Buried in Secrets

by Denise Grover Swank

  Pulling to the side of the road in front of a bungalow with pretty flowers lining the sidewalk and the numbers 324 painted on the siding next to the door, I got out my notebook and searched through my notes. Sure enough, the Palmers lived at 758.

  I pulled away from the curb and continued down the road for several blocks. When I was in the 700s, I saw a For Sale sign in a yard up ahead and gasped when I realized it was in front of 758.

  Melinda had already put her house up for sale?

  My phone rang, and my pulse picked up when I realized it was Marco.

  “Hey,” I said, hating that I sounded slightly breathless.

  “I think sex with you is amazing too,” he said in a low tone that set my body on fire. “But I’m relieved to know you feel the same way. Are you still in Ewing?”

  “Yeah.” Did he want to go to the Alpine Inn and rent a room? Was it wrong I kind of hoped he did?

  “I’d love to meet you for lunch.”

  “How about a field trip?” I asked hopefully.

  “I’m intrigued…”

  “How about you get me an address, and we can drive by it together?”

  He released a short laugh. “Way to get a man’s hopes up, then dash them.”

  I grinned. “You’re an officer of the law, Deputy Roland. Isn’t sex in a parked car considered indecent exposure?”

  “Public indecency, and it’s only a problem if you get caught.”

  “You get me that address, and we’ll see what happens. His name is Jonathon Whitmore. I’m guessing he’s in his twenties, and he supposedly lives up near Hogan’s Pass.”

  He laughed. “Challenge accepted. How about you pick up lunch, then swing by the station and get me?”

  “You can get the address that soon?”

  “You underestimate my desire to see you.”

  I flushed again. “What are you in the mood for?”

  “You,” he said, his voice deep. “As for lunch, surprise me. Get here as soon as you can.” He hung up, and I realized I was smiling like a fool.

  In front of a murdered man’s house.

  Guilt swept in like an arctic wind, but I told myself I hadn’t known Jim Palmer. Sure, I was learning about him, but I hadn’t known him. I wasn’t expected to grieve. I was allowed a small sliver of happiness in my life.

  Except…maybe the guilt I felt was deeper than Jim Palmer’s death and Pam Crimshaw’s ruin. It didn’t feel right to be happy with Bart’s threat hanging over Hank’s head. With him carrying on with his violent chess game with the town and its people.

  And when I looked really deep, I wondered how long it would take Marco to realize I was unlovable, something every man who’d come before him had discovered. How long would I have this happiness for before it was gone?

  Now that I’d tasted happiness and love, how much would it hurt if I lost him?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I texted Marco after I picked up our lunch, letting him know I’d be there in less than five minutes.

  When I got there, he was waiting outside the station in his uniform, the sunlight making his hair look blonder. A huge smile spread across his face as I pulled up to the curb. He got inside, then leaned over and gave me a lingering kiss.

  “You look pretty today,” he said as he settled back, his gaze dipping to take in my dress and my bare legs. When he met my eyes again, he looked dazed. “Your eyes are like the summer sky.”

  I grinned. “Now you sound like a poet.”

  “There are never enough words to describe how you make me feel, Carly.”

  We stared at each other for several long seconds, seriousness hanging on the edge of our playfulness.

  “Did you get the address?” I asked, breaking the silence.

  “I did.” He reached for me again, then groaned. “Let’s go to the park and eat, then we’ll drive by your mystery address.”

  “It’s not a mystery,” I said as I put the car into drive. “I’ve learned a few things since I last saw you.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  As I drove toward the park, I told him about the electricity problem in town and Max’s plan for the night.

  He chuckled. “Max has always had a business head. I’m not surprised he pulled a plan out of his ass like that.”

  Then I told him about going by the memorial again and following Melinda Palmer to the church and seeing Ricky. “Not only are the Palmers members, but Jim was a part-time youth leader.”

  He sat up. “So Pam and Jim did know each other?”

  “Ricky said no, but Pam was in charge of the nursery. Surely their paths crossed from time to time.”

  “You think something might have happened at the church to upset her?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I know we’re trying to prove this was Bart’s doing, with the caveat that Pam might have had another motivation. And I found out something else.” He turned to face me. “Chuck Holston says he’s not the father of Ashlynn’s baby.”

  “What?”

  “He thought she was five months pregnant, but at her ultrasound a few weeks ago he found out that she was six months along.” I turned to him briefly and lifted my eyebrows. “Which meant he was in jail when she got pregnant.”

  “Wow.”

  “That’s why I had you get that address. Ashlynn didn’t come home last night, and Chuck said she might be at Jonathon Whitmore’s house. He insinuated Ashlynn slept around a lot, but Jonathon might be the father.”

  Marco was silent for a moment, and I pulled into the parking lot of the park.

  “There’s another possibility about who the father might be,” he said when I turned off the car.

  “Jim Palmer?” If I were honest, I’d considered it deep down.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time a youth leader took advantage of a young girl.”

  “But she graduated a year ago.”

  “How long had he been a youth leader?” he asked.

  “Good question. I asked Ricky, but he wasn’t sure. Sounded like he’d been a leader for as long as Ricky’s been a member.”

