One Foot in the Grave: Carly Moore #3

by Denise Grover Swank

  I listened closely for any hint of sorrow or regret, but all I heard was weariness. Was he really that removed from her death? They’d had a tumultuous relationship. Maybe his feelings had changed after she “left town” and he’d realized he’d dodged a bullet. Or maybe he’d spent the past nine years getting over her. Then again, maybe he’d just learned to control his emotions and hide how he really felt. He was good at that. People were complicated too, and it could be some combination of all three. “Did you love her?”

  “I did at one time, but when she left…” He shook his head and pushed out a breath, glancing down at his plate. “I was just grateful she was leavin’ me in peace.”

  “Do you have any idea who murdered her?”

  His gaze lifted to mine, holding firm this time. “Nope. None.”

  “Who did she hang out with? I’d like to talk to them and find out if they knew of anyone who might’ve had a grudge against her.”

  He shifted his weight. “She had a couple of friends from high school she kept up with. Mitzi Ziegler and Abby Atwood. I know Abby works at the Drum Veterinary Clinic. Last I heard, Mitzi lives in Ewing.”

  I nodded. “Okay. I’ll start with them. How did you get along with her friends? I know you two broke up multiple times. Did they blame you for the breakups?”

  “I don’t think so. They both seemed friendly enough. Still do. Abby brings her car to me, but then again, I have the only car repair shop in town, and our prices are cheaper than most places in Ewing. It might just be convenient for her to like me, you know what I mean?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “So after we clean up here, do you want to drop by the animal clinic? Talk to Abby?”

  I gave him a tight smile. “I agreed to help you, Wyatt, but I didn’t agree to let you ride along.”

  “Ride along?” he said, sounding irritated. “I was plannin’ on driving you.”

  “Not happening.”

  A dark look crossed his face. “You let Marco drive you around.”

  “Well, Marco just happened to be a sheriff’s deputy on medical leave, and he also wasn’t the subject of my investigation. Apples and oranges.”

  “I promised Hank I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

  “Guess you shouldn’t have made that promise,” I said, closing my notebook and slipping it into my bag.

  “You didn’t eat anything.”

  “I was too busy taking notes, and while you may have promised Hank to feed me, I never promised I’d eat.” I spun and headed for the front door.

  “Where the hell are you goin’?”

  “To save your ass.”

  Chapter Nine

  Something about Wyatt’s story didn’t feel right, although I couldn’t put my finger on what. But while I suspected he was fudging about something, I still didn’t believe he was a killer. Why would he have murdered his girlfriend? He’d chosen not to fight any of the charges, so her testimony against him would have been a moot point.

  While I couldn’t help admitting I felt a special thrill about investigating this case—I really, really hoped it led back to Bart in some way—I missed working with Marco. He’d been a great partner, and I’d felt safe with him. I decided to drop by the resort excavation site and kill two birds with one stone.

  The resort site was at the northwestern tip of Drummond land, accessed from Highway 25, the road that cut through Drum if you went north, and North Carolina if you drove south. They’d created a gravel road for the construction traffic, so I turned off on it and drove a good half mile until I hit the mostly empty gravel parking lot. A few sheriff cars were parked there, and I could see a couple of deputies standing next to the yellow crime scene tape.

  I smiled to myself as I got out of my car and walked over to Marco. He and the other deputy looked as bored as any two people would if asked to babysit dirt. Because that’s what it was now that the bones had been removed. Behind them sat multiple bulldozers and earthmoving equipment, all parked around a large rectangular hole in the ground, about ten feet deep on one side, and shallower on the other.

  Marco’s face lit up when he saw me. “Carly, what are you doin’ here?”

  “I was drivin’ by and thought I’d stop and check on you. Make sure you hadn’t died of boredom.”

  The other deputy, a young man who looked fresh out of high school, laughed. “Not yet, but we’re on life support.”

  “You think they’re gonna cut you loose soon?” I asked.

