Buried in Secrets

by Denise Grover Swank

  Blinking, he took a second to switch gears. Then he pointed a finger at me. “Ah! Good catch. She was supposed to come in at eleven and start the noon shift. I’ll have Ruth let her know.”

  Max hurried off to his office, and I used the phone underneath the bar to call two of the mothers at the head of the phone tree we’d set up for Tutoring Club, and by the time I finished, Max had a short grocery list and some cash.

  “You may have to go to a couple of places,” he said, handing them to me. “In fact, I may head down to Dollar General and buy them out of hamburger.”

  “It’s Thursday,” I said, shaking my head. “They won’t get a delivery of meat until Friday morning. If they have anything left, it won’t be much.”

  He laughed. “Look at you. No one would ever guess you’ve lived here less than a year.” Then he gave me a bear hug. “I couldn’t be happier about you and Marco. Really.” He released me and patted my cheek. “If I couldn’t keep you in the family with Wyatt, at least I’ll get you through my best friend. He’s one lucky son-of-a-bitch.”

  “Thanks, Max.” Tears stung my eyes. It was wonderful to feel so wanted.

  “This is gettin’ sappy,” he said, stepping back and shuddering as though I had cooties. “Go visit your friends and be back by four.”

  As soon as I got cell service at the edge of Ewing, I put in a call to Marco, but it went through to his voicemail. “I’ll be in Ewing for the next few hours, so if you get a chance, give me a call.” Usually, I would have left it at that, but I’d finally let myself acknowledge that I loved him, and the floodgates had opened. “I can’t wait to see you tonight. I can’t wait to spend many nights with you, and not just for sex, although that was amazing.” My face flushed. What was I doing? “Anyway, you just really make me happy, Marco, and I know I see you all the time, but I still can’t wait to see you again.” I knew how pathetic I sounded, but all these feelings were catching me off guard. While I’d loved men before, I’d never felt like this. I was like a stereotypical schoolgirl with a massive crush. “Okay, that sounded clingy, but if I haven’t scared you off, call me. I love you.” Then I hung up and tossed my phone on the passenger seat.

  I’d be lucky if that message didn’t send him running.

  I’d planned on going straight to the nursing home, but curiosity drove me down a different path. I found myself cruising past Jim’s insurance office. The memorial was bigger today, but there were fewer people standing in front of it. I parked in front of a laundromat across the street but stayed in my car and watched the people paying their respects. It was obvious people had really liked and respected Jim Palmer.

  “Why did Pam kill you?” I said out loud.

  Most of the circumstantial evidence pointed toward the possibility Bart might have guided her, but there was also the Baptist church connection to consider.

  Behind the memorial, the front door of the insurance office opened, and a pretty blond woman walked out. She wore a mint green skirt and a short sleeve, button-up white shirt, both of which looked like they came from a Lilly Pulitzer store, along with a pair of black espadrilles. She looked remarkably put together for someone in Ewing. She walked toward a white, newer model sedan, and as she turned her face toward the street, I realized she was Melinda Palmer.

  People walked over to her and several of them hugged her and patted her arm or her face. She started to cry and got into her car. It backed up, then she drove to the entrance of the parking lot and turned left.

  Before I thought about what I was doing, I pulled out of my parking space and turned onto the street and started to follow her.

  This was crazy. I had no idea where she was going, and I didn’t really know what I hoped to accomplish, but I decided to do it anyway and hope I didn’t get caught.

  I didn’t expect her to drive to the First Baptist Church.

  She pulled into the parking lot, and I drove past it, turned around, and then drove by again in time to see her walk inside. But then I nearly ran off the road because about ten to twelve teens—boys and girls—were working in the flower beds, and one of them was Ricky Crimshaw.

  I turned around again and pulled into the parking lot, making sure to park a couple of rows away from Melinda Palmer’s car. Several of the teens watched me with wary expressions as I walked toward them. Ricky was on his knees, weeding around a bush. When he realized something had caught his friends’ attention, he glanced up. His eyes widened, and he looked even more surprised when he realized I was walking toward him.

