I should have expected that. “I’m not interested in getting back together with him, if that’s what you’re insinuating. But I still care about his well-being. I did try to clear his name when the sheriff deputies put out a warrant for his arrest.”
He lowered his head closer to mine. “Look, the last thing I want to do is get in the middle of your love life—”
I pointed a finger at him. “You can stop right there, because I know whatever you say next is bound to get one of us into trouble.”
His mouth twisted, and then he blurted out, “What’s goin’ on with you and Marco?”
“I told you, nothing. He’s workin’ a lot.” My jaw tightened. “And I find it insulting that you persist in thinking Marco and I are romantically involved when we’ve told you a million times we’re not…not to mention that you seem to think I’d jump from him back to Wyatt before the sheets were even cold.”
A smug look filled his eyes. “I find it interesting you mentioned sheets.”
I groaned. “I was trying to prove a point, Max.”
“And I was tryin’ to pick up on it.” But then he sobered. “Why hasn’t Marco been in? For real?”
I pushed out a sigh. “Shouldn’t you be asking Marco that question? He is your best friend.”
“Not anymore,” he said without any hint of anger. “You claim that title now.”
Ouch, but he wasn’t wrong. We definitely spent more time together than the two of them did. “Max…”
“Hey,” he said, “I know full well I brought it on myself, but that’s a discussion for another day. Still, I’ve never known the man to claim a woman for a friend and not be sleepin’ with her, so color me all kinds of confused. Especially if he’s playin’ the long game. Half a year is one hell of a long game.”
“Maybe Marco hadn’t been friends with a woman before, but he’d never been shot before either. Staring down the barrel of Carson Purdy’s gun changed us both. I’m not sure we ever would have been friends if we hadn’t gone through it together, but the experience bonded us.”
“Jerry went through it too, and I don’t see you spendin’ all your time with him.”
I released a sigh. “You know why we really bonded, Max. I don’t think either of us wants to get into that.” Our friendship had deepened during our search for Lula, which would have ended the day it began if Max had been honest with us.
He nodded but didn’t say anything. He’d confessed before that he was fully aware he’d screwed up, but it still wasn’t something either of us openly discussed.
“Look, Max, I know he still considers you a close friend, so maybe—”
“I’m your friend too, Carly. At least I’d like to think we’re friends.”
“Of course we are,” I said, meaning every word. You couldn’t work with someone for fifty plus hours a week and not be friends, Molly being the exception. But my connection with Max went deeper. He’d taken me in when I was in a desperate place, stood by me when things were rough, and offered me protection when he barely knew me. He’d been there for me before anyone else, Marco and Wyatt included. I couldn’t forget that. But I also couldn’t forget he’d put Marco and me in danger. “I owe you more than I can ever repay you, Max.”
“I ain’t lookin’ for repayment, Carly,” he said, sounding hurt.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” I said with a frustrated sigh. I reached over the bar and covered his hand with mine. “We’re friends, Max. I’ve found that true friends are hard to come by. So thank you.”
But even as I said the words, I wondered if they were true. Max was a confusing conundrum. One minute he was vowing to protect me against outside forces because his employees were family, and the next he was full of secrets, some of which I worried would end up hurting me. Still, I reminded myself that he was a different case from Wyatt. He didn’t know all of my secrets. What made me feel entitled to his?
He nodded, glancing away.
“So why did Wyatt stop by?” I asked, deciding to press the issue.
He hesitated, then pulled his hand away. “Just some work stuff.” He headed to the back, ending the conversation.
I didn’t believe it for a minute.
The afternoon was slow until Ruth showed up at three. She headed straight for me as soon as she emerged from the back, still tying her apron.
“Did he do it?”
It took me a second to figure out what she was talking about. “Oh, you mean Molly. Yeah. He did it.”
Confusion filled her eyes. “What did you think I was talking about?”
