I took a sip of my coffee, then asked, “What did the sheriff’s deputies want to know? Was Heather buried on that land?”
He made a face, then rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze dropping to the creek. “You sure don’t beat around the bush.”
“I figured you didn’t show up at Hank’s at eight in the morning after not speaking to me for months just to have a friendly chat.”
“That’s not true,” Wyatt said. “I spoke to you last night. And the night before that.” A dark scowl covered his face, probably from the memory of Blake and what he’d maybe tried to do.
“You know what I mean,” I countered.
“Why did you really talk to my father?” he asked, his intense gaze holding mine.
“What are you talking about?”
“You told Max that my father informed you that he’d just won a court case. There’s no way he’d volunteer information like that to you at a pharmacy in Ewing. What really happened?”
I snorted, then shook my head. “You could have asked me that question months ago, Wyatt. What does it matter now?”
“Because I didn’t know about it months ago.”
I shrugged. “It’s water under the bridge.”
His brow furrowed. “Is it? I’m worried about you, Carly.”
I pushed out a frustrated breath. “Sounds like you should be worrying about yourself. Was Heather buried on that land?”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
A mixture of grief and confusion stole over his face.
I nodded, grateful for the confirmation, although I wasn’t sure why. Maybe I just appreciated that he was being open about something for a change. “Are you a suspect?”
“They didn’t come right out and say it, but I have to admit I’d be number one on the list if I were investigatin’.”
“Did you do it?” I asked bluntly.
Shock covered his face. “I can’t believe you’re askin’ me that.”
I squared my shoulders. “Well, I’m asking.”
“I didn’t kill her!” he shouted, sounding more frustrated than pissed.
“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” I asked in a snotty tone that I instantly regretted.
“Did you really think I might have?” he asked in disbelief.
Had I? No. Otherwise I wouldn’t be out here alone with him. But I was confused about what he was up to. What he wanted from me.
“Why are you here, Wyatt?” I asked, my voice breaking, which pissed me off.
He ran a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t sure who else to talk to.”
“That’s just sad.” He’d lived here his entire life, and he’d only been with me for less than a month. It wasn’t like I’d been much of a confidant for him either—he’d told me next to nothing.
“I know.”
We stood in silence for several seconds before I asked in a softer tone, “Do you want to sit down?” I gestured to another rock on the other side. “The seats aren’t super comfy, but it beats standing.”
He glanced at the squatty rock and sat down opposite me.
“Seth used to like comin’ out here,” he said quietly, his gaze on the pool. A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “He’d sometimes sit out here for an hour or more, waiting to get a good shot of a bird or a deer or whatever showed up.”
I’d found evidence of Seth’s photography skills in his room when I’d cleaned it out. I’d framed a few photos of birds for Hank for his birthday in January. “He was very talented.”
“Yeah,” Wyatt said in a gruff tone. “He was.”
And Bart Drummond had likely arranged his murder, hence our agreement to make him pay for his actions before we did the same with my father. Only Wyatt had reneged, and his father had walked around for the past five months while that talented boy was buried six feet under.
My anger simmered.
“I know I have no right askin’ this, but I’m gonna ask anyway,” he said, keeping his gaze on the water. “I need your help.”
“With what?” I asked, hesitant.
His face lifted. “I didn’t kill Heather, and I want to know who did. You know from firsthand experience with Seth’s death that the sheriff department won’t look into this too hard, which means I’ll need to conduct my own investigation.”
“And you want me to help prove your innocence?” I asked, my guard still up. “You could just do it yourself.”
“People are gonna assume I did it, which means they won’t talk to me. And if I hire a PI, they won’t talk to them either since they’ll be an outsider.”
“I’m an outsider.”
“Most people have accepted you,” he said. “They like you. They’ll talk.” Then he added, “They talked to you when you were lookin’ for Lula.”
The mention of Lula only pissed me off more, but he had a point. He’d spent the past several years distancing himself from this town. No one was going to tell him squat.
“Max has got me workin’ doubles,” I said. “How am I supposed to help you if I’m working all the time?”
“Molly can take some of your shifts.”
And Ginger, if she and Max agreed to the arrangement.
I pursed my lips, watching the water from the pool spill over several rocks before it continued downstream. Wyatt and I might not be together anymore, but I didn’t believe he was capable of murder. Or at least not the cold-blooded murder of someone he’d once loved. I also suspected he was about to get railroaded, and I didn’t want to see that happen. Maybe I really could help. Turned out I’d done a pretty solid job of tracking Greta down, although I’d had Marco as backup. Plus, I couldn’t help thinking Bart had played a role in Heather’s death, and if I found proof, it might help me knock him to his knees.
“Are you paying?” I asked.
He frowned. “I don’t have deep pockets like Bingham does.”
I released a bitter laugh. “You think Bingham paid me to look for Lula?” I shook my head, berating myself for getting into this, yet I couldn’t seem to stop myself. “I looked for Lula because no one else would. Because I was genuinely worried about her. Little did I know that you and Max had her holed up at your place. You put Greta in danger and you nearly got me killed, all because you, once again, couldn’t trust me, so why in God’s name would you ask me to help you clear your name? What magic switch flipped that makes you trust me now?”
