One Foot in the Grave: Carly Moore #3

by Denise Grover Swank

  I needed to get to Mitzi’s house quickly so I’d have time to pay a visit to Gladys and Thelma.

  But first I had to get batteries. Groaning in frustration, I turned on the car and headed to Dollar General, where I picked up AA batteries, two new puzzles that had shown up since the last time I’d scoured the puzzle assortment, and a bag of candies I knew Thelma liked.

  After I inserted the batteries and made a test recording to ensure the recorder worked, I plugged Mitzi’s address into the GPS built into my car. It told me it was a five-minute drive to her house on the other side of town.

  Wyatt was trailing behind as I headed to Mitzi’s. I parked in front and turned off the car. I started the recorder and tucked it into my purse. I wasn’t sure it was legal to record a conversation with another person in Tennessee without their knowledge or consent, but it wasn’t like I planned to hand it over to the sheriff. Any recordings I made were for my own personal notes.

  I started walking toward the front door, fully aware that Wyatt was parked at the end of the street. When I approached the porch, a man in his late thirties stepped out of the house. He wasn’t tall, but he looked muscular. His light brown hair had begun to recede. He was wearing a T-shirt that read, Live Hard, Die Young, and his hands were fisted at his sides. Not a good sign.

  “She ain’t gonna talk to you.”

  I stopped short, caught by surprise. “Excuse me?”

  “Abby said you was comin’ over, but now Mitzi’s a nervous wreck all over again. I ain’t lettin’ you talk to her.”

  “I’m not here to upset her, Mr.…” I figured his name wasn’t Ziegler, but I hadn’t gotten Mitzi’s married name… if she had one. For all I knew this was her brother, not a significant other.

  “My name ain’t important,” he snarled, then spat into the bushes in front of the porch. “What’s important is that you realize you ain’t talkin’ to her.”

  “Did someone tell you not to talk to me?” I asked. “Was Mitzi threatened?”

  He marched down the steps and pointed a finger only a few inches from my face. “Get the hell off my property,” he said through clenched teeth. “You stay away from Mitzi, or I’ll make your life a livin’ hell. Trust me, girl, I’ve got the power to do it.”

  I took a step back, holding my hands up next to my head but maintaining eye contact with a nonthreatening gaze. “I don’t want to upset her or put her in harm’s way. I only want the truth.”

  “Well, you ain’t gettin’ it here.”

  I took another step back. “If Mitzi changes her mind, tell her to call Carly Moore. I work at Max’s Tavern. She can reach me there.”

  His upper lip curled. “I knew you worked for them.”

  Then he turned around and walked into the house, slamming the door behind him. Seconds later, a baby started crying.

  Damn. I should have considered that the fact that I worked for a Drummond might paint me in a bad light.

  I’d started toward my car when I realized Wyatt was making a beeline for me.

  So much for keeping his cover.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his eyes blazing.

  “I’m fine,” I said in a huff, although I had to admit it was nice knowing that if things had gotten hairy with Mitzi’s enforcer, I would have had backup of my own.

  Nevertheless, I was back to square one.

  Or was I?

  “Meet me at the Dairy Bar,” I said, not giving him a chance to respond.

  The glare he shot me told me he didn’t like being bossed around.

  Too damn bad.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I was at the counter ordering a hot fudge sundae when Wyatt pulled into the parking lot. He walked up behind me and slapped cash on the counter to pay for my order before I could get out my wallet.

  “I would have gotten something for you, but I realized I didn’t know you well enough to know what you’d like,” I said in a curt tone.

  The older teen who handed me the ice cream bowl gave me a confused look. “No need to get me anything. We get to eat ice cream for free.”

  I gave him a tight smile, realizing Wyatt had already drifted away, then turned and headed for a picnic table at the edge of the outdoor dining space, away from a couple eating at a table on the other side, not that I needed to be too concerned with them overhearing. They were too wrapped up in each other to take notice.

