Buried in Secrets

by Denise Grover Swank

  I shook my head, still agitated, but mostly because I was disappointed in myself. “It doesn’t matter. Why didn’t you come in?”

  “I needed to see you.”

  That sounded ominous.

  He cast a glance at the second floor above the tavern—Max’s apartment—which seemed to confirm my suspicions. “I thought about waiting for you at Hank’s, but I figured you could come over to my house so we could talk.”

  Which meant he didn’t want Hank to hear either. Even more ominous. Did he have information to share with me about Pam?

  “Yeah,” I said, running a hand over my head. I was tired, and while I kept clothes at Marco’s, I hadn’t told Hank I was staying over, which meant I’d need to head home after our chat. But I’d missed him so much, I’d drink five cups of coffee to wake up if need be. “It would be super helpful if this town had functional cell towers.”

  He grimaced. “Be careful what you wish for.” I knew he was talking about the cell tower that was supposedly being installed at Bart’s resort, which would provide that section of the mountain with cell service. But it also ran the risk of putting my face on the internet, which meant my father might be able to find me. “You look tired. Do you want to do this tomorrow?”

  His distance was scaring me, and I considered telling him I wanted to wait so I could buy time to prepare for whatever he might be about to tell me. But that was what Caroline Blakely would have done, and I wasn’t that coward anymore. “No. I’m good. Let’s go.”

  He gave me a grim smile. “I’ll follow you.”

  I was anxious the entire ten-minute drive to his house, but I felt some of my taut nerves ease as I pulled up to his small two-bedroom house in the woods. I loved his house and the peace I found there. It was tucked in the woods several hundred feet from a two-lane county road. A sliver-sized view of the valley was visible from his front porch, one of my favorite places at his house. Still, I wasn’t a total fool. I knew a large part of the peace I found there was because of the man who owned the house.

  We both got out of our vehicles, and I met Marco at the base of the short path to his house. He gestured for me to take a seat in my usual chair. Warmth coursed through me. He’d prepared. An afghan was thrown over one arm, and a thermos, presumably filled with the hot tea he knew I loved, sat on the table between us. It was June, but it got cool at night at this altitude.

  “I haven’t seen you much over the last week,” I said instead of asking him what news he had to share. At the moment, I was more worried about him…about us. I’d been scared all week. Not talking to him for five days was not the norm for us. No matter how busy we were.

  “I’ve been tied up with a case.”

  That offered some relief. Marco wanted to become a detective, but his law-abiding ways hadn’t suited the people in power. It was no small miracle he’d kept his job as long as he had, something I suspected he’d managed by keeping a low profile.

  But everything had changed back in March, when Marco and I had discovered one of the corrupt deputies, Paul Conrad, was guilty of a whole battery of crimes, from covering up the death of Wyatt’s ex-girlfriend to using his badge to sexually harass and blackmail women. Paul had almost murdered Wyatt and me, but Marco had cornered him. Rather than go in for questioning, Paul had killed himself, taking whatever knowledge he had of the other corrupt members of the department with him. Nevertheless, the entire sheriff’s department had been under investigation by the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. Several deputies had been relieved of duty, and Marco had been given more responsibility.

  We hoped they’d weeded out the worst of the corruption, although neither of us was naïve enough to think they’d gotten it all. I could see him fighting a smile.

  I sat up straighter and reached for the thermos. “As a detective?”

  “I’m not in charge of a case, but I’m working with the lead detective—Marta White. And she set me loose to investigate a robbery while she works another case.”

  “Marco, that’s great!” I gushed. “It’s about time they start taking you seriously.” I knew from experience he had a knack for detective work. He and I had questioned plenty of people while investigating our own cases, but the sheriff’s department had kept him doing scut work.

  “Thanks,” he said with a grin.

  “Is Detective White working on Jim Palmer’s murder?” I asked, my stomach flip-flopping. Dare I hope that Marco might be that close to information?

