“Why is that so unbelievable?” he asked. “You’re a beautiful woman, Carly Moore. He’d be a fool not to want you.”
“What makes you think that he can’t respect me and Lula as people enough to genuinely want to help? And did you forget that Marco almost died trying to save us from Carson?”
He hesitated and I could see the thoughts shifting across his face, followed by dawning recognition. “Shit, I didn’t mean to imply…”
He looked so contrite I couldn’t hide my smile.
“What’s so damn funny?”
“You.” Poor word choices aside, I didn’t actually think Wyatt was misogynistic. He’d always seemed to respect me. And although the timing wasn’t right, I genuinely did want to know why he was here this morning—who he was protecting and what he was now willing to share.
I reached up and gave him a soft kiss. “This doesn’t mean we’re back together. It means I’m willing to hear what you have to tell me. Tonight. When you pick me up from the tavern at midnight to bring me home.”
I started to walk away, but he grabbed my arms and hauled me back, pulling me to his chest and kissing me with fierce possession.
When he lifted his head, I stared up at him in a daze. This man made me feel things I hadn’t known I was capable of feeling.
His dark brown eyes held mine in an intense gaze. “That was to remind you that I fight for what’s mine,” he said in a husky tone.
“And I suspect it was partially for my benefit as well.” Marco was leaning on his crutches by the front door, dressed in a pair of jeans and a dark gray jacket. He had a perfect view of the two of us in the kitchen doorway, and a tickled grin lit up his eyes.
I wasn’t sure whether to be amused by Wyatt’s insecurity or irritated that he was trying to stake his claim.
I pulled away from him, deciding not to address it at all. “I haven’t changed Hank’s compression bandage. And he needs someone to massage around the incision site. He hates it, but it’ll help the scarring and dispel some of the phantom pain, even though he might have convinced you otherwise.”
His grimace was confirmation I’d guessed right on that one. “Consider it done.”
Marco set his crutches against the wall and lifted my coat off the coat-tree. Balancing on one leg, he held it open for me to put on.
“Say, Wyatt,” I said as I slipped my arms into the coat. “Did you hire Ginger to clean the house?”
“Yeah,” he said in a rough voice, his gaze on Marco. “You’ve been workin’ so many hours. It seemed like a lot, especially since you’ve been cooking and paying for the meals, so it’s a win for both of you, especially since Junior’s youngest is racking up some medical bills they’re struggling to pay.”
“But cleaning the house is part of my bargain with Hank. Have you told him?”
“Not yet. I’ll do it today, but he’ll be all right with it. He likes Ginger and he appreciates everything you do.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
I still didn’t feel right, but I wasn’t going to argue about it in front of Marco. They were doing enough posturing already.
Marco grabbed his crutches and nodded to the door. “Shall we? I’m starvin’.”
I picked up my bag and purse and followed him out. He was already down the porch steps when I got outside, so I gave Hank a quick goodbye and headed for Marco’s SUV.
Wyatt leaned against a post, watching me get into Marco’s Explorer. Once I was in, I dropped my bag of clothes onto the backseat.
Marco tossed his crutches into the back, then jumped up into the driver’s seat. After he started the engine, he gave Wyatt a flippant wave and a grin.
Wyatt scowled in return.
“Sorry about him,” I said as Marco backed up and headed to the street.
“I thought you said you two broke up,” he said.
“We’re not back together, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”
He chuckled. “You sure Wyatt got that memo?”
I groaned. “It’s complicated.”
“Hey,” he said with a laugh. “No skin off my back, either way. But Wyatt can be a stubborn ass, and I like you, Carly, so my brotherly advice is don’t take any shit from him.”
“Thanks. I won’t. I’m basically givin’ him another chance to make things right and share his past. If he doesn’t come clean, it’s really over.”
“You sure that’s gonna work?” he asked. “Because you two seem to have trouble stayin’ away from each other.”