  Wyatt sat across from me, resting his forearms on the table, waiting.

  I took a bite of my sundae, then said, “You lied to me.”

  “About what?”

  “Heather’s going-away party.”

  He didn’t show a single sign of remorse at being caught. “I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you.”

  “Yeah,” I said more calmly than I felt. “You seem to be extraordinarily good at that.”

  “You talked to Abby.”

  “I did.”

  “And Mitzi’s husband won’t let you near her.”

  “Was that her husband?” I asked nonchalantly before I took another bite.

  “Probably. I don’t know him. Only that she got married.” He paused. “So what are you gonna do now?”

  “What can I do?” I said with a shrug. “You gave me two leads and I followed them. Now I’m at a dead end.” I didn’t really believe that, but part of me wanted to see him sweat.

  “Seriously? You’re giving up?” he asked, sounding incredulous.

  The way he said it pissed me off, but I just shrugged. “This is your problem, Wyatt. Not mine.”

  “You were all over Lula’s disappearance,” he snapped. “Chasing every lead. You were like a bulldog.”

  My fury spilled over, more of it than had been provoked by his remarks, and I realized I’d been holding on to it for months. “Don’t you dare go there.”

  His eyes lit up. “There’s the Carly I know.”

  I got to my feet, worried if I stayed here any longer I’d resort to physical violence. “Don’t you pretend like you know me. You don’t know anything about me.”

  Except that wasn’t quite true. He knew plenty about me. I just didn’t know him.

  “I thought you wanted answers,” he said, lowering his voice. “If you don’t want to help me, fine. But at least get your answers.”

  “Fool me once, shame on you,” I said with a sneer. “Fool me twice, shame on me. I don’t believe for one minute that you’re gonna tell me anything. You’re playing me, just like your father plays everyone. Guess you’re more like him than you thought.”

  I spun around and stomped toward my car, throwing my ice cream in a trash can with a satisfying thump. As I opened my door, I called out, “Stop following me or I’ll call the sheriff’s department and have you arrested for stalking.”

  “Yeah, I bet your new boyfriend would be first in line to put me in handcuffs.”

  I nearly corrected him for the umpteenth time, and it was tempting to tell him that Marco was fully aware that Wyatt was tailing me. Instead, I said nothing at all. The less he knew, the better.

  I would have loved a minute to pull myself together, but he was watching my every move and I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction, so I headed straight to the nursing home. Grabbing my reusable shopping bag, I headed inside, continuing on even as I noticed Wyatt pulling into the back lot. I couldn’t say I blamed him for following me. I had no idea what Hank would ask for a blood price, and Wyatt had been foolish to agree to it. Especially if he was going to withhold key information about Heather’s disappearance.

  Gladys was sitting at her usual table with her grumpy friend, Roberta. I still wasn’t sure whether they were truly friends, or two people who’d formed an acquaintance over puzzles. Some days they didn’t seem to like each other all that much.

  Gladys’s face lit up when she saw me approaching. “There’s my girl.”

  “Hey, Gladys,” I said, leaning over to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Hey, Roberta.”

  Roberta scowled. “Tryin’ to buy our
affection with jigsaw puzzles again?”

  I gave her a cheesy smile as I pulled out a box with a tropical scene on the cover and set it on the table next to the puzzle they were working on. They’d only gotten the border and a few sections of the inside pieced together. “Is it working?”

  Her scowl deepened.

  “I’m gonna take that as a yes,” I said with a forced cheeriness that was excessive even for me.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Gladys asked, her cloudy eyes pinned on me. “What’s got you upset? Does it have anything to do with the fact you haven’t been here for weeks?”

  “No. I haven’t been coming around because the new construction at the Drummond resort site has brought a bunch of workers into town. I’ve been working doubles every day for weeks. But Max finally hired someone to help out, and I don’t have to go in until three today.”

  “And you came to see us?” Roberta grumped as her arthritic hands fumbled to open the box.

