A Cry in the Dark: Carly Moore Series

by Denise Grover Swank

  “How much do you trust Wyatt?” I paused for half a second, then added, “You must trust him if you let him identify Seth.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I’m not sure we can do this on our own,” I said. “The question is if we can trust Wyatt to help.”

  “He’s more trustworthy than his brother.”

  “Max?” I asked in surprise.

  He chuckled, but it wasn’t an amused sound. “Max wouldn’t hurt a fly, but I wouldn’t necessarily trust him to keep a secret. When he gets drunk, he talks.”

  After what I’d seen yesterday morning, I wasn’t surprised by his assessment.

  “You’d be worried about it getting back to their father?” I asked. “Bart?”

  “Bart Drummond likes everyone to think he’s their savior, swoopin’ in to save the day, but the truth of the matter is Bart Drummond would sell Drum down the river if it lined his pockets, and he’d spin it so that whole damn town would thank him for it.”

  “Do you think Seth’s murder has something to do with Bart Drummond?”

  “Seems like everything that happens in Drum ties back to Bart Drummond, but in this instance, I don’t see how. Seth was after the dealer who sold his momma drugs, and Bart wouldn’t dirty his hands with something like that.”

  “Do you know who would?” I asked.

  “Todd Bingham,” he said as he stared straight ahead, his body stiff. “He runs the drug business in Drum.”

  Bingham, the man who’d gone out of his way to intimidate me on Monday night. I’d already suspected he was involved in the drug trade in Drum. I figured if anyone in this town had a foot in its criminal underworld, it would be that creep, but I knew he wasn’t one of the three. The man who’d killed Seth scared me enough that I wouldn’t be forgetting his voice anytime soon. Technically speaking, Bingham could have been the driver, but I doubted he’d ever take such a backseat role. “Do you think Bingham had anything to do with Seth’s death?”

  “If it involves drugs, then he’s got his hand in it.” He turned to face me. “You need to stay far away from Todd Bingham. Very far away.”

  My stomach cramped as I shot him a long look and then returned my gaze to the road. “Why doesn’t the sheriff’s department arrest him?”

  “’Cause he’s got the sheriff’s department in his pocket.”

  Which fit with what Seth had said about his murderer being a deputy. ““You know that dealer I mentioned from Atlanta . . . how they were supposed to have made a delivery? Do you think Wyatt could have anything to do with the drug deal?”

  “Wyatt?” he asked in surprise, then shook his head. “Hell, no. He can’t stand drugs. He dropped by often enough to see Seth, and I heard ’em discussin’ it.”

  “Do you want to involve Wyatt in this, then? Tell him what we know?” I was in over my head, and if Wyatt could be trusted, I wasn’t opposed to involving him.

  Hank didn’t answer for a few seconds. “I need to think on it.” He paused for several seconds, then said, “We can trust him not to harm us. I just can’t be 100% certain he won’t run to his daddy with anything we tell him. While he and his family give the appearance that he has nothing to do with them, he’s barely makin’ enough to pay Junior, so how’d he come up with the money to pay for Seth’s funeral?” He frowned. “I need to ask him more questions.”

  I slowly nodded. Getting more answers sounded like a good call.

  “If Barb died over a year ago, why was Seth goin’ after the dealer now?” I asked.

  “I didn’t want him to get messed up in any of this, so I told him Barb’s boyfriend had purposely overdosed her. Figured that would put an end to it, since George was gone too,” Hank said. “About a month ago, Seth found out that wasn’t true.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “The night of Barb’s overdose, George went berserk in downtown Drum. Breakin’ windows and shoutin’ nonsense. Someone called the sheriff and a deputy shot and killed him.” When my mouth dropped open in shock, he said, “Whatever he and Barb took made ’em batshit crazy. Witnesses said the deputy told George to put down the bat he was holding, but instead he lunged for the sheriff. That’s when he got shot.”

  “How did Seth find out the truth?” I asked.