The thought had occurred to me. “Well, if Max actually fires me, then leavin’ Drum might be the answer.”
“You’re thinkin’ about leavin’ Drum?” he asked in surprise. “And why would Max fire you?”
“There’s something else I need to tell you. Greta paid me a visit at the bar last night.”
He shifted in his seat and shot me a glance. “What?”
I filled him in on what she’d told me about the second possible father of Lula’s baby.
“So you want to head to Ewing?”
“Yeah, I hope that’s okay.”
“We have the whole day,” he said. “So we can go where we need to go.”
“We’d planned on eating breakfast at Watson’s”—indeed, he was already driving there—“but I doubt Greta has anything else to share, so we don’t have to go there now.”
“Hell yeah, we’re still goin’ there,” he said as though I’d suggested we stop breathing. “They have the best biscuits and gravy in Hensen County. We can’t let you pass up the opportunity to try ’em, especially since you’re talkin’ about leavin’ Drum. Now tell me what happened with Max.”
“Don’t you want to talk about the mystery man?”
“We can talk about him over breakfast. I want to hear what happened with Max.”
So I told him about Greta getting scared at the end of our chat, plus how I’d arranged for Max to walk her to her car.
“So she gave him the brush-off and he blamed you?”
“No. That wasn’t what ticked him off, but he added my interference to his list of grievances.” I took a breath. “He was mostly pissed because I went over to investigate after I saw one of his father’s business associates leaving the Alpine Inn.”
“You did what?” he asked. “What in the world possessed you to do that?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him the real reason. Wyatt refused to let me in, and I was trying to get dirt on Bart Drummond. But I doubted that explanation would fly with Marco. “He and Bart had lunch at the tavern a few days ago, and he was a real jerk. I guess I was just being nosy.”
“Bart was at the tavern?” he asked in surprise.
“Yeah. I heard it was unusual.”
“I doubt he’s been there more than a handful of times in the past few years. Who was this guy?”
“He’s from Nashville. I have no idea why he was here or what their business was about.”
His brow furrowed. “Now I know why Max was pissed. You scared the shit out of him.”
“Why?”
“Carly, Bart Drummond is not a man to trifle with.”
“You sound like you’re talking about Todd Bingham.”
“Don’t play stupid,” he said. “You know Bart is his own brand of dangerous. Diggin’ into his business is no better than diggin’ into Bingham’s. It might even be worse.”
“Then why don’t you do something about it, Marco? Aren’t you a deputy sheriff?” I couldn’t help my accusatory tone.
My accusation rolled off Marco like water off a duck’s back. “Because Bart Drummond has lined so many pockets at so many levels that it would be pointless to arrest him. The DA would never prosecute. And if the DA did decide to press charges, there’s every chance he’d get a judge who was beholden to him too.”
“So Bart Drummond has enough money to get away with whatever he wants,” I said in disgust.
“No,” he said slowly. “Not money per se. The Drummonds used to be a lot richer w
hen Max and I were kids. But he holds power. Influence. So while his bank account is a lot lighter than it used to be, he’s still in control. He’s the master of favors. He’ll do a favor for you, and at some point, he’ll ask you to do a favor for him. You wouldn’t believe the number of people we’ve arrested who were doin’ Bart Drummond’s dirty work. They take the fall, then refuse to name him, which lets him get away with murder. Sometimes literally.”
That hit close to home. Carson Purdy had been Bart’s right-hand man. Was this proof he’d been working on his behalf after all? If so, Bart had told Carson to kill me. But Carson had almost killed Wyatt as well. Had it been on Bart’s orders?
“Why wouldn’t they rat him out?” I asked.
“Fear. Rumor has it that he has secrets on just about everyone in town.”
A cold sweat broke out on my neck. If he ever found out my secret, I was in big trouble. “So if y’all know what he’s doing, why isn’t anyone tryin’ to stop it?”
