I noticed she didn’t mention Melody.
“That sounds like Greta,” I said, only then realizing I’d put myself in an impossible situation. Was I really going to tell this elderly woman that her granddaughter was missing? It seemed obvious Ginger hadn’t told her.
“Carly, please sit,” she said, gesturing toward a chair next to the wall at the foot of the bed.
I gingerly took a seat, my nerves starting to get the better of me. “Miss Thelma, has Greta mentioned anything about Tim Hines to you?”
Her mouth puckered with disapproval. “Nasty fellow.”
“So I’ve gathered.”
“You haven’t met him?” she asked in surprise.
“No. I’ve only heard about him. I just moved to Drum about a month ago.”
“Oh, dear,” she said sympathetically. “People don’t usually come to stay in Drum. They prefer to leave.”
“Do you know if Greta wants to leave?”
She blinked in surprise. “I guess I hadn’t considered that.”
“She’s never mentioned it? Like maybe she wanted to escape Tim?”
“No. She said she talked to someone who convinced him to leave her alone. But still, now that I think about it, I doubt she wants to stay in the area.” Pain filled her eyes. “She knows how lonely I get, and she comes more often than most people’s families do.” She glanced up at me. “What if she’s only stayed because of me?”
“I know that she loves you very much,” I said. “And I know she also loves her job. I’m sure she doesn’t see staying in the area as a chore. Plus she helps Melody with her kids.”
“But she’s lonely. That Tim is a nasty piece of work, and her new fella didn’t work out. Good eligible men are hard to come by in these parts. Too many of ’em have dirtied their hands in some illegal mess or another. And she might love those kids, but Melody treats her terribly, and she can’t afford to move out on her own.”
“What about living with Lula?” I asked. I couldn’t see anyone purposely living in that hellhole, but they could have moved somewhere better together.
Tears filled her eyes. “She said Lula’s been growing more distant over the last year. Plus the girl keeps runnin’ off. Deliverin’ those packages.”
“Greta told you about the packages?”
She nodded.
“Do you know who she was delivering them for?”
“No, but she suspected it was tied to Lula’s mother.”
“Her mother?” I asked in surprise. “How so?”
She shook her head, looking troubled. “She wasn’t sure. She said it was just a gut feeling, but Greta doesn’t trust that woman one bit. Says she’s usin’ poor Lula. It worries Greta somethin’ fierce.”
A new thought hit me. “You said Greta spoke to someone who got Tim to leave her alone. Do you think Greta might have tried to get help for Lula too?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think she might have tried to convince the person behind the packages to leave Lula alone? Or that she maybe got someone else to do the convincin’ for her?”
She frowned. “That sounds like something Greta would do.”
Did the packages belong to Bingham? Was that why Bingham had been giving Lula the evil eye at the tavern? Had he expected payment or a report of some kind? But how would Greta fit into that theory?
“You said most of the men around here have done illegal things,” I said. “I know Todd Bingham has his chop shop and drug business. Carson Purdy was trying to start his own drug empire. I suspect many of the young men in town have had dealings with one of them. Was it always like that in Drum?”
“Well, I ain’t been privy to that world in quite some time, but when I was younger, Hank Chalmers and Bart Drummond ran it all. Bart with his moonshine and Hank with his pot and his pills. Then meth and Oxy entered the scene and Hank saw what it did to people and wanted no part of it.”
“And he gave the business to Todd Bingham?”
“Gave it? Oh, no. Hank made himself a tidy profit, I’m quite sure.”
If Hank made a huge profit, then why was he living in such squalor? I’d heard people talk about his supposed fortune, but I’d always assumed they were being foolish.
“And Todd Bingham’s father was involved in illegal activities too, wasn’t he?” I said. “Marco recently filled me in. Said he was a terrible man.”
She nodded with a faraway look. “We were all sure Floyd had killed both of his wives and his son. Sweet child too, that little Rodney.” She shook her head and clucked. “But the good Lord saw fit to give that man a proper earthly punishment on his way to hell.” She cast me a sideways glance. “Fell into a woodchipper.”
