch of doom into the house.

  The room was darker than before, in part because I’d extinguished the lantern and in part because the sun was already setting behind the trees and hil
l on the western side.

  “I don’t have my phone to use as a flashlight,” I said.

  “I rarely carry my phone on me since it doesn’t do much good in these parts,” he said as he practically vaulted in the room. He likely didn’t want to take any chances on the porch. “But I guess you’re used to good phone service after living in Atlanta.”

  He was talking about my fake past.

  His statement seemed innocent enough, but it still caught me off guard. “You have no idea.”

  Hobbling over to the potbelly stove, he reached for the side of it, stopping just short of touching the surface. “Yeah, it’s warm.” He grabbed a fireplace poker leaning against the wall, then opened the stove and prodded the coals. “There’s no central heat in this place. She might have left embers to keep the place warm until she came home.”

  “The lantern on the chest of drawers was lit,” I said, moving toward it. “I extinguished it before I left. I didn’t want to risk her house burning down.”

  He glanced around with a grimace. “Doesn’t look like she’d lose much if it did.”

  While I could see where he was coming from, it was her home.

  “I think someone came and got her,” I said. “And she left in a hurry—look.” I pointed to a hook on the wall behind the door. “That’s the jacket she was wearing last night.”

  Marco spun around to look it over. “This thing can barely be considered a coat. She probably grabbed a heavier one before heading out into the snow. Did you see footprints outside when you approached before?”

  I cringed. “I didn’t look. But where’s her shotgun?”

  “What?”

  “She told me she has a shotgun for protection, but I don’t see one and there aren’t many places to store one.”

  Marco leaned on his crutch while his gaze scanned the room. “There.” He nodded to the front door. “There’s a couple of nails protruding from the logs. I bet she kept it there.”