Her Scream in the Silence: Carly Moore #2

by Denise Grover Swank

  He sucked in a breath. “The first two don’t matter as they seem to at the moment,” he said. “It’s Old Man Drummond we need to worry about.”

  “I’ll have to leave. I won’t have a choice,” I said, my voice thick with emotion.

  “Not necessarily, girlie. Not necessarily. What makes you think Bart Drummond knows?”

  I told Hank what Bart had said in the pharmacy and about his invitation to come to his house next week.

  “He’s not gonna pull anything before he meets with ya,” Hank said, “but I suspect you’re right. He knows something. Maybe we’d do best to see what he has to say, then go from there.”

  “You don’t think I should run?”

  His lips pursed. “Sometimes it’s better to fight the devil you know, and I know Bart Drummond. Bart’s ruled the roost around here for far too long. It’s about time for someone to stand up to him. Besides, I ain’t ready to give you up yet.”

  I smiled, but he was blurry through my tears. “Thank you, Hank.”

  I slid off the sofa and knelt next to his chair and hugged him. It occurred to me that maybe Wyatt wasn’t the only one who wanted to knock Bart off his throne. There might be others in this town who would help me.

  He was stiff at first then softened, wrapping his arms around me and patting my back. “There, there, girlie. You’re my kin now. I’ll take care of ya, one way or the other.”

  I pulled back to look into his face, wondering what that meant.

  He must have understood because he gave me a tight smile and said, “If I think you need to run, I’ll tell you. I’m selfish enough to want you to stay, but care about you enough to tell you to go if I think it’s safer.”

  “Thank you, Hank. I really like living with you.”

  The phone began to ring, and I glanced into the kitchen.

  “You better get that,” he said.

  But what if it was Wyatt? I decided the chances of that were slim. He’d taken off like a bee had bitten his bottom. He was on some secret mission or other, and I was probably far from his thoughts.

  I got up and reached it by the fourth ring. “Hello?”

  “You need to get your ass in to work,” Ruth said in a snippy tone. “I’m opening in a half hour.”

  “I can’t, Ruth. Max fired me.”

  “Too damn bad for Max. I’m the manager, and I overrule him. Get your ass in here.” Then she hung up.

  Replacing the phone on the hook, I said, “I guess I’m going to work.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Max’s was already open when I pulled into the parking lot in back. Tiny was in the kitchen, and I stopped in the doorway as I tied my apron. “What’s going on, Tiny?”

  He stood in front of the grill and shot a look over his shoulder. “Ruth went on a warpath when she found out we were closed. She didn’t want to miss out on Saturday night profits.”

  “Where’s Max?”

  “Wyatt was upstairs with him when I showed up, and they left soon after.”

  “Both of them?” I asked in surprise.

  “Yep. Got the impression Max wouldn’t be back tonight.”

  “Where’s Sugar?” It was Saturday night. We were bound to be busy.

  He shot me a wry grin. “Ruth decided if she was takin’ over, she was goin’ full tilt. She called Sugar up and fired her ass.”

  Not that it wasn’t warranted, but I would have expected Ruth to at least have the decency to fire her face-to-face. Which didn’t bode well for her disposition this evening.

  I shot a glance toward the dining room. “I take it Ruth’s still pissed?”

  His eyebrows shot up and he gave me a pointed look that suggested it was a stupid question.

  “Is she mad at me for closing the tavern this morning?”

  “No, I told her it was Marco’s call, but she’s still not happy.”

  I sucked in a breath. “Okay. Wish me luck.”

  “Just remember she’s more bark than bite.”

  “Tell that to Sugar,” I called out over my shoulder.

  I walked out into the dining room and took a second to assess the situation. Three tables were filled with customers, and Ruth was behind the bar, filling a mug at the beer taps.

  “I’m here,” I said, hurrying up to the counter. “What do you need me to do?”

  Her gaze jerked up to mine. “I’ve taken all the drink orders and the food order for table three.”