Releasing a sigh, I said, “The talk of the town is that Pam Crimshaw killed a man in Ewing yesterday.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Pam Crimshaw? Are they sure it wasn’t Rob?”
“Yup. She walked into an insurance office and shot an insurance agent in cold blood, in front of his office staff and a customer. At least that’s the story. No reason was given.”
She put a hand on her chest. “I can’t believe it.”
“I know,” I said. “She seems so sweet. I’ve never even heard her raise her voice or take a tone. Which is saying something considering how bossy Diane can get.”
“She went through a rough patch with Thad, but even then she seemed sweet as pie.”
I shook my head. “Carnita mentioned something about Thad getting into trouble. Do you know any details?”
“Just that alcohol was involved and he totaled Pam’s car. Everybody lived, thank goodness.” She paused. “I can’t believe she’d kill anyone.”
She started to head off, but I grabbed her arm and lowered my voice. “Did you talk to the person you were considering for Molly’s job?”
“No. I decided to wait until I found out Max had actually done the deed. Honestly, I was sure he’d chicken out. Did you prod him to do it?”
“No, he was in the process when I showed up. In fact, it must have gotten heated because Ginger fled to the garage.”
She lifted her chin. “Well, I’m proud of him. I’m gonna go tell him so.” She turned toward the bar, then said, “And I’ll cover Molly’s lunch shift tomorrow. You come in at five.”
“Thanks.”
She went to congratulate Max for firing her nemesis, but he didn’t look grateful for her praise.
Kids started arriving for Tutoring Club at three-thirty. Most were elementary aged, but I also had a couple of reluctant middle schoolers. I had the older kids practice some math problems on mini-white boards I’d picked up at the Target in Greenville, and the younger ones worked on addition and multiplication worksheets. When the younger kids finished, we discussed which book we should read for the next book club meeting. (Captain Underpants for the win. I knew Carnita had three copies and I had two. Hopefully, I’d be able to pick up a couple of other books in the series by next week.) I let the two middle-school students pick their own books—Hatchet for the seventh-grade boy and a copy of a Baby-Sitters Club book for the sixth-grade girl. Both students struggled with reading, enough so that I’d suggested to their mothers that we set up some one-on-one sessions every other Monday, a half hour before the start of Tutoring Club. I wasn’t a reading specialist, but I planned to do some research on working with middle-school students. Helping these kids was giving me a sense of purpose I hadn’t felt in a long time.
While the kids were working, I could hear the mothers whispering about Pam. I tried my best to eavesdrop, but the kids needed too much help. I wasn’t sure what was going on in Drum Elementary, but it didn’t seem to involve a whole lot of teaching. Of course, I was sure they didn’t have many resources, but so many students were behind it seemed like the school itself was offering insufficient instruction. In any case, I didn’t hear anything of use.
My next hope was the evening dinner crowd…which proved just about as useless. People were discussing the murder—gossiping was a huge form of entertainment in Drum—but I didn’t hear anything I hadn’t already learned. Pam had killed Jim Palmer. No one knew why. Diane Las
siter was organizing a meal train. There was plenty of speculation that Pam and Jim had been carrying on an affair, but no one had ever seen them together.
Jerry showed up at around seven, looking tanned, dirty, and tired. I headed over to take his order as he plopped down on a barstool at the counter.
“Hey, Carly,” he said, beaming. “How’re you doin’?”
“I’m about as tired as you look. How’s the new job goin’?”
“Great,” he said with a soft groan as he settled onto the stool. “In fact, I just got a promotion.”
“Wow! That’s wonderful!” I meant every word of it. His job at the construction site had given him a new sense of purpose. He felt needed and productive, and for the first time in a long time, he actually had some money. “What will you be doing now?”
“I’m workin’ for Bart Drummond himself.”
The blood rushed from my head. I felt like I was going to pass out.
“You don’t look so good,” he said with worry in his eyes. “Maybe you should sit down.”
