I took the new customers’ orders and checked on the three guys still nursing their nearly empty beers. I offered to get them refills and asked if they wanted a basket of wings and fries to munch on. To my surprise, they did.
Max waggled his eyebrows and mouthed, Miracle worker.
I mouthed back, Suggestive sales.
God, I really hoped Max wasn’t a pimp.
I didn’t have time to dwell on it. More customers showed up, and Ruth came out after a twenty-minute break. Then Max took a break as the dinner customers thinned out. The drinking crowd had started to show up in full force by the time Wyatt rolled in at around eight, wearing a dark look.
He scanned the room until his gaze landed on me.
Even though I was furious with him, my body still reacted to the sight of him.
This was why I didn’t trust myself with men. It would be so easy to back down, to accept what he was willing to give me, but I needed to be strong. If I let myself fall for him, I’d go head over heels, and there was no way I was doing that unless he gave me answers.
He strode right up to me as though he was on a mission. I wondered if he’d try to take me into his arms and kiss me—and what I’d do if he did—but he stopped just short of me. “Are you in your usual section?”
I could lie to him, but I wasn’t fifteen and I didn’t want to play games. “Yes.”
He gave me a brisk nod, then headed to the bar and slipped onto a stool next to Jerry. The bar was Max’s territory.
What the hell?
Ruth gave me a questioning look, which was when I realized I still hadn’t told her about our breakup. My heart ached at the thought.
More people came in, and while Fridays were always busy, the place wasn’t usually this packed. Even so, I noticed right away when a woman I’d never seen at Max’s walked in through the door.
Greta Hightower, wearing a pair of jeans and a thick gray sweater with no coat, made her way to the half-filled bar, taking an open seat a few stools down from Wyatt and slightly to the side of the beer taps.
Max’s eyes practically popped out of his head. I nearly laughed, but I prayed she wasn’t there to see him. There was only one way to find out.
When I slid behind the counter to talk to Max, he was setting beers in front of a couple at the far end of the bar, but he kept sneaking glances at Greta. I leaned into his ear and asked, “Is that the infamous Greta?”
He turned to me in surprise. “Yeah.”
“Tell me the truth, Max. Do you want to see her again or not?”
“I…uh…” he sputtered.
“Undecided?”
He was silent for a moment before he softly said, “Yeah, I’d like to see her again, but I messed everything up.”
I pulled my notepad from my apron and handed it to him. “Cover my section.”
“I can’t do that!” he protested, sliding back a step and refusing to take it.
“Bullshit. Cover my section. I’ll see how agreeable she is to goin’ on an actual date with you that doesn’t involve moonshine and skinny dippin’.”
He scowled, but he snatched the order pad from my hand and pointed to the stack of tickets on the counter. “Most of the orders are beers. You can handle the shots, but some stuck-up fool thinks we’re a fancy night club and ordered an old-fashioned. You know how to make one of those?”
“No.”
“Neither do I. Make it up as you go.” With that, he headed out onto the floor.
I could feel Wyatt’s eyes watching me, and a quick glance in his direction confirmed it. Heat washed through my body, but I told myself that he was like strawberry shortcake: utterly delicious and, courtesy of my strawberry allergy, guaranteed to give me hives.
Just because something tasted good didn’t mean it was good for me.
Ignoring him, I walked over to Greta and gave her a bright, customer-friendly smile. “What can I get you?”
She glanced at the wall behind me, studying the beers on tap. “What do you recommend?”
“Are you a beer drinker?” I asked. “Or are you more into fruity drinks? Ruth and I have been playing around with a drink we’re creating. It’s a frozen drink with pineapple juice and rum. I know it’s cold, but the deliciousness makes up for it.”
“That sounds good,” she said, looking nervous as she glanced around the room. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” I said breezily, but I suspected Max would shoot me a death stare once he realized I’d moved Greta’s drink to the front of the line. Especially since it was so labor-intensive.
Ruth walked behind the bar with a handful of tickets as I poured pineapple juice into the blender full of ice. Her brows shot up. “Are you making our Pineapple Sunrise Surprise?”
I twisted my mouth to the side, unsure how she’d take this. “Maybe…”
“Who ordered that?” she asked, glancing around. “And why are you working the bar?” Her gaze landed on Greta and understanding washed over her face. She lowered her voice so Greta couldn’t hear. “That chickenshit.”
I hated that she thought so little of him, so I said, “It was my idea. I think he’d like to see her again, but he feels like an asshole for treating her poorly. I’m gonna see where he stands.”
“By butterin’ her up with our drink?”
I made a hesitant face. “Yeah…?”
She narrowed her eyes, then nodded. “I approve. I wish I’d thought of it myself. But move my tickets in front of Max’s,” she said, slapping them on the counter. “He doesn’t need the tips.”
I nearly told her his tips were my tips, but she turned and headed back to the kitchen.
I added the rum and coconut milk to the mixture before setting it on the base to blend. While I waited, I pulled a few more beers and set them on a tray with a ticket. At least I’d filled one of the tickets, although there were at least half a dozen more. Talking to Greta was more important. I poured the pineapple drink into a tall glass, added a straw, and set it in front of her. “If we had any of those fancy umbrellas, I would have added one.”