  “Got it.” I hurried off toward table eight, but I only made it a couple of steps.

  “Carly,” she said.

  I turned back to face her.

  She started to say something, then stopped and started again. “I don’t know what’s goin’ on between you and Max, but we’ll get it straightened out.” Her eyes turned glassy. “I need you. Max does too. We’ll make it right.”

  “Thanks, Ruth.”

  It felt weird without Max there. I was used to him being off for a few hours at a time, but I’d never worked a full shift without him. We’d gotten a late start on the dinner shift, and I’d kept busy for several hours, then went right into the drinking crowd.

  Jerry showed up at around eight and sat at the bar. I heard him ask Ruth why we were closed earlier, and she told him that Max had been under the weather but he’d encouraged us to carry on without him for the night. When a few customers asked me about Max’s absence, I told them the same story. Everyone seemed to buy it, and I couldn’t help thinking our lies were only enabling Max’s drinking.

  I’d think that through later.

  Bingham walked in at around nine, shockingly alone. He stood at the door for a moment, his gaze slowly tracking from Ruth at the bar to me at the other end of the room.

  Was he casing the joint because he was up to no good? Had I pissed him off enough for him to want retaliation?

  My heart was in my stomach, and I could barely focus on taking my order as I watched Bingham approach the bar to speak to Ruth.

  Her eyes widened and then flicked to me. She said something to him, and he sauntered across the room and sat in a booth. He took a relaxed position, but his gaze was intense when it landed on me.

  Ruth beckoned me over, and I finished taking my order before I headed to the bar and handed her my ticket.

  She looked it over and started filling a beer. “Bingham wants to talk to you.”

  Was he here about Lula?

  She scanned the room, and I could tell she was tense from the set of her shoulders. “You haven’t had your break yet. I told him that I can spare you for ten minutes max.”

  “A break?” I asked. “Have you taken a break? No. That’s because we’re too busy for either one of us to take a break.”

  Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Are you in trouble with Bingham?”

  “I don’t think so, but I did ask him about buying my junk car, and we couldn’t reach an agreement on price. Maybe that’s why he’s here.” Despite my argument with Max, I figured he was probably right about Ruth: it would probably be best if she didn’t know I was looking into Lula’s disappearance.

  Confusion flickered in her eyes. “I thought Wyatt was takin’ care of your old car.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m a strong, independent woman…and I decided it wouldn’t hurt to get on Bingham’s good side.”

  “Still, it’s unusual to see him alone. He’s a pack animal—the alpha, sure, but a pack animal nonetheless. This is…weird. I don’t like it.” She set the drinks on the counter. “Max isn’t here, but Tiny’s in the back.”

  I flashed her a grin. “You’re worried about me.”

  “Of course I am. Just… be careful.”

  I considered making Bingham wait, just to prove he couldn’t control me like he controlled so many others, but his presence was making Ruth and a few of the other patrons nervous. Better to deal with him ASAP and get him out the door.

  I dropped off the drinks Ruth had pulled, then headed straight for Bingham’s booth.

  “Have a seat, Ms. Moore
,” he said in a slow drawl when I stopped next to the table. “We have some things to discuss.”

  I stuffed down my pride and slid into the seat opposite him.

  “See there?” he said with a wide grin. “No mouthin’ off. Just doin’ as you’re told. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  I clenched my fists under the table. “I’m here as you requested. You have five minutes.”

  His grin widened. “You like to think you’re in control, but there’s a long-ass ladder to climb to get to this level, Ms. Moore. The sooner you learn your place, the healthier you’ll be.”

  A threat to be sure, but what was he threatening me about? Shane Jones?

  Marco had said something about Bingham’s limits, and I knew I was in danger of pushing them. But I needed to talk with him. He was my number one suspect, and he was sitting right in front of me.