  “There’s plenty of drugs here in town, but nothing like what they were on. Things have been pretty quiet since they passed, but a month ago, someone had the damn same reaction. Then another. Those people didn’t die and they never caught the attention of the sheriff’s department, but Seth put it together with his momma’s death and started digging around until he found the truth.”

  “Sounds like he was a smart boy,” I said.

  He swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and looked close to breaking down. “He was. He was gonna go to college. He was gonna get the hell out of here and make something of himself.”

  I nearly told Hank how sorry I was again, but all the apologies in the world weren’t going to bring Seth back. The best way to help him was to find out who’d killed his grandson.

  “I think I recognized the voice of one of the killers,” I said, taking a quick glance at Hank.

  His eyes widened slightly. “You know him?”

  “That’s just it…I know I’ve heard his voice before, but I don’t know him. He was at Max’s for Monday Night Football, but there were so many guys there that night and everyone was new to me…” I cringed. “I can’t remember who it was, but I’m sure he came in with Bingham’s group.”

  “He’ll likely be back next week,” Hank said with a nod. “You need to play dumb. You can’t let him know you suspect anything or you’ll be next.”

  “I can’t just let this go, Hank.”

  “That’s exactly what you’ll do. We’re both gonna let this go. End of story.”

  I wasn’t sure he meant it, but he was tired, and I suspected he thought we were both in over our heads. Although he was likely right, I’d picked this battle and meant to stick with it. Still, it had already been a long, excruciating day for him, and I didn’t want to push him. “I’m set to work every night this week and weekend, but Wyatt says he’ll help keep an eye on you.”

  “I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” he grunted. “I’m too damn old for a babysitter.”

  “No one is babysitting you, Hank. We’re just making sure you have what you need until you regain your strength.”

  “What I need is my grandson, and ain’t nobody can give me that,” he said, his weariness obvious.

  There was no arguing that point.

  We drove in silence again, mostly because Hank was falling asleep again. The county road was curvy, and we were climbing fast.

  Before I reached the road that led to either Drum or Greeneville, I noticed a sign that announced the entrance to Balder Mountain trail and realized it was the infamous trailhead that had ruined the town. If I had the lay of the land right, the trailhead was now closer to Ewing. I couldn’t think of a reason why anyone would continue up the mountain unless it was their destination. No wonder the town was drying up.

  About ten minutes past Drum, when I turned onto the narrow county road leading to Hank’s house, I noticed a shiny black pickup truck make the turn with us.

  That truck made me nervous, and it took me a few seconds to figure out it was more than just paranoia—a shiny black pickup just like it had almost rear-ended us in Greeneville. There were thousands of pickup trucks in the Tennessee mountains; it was unlikely it was the same one, but I was still on edge.

  I knew the turnoff for Hank’s property—I’d purposely sought it out this morning after leaving Ruth’s house—but I didn’t know the road well enough to anticipate our distance from it. If the truck followed us onto the property, I’d have a hard time losing it.

  I would have sold my right kidney to be able to call Wyatt, but I didn’t even bother wasting my time to check my phone. The only time I’d had service today was in Ewing and down in Greeneville.

  We continued f
or a couple more miles, the truck still behind us but at a distance of several car lengths, and I began to hope the color and make of the truck were a coincidence.

  But as I noticed Hank’s drive up ahead, the truck began gaining on us.

  Oh shit.

  I considered speeding up and going past the turnoff, but then I caught sight of Ruth’s monstrous Cadillac parked in front of Hank’s house. I turned onto the gravel driveway, taking it faster than I normally would, sending a spray of gravel onto the road and pelting the truck.

  Hank jerked awake as his side slammed into the door.

  “What happened?” he asked, looking around wildly.

  The truck continued on past the driveway and I felt like an idiot.

  “Nothing,” I said, my pulse pounding in my head. “False alarm.”

  Wyatt came bursting out of the house, and the look on his face made me tense defensively.

  “What the hell?” he shouted as I opened the driver’s door. “What about that road made you think it was a racetrack? This isn’t Dukes of Hazard!”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassment washing through me and making my cheeks hot. “I thought someone was following us.”