While part of me really wanted to, I’d draw all sorts of attention. Instead, I leaned against the counter, trying to look as nonchalant as I could manage. “I’m okay,” I said with a dismissive wave. “What sort of things will you be doing?”
He hesitated. “Things on his land. Stuff Carson Purdy used to do.”
“Wow…” I forced myself to smile, but it felt a little wobbly. “How’d that come about?”
“Well,” he said slowly, as though he was having second thoughts about telling me.
I widened my smile to encourage him, but the look in his eyes suggested that I looked like a makeup-less Joker. “I’m sorry, Jerry. You just caught me by surprise. You must be doing an amazing job at the worksite if you’re workin’ for the man himself.”
“Mr. Drummond invited me up to the big house for lunch—me and my foreman—and he asked us both about the job and how things were goin’. Mr. Drummond told me he’d heard I was doin’ good work, and he thought good work should be rewarded. Then he asked me if I wanted a promotion.”
“Wow…”
“It even comes with a house, Carly,” he said, warming to the topic again despite my lack of enthusiasm. “On the Drummond property so I can be there to oversee things.”
I swallowed my rising bile. “Jerry… It’s Bart Drummond.”
Uncertainty wavered in his eyes. “He told me he knew about my involvement in the Carson Purdy mess. He said if nothing else, he owed me a job for savin’ his son.”
“But Jerry…”
“I know what people say about him, Carly,” he said softly. “But he believes in me. He was the one who got the foreman to give me a job in the first place. He wanted to see how I handled the responsibility.” The pride in his eyes was nearly my undoing.
“I’ve always believed in you, Jerry,” I said, past the lump in my throat. With every fiber of my being, I believed Bart Drummond was using him—possibly so he could use him against me at some point—but I couldn’t take this victory from him.
Leaning over the bar counter, I called Max over. He headed toward us, giving me a worried look as he took in my expression.
“Everything okay?” he asked, wiping his hands on a bar towel.
“Jerry needs a drink on the house,” I said, forcing cheerfulness into my voice as I held Max’s gaze. “He just got a promotion. He’s taking over Carson Purdy’s job.”
Max’s eyes flared, and then he cast a glance at Jerry, forcing a smile of his own. “Well, now, that is news. How’d that come about?”
Jerry told him about his lunch with Max’s father, adding more details than he’d shared with me—he’d served steak and baked potatoes!—and Max didn’t look any less horrified than I felt.
“Why ain’t you two more happy for me?” Jerry asked, sounding hurt.
I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “Jerry, it’s Bart Drummond.”
“You already said that.”
I turned to Max for help, and he stared at me like a deer in headlights for a solid ten seconds before he forced a grin. “You’re right, Carly. This calls for a drink on the house.” Then he headed down the bar to pull a draft.
“I know it’s Bart,” Jerry said with a serious expression. “But I need this job. Okay?”
My lip quivered and tears flooded my eyes. “If you’re hurtin’ for money, we’ll figure something out, okay?”
“No,” he said solemnly. “I want this. I need you to be happy for me, okay?”
I nodded and hugged him, ignoring the fact that he smelled like sweat and damp earth. I couldn’t imagine Bart Drummond letting him into that fancy house on the side of the mountain, full of expensive furniture. Not smelling like this. The asshole had probably made him eat outside.
Jerry kissed my cheek, then pulled away from me. “I know you’re upset because you’ll be seein’ less of me, but I’ll still come see you.”
I nodded, swiping a stray tear from my cheek. “You better.” I sniffed, trying to collect myself. “What can I get you for dinner?”
He ordered meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Resisting the urge to suggest a side salad instead of the starch, I headed to the food counter with his order.
“What’s goin’ on with Jerry?” Ruth asked as she came back to pick up an order.
“He’s not going to be coming around as often. He got a promotion.”
“At the jobsite?” she asked in disbelief. “What’s that got to do with him comin’ in or not?”
“Because he’s going to be working for Bart Drummond himself. He’s giving Jerry the overseer job.”
