Her Scream in the Silence: Carly Moore #2

by Denise Grover Swank

  “You gonna look for her?” she asked in a hopeful tone. Marco’s delivery had gone right over her head.

  “Not in an official capacity,” Marco said. “I’m still on medical leave. I’m just here checking on a friend. But if you think she’s in danger, you should call the sheriff and report her missin’.”

  “Why don’t you do it?” she asked with a mixture of fear and anger in her eyes.

  “Because I doubt they’ll listen to me.” He tilted his head in my direction. “Now, if you’ll hand that photo over to Carly, we’ll be gettin’ out of your hair.”

  Melody glanced down at the now-crumpled photo, the hard lines of her face softening for a moment before she reluctantly handed it to me. “I still don’t know why you’re mixed up in this.”

  I opened my mouth to answer, still not sure what I intended to say, but Marco beat me to it. “She’s helpin’ me. I got to know Greta pretty well at the café. I eat there several times a week when I’m on duty, and since I’m still recoverin’, Carly offered to help.”

  I took the photo and tried to give Melody a genuine smile, but I was still struggling to read her. Was she actually worried about her sister’s well-being, or did she feel inconvenienced by the disappearance of her built-in babysitter? I suspected it was the latter.

  I backed up several steps, having formed the impression it might not be a good idea to turn my back to the woman in such close physical proximity. When I was several feet away, I turned around to check on Marco. His crutches were sliding, and he was struggling to maintain his balance.

  I knew perception was everything on this mountain, and in most instances, I would have left Marco to flounder, simply because it could be seen as a mark on his manhood if he were to accept assistance, but he’d told Melody I was there because of his injuries, and the tension on his face told me he was not only struggling but hurting too.

  I moved next to him and took his left crutch, then slung his arm over my shoulder. “I’m gonna drive.”

  I half-expected him to protest, but instead he leaned into me and let me lead him to the passenger door. I opened it and helped him maneuver so he could hop up. Since the crutches were a muddy mess, I put them in the cargo area before getting in on the driver’s side.

  Melody studied us as though she were watching a carnival sideshow.

  “Where do you want to go now?” I asked as I pushed the button to start the SUV. Marco had the key fob in his pocket. “We didn’t get Tim Hines’s address.” I backed out onto the road and headed toward the highway.

  Melody stayed on the step, watching us leave.

  “We don’t need Tim Hines’s address,” he said, his entire body tense. “I know where he lives.”

  I was about to ask him how he knew, but Marco’s obvious pain was my number one priority at the moment. “You’re overdoing it, Marco.” When he didn’t protest, I became even more concerned. “How bad is your pain?”

  “I just need to take a couple of pills,” he said. “But they’re at home.”

  “Okay,” I said. “We’ll drop by your house so you can take some. We also need to talk to Mr. Watson at some point.”

  “If he’s there,” he said, shifting his leg and pushing his seat further back to extend his leg. “He doesn’t stick around a lot on the weekends.”

  We’d deal with that later. I was still worried about Marco. “Where are you hurting?”

  He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. “Everywhere, but I tweaked my leg while slopping around in that mud. What’s she doin’? Plannin’ on hostin’ a mud-wrestling match?”

  I didn’t answer, knowing he just needed to vent.

  He took a few breaths, then said, “While Tim Hines is suspicious, I think someone else is involved. You said Greta saw something that scared her in the tavern, but if she saw Tim, I think she’d be more inclined to stick around than to run. Safety in numbers.”

  A quick glance showed me he still had his eyes closed. “Yeah. I agree. It was more like she was scared she’d been seen talking to me and wanted to get away as soon as possible.”

  “If I got ahold of a photo of Tim Hines, could you tell me if you think he was there last night?”

  “Yeah, but we were really busy. Even if he was there, he might not have been in my section. I’m not sure I would have noticed him.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “But it can’t hurt to look. Besides, you probably know most of the regulars by now, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  We had more to discuss, but I kept silent for a few moments, staring at the road and giving him time to get comfortable. When his breathing became steadier, I said, “I keep thinking about Melody saying Tim stopped coming by. I can’t imagine he would have listened to reason. Do you think Greta got someone to run interference for her? Maybe Mr. Watson since he was looking out for her.”

  He made a face, but his eyes remained closed. “Doubtful. Mr. Watson is over seventy years old. While he’s tough on his own turf, I doubt he’d have much influence off his property, but I do know of someone with enough influence to get him to stop.” He shifted to look at me, finally opening his eyes. “Tim Hines is an alleged associate of Todd Bingham.”

  I swallowed the lump of dread in my throat.

  No matter where we looked, all roads led to Bingham.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “You think Greta got Bingham to stop Tim from bothering her?” I asked in shock. “Why would he do that?”

  “That is the question of the hour. What would Greta have that Todd Bingham wanted?”

  I paused. “Information about Lula?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe information that would help him in his business ventures. I bet you a hundred bucks Melody won’t call the sheriff about her sister. She can’t afford to have them snoopin’ around. In fact, I suspect she’s scrubbin’ down her trailer as we speak.”

  My stomach knotted. “You think Melody hurt her sister?”