  One thing I’d learned about Bingham was that he’d take anything he was given and many things he wasn’t. If I kowtowed to him, I’d get nothing. “If you don’t like me sniffin’ around your boy, then perhaps he shouldn’t be followin’ me so closely.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

  “Shane Jones.” Before I could think better of it, I blurted out, “I know you had him stalking Greta. Did you have him take her too?”

  “What the hell are you talkin’ about?” he repeated, sitting up straighter.

  “Don’t play stupid, Bingham. It’s not a good look for you. I know Shane Jones is working at the nursing home in Ewing to keep an eye on Greta Hightower, and he followed her to the café last week to ask about Lula. She came back and disappeared again, so it stands to reason he took Greta in an attempt to recover something from Lula. Or maybe he thought Lula had given something to her.”

  He reached over and grabbed my wrist, squeezing tight, his eyes blazing with fury. “I’m gonna ask you one last time what the fuck you are talkin’ about.”

  I glanced pointedly at my arm, then back up at him. His grip was tight enough to leave bruises. “You’re damn lucky Max isn’t here. Now get your grimy hand off me.”

  He gave me another squeeze for good measure and then released me.

  So this was a pissing contest. Good thing I hadn’t peed for hours.

  “Are you trying to claim Shane Jones isn’t one of your men?”

  “He’s not.”

  I reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out my cell phone, then opened it to the photos. “You don’t know this guy?”

  I held up my screen so he could see the grainy image of Shane’s headshot.

  “Why the hell would I?” he barked.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Are you lying to me?”

  His dark brown eyes locked on mine. “No.”

  Pushing out a breath, I exited out of the photos.

  “Why would you think I took the waitress from Watson’s?”

  “Because she’s missing, and currently you’re my number one suspect.”

  To my surprise, he burst out laughing, which scared a couple sitting at a table a row away. They got up, snatched up their coats, and left.

  I gestured toward them. “They just walked out without payin’. You’re gonna cover their tab.”

  “The fuck I am,” he said, but his tone wasn’t as gruff as before. It was almost droll. “Let me get this straight. You think I took Greta Hightower to question her about Lula. Why the fuck would I give a shit about Lula?”

  He was the very last person I should tell about her pregnancy, so I had to take a different tack. I still hadn’t asked him about the packages, and it seemed like the time was right.

  “Did you have Lula deliver a package for you?” I asked. “Maybe you’re waiting on payment.”

  His eyes darkened again. “No one, and I mean no one, questions my business dealin’s.”

  “Greta said Lula’s been delivering packages when she goes away. Greta has no idea what’s in them or who’s behind it.”

  He grinned, but his eyes were intense and unamused. “So basically, you’re sayin’ she doesn’t know shit.”

  “Obviously someone thinks Greta knows. That’s why she’s missing.”

  But saying it out loud, the theory started to ravel. Why would Lula’s kidnappers have cared about getting information from Greta? Or had they taken her to keep her quiet about Shane’s snooping? But I wasn’t sure that made sense. It stood to reason that Greta had already told her friends about her odd encounter with him at the café. Sure, he could make her disappear, but it would only draw more suspicion, not minimize it.

  What if there were two parties involved in this? What if the first party had Lula and the second party wanted the packages and took Greta thinking she might know about them?

  I had to rethink everything.

  Because the more I thought about it, the more I believed that the person who took Greta didn’t have Lula.

  So who did?

  Bingham looked me in the eyes. “And you think this Shane Jones took her.”

  I shook myself out of my musings. “Yeah.”

  Of that I was sure.

  He glanced over at the bar. “Do you think he took Lula too?”

  Did I share my theory with Bingham? I suspected the information highway with Bingham was a lot like Wyatt’s—one way. Better to keep as much to myself as possible. “I don’t know yet. There are more clues to follow with Greta. I’m hoping it leads us to Lula too.”

  “Us? You and the deputy?” He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You been deputized, Ms. Moore?”