“So I’ve heard.” And I was certain God had nothing to do with it unless you considered Todd Bingham to be His instrument.
“Floyd Bingham was a scary man, but he kept to his property and left the rest of the world alone. Sure, he had his own thing goin’, but it wasn’t on the scale that Bart and Hank ran things.”
“And then Todd took over.”
She waved a hand. “I didn’t pay any attention to him. I hardly paid attention to Floyd, other than noticing how poorly he treated his wives. By the time Todd Bingham’s name started bein’ whispered more and more, I was too busy with my own life to care. My husband got sick and I spent a good five years with my head down and taking care of him. And by the time Daniel died, I kind of stopped carin’ about everything.” She gave me a quivering smile. “That’s what got me here. Not carin’. But Greta, she cares enough for the both of us. She’s what keeps me goin’.”
And now she was missing. I needed to tell Thelma, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it yet. “Do you remember anything about Lula’s mother shooting her father?”
“Oh, honey. Everyone remembers that nightmare. But many of us remember it all differently.”
I’d seen the truth of that, but no one had really explained it to me. Since she was being so helpful, I figured I might as well ask. “How so?”
“I’ve never heard anything from any real source, mind you. I’ve only heard what other people supposedly know, so take what I tell you with a grain of salt.”
“Okay…”
“Walter Baker was a worthless piece of shit,” she spat, then gave me a knowing look. “That’s not speculation. That there is pure fact.”
I’d seen their homestead and knew what he’d supposedly done to Lula. I wasn’t about to argue with her.
“Rumor had it that he did a job for Hank, but he screwed it up somehow. Some people say Hank shot him in cold blood, then pinned the whole thing on Louise. Tried to drown Lula because she witnessed the murder.”
I couldn’t help remembering how terrified Lula had looked when I’d mentioned Hank’s name. I’d seen him shoot a man without blinking an eye, but I couldn’t imagine him drowning a child. Not the man I knew. “Do you think that’s true?”
“Shoot, no,” she said with a wave of dismissal. “Hank would never have hurt a child. If anything, Hank only hired the man to help him provide for Lula and Louise. They were poor as dirt. But I have no trouble believing Walter screwed it up.”
“What were the other rumors?”
“That Walter was doin’ a job for Bart Drummond, and things went south. That Bart had him killed.”
“Do you think that’s a possibility?”
“Why would Louise take the fall?” Thelma asked. “And killing isn’t really Bart’s style. At least not so openly. The few times dead people have been linked to him, there was a murderer who wasn’t tied to him.”
“Because he called in a favor,” I said to myself.
“What?” she asked. “You know about Bart’s favors?”
“Only a little,” I confessed.
“You sure know a lot about that town considering you’ve only been there a month.”
“I’m a fast learner. What do you know about Bart’s favors?”
“Makin’ a deal with Bart Drummond is lik
e makin’ a deal with the devil himself,” she said. “Some people call him a crossroads demon.” Her brow shot up. “You know what that is?”
“When you go to an intersection and summon a demon for a favor? Only you have to sell your soul to get it.”
She nodded. “That’s right. Except instead of goin’ to a crossroads, you’d show up on Bart Drummond’s back doorstep.” Shaking her head, she clucked again. “Only the truly desperate seek a deal with that devil.”
“They’d take the fall for him in a murder,” I said. “Because he’d already have their souls.”
“Yep.” She pushed out a sigh. “I don’t hear about Bart’s favors all that often anymore. He doesn’t have the power that he once had. He’s an old man now, although I doubt he’ll go quietly into the night.”
“I just saw him and Emily at Walgreens before I came to see you,” I said. “They said they’ll be breaking ground soon on a new resort.”
“I heard they were doin’ something like that,” she said in a disapproving tone. “But they need to just let Drum die. It’s a town full of evil and discontent. Just let it die.”