  “God, I sure as hell hope so,” the younger man said.

  “Deputy,” Marco admonished, giving him a stern look. “Language.”

  Chagrin covered the deputy’s face. “Ma’am, I apologize.”

  I laughed. “Please, I’ve heard worse at the tavern.”

  “You work at Max’s?” he asked, perking up. “Then you must be Carly.”

  I blinked in surprise. “You’ve heard of me?”

  He grinned. “We know all about you.”

  Turning to Marco, I cocked an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Marco rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be, Deputy?”

  “Nope,” he laughed. “I was told to stick with you.”

  “Walk the perimeter and make sure no one’s tryin’ to get under the crime scene tape,”

  Marco said in a harsh tone, but the deputy only grinned.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What’s he talkin’ about?” I asked as he walked around the outside of the tape.

  “They know about you from the Carson Purdy case. Because you saved me.”

  “Are you sure that’s it?” I asked, not really sure why I was pressing or what, exactly, I was hoping he would say.

  He shook his head. “They also know we’re friends, yet they don’t quite believe it. They can’t make sense of me stickin’ around you for so much longer than I do the other women in my life.” He made a face. “Ignore them. What brings you by, anyway? Wantin’ a look at the hole?”

  I grimaced. “Maybe? But that’s not the only reason.”

  “That construction guy hasn’t given you any more trouble, has he?”

  “What?” It took me a second to realize what he was talking about. “No. I haven’t seen him since the night Wyatt punched him.” I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “Which brings me to the other reason I’m here: Wyatt dropped by Hank’s this morning. Lookin’ for me.”

  Marco’s eyes darkened. “What for?”

  “He wants me to help clear his name. While he wasn’t arrested, he’s sure he’s suspect number one.”

  “He is,” Marco said with a frown. “How’d he take it when you turned him down?”

  “Well…”

  Disappointment filled his eyes, but it quickly disappeared. “You didn’t turn him down.”

  “No.”

  He nodded and turned his gaze to the giant hole in the earth. “Why are you helpin’ him?”

  “Because I don’t think he killed her.” When he didn’t answer, I said, “Do you think he did it?”

  “No.”

  “But you’re not happy I’m lookin’ into it.”

  “I’m not,” he said. “It’s an active investigation, for one thing, which means you could get slapped with a charge of obstructin’ an investigation.”

  “They can do that?” I asked in surprise.

  “Yeah, Carly,” he said, sounding irritated. “They can do that.”

  “Why are you mad at me?” I asked, trying not to sound hurt.

  “I’m not mad at you. I’m pissed at him for puttin’ you in this position. He had no right to ask you, Carly, but he was countin’ on you bein’ too nice to say no.”

  “Is that why you think I’m doin’ it?” I asked, starting to get pissed myself. “Because I’m too nice to say no?”

  He gave me a sad smile. “No. I think you’d say no if you didn’t want to do it.”

  “But you’re disappointed in me for saying yes.”

 
“No,” he said, but then he shrugged. “Yes. Look, I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

  He had a point—he’d been there to help me pick up the pieces of my heart after it had been broken in December.

  “I have an ulterior motive for doin’ this, Marco,” I said in a whisper. “I know Heather’s murder has ties to Bart Drummond. I’m gonna figure out how.”

  His eyes widened. “What?”

  As if on cue, Bart’s voice called out from the trees. “Why, is that Carly Moore I spot on my property?”

  I gave Marco a tight smile, then turned to face the Drummond patriarch. I hadn’t seen Bart since the meeting he’d summoned me to in his office, and I sure as hell didn’t intend to cower to him. I only hoped I didn’t get Marco in trouble.

  “Curiosity got the cat?” Bart asked as he strolled toward us.

  “Over an empty hole in the ground?” I asked in a bored tone. “You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. I’m here to see Marco.”

  “I heard you two are an item, yet not,” he said, his gaze jumping from me to Marco then back again.