  “And he’s a senior?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So Jim would have overlapped with Ashlynn for at least two years.” He shrugged. “If she was a member.”

  “I’m pretty sure she would have been involved whether she wanted to be or not. Thad wasn’t at the youth group landscaping project, and Ricky said their dad would be pissed if he found out. It sounds like Rob Crimshaw wants his children in the youth group.” I remembered our lunch and reached for the bag in the back seat, then handed it to Marco. “The salad’s mine.”

  “Thank God.” He grinned as he opened it. “Whatever you got me smells delicious.”

  “I know you like Rockman’s grilled ham and cheese.”

  He laughed. “I’ll have to find time to work out later.”

  “Don’t you worry. I’ll give you a workout.”

  He turned to me with shock in his eyes, and truth be told, I was surprised too. I’d never been so flirty with a man before. I’d never felt safe enough to let down my guard.

  He leaned over and cupped my face. “Don’t take this as a complaint, but this is going to take some getting used to. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this over the past few months. How many times I’ve had to restrain myself.”

  “A few months?”

  He grinned. “Maybe longer. I’m trying not to scare you off.”

  “I’m here, Marco. I’m not going anywhere.”

  He kissed me, a feather-light press of his lips that left me hungry for more.

  Still cupping my face, he pulled back. “This not getting arrested for public indecency thing might become an issue.”

  I laughed. “Then maybe we should get out and sit on opposite sides of the picnic table.”

  “I can’t promise I won’t lunge over the top.”

  “I can’t promise I’ll shove you away.”

  He grinned. “I guess we’ll take our chance
s.”

  I grinned back. “I guess we will.”

  We got out and walked over to the table, but Marco snagged my hand and tugged me closer so we were walking side by side. His gaze roamed my body. “I’m not used to seein’ you in a dress.”

  “I used to wear them all the time when I was a…”

  He pulled me to a stop. “Do you want your old life back?” The worry in his voice nearly broke my heart.

  I did, didn’t I? But when I thought of my old life, it felt lonely and empty. I’d had comforts I didn’t have now—a nice apartment, nice clothes, a nice job. But everything had felt strangely hollow. My life here, however imperfect, felt so much richer, mostly because of Marco.

  “I want you, Marco. Wherever that brings us.”

  Emotion filled his eyes, and he pulled me to his chest, holding me for a long second before he kissed the top of my head and released me. I took his hand again, needing that connection to him, and we resumed our walk to the table.

  “Jim Palmer’s house is for sale,” I said.

  He jerked his head down to look at me. “Already?”

  “Yeah. Apparently, his wife didn’t waste any time.”

  We sat down on either side of the picnic bench, and he handed me the bag and pulled out his phone.

  I reached into the bag and pulled out my salad container. “What are you doing?”

  “Give me a second.” He started tapping and scrolling while I set his Styrofoam container in front of him. He whipped his screen around to face me. “The house has been on the market for nineteen days.”

  My mouth fell open as I stared at the listing on a real estate website. “Right around the time Chuck found out he wasn’t the father.”

  His body tensed. “Shit.”

  We sat in silence, until I finally said, “Selena told me that Pam lost it a few weeks ago. A sales clerk was supposed to hold a crib for her at a thrift store, but it got sold while they ate lunch. Pam was outraged and threw a fit. Totally unlike her. Then she insisted on leaving and sobbed in the car. Selena says she refused to tell her what was wrong.”

  “That fits with the timing too.”

  “Pam probably found out that Jim Palmer got her daughter pregnant, let it simmer a bit, then went off and shot him. He put his house on the market because he was trying to leave town.”

  “That’s pure speculation, Carly,” Marco said. “And it’s a lot of speculatin’. The biggest part of that speculation is that Palmer is the father. All we have is circumstantial evidence, which is slim at that. For all we know, Chuck’s lyin’ to get out of supportin’ his kid.”

  “So we find Ashlynn and ask her.”

  “That’s presumin’ she’ll tell the truth.”

  Crap. He was right. About all of it.

  “We’d need to corroborate this,” he said as he opened his container. “We’d need to check with her friends to see if any of them noticed a connection between the two.”

  “Is there any point?” I said. “If Pam killed Jim Palmer because she thought he impregnated her daughter, nothing else matters. It means Bart didn’t make her do it.”

  “We don’t know that Pam made the connection,” he said calmly. “We don’t know that Ashlynn had a relationship with him at all.”

  I pushed out a sigh and opened my salad. “You’re right.”

  Marco reached across the table and snagged my hand. “Do you want to let this go?”

  Did I? Would I much rather revel in my newfound happiness with Marco? Absolutely. But happiness was fleeting, and my ability to hold on to it very much depended on Bart. I’d never be free until he and my father were off the streets.

  “No. We’ll keep going for now, but if it becomes obvious Pam didn’t do it for a Bart favor, we’ll let it go.”

  He squeezed my hand again before releasing it. “Okay. So we’ll finish lunch, then drive by Jonathon Whitmore’s place to see if Ashlynn’s there.”