  “No,” he said with a frown. “There’s plenty of speculatin’ goin’ on in the sheriff’s department, but unfortunately, the investigators don’t know much other than the few details the witnesses have told them.”

  “That she walked in and shot him in cold blood?”

  “Pretty much.” He grimaced. “That information is obviously public knowledge.”

  I took a sip of the hot tea, letting it warm my insides. The air wasn’t cold, but I’d forgotten my jacket and I was wearing short sleeves. I tugged the afghan over my shoulders. “Do you think Pam Crimshaw killed Jim Palmer as one of Bart’s favors?”

  He pressed his lips together then frowned. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I think maybe she did, but the guys workin’ the case are part of the old guard. I don’t have any proof, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re on Drummond’s payroll. They likely won’t dig very deep.”

  “So we do the digging instead.”

  He paused. “This is a high-profile case, and if it really is tied to Bart, he’s gonna be watchin’. You won’t be able to fly under the radar, Carly, and I can’t take part in any digging you do.”

  “So you think we should just let this go?” I asked, incredulous.

  “I’m not sayin’ that,” he said calmly. “But we don’t even know if it’s tied to him. We could waste a lot of time lookin’ into it and find out it’s all for nothing. Pam Crimshaw’s husband is one mean son-of-a-bitch. Maybe she put up with one berating too many and then just snapped. Who knows. Maybe she found out her car insurance rates went up from Thad’s DUI, so she went gunning for her insurance agent.”

  “Jim Palmer was her agent? No one I’ve talked to seems to know.”

  “He wasn’t at the time of his death, but I don’t know about before that. Maybe he was a year ago. He could have dropped them because of Thad’s incident.”

  “Everyone keeps mentioning that her son Thad got into trouble. What happened?” Ruth had given me the basic story, but I figured Marco would have more details.

  “A couple of years ago, Thad and his friend got drunk and took Pam’s car on a joy ride.”

  “He had to have been, what? Fourteen?”

  “Thirteen. Thad hit another car head on. Thank God no one died, but the boys and the driver of the other car were seriously injured.”

  I sucked in a breath. “I take it they didn’t charge him as an adult.”

  He grimaced. “No. Thad got off with community service, but the driver wasn’t too happy about it.”

  “Is that type of punishment typical?”

  He shrugged. “It’s all up to the judge.”

  I gave him a long look. “So it’s not outside the realm of possibility that Pam or her husband went to Bart for a favor to help get him off?”

  Something flashed in his eyes, and I knew he’d already considered the connection. “It’s definitely possible.”

  We both sat in silence for a moment.

  “And you don’t think this will come out in the investigation?” I asked. “I thought TBI was rooting out the corruption in the sheriff’s department.”

  “They are, but Detectives Vaughn and Temple are both well-respected veterans. They’re above suspicion, and if Bart’s lining their pockets, they’re smart enough to cover their tracks.” He lowered his voice. “This isn’t my investigation, and even if it was, I wouldn’t be able to share confidential information. But there’s gonna be a press conference tomorrow, so I’ll tell you this much: Pam confessed. She said she felt like kill
ing someone and chose the victim at random. Detective Vaughn’s buyin’ it hook, line, and sinker. Either he’s on Bart’s payroll or he’s doin’ it out of pure laziness. You won’t find many detectives who’ll question a full confession.”

  “I’d bet money there’s a link to Bart,” I said. “Wyatt came into the tavern last night. He said something to Max, and the two of them disappeared into Max’s office for a few minutes before Wyatt up and left. I haven’t seen them go to Max’s office like that since Wyatt was under investigation for Heather’s murder. They know something.”

  “What time did he show up?” he asked, straightening in his chair.

  “A little after seven.”

  He pressed his lips together as he stared off into the woods next to the cabin. “That was a couple hours after she was arrested, so the timing’s right.” He shifted his weight. “It would be great if I could just go ask Max what he knows, but we both know he won’t tell me.” A quiet anger simmered below the surface.