His eyes narrowed. “Twice now you’ve said that you were nearly killed, and the day you left me you said you were poisoned. Who poisoned you? What happened, Carly?”
“Those are personal questions, Wyatt, and we don’t do those,” I snapped. “You want my help? You can pay me with information.”
“Carly…”
His tone told me everything I needed to know. He’d used the same exact tone half a dozen other times when he’d hedged and equivocated and circled around the truth, and I wasn’t having it. I got up and hopped over the creek, then started down the path.
“Carly!” he called after me.
I kept walking, pissed at myself for wasting my time. He expected me to clear his name for nothing? I told myself that’s what a good friend would do. And yet, we weren’t good friends, hadn’t been for months. Where did that leave us?
“Carly!” He grabbed my arm, pulling me to a halt, and turned me back to face him. “Fine. I’ll tell you some things.”
“Some things…”
“You’re playing with fire by messing with my father,” he said with a tight voice.
“I’m well aware of the danger your father presents to me.” I shot him an icy glare.
His body twitched. “What does that mean?”
“You want all my secrets now?” I asked with a bitter laugh. “No. That’s a two-way street, Wyatt, and you don’t seem interested in walking it.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. I was about to tell him to go take a flying leap, but my gut still told me that Bart had his hand in this. That looking into Heather’s death might help
me finally get a foothold, or at least a toehold, on Bart’s neck. “I’ll do it. But you need to answer my questions about Heather, or you’re on your own.”
He gave me an assessing look. “I can do that.”
I fought hard to keep from rolling my eyes. “That’s mighty big of you.”
He looked like he was biting his tongue before he said, “Where do you want to do this? I’d prefer keepin’ Hank out of it.”
Keeping Hank out of it was likely for the best, and I thought about suggesting we head back to the creek, but I wanted to take notes.
“How about we go to my place?” he said. “It’s quiet.”
I had never been to Wyatt’s place before, which was odd given we’d dated for several weeks, but I’d been working nonstop and taking care of Hank, who had been newly released from the hospital, so it hadn’t seemed strange at the time.
But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it over the last four months.
“Okay.” I was about to get answers, and probably more than Wyatt bargained for.
Chapter Eight
Hank usually let me go about my business without much commentary, but he had plenty to say when I announced I was leaving, especially since Wyatt was waiting for me outside. (I’d told him I couldn’t leave until I made Hank breakfast.) I whisked together the ingredients for an egg white, onion, and green pepper frittata, and Hank lumbered in on his crutch, leaning his shoulder into the doorway to the kitchen as he watched me pour everything into a pan.
“Does this have anything to do with the fact the sheriff’s department called Wyatt in for questioning last night?”
I turned to him with a scowl. “You’re one of the worst gossips I’ve ever met.”
“That doesn’t answer my question, now does it?”
I sighed. “Hank…”
“Do I need to remind you what happened the last time you went stickin’ your nose where it didn’t belong?”
Was he talking about when I’d gone looking for Lula? Although he knew part of the story, he didn’t know how it had ended, only that I’d “gotten sick” and stayed with Marco for several days before coming home, still sick and frail. It didn’t take a genius to figure out something had happened to me, and Hank was an intelligent man. Still, he’d never pried.
I decided to play dumb. “What are you talking about?” I asked, wrinkling my nose. “I don’t stick my nose in other people’s business.”
“Lookin’ for Lula nearly got you killed.”
Okay, so we were thinking about the same thing… “Hank…”
“I don’t know what happened to you, and this town was freakishly quiet about Lula and Greta disappearing then reappearing, but it seems mighty coincidental that the funeral home director in Ewing turned up dead around the same time. The same man who claimed he didn’t know anything about a drug cartel using his business to bring drugs in from Atlanta in his caskets.”
I shrugged as I flipped his frittata.
“Carly.”
His tone was so laden with emotion I couldn’t help turning to face him.
“You’re playin’ with fire, girl.”
What did Hank know? “I’m not sure what you’re talkin’ about.”
The bridge of his nose pinched. “Don’t play dumb with me. You’re a hell of a lot smarter than those blonde roots you’re always coverin’ up.”
“That’s a terrible stereotype,” I said as I reached for a plate in the cabinet.
“You know what I mean.” He hesitated, then said, “Bart Drummond has his hands in this, and you damn well know it. I suspect that’s why you’re about to go runnin’ off after his son like he’s a piece of chocolate cake.”
I shot him a mock glare. “Really? You’re draggin’ innocent chocolate cake into this?”
“Charlene.” His tone turned harsher.
I couldn’t hide my surprise. For one, he knew it wasn’t my real name, although he’d insisted he didn’t want to know my true identity, and for another, no one had ever called me that before.
“I care about you, girl, and you’re dippin’ your toe in dangerous waters.”
“You think Wyatt killed his girlfriend?” I asked.