  A shiver ran down my back. It didn’t surprise me that Bart was aware of our friendship—he was the kind of man who made it his business to know things—but it was still unnerving. I’d already landed a target on Hank—would my friendship with Marco put him in danger too?

  “We’re just friends,” I said.

  “Very good friends,” Marco said in a deep voice.

  Bart grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Relationships these days. All that swipin’ right and left.”

  “Not much of that goin’ on in Drum,” I said before I could stop myself. “Not with the limited access to internet and cell phone coverage.”

  “Funny you should mention that,” Bart said, his eyes lighting up. “All that’s about to change. I’ve got a commitment from two cell phone carriers to add towers close to the resort. We’ll soon have access to the outside world.”

  My blood ran cold. I’d heard rumblings about that before, but the way he said it made it sound like it would be happening sooner rather than later. I knew what he was telling me. Or rather threatening. My anonymity wouldn’t last much longer.

  “What are you doin’ back at the crime scene?” Marco asked, and I was sure he used the term crime scene to antagonize Bart.

  From the look on Bart’s face, it had worked. But the irritation quickly faded, replaced with the fake-as-could-be pleased look he seemed to wear most of the time. “I’m eager to get construction back on track. What’s the word, Deputy Roland?”

  “I’m hearing it should be released any time now.”

  “Perhaps you could give them a call and see what’s what?” Bart suggested.

  Marco was about to say something when the radio close to his shoulder squawked. He picked up the mic and pressed the button. “Deputy Roland.”

  There was a second of static, then a male voice. “Deputy, the all clear has been given for the construction site.”

  “Copy that.” Marco hooked his mic back onto his shirt and gave Bart a deadpan look. “Well, what do you know? It’s like you’re psychic.”

  Bart smiled. “Oh, a little birdie might have told me the order had been given to release the construction site. You’ll always be a step behind, Marco. Always. Best keep that in mind.” He grabbed the evidence tape and gave it a hard jerk, his eyes glittering with evil.

  I was about to blast him when the other deputy rounded the corner and shouted in alarm, “You can’t do that!”

  “He can,” Marco said. “We just got the all clear.”

  “Carly, would you like to see where the bones were buried?” Bart asked, “Oh, come now. Don’t be shy. Or perhaps you’re frightened,” he cajoled,

  I was scared, but not of the hole or the bones. I was scared of what Bart Drummond had up his sleeve now. “Sure,” I said, trying to sound breezy. “Why not?”

  “Carly,” Marco warned in a low undertone I was fairly sure Bart couldn’t hear. The radio squawked again, and he cursed under his breath.

  Ignoring him, I stepped over the ripped-down yellow tape, toward the right side of the hole.

  “I hear the bones were buried over here in that shallower area to the left,” Bart said as I approached, waving his hand in a sweeping motion. “About three feet deep. Why do you think that is?”

  “I couldn’t say, Mr. Drummond.”

  He smirked. “Mr. Drummond. So respectful.”

  I held my tongue. Any answer I gave him would only feed his ego.

  “I’m not a law enforcement officer,” Bart said in a slow drawl, “but I would think it meant whoever did it was in a hurry to dispose of her body.”

  “I suppose you would know,” I said in a dry tone.

  He laughed. “I know you don’t have a high opinion of me, Ms. Moore, but I’m not a stupid man. And only a stupid man would hire an excavation crew to dig in an area where he’d buried someone.”

  “Perhaps you didn’t know where she was buried,” I challenged.

  “I would make it my business to know where every body on my property was buried,” he said with a gleam in his eyes. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

  “Let’s not forget that the man who ran your many acres of property was a known killer. Perhaps he buried bodies in locations you’re unaware of.” I gestured to the shallow location. “Case in point.”

  He chuckled. “Carson Purdy was not a murderer.”

  “I’m sure Bitty, the former cook at the tavern, would disagree. But she can’t since she’s buried in the Drum Cemetery.”

  “We have no proof that he killed her,” he scoffed.