I wasn’t sure I agreed with her attitude, but I hadn’t lived there for six or seven decades either.
Connections formed in my head, one thing linking to another. Emily had mentioned that Lula’s mother had shown up at their doorstep right before the murder. Had she asked for a favor? Had she killed her husband for Bart and claimed he was drowning Lula to justify it?
“What about Todd Bingham?” I asked. “If I do my math right, he was running his father’s business by the time Lula’s father was shot.”
“He was much too small-fry to be any part of that mess,” Thelma said.
I wasn’t so sure. Todd Bingham was ambitious and arrogant. I doubted he would have had the patience to wait long before starting a campaign to get his share of the pie. What if he’d inserted himself into it somehow? If Louise knew about it, it would explain why she’d been so adamant that Lula cut ties with him. But that was all speculation, and one thing I knew from listening to all those true crime podcasts was that you never presumed someone guilty or innocent. You only followed the facts and the clues.
Thelma had given me a wealth of information. We now had multiple avenues to search, but I needed to figure out what to tackle next. While I still wanted to check out the resort, I wasn’t sure that was the best use of my time. Bart Drummond seemed like a prime suspect, but Bingham was tied to this thing every which way I looked. Greta may not have recognized the man at the café as part of his enterprise, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t. Bingham didn’t strike me as the sort to publicize all of his connections. I couldn’t chase every lead at once, and I had to use my time wisely. Besides, I didn’t even have a photo of Lula. How was I going to ask about her at the spa?
My second week in town, out of curiosity, I’d tried to look her up on Facebook, but like most people in Drum, she didn’t have a Facebook account. Or IG. Or Twitter. With no internet to update their status, what was the point? It occurred to me that the lack of social media breadcrumbs tossed around in Tweets and Insta posts probably made things harder for local law enforcement.
“Thank you, Miss Thelma,” I said, getting to my feet. “This has been so helpful.”
“Something’s happened to my Greta, hasn’t it?” she asked, but her voice was strong. “Ginger didn’t say why you wanted to talk to me.”
I took a breath. “Yes, ma’am. She didn’t come home last night, and she didn’t show up to work today. Lula disappeared the night before, and I don’t think she took off voluntarily this time. I think whoever took Lula may have taken Greta.”
“Why?” she asked, her back stiffening.
I needed to own up to my own role in all of this. “Because I was asking Greta questions about Lula, trying to figure out what had happened. I think I may have poked a bear and put Greta in harm’s way.” My voice broke. “I’m so very sorry.”
Her chin lifted and fire filled her eyes. “You listen here. Greta was doin’ what she does best—takin’ care of someone. She was looking out for her friend as best she could. And now you’re lookin’ out for the both of ’em.” Her eyes hardened. “So you watch your back and find ’em, you hear?”
I nodded solemnly. “Yes, ma’am.”
I left her room and headed toward the door, but the wall of headshots caught my attention again. The man in the wheelchair was gone, giving me better access to it. Above the photos was a sign that read, Greener Pastures Employees, but it was a photo of a man off to the side, under a title of New Hires, that caught my attention.
He wore blue scrubs and had a serious expression. Underneath his photo read Shane Jones, Janitor.
He had dark brown hair and a heavy gold chain around his neck.
He was the man I’d seen out back at Wyatt’s garage, and I’d bet my new winter coat he was also the man who’d paid Greta a visit.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I snapped a photo of his headshot, then hurried over to the front desk. “Excuse me,” I said to the woman, who was still watching something on her screen. “Can you answer a question for me?”
“No, you can’t eat dinner with your loved one,” she said with a look of irritation. “It’s liver and onion night and the chef only made enough for the residents.”
I nearly gagged. “I don’t want to eat here. I have a question about the wall of photos.”
She shook her head with a look of disgust. “I’m busy, and it’s self-explanatory.”
Busy watching Netflix, from the look of it.
“Miss,” a woman called out behind me. “We can help you.”