She took a sip and her eyes lit up. “Girl, as long as it tastes this good, you could put it in a red Solo cup and I’d be happy.”
“I haven’t seen you in here before,” I said, moving on to the next ticket.
“Shh…” she said, closing her eyes as she took another sip. “Don’t spoil my good mood.”
“Okay, but I can’t stay behind the counter for long.” While Max was making the rounds with his easygoing smile, I could tell some of my customers were getting pissed. And soon the people around the bar would be rioting for their drinks.
She was quiet for nearly a minute before she said, “I’ve been thinkin’ about what you said.”
“I said a lot of things,” I said, my stomach a bundle of nerves.
She shot me a dark scowl. “About Lula.”
It had all been about Lula, but I knew better than to point that out.
“I asked around about you,” she said, then took a sip through her straw.
“Oh?” I said in surprise, my brain scrambling to figure out whom she might have asked. Just about everyone who knew anything about me was in this room.
“I wanted to know if I could trust you.”
“And?”
Rather than answer, she focused on sipping her drink, which was going down entirely too fast. But I didn’t really need her to share. I doubted she would have shown up to gloat if she’d heard through the grapevine that I was a terrible person. She was here because I’d been deemed trustworthy.
She leaned closer and caught my eye. “When Lula left for Chattanooga, she was deliverin’ a package.”
I hadn’t seen that one coming. “What kind of package?”
She glanced around, then leaned even closer. “She wouldn’t say. Trust me, I asked.”
“Was it for Bingham?”
She paused for a moment. “I’m not sure.”
But the look in her eyes told me she still d
idn’t trust me enough to be truthful. Which suggested this might be related to one of the illegal activities she’d mentioned.
I took a breath. “Greta, did Lula mention that she was going to run off again?”
She shook her head adamantly. “No. She told me she was stickin’ around because she needed the job. Because of…you know.”
I nodded. “Have you heard from her at all today?” When she shook her head, I said, “Do you know why she was scared of Bingham last night?”
She shook her head. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“What do you know about her breakup with him?”
“Not a thing. Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean she shares everything with me.” She took another sip of her drink, then glanced up at me. “Yesterday afternoon, I asked about her trip, but she refused to tell me anything about it other than insisting she was done. No more runnin’ packages.”
“Is that what she was doin’ every time she left?” I asked. “Running packages?”
Greta pressed her lips together as though locking Lula’s secret into a vault.
“Greta, I want to help her, but you have to tell me what you know.”
“Why?” she asked with more vitriol than I’d expected. Especially since she’d come to me. “You’ll have more hours if she stays away. Maybe you want her gone for good. Or maybe you’re workin’ with Marco to get her into trouble.”
“No, Greta,” I said in a soft, calm voice. “I swear to you that I don’t have a malicious reason for looking into this. I’m worried about her.”
“Why?” she shot back. “You work with her for a few hours, and suddenly you’re attached to her? You think you can save her?”
Save her? I cocked my head. “Save her from what?”
She glanced down at her nearly empty drink as though trying to decide if keeping her secrets was worth ditching her drink. When she lifted her gaze, her eyes pleaded for understanding. “I want to trust you, Carly, really I do, but I’m still not sure you have her best interest in mind. I just can’t see why you’d go to this much trouble for someone you barely know.”
I understood her concern. It was a legitimate question. She didn’t know me from Adam, and I hardly knew Lula at all. How could I explain my reasons to her when I hardly understood them myself?
My mind flashed to Rose and Neely Kate coming up to my broken-down car by the side of the road.
“I think maybe I’m helping her because I was recently in a very difficult situation, and strangers came to my aid. Maybe I’m just payin’ it forward.” When she didn’t bolt, I added, “When I took Lula home last night, she seemed scared, but she refused to tell me why. I asked her about Bingham, but she didn’t say much other than that he could make people disappear. Which makes him suspect number one. But when I talked to him this afternoon, he didn’t let on that he knew she was pregnant. Maybe she was delivering a package for him and something went wrong?”
If Lula had botched some kind of delivery for him, she had a legit reason to be worried. At the same time, I doubted she would have come back at all, let alone stayed by herself in that cabin, knowing Bingham might come gunning for her.
“He might not be the daddy,” Greta said so softly I barely heard her.
I wasn’t surprised, but I needed more to go on. “Who else could it be?”
“You can’t tell anyone,” she said, leaning forward again and grabbing my wrist in a tight hold. “Swear it.”
I couldn’t tell her I planned to share what I learned with Marco. She clearly didn’t trust him. At the same time, I didn’t want to lie to her.
Her hold tightened, her fingernails digging into my flesh. “Swear.”
“I swear I won’t tell anyone.” I hated the constraint, but it was obvious she wasn’t going to tell me otherwise. I’d have to find a work-around.
“She was seeing someone else around the same time, but I’m not sure who. I wasn’t even sure she was seein’ Bingham until you verified it.”
“Why wouldn’t she tell you?” I asked. “You two are obviously close.”
“Her crazy-ass mother puts all kinds of ideas into her head. She keeps telling Lula not to trust anyone, even me. Lula still tells me things, just not everything.”