“No one’s foolish enough to attempt it. And the sheriff is stinkier than a three-day-old sock.” When he saw I wasn’t appeased, he said, “Look, even if the system weren’t rigged in Bart’s favor, he’s got all these stooges doin’ his dirty work. And without them testifyin’, there’s no proof.”
“You make it seem so hopeless,” I said. “You’re a sheriff deputy, Marco. You’re supposed to want to right wrongs and get the bad guys.”
“And I do, Carly, trust me. Don’t think Bart hasn’t tried to buy my support. It takes some fancy sidestepping on my part to stay out of his clutches, although I’m sure Max has played some part in that as well.”
Max. My heart ached knowing he was upset with me. While I didn’t want to lose my job, it hurt more to think I may have lost a friend. “I know Wyatt has broken away from his father, but I’m not sure where Max stands. I know he runs the inn for Bart, but what else is he involved in?”
Marco had told me they were amicable, but that didn’t tell me anything about their business dealings.
“Honestly, Carly, I don’t know. It’s one of those don’t ask, don’t tell situations. The less I know, the better.”
“When I knocked on the motel door last night, a woman answered. I’m pretty sure she was a…” I struggled to come up with a word that didn’t sound demeaning.
“A prostitute,” he said bluntly.
I grimaced. “Yeah.” I took a breath and steeled my back. “I know Bart owns the inn and Max manages it. Does one of them run a prostitution ring out of it?”
“Jesus, Carly,” he blurted out. “Did you ask Max that?”
My cheeks flushed. “No, but he knows I was snoopin’. Hank said he thinks Bingham operates a prostitution ring. Would he dare to run it out of Alpine Inn?”
And what did it mean if Neil Carpenter had paid a visit to one of Bingham’s working girls?
Marco cursed under his breath. “I have no idea what goes on in that motel, and I want to keep it that way.”
“Which means you’re protecting Bart.”
“No,” he said with a groan. “It means I’m stayin’ out of my best friend’s business.”
“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of your job?” I asked with plenty of snark.
He swiveled his head to take a long look at me before turning back to the road. “It must be nice livin’ in an ivory tower.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I asked.
“In case you haven’t noticed, things are different here in Drum. There’s not such a clear delineation between black and white, good and bad. For fuck’s sake, you’re livin’ with a man who ran the biggest marijuana empire in East Tennessee. Who are you to judge?”
My mouth dropped open in shock.
“Come on,” he said in a gruff tone. “You had to know.”
“I knew he was a drug dealer before Bingham took over.”
“He wasn’t just a drug dealer, Carly. He was a major distributor, and he owned his own share of deputies back in the day. Bingham just took it to the next level.” He cast me a wry look. “Allegedly.”
I sighed. Marco was right. Hank wasn’t a perfect man, yet I struggled to see him as a hardened criminal. But he’d killed a man to defend me, and now Marco was telling me he used to have deputies in his pocket. He’d been more than a two-bit player.
“Hank and Bingham are beside the point,” he said, “although I still say you’re far too nonchalant about Bingham. My point is that you do not want to poke the bear known as Bart Drummond. Which is likely why Max freaked out on you. He likes you and wants to make sure you stay safe. He proved that after you found Seth in the parking lot.”
“I know.”
“So Max was probably more scared than mad, because if his father finds out you were lookin’ into his business, there’s no tellin’ what he’ll do.”
After my encounter with Carson, plus other whisperings I’d heard, I was pretty sure I knew. “Do you believe Carson was workin’ on his own, independent of Bart?”
He was silent for a moment. “I don’t know. The ground under Bart’s feet isn’t as stable as it used to be. Seein’ Bingham’s success might have made Carson a little power-hungry. Bart’s not known for bein’ boss of the year, if you know what I mean.” He snuck a glance at me. “There’s a good possibility Carson was workin’ independently.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or worried.
“And if Carson was trying to start his own empire,” Marco continued, “I suspect Bart will make an example of the next person who tries to cross him. Every attack on his power makes him lose face, whether or not it’s successful.”