I spun around to look at the two women still working on the jigsaw puzzle. One of them was motioning for me to come over. Her fluffy gray hair reminded me of a cotton ball. When I approached her, she motioned to a chair between her and her friend.
“Sharon won’t help you,” Cotton Ball said. “She’s too busy watching The Witcher.”
“She’s got a thing for Harry Cavill,” the other woman said, cramming a puzzle piece into a spot that clearly wasn’t a fit. “Especially with his shirt off.”
“You mean Henry,” Cotton Ball said.
Her friend rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
“You were asking about the wall of photos?” Cotton Ball asked. “It throws a lot of people off. Those are photos of all the employees. They have such a high staff turnover rate that the residents get confused about who works here and who’s just visiting. So now they post photos with names and their jobs so we’ll know.”
“Makes sense,” I said.
The second woman made a “hmph” sound, but I suspected she was perpetually grumpy.
“What do you know about Shane Jones?” I asked. “The new janitor?”
“He only started a few weeks ago.”
“What do you make of him?” I asked.
“He’s quiet,” Grumpy Lady said. “And that’s good enough for me.”
Cotton Ball rolled her eyes. “He’s quiet, but it’s because he’s casin’ the joint. Things keep disappearing. Watches. Rings. Just last week Thelma’s granddaughter’s wallet disappeared.”
“Greta Hightower?” I asked in surprise.
“You know her?” Cotton Ball asked.
“She was visitin’ Thelma, you nincompoop,” Grumpy Lady said. “Didn’t you hear her ask Sharon?” She picked up another puzzle piece, having given up on the first. “And Greta’s wallet wasn’t stolen—it was found in the restroom.”
“And how did it get in the restroom?” Cotton Ball asked belligerently.
Grumpy Lady lifted her gaze to me and peered over the top of her reading glasses. “Nothin’ was missin’. Not even her money. They say it fell out when she went in there to pee.”
“She didn’t use the restroom that day,” Cotton Ball said in exasperation. “Someone took it.”
“So you think this new guy is stealing things?” I asked.
“If anyone
took her wallet, it was Minnie Horton,” Grumpy Lady said, shaking her head. “Everyone knows she’s a klepto.”
“Minnie was out with her daughter,” Cotton Ball said. “And besides, that boy was watching Greta on her last two visits.”
“So he’s got a thing for her,” Grumpy Lady said. “Young love.”
“More like young stalker,” Cotton Ball said, her mouth pursed liked she’d sucked on a lemon. “I’ve seen You.”
I tried to squash my jealousy that Cotton Ball and Sharon had better access to streaming services than I did. “Do you know where Shane worked before?”
Cotton Ball nodded her head with a knowing look. “He said he came from pharmaceutical sales.”
Drugs. Nobody went from pharmaceutical sales to janitorial work. Not if it had been a legit sales job.
Had Bingham encouraged Shane to get a job here to spy on Greta?
“Thank you so much for your help,” I said as I stood. “Good luck with your puzzle.”
“There’s three pieces missin’,” Grumpy Lady said, focusing on another piece. “We’ve done it five times now. We’re just killin’ time until we die.”
She was just a ray of sunshine, but I made a mental note to pick up some puzzles at the Dollar General and drop them by the next time I was in Ewing.
As soon as I got outside, I sorted through everything I’d learned. Shane Jones had to work for Bingham, which meant I needed to talk to Bingham again at some point. There was no way I was letting Marco come with me today or even tomorrow, yet I was smart enough not to try going alone.
I needed to find out more about Shane Jones, and given that I’d seen him at the garage, the most logical person to ask was Wyatt. If he thought I was getting into something dangerous, I had no doubt he would try to stop me, but I’d have to take my chances.
Once I got into Marco’s car, I pulled out my cell phone and checked my service. Three bars. I called Wyatt’s garage first, but it rang multiple times before going to his answering machine. Same thing with his home phone number, but I left a message this time.
Her Scream in the Silence Page 22