  “Where are they now?” Wyatt asked, still angry as he opened Hank’s door.

  “They drove on past,” I said sheepishly. “But it looked a lot like the truck that almost rear-ended us in Greeneville.”

  “You almost wrecked my truck?” he asked in dismay.

  “Now, hold on there, boy,” Hank admonished. “It wasn’t her fault, so lighten up.”

  Wyatt pursed his lips and started to slip his arm under Hank’s legs to carry him inside.

  “You stop right there,” Hank snapped. “I ain’t gettin’ carried into my house like a damn baby.” He glanced behind the seat. “Where’s my crutches?”

  Wyatt grabbed them out of the truck bed and handed them to Hank. “What took y’all so long?”

  “We had to make a couple of stops,” Hank said, swinging his legs around the side of the seat and slowly sliding down.

  “A couple of stops?” Wyatt demanded as he held Hank upright once his foot hit the ground. “Where the hell did you go?”

  “I made Carly stop for breakfast,” Hank said, gingerly tucking the crutches under his armpits. “And then I made her take me to see Seth.”

  “You went to Johnson City?”

  “No,” Hank said, taking a wobbly step. “Mobley had Seth moved to his funeral home early this morning.”

  “How’d he make that happen?” Wyatt asked. “They don’t usually release bodies that quickly.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to know how Wyatt knew that piece of information. “Maybe they figured it was a cut-and-dried case,” I said. “Gunshot wounds to the chest. No questions about cause of death.”

  Wyatt sent me a scowl.

  “I cancelled the visitation tomorrow,” Hank said. “Funeral’s on Friday. I was hopin’ you could say a word or two.”

  Wyatt’s eyes widened slightly, but he swallowed and nodded. “Yeah,” he said, his demeanor now subdued. “I’d be honored, Hank.”

  “Good. That’s settled.” He cast a glance at the road as we heard a vehicle approach from the left. “There’s that truck again.” He nodded to road. “It is the same truck that nearly hit us in Greeneville.”

  The truck had turned around and was now slowly passing Hank’s property, continuing down the hill without stopping.

  “How can you be sure?” Wyatt asked, his voice tight.

  “Because it had the same sticker on the tailgate,” Hank said. “The kangaroo.”

  “How would you know that if it nearly rear-ended you?”

  Hank shot him a look of annoyance. “I wondered why it hadn’t honked at her, so I turned around and looked at the back end after Carly turned. Didn’t honk at her now either, when she turned into my drive and showered them with gravel.”

  Wyatt’s face hardened and he rushed toward me, holding out his hand. “Keys.”

  “What are you going to do?” I asked, feeling the terror of that night, of the cry in the dark, all over again.

  “I’m gonna go chase it down. Now give me my keys!”

  “No! You’re gonna get yourself killed!” I shouted.

  He stared down at me, fury in his eyes. “If those are the guys who killed Seth, then I’ve got to find out who they are. Give me the fucking keys!”

  I shook my head and stood my ground. “The man who killed Seth didn’t drive that truck, Wyatt, so let it go!”

  “Are they still in the ignition?” Wyatt took my silence as confirmation and bolted for the driver’s door, not even bothering to close the passenger door. He jerked the truck into reverse, making a three-point turn, and the passenger door slammed shut as he whipped the vehicle toward the road.

  “He’s going to get himself shot,” I said, trying not to freak out.

  “Wyatt Drummond’s no fool,” Hank said. “He’ll be fine. Now help me inside before my leg gives out.”

  I considered going after Wyatt, but what good would that do? I’d only get in the way. So I helped Hank inside and got him settled. Wyatt had left the prescriptions and supplies on the kitchen table. A raised toilet seat was on the floor.

  The house was filthy, but it looked like someone had started to clean the toilet. Wyatt? I finished the job, then set the new seat on top so it would be ready when Hank needed it.

  When I emerged from the bathroom, I glanced at a clock on the living room wall. “How long do you think Wyatt’s been gone?” I asked.