  “No. I’m just a concerned citizen lookin’ for two missing women, with a deputy on medical leave who has been kind enough to come along as backup.” I purposefully diminished Marco’s role. The last thing he wanted was for Bingham to set his sights on him. I cocked my head, then added, “Does Tim Hines work for you?”

  “Do you think I go around publicly announcing all my associates?”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “Then tell me this—did Greta come to you last August or the first of September asking for your help with Tim Hines?”

  “And if she did? Why would you want to know?”

  “If she did, I suspect she gave you information in return for making her life easier. You were dealing with Carson Purdy’s gang, and I’ve heard Greta’s sister was working for them.”

  “And your point?”

  “I need to know if you got Hines to back off,” I said. “The details of the transaction are between the rest of you. I’m only interested in whether he’s a credible suspect.”

  “In the waitress’s disappearance?”

  “She has a name. Do her the courtesy of using it.”

  He glanced at the bar again. “Hines moved on soon after Greta left him. I’m not at liberty to go into the details.”

  I pushed out a breath. “Is there any chance he decided to get her back? Maybe kidnapped her to help convince her?”

  “Hines is with someone else. Anything is possible, but it’s not very probable.”

  I nodded. “What do you know about Lula’s mother killing her father?”

  His gaze jerked back to mine and a flash of surprise filled his eyes. “Now, what makes you want to go into such ancient history?”

  “I think it might have something to do with what’s going on now.”

  He chuckled. “You’re reachin’.”

  “Maybe,” I conceded. “But I’m checking it out nonetheless.”

  “Rumor has it her mother shot her father.”

  “That’s what’s floating around, but I suspect you know more.”

  He winked. “Lula’s father’s murder wasn’t exactly pillow talk when we were together, if you know what I mean.”

  “I highly doubt Lula would want to chat it up with you about her father’s murder…considering your involvement.” This was another reach. I didn’t know that he was involved, but I figured this was a possible way to find out.

  His eyes darkened, and I involuntarily shrunk back
in my seat. “What are you talkin’ about?”

  Not an admission, but definitely not a denial. “Your father was dead. You were trying to build your kingdom, brick by brick. Hank and Bart were the big men in town. The guns to go after.”

  “And your point?”

  “I suspect Louise Baker had a reason for telling Lula to stay away from you, and it had nothing to do with your reputation now.”

  He glared at me for several seconds. “The past is in the past. Where it belongs.”

  “Why would Walter Baker drown his daughter? Did he have a history of abuse?”

  “How the hell would I know?” he snapped.

  “When I mentioned the whole thing to Hank a few days ago, he said there was more to the story of a mother protecting her daughter. And Emily Drummond said Louise came by looking for Bart the day she shot her husband.” I decided to leave any mention of Hank out for now. “What do you think she wanted?”

  “Why don’t you ask Louise Baker herself?” he sneered.

  I paused. Why hadn’t I thought of that? But that would mean going to Nashville, and that wasn’t happening in the near future.

  He clasped his hands on the tabletop. “Chalmers is right. There’s more to the Baker murder. Someone must have had it out for Louise, because they made damn sure she was put away for a long time.”

  “Like they wanted to get her out of the way?” I asked.

  His brow furrowed in thought. “I always thought it was a vendetta. Louise Baker pissed off some people, and as corrupt as the whole justice system is… it’s not outside the realm of possibility someone paid someone else to make sure the sentence was a stiff one.”

  I decided to go for broke. “What if it was something else? What if Louise killed Walter for Bart Drummond?”

  Shock covered his face, and then a knowing look filled his eyes, as though I’d just given him a long-lost piece to an unfinished puzzle. “One of his famous favors.”

  “You never suspected?” I asked.

  He grinned. “Turns out you’re pretty helpful, Ms. Moore. Perhaps havin’ you around isn’t such a bad thing after all.”

  I hadn’t realized that he considered me troublesome. “Then you can repay me by giving me four thousand dollars for my car.”