“You’re kiddin’ me,” she said in a flat voice.
“I wish I were.”
She sucked in a breath as she studied Jerry from across the room. “What’s that old man up to?”
“You think he’s up to something too?” I asked.
She wrinkled her brow. “Of course he is. There’s no way Jerry’s qualified for that job.”
Was that Drummond’s plan? Put Jerry in a position that was over his head and make him feel like a failure? Use him to mess with me? Hurt him in retaliation for killing Carson?
Could I stand by and let any of that happen?
I really needed to speak to Marco.
We were busy for another hour, and I didn’t get a chance to talk to Max until after Jerry had eaten his meal and left.
“Did Jerry say when he was moving out?” I asked him when I finally got a chance. It stood to reason that Jerry would have to give him notice since Max ran the motel.
“Tomorrow.”
I gasped.
“Now we don’t know that my father’s up to anything sinister,” Max said with a sigh as he leaned his hand against the counter. “He often does hire people based on their work ethic.” The conflict in his eyes told me how much he was trying to convince himself.
“And do you truly believe that’s the case now?”
He swallowed and didn’t answer.
“We’ll never see him,” I said, my stomach churning.
“He said he’d drop by from time to time, but he seemed to think he’d be too busy to leave the property much.”
“You have to stop this, Max.”
He turned to me in surprise. “I can’t.”
“Then tell me why he’s doing this.”
“Because it’s a promotion,” he said in exasperation. “It’s more money than he’s ever made in his life, and he thinks he’ll be respected.”
I heard the doubt in his voice, and while I shared it, he’d misunderstood the question. “Not Jerry, Max. Your father.”
But he didn’t have an answer either.
Chapter Six
When I still hadn’t heard from Marco by ten, I started to get worried. I tallied up my tips and left Tiny’s share in Max’s office, then headed out the back door to my car, my pepper spray firmly in hand. I never went out the back door at night without it. I’d been caught off guard on a few occasions, and it
wasn’t happening again. For a split second, my heart skipped a beat when I saw a figure leaning against the trunk of my car, his arms crossed over his chest, but then I saw Marco’s Explorer parked next to it.
Marco didn’t move when he saw me, just watched as I came closer. He always looked good in whatever he wore, whether it was his sheriff’s deputy uniform or the jeans and light gray T-shirt he had on now. His blond hair had been trimmed since we last saw each other, which made the separation feel longer. I hadn’t even realized he’d had an appointment. His eyes were glued on me and held a heat that had nothing to do with the summer evening.
I flushed with a heat of my own.
My heart skipped a beat for an entirely different reason this time. I’d missed this man more than I’d ever missed anyone besides my mother, and we’d only been apart less than a week. How long could we keep pretending we were just friends? It had worked for a few months, but it was getting harder and harder. The fact I hadn’t seen him made me wonder if Marco had finally hit a wall.
“Hey,” I said, as I approached him. I was yearning to reach out and touch him, but I kept my hands at my sides.
He shifted his weight, dropping his arms. The heat in his eyes dimmed, replaced with determination.
“Is everything okay? Why didn’t you come inside?” I asked, suddenly afraid to hear the answer. Had he grown tired of waiting for me to change my mind? Was he cutting me off out of self-preservation?
“I got off work late, so I decided I’d take a chance and drop by. Figured you’d get off at ten, so I just waited outside.”
A chill ran down my back. We hadn’t talked in days, and he had no idea the whole Molly debacle had finally come to a head.
“How’d you know I’d be getting off early?” I asked, then instantly regretted it. What was I doing? I was suspicious of practically everything—with just cause—but this was Marco. Would I ever be able to truly trust him? Was it fair to give in to my feelings if I didn’t?
He realized my concern and sat up straighter. “I saw your car in the parking lot during the lunch shift. You usually get off at ten when you work lunch.” His eyes narrowed. “Why were you working over lunch?”
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