  “Ricky?” I said as I got closer, standing about twenty feet away on the grass. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

  Several of the boys laughed, and one said, “Way to go, Crimshaw! Older women are where it’s at!”

  “What do you expect?” another boy said. “His mom went for a younger man too.”

  “Watch out,” a girl called to me. “The Crimshaws are murderers.”

  “That’s enough of that nonsense,” I said in my strictest teacher voice. The look on her face told me it hadn’t totally lost its effectiveness.

  Ricky’s face flushed, and he hurried to his feet and came over. The group got back to work, but they kept casting curious glances at us.

  “What was that about?” I asked, lowering my voice so I didn’t embarrass him any further.

  He shrugged. “Some people are saying my mom was sleepin’ with the guy she killed.”

  “Do you think she was?” I asked.

  “No way,” he said in disgust. “She was always around, so I don’t know when she would have found time for anything like that.”

  People found ways, but it didn’t seem prudent to tell him so. “Say, did Ashlynn come home last night?” I shot the group a glare as they continued to watch us.

  “What? No.”

  “Do you know where she is? Because I dropped her off…” I stopped and started again. I doubted she’d want her family to know she’d almost visited her mother in jail. “I went by the pharmacy yesterday afternoon, and she never went in to work. Her boss told me to tell her she’s fired.”

  He laughed, but it sounded forced. “That’s Ashlynn. She works somewhere until she doesn’t want to work there anymore, then she just stops goin’.”

  “But do you know where she was last night? Selena’s worried,” I fibbed.

  He gave me a look of surprise. “You know Selena?”

  “Yeah,” I said, not wanting to admit I’d just met her the day before. “Small town.”

  “I guess…” he said, glancing back at his friends.

  “So do you know where your sister might be?” I prodded. “Do you think she might have stayed with Chuck?”

  Again, he looked surprised that I knew his sister’s boyfriend’s name. I supposed this was putting me in stalker territory. “Fuck no,” he scoffed. “The night he left, I heard him tell her he’d shoot her with his shotgun if she tried to follow him.”

  “That must have been one hell of a fight,” I said.

  He gave me a you had to be there look. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “Do you think he’d really shoot her?” I asked, scared to hear the answer.

  He gave it a moment’s thought, then shrugged. “Maybe, but only if she hounded him. He’s kind of got a temper.”

  “Do you think he could have hurt her yesterday?” I asked.

  “Nah. I saw him last night. He was with Becca, and he looked pretty happy.”

  “Would he look upset if he’d hurt her?”

  He gave that question an alarming amount of thought before he answered. “I don’t know.”

  I squared my shoulders. “I’m gonna need Chuck’s phone number and address.”

  “You’re gonna go see him and ask him if he offed her?” he asked with a laugh.

  “Yeah.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I need to know that she’s okay.”

  “Why do you care? All you did was give her a ride to town yesterday, right?” He shrugged again. “And no, I haven�
�t talked to her. I saw her get in your car. I know she was lookin’ for a ride since I wouldn’t drive her or give her the keys to my car.”

  “Why wouldn’t you drive her?”

  He chuckled. “That’s a good one.”

  I didn’t know why that was so funny, but I didn’t press. He was volunteering information, and I didn’t want to screw that up.

  “If you really want to talk to him, you’ll have better luck if you go by his work,” Ricky said. “Once he gets off work, he’s harder to pin down. Just ask Ashlynn. In fact, he’s probably workin’ right now.”

  “Where’s he work?”

  “At the feed store on the north end of town. Farmer’s Feed and Tack.” He gave me a puzzled look. “I still don’t get why you’re so worried. You hardly know her.”

  “I’m worried because she’s pregnant and your mother’s not here to help her and her boyfriend took off. I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever.”

  I had a million more questions, but I worried I was pushing my luck, so I gestured toward the group. “What is this? Community service?”