  I took it from her and used my car key to slit open the paper seal. “I was running some errands in Ewing, so I decided to stop by and pay a visit.” I darted a glance down the hall, then returned my attention to the box as I worked on another side. “I also want to speak to Thelma Tureen.”

  “Greta was here just the other day,” Gladys said, picking up the box for the puzzle they’d started and sweeping the loose pieces inside. I wasn’t surprised they were abandoning it for the new one. They spent so much time building puzzles, they’d pieced together most of the ones owned by Greener Pastures at least a dozen times. “Brought her some pretty flowers.”

  Roberta started to break apart the border of the old puzzle. “The kind you get at grocery stores.”

  “Well, it sounds very sweet,” I said. “Greta’s a good granddaughter.”

  “And so are you,” Gladys said, reaching over to pinch my cheek. A few visits back, she’d told me that I spent more time with her than her real family and declared me to be her adopted granddaughter. “And how is that handsome Marco doin’?”

  “He’s great. In fact, he’s going to be moonlighting at the tavern for a while. He said to tell you hi.”

  “I take it he’s workin’ as a deputy today?” Gladys asked, helping Roberta break apart the puzzle. “Otherwise he’d be here with you.”

  I chuckled. “Yes, he’s working, but I had lunch with him.”

  “I do love a man in uniform,” Roberta mumbled under her breath, and my brow shot up as I turned to Gladys.

  She tried to stifle a smile. This was the first hint Roberta had given that she liked Marco…or anyone for that matter. But there was no denying Marco did have charm.

  “It’s a shame you two aren’t screwin’,” Gladys said as she swept the last of the pieces into the box.

  “Gladys,” I said with a sigh. “How many times do I have to tell you that we’re just friends?”

  She glanced up. “Then why aren’t you screwin’?”

  It seemed like everyone was asking me that lately. “I’m not really sure,” I said, deciding to be honest. “A lot of reasons, I guess.”

  “Such as?” Gladys asked thoughtfully as she set the box aside.

  I sighed again. “Well, for one thing, Marco told me he wasn’t a commitment kind of guy, and I told him I wasn’t a fling kind of girl.”

  “And when did he tell you that?”

  “Early last December, when we were looking for Greta.”

  “And when was the last time he hooked up with another woman?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, really not liking the direction this was going. “This morning he said it had been a few months, but according to him it was because he’d cycled through so many women. He wants to pace himself.”

  Roberta snickered.

  “What?” I asked.

  “He likes you, you stupid fool. He doesn’t want anyone else. He wants you.”

  I frowned.

  “I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Roberta said. “And I’ve seen the way you look at him. Gladys is right. Why aren’t you two hookin’ up?”

  Were they right? Did Marco want to be more than friends? The thought left me devastated, although I had no idea why. I only knew this wasn’t the time to figure it out.

  I gave them a coy smile. “And what if we hooked up and it was terrible? Then I’d lose my best friend.”

  “Or you might get to spend the rest of your life with him,” Roberta said wistfully.

  “When did your husband die?” I asked.

  “Three years ago,” Roberta said, keeping her gaze down. “Incompetent fools at the hospital killed my sweet Bernard.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, seeing a whole new side to her.

  Her gaze snapped up, eyes blazing. “I didn’t tell you for sympathy. I told you so you’d stop wastin’ your time. None of us know how much time we have left. What if you’re missin’ out on something wonderful?”

  “Like a really good roll in the hay,” Gladys added.

  I released a short laugh, but my gaze drifted back to Roberta. “I’ll definitely keep your advice in mind.”

  She nodded. “Well, I can lead a horse to water, but I can’t make the damn fool drink.”

  She had a point. About all of it. But I couldn’t take the chance. Losing Marco would break me in a way losing the others had not.

  You might lose him anyway, a voice in my head whispered.

  What if he told me how he really felt, assuming they were right, and I couldn’t bring myself to commit to him? Would he pull away?