We were silent for a moment, both of us contemplating that. Then Marco asked, “What did Max say that makes you think he might fire you?”
I shifted on the seat to face him. “Max told me that I had no business sticking my nose into anything. Even trying to find Lula. He told me to butt out of everyone’s business. Then he told me to leave.”
“He kicked you out in front of customers?”
“No, it was after we closed. But the dining room needed bussing, and I hadn’t tallied up my tips. I just left them on his desk and took off.”
He was silent for a moment. “He’s not gonna fire you, Carly,” he finally said. “But don’t be surprised if he sits you down and lectures you about leavin’ everything to do with his father alone.” He gestured out the windshield as he drove into town. “Enough about Bart Drummond. I’m ready to get me some biscuits and gravy.”
The diner was busy, but thankfully we got the last empty table. I didn’t recognize the two waitresses who were working the room, though, and there was no sign of Greta.
One of the frenzied waitresses dropped off a couple of menus. “We’re short-staffed, but I’ll bring your waters and silverware in a moment. Coffee?”
She started moving on before I could answer.
“Yes. Please,” I called after her. I needed all the caffeine I could get.
“Where’s Greta?” Marco asked as he glanced around.
“I don’t know. She said she was working today. She mentioned it again last night at the tavern.”
“Maybe she called in sick,” he said with a frown.
“Maybe.” But I couldn’t shake the thought that she’d been scared last night. Based on the dark look on Marco’s face, he was dwelling on it too.
The waitress returned a few minutes later, balancing two coffee cups and a carafe of coffee. She set them on the table, then put two napkin-wrapped sets of silverware down beside them.
“Hey, Angie, where’s Greta?” Marco asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “I thought she was workin’ today.”
The waitress shook her head. “No-show.”
“She didn’t call in?” I asked, my stomach seizing.
“Nope. And a hell of a day to do it. We’re busier than a whorehouse during a church revival.”
I couldn’t help wondering if that meant they were busier or slower than usual.
“Did
you call and check on her?” Marco asked, trying to look like a concerned friend and not a deputy interviewing her.
“Sure did. Her sister said she never came home last night.”
“Say, can we have her sister’s number?” Marco asked.
She narrowed her eyes. “What for?”
“I heard Melody was selling eggs. I was wanting to buy some.”
“Yeah,” Angie said. “I’ll get it for you after I put your order in.”
“We’re gonna need our food to go,” Marco said. “Pronto.”
Marco ordered three orders of biscuits and gravy, a couple of side orders of bacon, hash browns, and a cinnamon roll.
“You must be really hungry,” I said, trying to sound funny, but it fell flat.
“You know who the third order’s for, so start girding your loins.”
“Gird my loins?” I asked, trying to find the humor in his phrase, but my guts were churning.
“Wyatt doesn’t hold the market on Drummond stubbornness. I suspect Max hasn’t had enough time to cool down, but we’re gonna go see him anyway.”
“He’s not going to like us waking him up. I suspect he was working until at least three.”
“Tough shit,” he said, his jaw tightening. “We need to ask him some questions.”
About Greta. He was really going to be pissed at me now. But Max might have been the last person to see her, and we needed to know if she’d said anything. For all we knew, her life could depend on it.
But I couldn’t help remembering the way Max had lashed out at me after returning from walking her to her car. Some small part of me wondered if he knew more than he was letting on.
A new thought hit me like a bolt of lightning. What if Max was protecting someone?
What if the married man of importance Lula had been seeing was none other than Bart Drummond?
Chapter Fifteen
Marco may have asked for the food pronto, but it still took nearly fifteen minutes for the server to bring it over. I thought he might want to discuss matters, but he seemed lost in thought and I wasn’t so sure it was a good idea to talk about things in public, especially with the tables so close together. When Angie brought our bags and Melody’s phone number, Marco already had his money out to pay for the food. When I protested, he said I could pay for lunch.
Her Scream in the Silence Page 15