  “Hardly,” he said in disgust. “The youth group is cleanin’ up the church grounds for the funeral.”

  “Jim Palmer’s funeral?”

  Guilt filled his eyes and his chin dipped to his chest. “Yeah.”

  “Do you guys usually do that? Clean up for funerals?”

  “Only if they’re part-time youth leaders, I guess.”

  “Wait,” I said with a shake of my head. “Jim Palmer was a youth group leader?”

  “Yeah. Mostly just to help on trips. Not many of the weekly meetings.”

  “For how long?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Ever since I’ve been in high school. Longer, I guess.”

  “Did your mom help with the youth group?”

  “No.” He made a face. “Gross. She watched the babies.”

  “I don’t suppose the youth group does things with the babies?”

  He snorted. “No.”

  “Where’s Thad? Isn’t he old enough to be in the youth group?”

  “He refused to come, and boy, is he gonna be in trouble when Dad finds out.” He sounded like he both admired his brother and thought he was a fool.

  Melinda Palmer emerged from the door of the church and walked out to her car, and all the teens went silent as they watched her.

  “We were sorry to hear about Mr. Jim,” a girl called out.

  Melinda looked up as though realizing for the first time that they were there. “Oh. Thank you.” But she didn’t say any more, just got into her car and took off.

  “Jim was too good for her,” the same girl said in a snide tone.

  “Y’all don’t like her?” I called out.

  They looked at me like I’d grown horns.

  “Nobody likes her,” Ricky said. “She thinks she’s too good for this place.”

  A man walked out of the church and scanned the group. “Seems to me there’s a whole lot of chattin’ goin’ on, and not much weedin’.”

  “Sorry, Pastor Bill,” they all called out in weak unison.

  His attention turned my way, and a smile spread across his face. “Well, hello. I’m Pastor Bill Atkins. I don’t believe I’ve seen your face around here.”

  Crap.

  I walked over and extended my hand. “Hi, I’m a friend of Pam’s. I saw Ricky working out here and decided to stop by and check on him.”

  His lips pressed into a thin line. “That poor family’s been through the wringer with Thad and Ashlynn. And then this mess with Jim.” He shook his head, his bottom lip pushed out. “They’ll need lots of prayers.”

  “Pastor Bill,” one of the girls called out while kneeling next to a bush. “Is this a weed?”

  “Let me have a look,” he said and started over. After taking a couple of steps, he turned back to me. “It was nice to meet you…?” His voice rose at the end, hinting that I should give him my name.

  I waved back. “Nice to meet you too.” Then I got in my car and pulled out of the parking lot.

  It was time to talk to Chuck.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Farmer’s Tack and Feed Store was busier than I’d expected, mostly because I didn’t know of any farmers in these parts. There were horses and cows, and one of the families who came in to the diner a lot had a pond full of ducks, but no one was planting crops.

  I parked in the lot and stared at the building, trying to figure out how best to find Chuck. There was a gardening section to the left of the building, and two employees were handling customers. A woman ran the cash register and a younger man was loading several bags of potting soil into the trunk of a car parked next to the curb. He loaded the last bag, then shut the trunk and gave it a couple of pats, and the car—driven by an older woman—drove away.

  I supposed I could start there and work my way inside. I could grab a cart and pick up a couple of bags of cat litter.

  Feeling more confident, I got out of the car and headed toward the garden section just as an older man came out of side entrance and called out, “Hey, Chuck! Move those bags of mulch to the front.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Soto,” Chuck responded, giving him a friendly wave, but as soon as the man went back inside, Chuck kept his hand up and lowered all of his fingers except the middle one.

  I rolled my eyes. What a charmer.

  The woman at the cash register must have thought the same thing because she shot him a disapproving glare.

  While finding him had proven easier than expected, I didn’t have high expectations for our conversation.