  “No, not in this instance. I’ve suspected she’s sellin’ drugs for a while now. A few months ago, I found a link connecting her to the operation Carson Purdy was runnin’.”

  “But all of those men were killed. Isn’t that operation done for?”

  “There’s no tellin’ if that was all of them, but Tim was stalkin’ Greta back in August, when Carson and his people were gearing up their operation. Bingham would have found any information about her sister helpful.”

  “So Greta either sold out her sister or her best friend.”

  “Or she could have given him information about Hines, but the miserable bastard is still alive and kickin’, so that one’s more doubtful.”

  “Bingham would have killed him?”

  “Depends on the level of betrayal, but yeah. Bingham’s a stone-cold killer, and you need to bear that in mind.” Something about the way he said it led me to believe he hadn’t yet finished his thought.

  I turned slightly to glance at him. “You think I should talk to him again.”

  “I don’t know yet. He didn’t threaten you yesterday, and you seemed to get away with mouthin’ off to him at the tavern, but the man has his limits. Ones you might test if you drop by to start askin’ questions about Greta.”

  Facing Bingham scared the shit out of me. I had to think this through.

  “One possibility is that Tim Hines took Greta,” I said, “but that seems unlikely. I think he would have needed a trigger, but so far we haven’t established one. And if it was Tim, it seems unlikely Greta’s disappearance is related to Lula. I don’t know about you, but I doubt it’s coincidental two best friends went missing in the same forty-eight-hour period.”

  “My thoughts too.”

  “Let’s say Greta did go to Bingham for help with Tim. What does that have to do with her disappearance now?” I asked.

  “If it was Bingham who helped her in August, and if the price was information about Lula, he might be watchin’ Greta now. Maybe he doesn’t want her passin’ anything along to you.”
<
br />   I felt like I was going to be sick. If that was the case, I’d gotten Greta kidnapped.

  “And if that’s so, goin’ back to see him is a fool’s errand,” Marco said.

  We were silent again, and I let all the possibilities run through my head. “Does Greta have any other association with Bingham?”

  “Not that I know of, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

  “And then there’s the second possible father to consider,” I said. “And the man who stopped by the café to ask Greta about Lula.”

  Marco nodded. “I think we need to stop by Watson’s before we head to my place.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Marco? You’re in pain for one thing, and we’re a muddy mess for another.”

  “I’ve got another pair of shoes in the back,” he said. “We just need to wash off my crutches and get some new shoes for you.”

  “I have shoes in my bag,” I said, another lump forming in my throat. “For my shift tonight.” I still couldn’t believe Max had fired me, but maybe he had a point. What if my snooping had gotten Greta kidnapped or killed?

  “He’s gonna hire you back, Carly.”

  “I don’t know, Marco. I’ve never seen him so pissed.”

  “I’ve been thinkin’ about it. He wasn’t pissed. He was scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t think he was scared for himself. He was scared for you.”

  “Because I’m lookin’ into Lula’s disappearance.” I took a deep breath, preparing to share my suspicions. “Do you think this has to do with his father? Greta said Lula was sleeping with a man of importance. Could it have been Bart Drummond?”

  He pursed his lips, considering it, then said, “I don’t know. She’s not really his type.”

  “He has a type?” I asked, unsure why I was so surprised by the confirmation that he slept around. Didn’t powerful men sleep around with young women just because they could? My father had become the exact same way after my mother died.

  “Bart Drummond sleeps around, but he usually does it out of town. Rumor has it one of his paramours confronted Max’s mother at the tavern when the boys were younger. He was more careful after that.”

  “Lula was meetin’ her second guy in Ewing. Is that out of town enough?”

  “Bart usually went to Asheville or Greeneville. But he’s getting older and Emily goes out less often than she used to. He might be gettin’ lazier.”

  “So Max might have known his father was sleepin’ with Lula. Maybe he knows or suspects his father had something to do with her disappearance, and he’s worried we’ll uncover it and put ourselves in danger.”

  “Possibly.”

  “Where do we focus our attention first?” I asked. “I feel torn in too many directions.”

  “I think we should focus on Greta right now. I think we can work on the assumption their disappearances are connected, and hers is fresher, which likely means we’ll find more clues.”

  “And if they’re not connected?” I asked. “Do we stop lookin’ for her and go back to Lula?” I wasn’t sure I felt good about making that call.

  The look on Marco’s face suggested he didn’t feel comfortable making it either. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”

  We were approaching Drum, so Marco told me to stop at the back of Wyatt’s garage.

  I shot him a dark look. “Why?”

  “Because he has a hose out back that he’ll let us use.” He grinned. “You could ask the man to drive to Knoxville to get you an ice cream cone, and not only would he do it, but he’d figure out a way to keep it from melting before he handed it to you. He’ll let us use the hose.”

  I groaned.

  “He’s got it bad for you, Carly. But if you prefer to go to the tavern and wash up in Tiny’s kitchen, I’ll follow your lead.”

  Tiny wouldn’t let us bring dirty dishes into the kitchen. He’d lose his mind if I took muddy crutches in there—didn’t matter that we were closed for the day.