“Do you have any clues to help me track this other guy down?”
“All I know is that he was supposedly a man of importance.” She made a face. “That’s what she called him. A man of importance. She doesn’t talk like that, so I figured he was the one who told her that. Other than that, I only know that he was older and she used to meet him at the Mountain View Lodge outside of Ewing.” Pushing out a sigh, she said, “Lula has daddy issues.”
I supposed having a father who’d tried to drown you would do that to a person.
“Do you know when she first started seeing him? Or the last time?”
“The last time I know of was back in September. She met him several times that month. As to when it started…I’m guessing early summer? I know she asked to borrow a bikini in June because he was taking her to the lodge and they have a hot tub. She wanted to look good.”
“And you loaned it to her?”
“I almost didn’t since she was so stingy with details. She finally confessed that he was married. He’d sworn her to secrecy. In fact, I don’t think her momma even knew about him.”
“What about Bingham? Did he know about the other man?”
“I’m not sure they overlapped. I can’t imagine he’d handle sharin’ well.” She shrugged. “Either way, I suspect he never knew. I don’t think she met her Ewing guy all that often in the beginning, and the only reason I knew was because of the bikini. She’s pretty good at keepin’ secrets.”
So I’d gathered.
“Do you know if she broke it off with the Ewing guy?”
“I honestly have no idea, but I can’t help but think it ended. By October, she didn’t seem to go to Ewing all that often anymore, and she just seemed sad.”
“Hidin’ a pregnancy might do that to a person,” I said, deep in thought.
“True.” She glanced over her shoulder and her face lost color. “I have to go.” She grabbed her purse, which was hanging from the stool back.
“Wait,” I pleaded. “What else do you know?”
Her fingers were shaking as she pulled her wallet out of her purse. Why was she so spooked? I glanced around the room, half-expecting Bingham to be glaring at us, but I didn’t see him or any of his known associates. No one else seemed to be sending threatening glances our way either.
“Greta,” I said, abandoning the draft station and moving directly in front of her. “Why are you so scared?”
Shaking her head, she handed me a ten-dollar bill. “Will this cover it?”
“Where are you parked?” I asked.
“Uh…down the street. Behind the café.”
“I’m gonna have Wyatt walk you to your car.”
Her brows shot up and she cast a quick sideways glance in his direction. “I thought you weren’t dating anymore.”
“We’re not, but he’s a good man.”
Too bad he wasn’t good for me.
Chapter Thirteen
I hurried down to Wyatt. My traitorous eyes took in his mussed dark hair and those lips I’d kissed. He looked jarred by my sudden appearance, not that I could blame him.
“I need you to do me a favor.”
“Okay,” he said without hesitation.
“Don’t you want to know what it is first?”
“Nope. You only have to ask, and I’ll do it.”
Was he trying to win me back? Dammit. Between this and his bit of kindness with Ginger, I was almost weak enough to consider it. Focus, Carly. “I need you to walk Greta to her car.”
His brow lifted slightly. “Has she had too much to drink?”
“No, she’s a bit spooked, is all. Can you do it?”
“Of course,” he said, already getting off his stool and slipping on his jacket. “Does she wan
t me to take her home?”
I cast a backward glance at her as she stared at her now-empty glass. Which was when it occurred to me that I was sending the wrong brother. What with our talk about Lula, I’d completely forgotten to ask Greta about Max.
Holding up my hand, I said, “Wait a minute.” Then I hurried around the counter and intercepted Max as he made his way to the counter with several tickets. “If you want a chance to win her back, you’ve got a shot at playing hero, but you need to grab your coat right now.”
He shook his head as though trying to clear it. “What are you talking about?”
“Greta’s worried about walking to her car alone.”
His back straightened—Enforcer Max had made an appearance. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I was going to have another guy do it, but I thought maybe—”
He shoved the notepad at me. “On it.”
He made a beeline toward her, leaning in to say something across the bar. She listened then nodded, shooting me a questioning look.
I smiled and relief filled her eyes.
Two birds with one stone. I was good.
Max wrapped an arm around her back and led her away. I hurried back to the bar to fill the rest of the orders, scanning the crowd to see if anyone made a move to follow them. I wasn’t surprised when I saw Wyatt shift to Greta’s seat in front of the beer taps.
“What was that about?” he asked as I filled a mug from the draft.
I gave the room one last look before I turned to him. “Honestly? I don’t know. One minute she was fine, but next she wasn’t. I think she saw something—someone—who scared her. I have no idea who.”
“And the Max situation?”
“Let’s just say I think they like each other. They got a little misstart, and I gave them a push in the right direction.”
“Is that how you’d classify us? A misstart?”
“You ready to talk yet?”
“And are you going to move on to someone else if I’m not?” he asked in a gruff tone.
“What are you talkin’ about? Why would you ask me that?”
“Junior said he saw you with Marco. And that you two were…close.”
What would he have seen? Our hug? Me kissing Marco’s cheek? I could see how it might be misconstrued. “I never realized Junior was such a gossip.”
Her Scream in the Silence: Carly Moore #2 Page 13