  “I found something else,” I said, pouring dressing on my salad, then mixing it around with my plastic fork. “Before the power went out, I did some research at the library on Rob Crimshaw and his father, Stewie.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Rob was arrested for some bar fights and few DUIs about twenty years ago, but his father was arrested multiple times for drug possession, the last time with intent to sell.”

  “How long ago?”

  I pulled my notebook out of my bag, opened to the page, and told him about Stewart’s case. He’d been given a ten-year sentence after being caught with a large quantity of Oxy over eighteen years ago.

  “He was arrested during Hank’s reign,” Marco said.

  “Yeah,” I said quietly. “But Hank swears he didn’t deal in that kind of stuff.”

  “You confronted him about this?”

  “No. But I’ve asked him about this kind of thing before.”

  “I’ve heard that Bingham was hot on Hank’s tail back then, picking up what Hank didn’t cover. He likely worked with him.”

  I hesitated, then lifted my gaze to Marco’s eyes. “When I asked Hank if he knew the Crimshaw family, he told me he knew Stewie. He said he had two sons and he was known for his temper.”

  Marco took a bite and swallowed before he said, “If Stewie was in the drug world, then it stands to reason Hank knew him.”

  “Because he was working for him?”

  “Maybe because he was working for Bingham.”

  I nodded and stabbed several lettuce leaves, but for some reason I wasn’t convinced. It bothered me that Hank hadn’t told me about Seth and Ricky being so close. I understood that he found it too painful to talk about Seth—I’d witnessed it a dozen different ways—but it was hard to believe that he wouldn’t realize the information was important to share.

  Marco gave me a pensive look, like he was waiting for me to share what had made me so quiet, but I knew he wouldn’t push me to tell. He’d wait until I was ready. Call me a coward, but I wasn’t quite there yet. I didn’t want to face the possibility Hank had lied to me.

  “I’ll see what I can pull up on Stewart and Rob Crimshaw,” he said. “But if Stewart received a ten-year sentence, he would have gotten out almost a decade ago.”

  Thinking about Stewart Crimshaw getting out of prison put me in mind of Lula’s mother.

  “Carnita said that Lula’s mother is getting out of prison soon.”

  Marco’s brow rose.

  “She also said Bingham and Lula are researching their family trees. Lula told her Bingham had tracked his back to the early 1800s.” When he didn’t respond, I said, “Don’t you think that’s odd?”

  “Everyone’s exploring their family history these days.”

  “Bingham doesn’t seem to be the sentimental type.”

  “True…”

  It was pointless to push the topic. It felt important somehow, but it wasn’t pertinent to what we were investigating. “Greta invited me to a girl’s afternoon with Lula.”

  “Oh?” he said, looking pleased. “Are you going to go?”

  “I wanted to, but she was thinking we’d do it this afternoon. She didn’t know Max would find a way to keep the tavern open.”

  “That’s too bad,” he said, taking another bite of his lunch. “I know you like hanging out with them.”

  I narrowed my eyes. I still found it hard to believe he encouraged me to hang out with Lula. Marco was a deputy sheriff, and Lula and Bingham had gotten married after their daughter was born. I’d told him so on several occasions, but he’d countered that to the best of his knowledge Lula wasn’t up to anything illegal, and I crossed Bingham’s path often enough that it wasn’t a bad idea for me to stay on his wife’s good side.

  “I’d like to talk to the parents of Thad’s friend, the one who was in the accident with him,” I said, “but I don’t know how to approach them.”

  “I wonder if they attend the same church,” Marco said. “We could always attend a church service.”

  I gave him a wi
cked grin. “Such deviousness in church, Officer Roland?”

  He lifted his shoulder into a shrug. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s done something devious, and it definitely won’t be the last.”

  “I still haven’t called Karl Lister, but there’s no subtle way to go about that conversation either.”

  Marco pressed his lips together. “I put in a request for the paperwork on the civil lawsuit. I haven’t gotten it yet, so maybe hold off until I do.”

  “What if someone finds out you’re digging into it?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry. My source at the courthouse won’t tell.”

  “Rosemarie?”

  He looked surprised. “How’d you know?”

  I raised my brow. “That’s who Miss Thelma told me to go see about the case paperwork. Obviously, she comes highly recommended.”

  “I guess Thelma Tureen knows something about just about everyone.”

  “Unfortunately, not everyone.”

  We finished our lunch fairly quickly, then headed back to the car to drive by Jonathon Whitmore’s house.

  It was a twenty-minute drive up to Hogan’s Pass. The road turned to gravel and became steeper, but my car’s GPS finally steered me toward a pale blue house on the left side of the road.

  “The guy lives here?” Marco asked, leaning forward and squinting as we drove closer. “It looks like it needs to be condemned.”

  “Chuck said it was about to fall down on them, and he said he hoped it did.”

  “Nice guy.”

  “He was upset and angry,” I said, not quite sure why I was defending him. Chuck Holston might have been wronged by Ashlynn, assuming he’d told the truth, but he was still an asshole.

  “I see a car next to the house. Let’s see if anyone’s home.”

  I shot a glance at him as I drove down the road at a crawl, letting my gaze drop to his chest for a second before looking back out the window.

  A slow grin spread across his face. “Were you checkin’ me out?”