  “He’ll be fine,” Hank said.

  But anxiety churned in the pit of my stomach. How long had Wyatt been gone? Twenty minutes? A half hour? What if something happened to him?

  What would he do if the men in that truck confronted him?

  Heading back into the kitchen, I took a closer look at the three prescription bottles in the bag, thinking it was likely time to give Hank another pain pill. I found an antibiotic to be taken twice a day, pain meds to be taken every four hours, and a pill that Hank was to take daily with his evening meal. Plus lots of bandages and wraps, along with a thermometer and ibuprofen.

  I moved to the doorway to the living room. “Hank, I think it’s time to take a pain pill.”

  “I ain’t takin’ a pain pill,” he grunted, his eyes on the television. To my surprise, he was watching a soap opera.

  “You have to take a pain pill. You need to keep the pain under control. You heard the nurse.”

  “Drugs is what got my Barbara killed,” he said, turning his head to look at me. “She started by takin’ her momma’s pills. I ain’t havin’ ’em in the house. Get rid of ’em.”

  “But—”

  “Just get me some aspirin. That’ll be enough.”

  Frowning, I got two ibuprofen pills and filled a glass of ice water, shocked at how little food was in the fridge and freezer.

  When he saw the glass of water, he gave me a indignant look. “I ain’t drinkin’ that shit. Where’s the Coke? The Dollar General had a special a couple of weeks ago. Seth stocked up.”

  “There wasn’t any in there. I opened the fridge lookin’ for a water pitcher.”

  “That damn boy must have drank it all while I was gone.”

  “You know,” I said carefully. “I suspect you shouldn’t be drinking Coke with your diabetes.”

  “My diabetes can go straight to hell,” he spat. “I want a damn Coke.” But to my relief, he swallowed the pills and set the glass on an end table with a hard thunk.

  I pushed out a sigh, suddenly worried my new landlord was going to be more difficult than I’d expected.

  “You’re out of most of your groceries,” I said. “How about I go get some before I head to my shift at Max’s?” I wasn’t exaggerating. The only items in his fridge were bottles of ketchup and mustard and a nearly empty jar of strawberry preserves, but I also had an ulterior motive for leaving.

  He rattled off a list of junk food that he
wanted me to pick up.

  I started to protest, but I knew how he’d respond. He’d tell me it was none of my business, and in a sense he’d be right. At the same time, I couldn’t help but think it had become my business the moment I’d accepted this role.

  “Wyatt’s not back yet,” I said, my anxiety increasing. “Do you think he has the keys to Ruth’s car with him?”

  “Nah. Around here nobody takes the keys out of the ignition when they’re at home,” he said. “The keys’ll be in there.”

  Why did everyone think this town was so damn safe when everything I’d encountered proved it was anything but?

  “Where do people go grocery shopping around here?”

  “At the Dollar General in town. It’s a block north of Max’s Tavern.”

  “Okay, then,” I said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  The moment I grabbed my jacket and walked out the door, it struck me that my purse was in the truck and Wyatt hadn’t returned yet.

  Maybe he hadn’t planned on coming back. Maybe he’d just gone to the shop after chasing the truck down. Or maybe he was lying on the side of the road with a bullet in his forehead.

  One way or the other, I was finding Wyatt.

  Of course, that had been my plan all along.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Caroline, the rule follower, was horrified to be driving without a license, but Carly had realized that following the rules sometimes wasn’t an option. So I started Ruth’s car and took off down the mountain, driving slowly while on the lookout for Wyatt’s truck. I hoped that I’d find him at his garage, oblivious to the way he’d made me worry. But before I could start formulating a speech about his rudeness, I saw something that made my stomach plummet: a flash of red on the right, down a sharp incline.

  I pulled as close to the edge as I could get and threw the car in park, leaving the engine running as I ran over to the side of the road.

  Wyatt’s truck was about twenty feet down a fifty-foot hill, the left side smashed nose-first into a tree.