  “Actually…” I said, tired of this game. “I saw him kill her. And so did Wyatt. Not to mention Carson shot Marco twice and fired at your son in the woods.” Why was I having this conversation with him? It was pointless. “This has been a lovely chat, but I need to be on my way.” I turned to head back to the parking lot.

  He called after me, “I want you to tell me what you find out about Heather’s death before you take it to the sheriff’s department.”

  I turned back to face him. “Excuse me?”

  He took a step closer. “I know you’ll be lookin’ into it. You can’t help yourself. I’m offering you my encouragement and support. In fact, Emily would love to have tea with you this afternoon. She can tell you anything you need to know about Wyatt and Heather.” When he saw my surprise, his grin spread. “Now, does that sound like a man guilty of murder?”

  “Not until you said you wanted me to take the information to you before I talked to the police.”

  He laughed. “That doesn’t make me a murderer, Caroline. It makes me controlling.”

  I whipped my head around to see if anyone was within hearing range. Marco and the other deputy were by one of the patrol cars.

  “Your secret is still safe with me,” Bart said, although the for now had obviously been left unsaid. “Shall I tell Emily to expect you at three?”

  “I have to be at work at three.”

  “I’ll call Max and tell him you’ll be a little late.”

  “I can handle my own work hours,” I said, my tone short. “I don’t want Max knowing we had this chat.”

  “Or Wyatt?” he asked with a grin. He cast a glance toward Marco. “I might not tell Max, but he likely will.” Then he added, “Not that it matters to me one way or the other.”

  But it did matter to me. The less they knew about my interactions with their father, the better. While they both claimed to be estranged from him, I didn’t totally trust that. I knew they disliked him—hated him—but that didn’t mean he lacked power over them. Plus, I didn’t want them to know that he’d threatened me. I didn’t have a solid reason for that, except Hank had warned me months ago that knowledge was currency. I needed to stock up on my currency. Everyone else in this town seemed to do a good job of that, especially the Drummonds.

  “Emily will have tea ready and waitin’,”
he said in his sly tone. “She’ll be very excited to chat with you. I hope you don’t disappoint her.” With that, he strolled off, whistling a happy tune.

  And that was the clincher to let me know I’d just been conned.

  Two could play that game.

  Chapter Ten

  Marco was still talking on his radio, but as soon as he ended the conversation, he turned to me with a frown. “How bad was it?”

  I checked the time on my useless cell phone—or at least useless for now. “Do you know when you’ll be free for lunch? I would love to bounce some things off you.”

  “And here I was hopin’ you wanted to have lunch with me because of my charming personality,” he said with a grin. “Still, I’ll take what I can get. I need to wrap some things up around here, but I can be free in an hour. Want to meet at Watson’s?”

  “Sounds good.”

  I headed to my car and drove into town. Since I had an hour to kill, I figured I might as well make the most of it. I could stop by the veterinary clinic and talk to Abby Atwood.

  There were only three cars parked in the lot when I pulled in. I still wasn’t sure what excuse I was going to use to talk to Abby until I saw a small sign out front that read, Free kittens. If I pretended to be interested in a kitten, it might give me an opening to find and talk to Abby.

  The vet clinic was an old bungalow that had been converted into a business space. The waiting room looked like it had once been a living room.

  “Hello,” a young woman said from the front desk. “Welcome to Drum Veterinary Clinic. How can I help you?”

  She looked to be in her late teens or early twenties, too young to be Heather’s high school friend. “I saw the sign out front,” I said, thumbing toward the windows. “Free kittens?”

  Her face brightened. “Oh, they’re so cute! Let me take you back so you can have a peek.”

  I followed her down a hallway to a kitchen. Several crates lined the wall opposite the one with the cabinets and appliances. The crates held multiple animals—a yellow lab that lay on the floor, a fluffy white mutt with a cone around its neck, and a gray and white cat curled up with multiple gray and black kittens.