  “There, there, child,” Roberta said in the kindest tone I’d ever heard her use. “There’s no sense borrowin’ trouble before it hits. The key is to listen to your heart. Truly listen. Then you’ll know.”

  I gave her a watery smile. “Thank you, Roberta.”

  Her face morphed into a scowl. “All right. Be gone with you. Go see Thelma.”

  She made a shooing motion as she shifted her focus back to the table.

  Gladys, I noticed, looked as surprised as I felt.

  Suddenly eager to get away from them, I rose to my feet. “I’ll say goodbye before I go.”

  “Like you could sneak out,” Roberta scoffed. “We’re right by the front door.”

  I laughed, slightly relieved Roberta was back to her grumpy self.

  Thelma’s room was down the main hall. She seemed to spend most of her time in there, not that I was surprised. She had a view of an angel fountain and a courtyard full of rose bushes. Her door stood open, and I could see straight through the window—while the roses weren’t blooming now, someone had planted pansies and the fountain was gurgling and spurting water.

  “Miss Thelma?”

  She was sitting in her chair—a faux leather recliner—with a soft pink knitted throw over her lap, her knitting needles and an unfinished project on top of it. She stirred and turned her head toward me, and I realized she’d been napping.

  “I’m so sorry. I can come back another time.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said, gesturing for me to come in. “I was just dozing. I don’t want to sleep too long or I’ll never go to sleep tonight.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “It’s no bother for me to come back.”

  “Please. I always love visiting with you.”

  “At least I come bearing gifts,” I said, lifting my arm to show her the shopping bag, the straps hooked over my arm.

  Her face lit up, and I noticed the vase full of mixed cut flowers on the dresser in front of her.

  “It’s something very small, but something I know you love,” I said, pulling out the bag of butterscotch candies.

  She beamed and reached for them. “Between you and Greta…both you girls spoil me.”

  “I love your company,” I said as I sat in the empty guest chair in front of her. “How have you been?”

  “My hips have been actin’ up again, a sure sign spring is here to stay. But I’ve been good otherwise. Tired.”

  “You need more exercis
e.”

  “That’s counterintuitive, dear,” she said, tearing open the bag and digging out a candy.

  The next time I was here, presuming I had more time, I planned to encourage her to walk out to the courtyard. Maybe I could bring some bedding plants and a trowel. She could guide my efforts. I’d be sure to ask the director for permission, but I wasn’t worried. Thelma had told me that the families did most of the planting. Landscaping wasn’t in the facility’s budget.

  “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” she asked. “I get the feeling you want to discuss more than the weather today.”

  This was something I loved about Miss Thelma: while she was a very sweet woman, she always told the truth, no sugarcoating. Also, she could write a secret history of Drum based on her knowledge alone. Back in December, she’d told me about Bart Drummond’s favors. She’d described him as a crossroads demon—only desperate people sold their souls to get a favor from him—but she’d refused to name names, saying she didn’t want to air the dirty laundry of lost souls. Although I’d been back plenty of times, I hadn’t told her about my research yet, wanting to find more solid evidence first. Maybe it had been a mistake to wait. It was time to share some of my research with her and see if she’d give me some answers.

  “I really do want to see you too,” I insisted.

  She waved her hand. “All I do is sit in this daggum chair and knit all day. Let my mind be useful. What do you want to know?”

  I pulled the recorder out of my purse. “Do you mind if I record this? It’s just for my own notes. I’ll destroy it when I’m done.”

  While I couldn’t call it out to everyone I talked to, I trusted Miss Thelma wouldn’t throw me to the wolves.

  “I don’t mind. No one’s comin’ for me here,” she said with a grin.

  “I’d like to talk to you more about Bart’s favors. Only I need specifics. I can give you some names and what I know, and you can verify if I’m right or not.”

  Her mouth twisted. “You really shouldn’t pry into that dark business, Carly.”