  “No way,” I said. “Can you imagine Tiny’s fury if we tried such a thing?” I shook my head. “Wyatt’s garage it is.”

  Of course his truck was there, but so was Junior’s car. When I pulled up behind the building, I could hear a power tool running in the garage. Maybe we could wash off Marco’s crutches and leave before we were noticed. While I did want to talk to Wyatt tonight, I didn’t want to do it now, especially right after his brother had fired me.

  I left the engine on and opened my door. “Stay here. I’ll do it.”

  Marco just closed his eyes and grimaced as though a new wave of pain had hit him. I planned to look over his wounds when we got to his house. While I was hardly a nurse, I’d learned a thing or two from caring for Hank and Violet.

  I grabbed the crutches out of the back, then walked around to the passenger side and opened the door.

  Marco cracked his eyes open.

  “I’m gonna take off your shoes,” I said. “You need to change them anyway, so I might as well wash them off here.”

  He looked hesitant to agree.

  “What?”

  “They’re Air Ones.”

  “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” I said wryly.

  “They’re nearly two-hundred-dollar shoes.”

  “Then what were you doing wearing them in the mud?” But I knew the answer to that, so I said, “Never mind. Don’t worry. I promise to be careful.”

  He reluctantly nodded his head. I made quick work of untying his shoes. When I slipped off the second one, he cried out in pain, which made me seriously doubt he would be able to continue today. Maybe we should take a break. I’d wanted to cram as much investigating as possible into one day because of my work schedule on Sunday and Monday, but now I had all the time in the world.

  I blinked away tears. Losing my job was nothing compared to this mess unfolding around us, and it wouldn’t help anyone if I fell apart now.

  A heavy-duty black garden hose was connected to an outside water spigot, so I turned on the water and started to spray the ends of Marco’s crutches.

  I wasn’t surprised when Wyatt walked out the back door a few seconds later. He propped his hands on his hips and took in what I was doing. “Do I want to know?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Why isn’t Marco cleaning his own crutches?”

  “He slipped in some mud and I think he hurt himself.”

  Worry filled his eyes, and he glanced back at the SUV. “Is he okay?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know, but he wants to go somewhere before I take him back home, so we thought it best to hose these down.”

  “And your boots?” he asked, his voice turning husky as he took a step closer.

  “I have my tennis shoes in the car.”

  “But are your boots ruined?” he asked.

  I snuck a glance at them. “Maybe.”

  He took the hose from me. “Why don’t you clean them inside? I’ll finish this up.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Wyatt.”

  “I know, but I want to.”

  I gave him a warm smile. “Thanks.”

  Taking Marco’s shoes, I headed back to the car and grabbed my bag. Marco hadn’t moved a muscle, and he didn’t react other than to flinch when I closed the door again. Not good.

  I’d only been in Wyatt’s garage once before, and on my first visit, I’d stayed in the waiting area. Just one more reminder that there was so much I didn’t know about him.

  Junior was leaning over an engine, but he looked up when I walked through the door.

  “Hey, Carly,” he said, but I saw hesitation in his eyes. He thought he’d seen me getting cozy with Marco.

  “Wyatt said I could wash off some shoes inside. Where would be the best place to do that?”

  He stood up, his gaze shifting pointedly to the larger pair of shoes. He no longer looked quite so friendly.

  I didn’t owe Junior an explanation, but I als
o didn’t want to make an enemy. “I know you think I’m cheating on Wyatt.”

  He held up his hand. “It’s none of my business.”

  “Clearly it is,” I said, moving closer. “And while Wyatt and I are still trying to figure things out, I’m only hanging out with Marco to look for Lula. She’s missing again.”

  “She does that,” he said, his guard still up.

  “This time is different. Now, if you could show me where I can clean these up?”

  He motioned behind him to a large sink against the wall.

  “Thanks.” I walked over, my heels echoing in the concrete space. I could clearly hear the water running outside. No wonder Wyatt had come outside in 3.2 seconds flat.

  I turned on the water and tentatively put Marco’s shoe under the stream, picking up a brush from the back ledge of the sink and lightly scrubbing at the mud.

  “Why do you think Lula’s leavin’ is different this time?” Junior asked.

  “I can’t tell you the specifics,” I said, still facing the sink, “but there were some suspicious things out on her property.” And, because the rest was bound to come out soon anyway, I added, “And now her best friend is missing.”

  “Greta?” he asked in surprise.

  I turned completely around to face him. “You know that they’re best friends?”

  “Ginger is Greta’s cousin. What happened?”

  Did Marco know about their connection?

  “Marco and I went to talk to Greta this morning at the café, and one of the waitresses told us she hadn’t come in. She hadn’t even called in sick. So Marco and I went out to talk to her sister, and Melody confirmed that she didn’t come home last night.”

  Disgust washed over his face. “She’s a piece of work.”

  “We gathered that. She didn’t seem to think it was a big deal, even though she admitted she has no idea where Greta could be.”

  “Melody only thinks of herself. She’ll be concerned soon enough when Greta’s not there to watch her kids.”

  “I’m really worried about her,” I said. “Marco told Melody to report Greta as missing to the sheriff’s department, but he doubts she’ll do it.”