  “Does that really surprise you?”

  He turned to look at me, pain filling his eyes. “Yeah. It does. Before he came back to Drum to be his father’s bitch, he would have told me in a heartbeat.”

  “But you have to wonder how much they know about their father’s business given Wyatt came in two hours after all of this went down.”

  “That or they’re on the alert for anything that might be tied to their father.”

  “Less than two hours later? I’ve been researching Bart’s favors for months, and I still didn’t find out until the next day. That means they’ve likely got a source in the department or in Ewing. And that source wasn’t you.”

  He groaned. “Shit.”

  We sat in an uncomfortable silence for several moments, which wasn’t the norm for us. One of the things I loved about our friendship was that neither of us felt the need to fill the quiet. Maybe it was time to address my fears.

  “I’ve missed you, Marco,” I said softly. “A lot.”

  “I’ve missed you too.”

  “Are you sure it’s just your job that’s kept you away?”

  He turned to me in surprise. “You think I’m mad at you?”

  “No…I don’t know. It’s just that we’ve never gone that long without talking, and then I called and left you a message and you never called back.”

  He gave me an apologetic smile. “I didn’t call you because I planned to come see you. Plus, I got tied up with my case, and it was after eight by the time I wrapped things up. I figured I’d just wait for you to get off work. I would have called, but I honestly didn’t want Max to know about any of this.”

  I cringed. “I told him I was expecting a call from you. Now he thinks we’re having a fight.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I think he misses you,” I said softly.

  He was silent for a long moment. “He made his choice,” he said, his voice rough.

  “Did he though?” I whispered. “Maybe he feels caught.”

  “For the longest time, it was me and Max against his father,” he said, sounding weary. “Then it all changed when he left college to come back and run the bar. I hung in there anyway, believin’ there was a reason for it, but he still refuses to tell me what it is. After the whole Lula situation, I went to see him. I asked what his mother had said to convince him to come back to Drum. He said she’d reminded him that family helps family. That he came back for her, not his dad.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I do, but he still has plenty of secrets, and one way or another, he’s still doin’ Bart’s bidding. I told him we were at cross purposes. We haven’t been the same since.”

  I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure what to say. My own lifelong friend had betrayed me so thoroughly it was easy to paint him as a villain. The situation between Max and Marco wasn’t as clear-cut.

  “I can’t help thinking maybe I never really knew him,” Marco said. “Maybe he was only against his father because he was on the outside lookin’ in. And when his father finally changed his mind, he came runnin’ and became his daddy’s lap dog.”

  “Do you really believe that? He hasn’t gotten along with him since the whole Lula incident.”

  “He’s still runnin’ the motel,” Marco said. “He’s still under his father’s thumb.”

  “But you just said he came back for his mother,” I said. “And we can’t forget that he and Wyatt were hiding Lula from their father. It sounds like a complicated mess.”

  “Now you’re defendin’ him?” he asked in surprise.

  “I’m just sayin’ that everything’s not always cut and dry. Obviously Max feels like he has good reasons for what he’s doin’. And if it’s on the illegal side, you’re a deputy sheriff. An honest one. Maybe he became privy to the family secrets, and now he feels bound to protect them.”

  “Makin’ him an accessory.”

  “It’s not easy to turn your back on family. I’m the perfect example of that. My father treated me like crap. I tried to cut him out of my life, but truth is, I didn’t fight too hard when Jake sucked me back in. Maybe the same thing happened to Max, only it was his mother who reeled him in.”

  “And yet he won’t tell me any of it.”

  “Again, you’re a deputy sheriff. He knows if he was part of something truly heinous, you’d turn him in. He saw proof of that when you questioned him about Lula.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Maybe you should go to him as a friend, tell him you left the badge at home and everything he tells you has impunity.”