“Hell, no. If I did, he’d never have stepped foot into this house.”
“But you think his father did?”
“I think his father played some part in it, but it will never be tied back to him.” He glanced at the small kitchen table, then back at me. “I know what you’re doin’, and you need to stop.”
“What exactly do you think I’m doin’?”
“You’re out to expose Bart, but I’m here to tell you that you’ll get burned. Let it go, Carly.” His voice steeped with exhaustion, he added, “Just let it go.”
I took a step closer and lowered my voice. “I can’t let it go.”
“Why?” he asked, looking me in the eye. “Why?”
“He was behind Seth’s death, and you and I both know it.”
“That’s my vendetta, girl, not yours.”
“That’s not true!” I whisper-shouted, not wanting Wyatt to hear us.
“Seth’s my kin, not yours. There’s something else in play here.” He paused, then added, “I’ve seen your notes.”
I sucked in a breath, knowing exactly what he was talking about. “You’ve been through my things?”
“Carly,” he said, sounding weary. “You fell asleep on the sofa with your notebook open next to you. I moved it to tuck a blanket around you and a name caught my eye. I wasn’t snoopin’, but it got me worried. Where are you gettin’ that information?”
I could lie or refuse to answer, but I didn’t want to do either. “The library.”
His face paled. “Such a public place? Who else knows you’re investigatin’ him?”
“Marco knows a little.”
“What about Carnita? She’s nobody’s fool.”
“I told her I’m researching town history.”
He frowned. “Those computers aren’t very private. Anyone could be watchin’ over your shoulder.”
“I’m careful.”
He still didn’t look pleased.
“Look,” I said with a sigh, “my research into Bart aside, Wyatt’s innocent, and you and I both know the sheriff’s gonna pin it on him.”
Fear filled his eyes. “You’re playin’ with fire.”
I lifted my hand to his cheek and whispered, “I spent thirty-one years livin’ a careful life, Hank, and look where it got me—my own father nearly killed me. Playing safe isn’t always the safe way to go. So I’ll stand up for what’s right because no one stood up for me.”
He slowly shook his head, his eyes glassy. “I can’t lose you too.”
I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him into a hug. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”
He kissed my cheek and held me away from him. “I suppose that’s all I can ask for. Now you’re about to burn my breakfast.”
Gasping, I turned back to the stove and slid the frittata onto a plate. “You want to eat on the porch?”
“Yep. I’m about to have a chat with Wyatt Drummond.” He spun around faster than should have been possible for a one-legged man with a crutch and headed out the front door.
I quickly grabbed a fork and followed him out with the plate.
Hank was standing at the top of the porch steps, pointing his finger at Wyatt, who was leaning against his truck.
“If you’re involvin’ her in this, then I’m holding you personally responsible for her safety.” He jabbed his finger toward Wyatt for good measure. “Do you understand me?”
Wyatt had already moved away from the truck, his gaze on the elderly man. He nodded, then said respectfully, “Yes, sir. I understand.”
“I don’t think you do,” Hank said, his voice harsh. “If anything happens to her, you’ll pay the blood price.”
“Wait. What?” I stepped in fully, out of the shadow of the doorway, but they were both intent on one another and seemed to tak
e no notice of me. I set the plate on the table and moved next to Hank, giving them both expectant looks, one after the other.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Wyatt said solemnly.
“What the hell is a blood price?” I demanded.
“Nothin’ you need to concern yourself with,” Hank grumped, then hobbled to his chair and sat with a plop.
Only it seemed like it did concern me.
Wyatt walked around to the passenger door of his truck and pulled it open, giving me an expectant look.
Shaking my head, I went back inside and grabbed my messenger bag and my purse, snatching my keys out of the latter as I walked through the door. I clicked the fob as I descended the steps. “I’ll follow you.”
Wyatt frowned, but he shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side as I headed to my own small car.
“Carly,” Hank called out.
I turned back to him and gave him a soft smile. “I’m as stubborn as the day is long, Hank. Just like you. I’ll be fine.”
He gave me slight nod, then shoved a bite of his breakfast into his mouth before calling out, “She ain’t had her breakfast yet. Make sure she’s fed.”
I snorted as I got into my car. I was perfectly capable of feeding myself, but I also knew it was one thing Hank felt he could control. He was worried I wouldn’t be safe, but at least he could make sure I didn’t go hungry. It was the fact that he had put Wyatt in charge of it that raised my hackles.
Wyatt pulled out onto the county road and I followed, turning toward town. We drove a short way before he turned right onto another county road, this one in rougher shape than the one that ran by Hank’s house. We drove a couple of miles before he turned onto a private road that disappeared into the trees. Branches with leaf buds scraped the top of his truck cab, and I realized the entire road would be engulfed by leaves once they unfurled.
We drove about a quarter mile before the road opened to a clearing at the edge of a cliff, a log cabin to one side. His property overlooked a valley on the North Carolina side of the mountain range.
One Foot in the Grave: Carly Moore #3 Page 7