  Chuck had walked to the back of the garden area and was hefting a large bag of mulch onto his shoulder. I could see why Ashlynn was interested in him despite his crappy personality. He had muscular arms and a pretty boy look. She was thinking with the brain of a teenager, not a woman. Then again, I knew plenty of women who’d fallen for a man’s looks rather than his substance.

  “Chuck?” I asked as I approached him.

  As he walked toward me, his gaze swept up my legs, lingered on my breasts, and then took in my face. A smile lit up his blue eyes. “That’s me. How can I help you, pretty lady?”

  Pretty lady? I felt like I’d jumped in a pond full of slime, but I forced a smile. I could play this coy, or I could be blunt. I wasn’t in the mood for games. “I wanted to ask you some questions about Ashlynn.”

  His eyes darkened, and he walked past me toward the front of the building. “No thanks.”

  “Did you see her yesterday?” I asked, hurrying behind him.

  “Nope,” he said, keeping his gaze straight ahead.

  “I took her into town yesterday, but she never showed up at work and she didn’t go home last night. I thought you might know where she is.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass where she is,” he said, dumping the bag on the front sidewalk with loud thunk, then turning around and heading back to grab another.

  “Don’t you care about your baby?” I asked as he brushed past me.

  He stopped and turned to face me, his eyes dark. “That’s a good one.”

  That pissed me off. Maybe it was the fact my own father had turned his back on me, but the thought of him already blowing off his baby didn’t sit right with me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Look,” he said in frustration. He stopped walking and swept a hand in front of him. “I don’t know what that bitch told you, but it ain’t my baby.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  His eyes widened, and he leaned forward as he enunciated each word. “That. Baby. Ain’t. Mine.”

  “But—”

  “She cheated on me. We went for the stupid ultrasound a few weeks ago, and they said she was six months pregnant, not five like she told me.”

  I shook my head, still not understanding what the problem was. “So?”

  “I was in jail, lady, and I wasn’t gettin’ no conjugal visit
s.”

  “Oh. Crap.”

  “More like she fed me a crock of shit.”

  I hated asking this question, but it had to be done. “Do you know whose baby it is?”

  “That slut’s been sleepin’ around with anybody with a dick, so there’s just no tellin’.”

  “Take a guess.”

  “Probably Jonathon Whitmore’s. Rumor has it she’s been shacking up with him from time to time.”

  “Got any idea about how I can go about reaching him?”

  He released a bitter laugh. “You’re something else, ain’t ya?”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  He shook his head and then laughed again, only this time it sounded more genuine. “I like you, so sure, I’ll tell you. He lives up toward Hogan’s Pass. Blue house that looks like it’s about to fall in.” He clenched his jaw. “I hope it falls in around both of ’em.”

  “But what about the baby?” I asked in disbelief. I could understand his hateful feelings toward his ex, but an innocent baby?

  He turned and spat on the concrete, barely missing a potted plant. “Ain’t my kid. It’d be better off not coming into that sick as fuck family.”

  “Ashlynn’s?” I asked.

  “The tooth fairy’s,” he snarked. “Of course hers. They’re as messed up as they come. Her mother murdered that insurance guy. Her brother nearly killed himself and two other people, and her father is a mean son-of-a-bitch.” He paused, and I saw a momentary flicker of pain in his eyes, but rage burned it away. “And she’s a fuckin’ slut.” He spun around and headed for the large pile of mulch bags in the back.

  I considered following him, but I wasn’t sure what else to ask him. His directions to Jonathon Whitmore’s house sucked, but that was the best I was going to get out of him.

  “Thank you,” I called out, figuring I owed him that much.

  Keeping his back to me, he lifted his right arm and flipped me off. If he flipped off the people he liked, I sure hated to see what he did to those he didn’t.

  I got back in my car and pulled out of the parking lot. Maybe Marco could get me an address for Ashlynn’s other boyfriend. Or I could look it up in the phone book. I started toward the Ewing library, turning down a side street that would get me there faster. It was then realized I was on Bird Street, the street that matched the address I’d found for Jim Palmer.