  He leaned his head against the back of his chair and released a heavy sigh, making me think he’d given this plenty of consideration. “The badge doesn’t work that way, Carly.”

  “Then maybe you need to decide what’s more important—the badge or your friend.” He started to say something, but I held up my hand. “I’m not saying you condone anything truly bad, but maybe he feels trapped and the one person he always thought he could turn to is no longer available.”

  “It’s not that simple, Carly.”

  “I know.” Nothing was simple. I’d learned that lesson long ago.

  Chapter Seven

  “There’s something else I need to talk to you about,” I said. “Something that has me worried.”

  “Okay…”

  “Bart offered Carson Purdy’s job to Jerry.”

  He bolted upright. “He what?”

  I relayed everything Jerry had told me and also Max’s reaction.

  “So Max isn’t happy about it either?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe that’s my in to talk to him,” Marco said as he ran a hand over the top of his head leaving his hair ruffled.

  I found myself wanting to smooth it out. Wanting to touch him.

  Marco continued, unaware of my inner struggle. “I’ll tell him I heard about Jerry and ask him what he thinks.”

  Focus, Carly. This was why I needed for us to remain friends. Starting something with Marco would only distract me. “You think he’ll give you an honest answer?”

  “It’ll give me a better in than anything else we’ve discussed.”

  He was probably right. “When do you plan to talk to him?”

  He glanced at his watch, then back up at me. “I’m thinkin’ about goin’ tonight.”

  “You should probably talk to him without me around.”

  Pushing out a sigh, he said, “Agreed.”

  I started to get to my feet. “Then I’ll head home so you can do that.”

  He leaned over, reaching for my arm and tugging me back down. “I’ll wait until after closing. I want to have his undivided attention and I don’t want anyone else around.” He hesitated. “Why don’t you stay here while I’m gone, and then I can tell you what he says when I get back? You were plannin’ to stay anyway, weren’t you?”

  I felt torn. “I don’t think I should tonight. I didn’t warn Hank, and it’s too late to call him. He’ll worry
if he gets up and my car’s not out front.”

  “I should have called you earlier,” he said, his voice heavy with regret.

  A week ago he probably would have, which only reminded me that we still hadn’t addressed the elephant in the room.

  “Marco, there’s something goin’ on between us. Not seeing or talking to each other for five days just isn’t like us, and I think we need to talk about it.”

  “What’s there to talk about?” he asked, but he sounded slightly defensive.

  So I was right, not that it made me feel any better. Actually, it filled me with dread.

  “I think I’d like to know what answer you were looking for when we had that discussion about marriage,” I said carefully.

  Marco had invited me to a friend’s wedding in Atlanta, which had led to an awkward conversation. He’d mentioned he wanted to get married someday, and given his parents’ difficult relationship and his preference for serial dating, I’d reacted with surprise. He’d quickly changed the subject.

  It had felt like nothing at the time, but as the week had gone on without any word from him, it had become apparent it was a bigger deal than I’d thought.

  He shifted in his seat. “There’s nothing wrong with sayin’ that I’ve done a lot of thinkin’ and decided I do see marriage in my future.” He cast a glance at me, then turned away. “It’s actually pretty normal.” He added softly, “Even for a guy like me.”

  “Of course it’s normal,” I said, close to tears. I had a feeling this discussion could change things irrevocably between us, and I couldn’t bear to lose him. “And what’s that even for a guy like me nonsense? Plenty of guys sow their wild oats before they settle down. Of course you can get married and start a family…someday.”

  There’d been no mention of a family in our previous conversation, but the few times Marco had helped with my tutoring club, he’d been amazing with the kids. Wanting a family seemed like a natural part of his happily-ever-after package.

  His lips twitched with a grin. “Sow my wild oats? I can tell you’ve spent too much time with Hank.”

  “Who else was I going to hang out with while I was missing my best friend?” My voice cracked partway through, giving me away, not that I needed any help. He knew me well enough to read me.