A Cry in the Dark: Carly Moore Series

by Denise Grover Swank

  He must have seen something on my face—again—because he cast me a wary look as he walked to the truck, holding the nearly fifty-pound bag as though it were a roll of toilet paper.

  Yep. He definitely worked out.

  “It’s a good thing we’re getting you out of here now,” he said, glancing up at the sky before lowering his gaze to mine. “They’re saying it might snow.”

  “Snow?” I hadn’t paid any attention to the weather. Smart, Carly. Way to drive into the mountains with the possibility of snow, though to be fair, if my car hadn’t broken down, I suspected I wouldn’t be in the mountains anymore.

  “Yep.” He opened the passenger door of the truck and tossed the bag into the cab, easily maneuvering it into the space behind the seat. When he stepped down, he held the door open. “Why don’t you wait in the truck while I get this hooked up?”

  I glanced inside, surprised by its tidiness. Based on the peeling paint and extensive rust spots, the truck had to be a couple of decades old, so I’d expected the interior to be in similar condition. While the black vinyl seat was ripped in multiple places, for the most part it was clean.

  “Uh…” I said, glancing up at him. “I’m about to get into your truck, and I don’t even know who you are.”

  “Wyatt Drummond, owner of Drummond Auto Repair and Towing.” To my surprise, he held out his hand to shake.

  His callused hand was grease-stained, but it looked clean. I shook it, surprised it felt so warm wrapped around my cold one. I wasn’t prepared for the shiver that ran through my body at his touch, but I tried to convince myself it was because of the frigid temperature.

  “Carly Moore,” I said, proud that I’d remembered my new last name. I’d spent a week and a half practicing in front of a mirror while I waited for my documents to come through in Little Rock. I’d had little else to do, given I’d left my new friends behind in Henryetta.

  His handshake was firm, but he quickly released it. “Now that you know who I am, get inside and I’ll start the truck so you can warm up.”

  Without waiting to see if I’d listen, he walked around the front of the truck and climbed behind the wheel to start the engine.

  I almost insisted I’d wait outside, but the wind had picked up, delivering a cold bite that stung my cheeks. I’d already agreed to let him tow my car into town. No sense being stubborn for the sake of it.

  The cab heated up quickly, so I reached over and turned the heat down. A few minutes later, Wyatt climbed back inside and backed the truck up to the front of my car. Somehow he’d managed to back my car out of its space and get it angled correctly. It didn’t take him long to get the car hooked up and hoisted onto the winch.

  By the time he returned to the cab, the sky was turning a light pink with the approaching sunset. He didn’t say anything, and for some reason I felt compelled to fill the silence.

  “It gets dark early out here,” I said as he pulled onto the road. Since the dashboard was old and didn’t have a digital display, I took out my phone to check the time. It was nearly five. How long had I been out here?

  “The mountains to the west make sundown come earlier, and the time change this weekend didn’t help,” Wyatt said, shifting gears.

  “Where exactly are we going?” I said. “I just realized I never asked.”

  “Drum,” he said. “It’s about ten miles down the mountain. I figure I’ll drop you off at the tavern and then haul your car to the shop. My brother Max owns the place and runs the motel across the street. He’ll rent you a room for the night.”

  My guard hiked back up. Was this some kind of scam? Tow unsuspecting tourists into town for a small fee, then charge them inflated prices for motel rooms? I knew I was being paranoid, but I was on the run and had an alias. Was there such a thing as being too paranoid in this kind of situation?

  I hugged my purse tighter to my side. “Should I call ahead and reserve a room?”

  “Nah,” he said, keeping his eyes on the curvy mountain road, downshifting to accommodate the grade. “You’ll be fine.”

  “There’s not much traffic,” I said, realizing I hadn’t seen another car for nearly an hour. “I figured there’d be more people driving the roads to see the changing leaves. Isn’t the Smoky Mountains known for that?”

  “There used to be more people in these parts about five years ago,” Wyatt said. “But things changed when the state park system moved the entrance to the hiking trail up to Balder Mountain. This road used to take hikers to the entrance, so Drum sees a whole lot less traffic now. It was a tourist town until the move. Then business dried up, which is why I’m certain Max will have a room available.”

  “Oh,” I said, “I’m sorry.”

  He gave her a wry grin. “Probably for the best.”

  I wasn’t sure what to make of that.

  “What were you doin’ out this way?” he said. “If you don’t mind me asking?” It was an innocent-enough question, but the friendly tone he’d had at first seemed to have dried up. Just like the look in his eyes had changed when I’d refused his suggestion to call in a deputy.

  “I guess the same as most people,” I said. “Taking in the scenery.”

  He shot a pointed gaze at my purse, as if he had laser vision that allowed him to see the gun, then shifted his attention back to the road. “Not everyone.”

  “Then what do you think I was doing out there?” I asked before I could stop myself.

  “Who knows what people do?” he said, shooting me a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I was just curious.”

  Maybe so, but it felt judgy in a way that made me wonder what, exactly, this man suspected me of doing.

  We rode the rest of the way in an uncomfortable silence until we reached downtown Drum. I hadn’t expected a bustling town, but it was even smaller than I’d imagined—just two short blocks with businesses on either side. About a third of them had “Going Out of Business” signs in the windows. Max’s Tavern was halfway down the road. The front entrance boasted a small sign informing any passersby of its presence, but when we turned down the cross street, I saw a much bigger sign painted on the side of the building. There was a nearly empty gravel parking lot out back, and Wyatt parked lengthwise across it. As soon as he stopped, he hopped out of the truck and walked around to the passenger side. When I opened the door, he was already standing in front of me, waiting.

  I’d had enough of his silent accusations.

  “What?” I snapped as I climbed out.

  He held his ground, searching my face as though he was trying to see through me—not under my clothes, but into my character.

  Wait. Wasn’t I supposed to be judging him?

  For a moment I thought he was going to block me from getting out. Fear jolted through me. I started to reach into my purse, but his gaze followed my movements. Maybe he was seeing through me again, because he immediately backed off and offered me a hand. I ignored the gesture, turning in the seat to get my suitcase out of the back.

  “You’ll never get it,” he said in an amused tone. “It’s wedged in there.”

  The two seconds I spent tugging on the handle proved that to be true, but when he tried to nudge me to the side so he could take over, I turned my back to him and found the lever to fold the seat forward. It hit my knee hard enough that I was sure it would leave a bruise, but I felt vindicated when I pulled my suitcase free, even if it fell to the ground with an ungraceful thud.

  “I’m impressed,” he said, his arms crossed over his chest.

  I gave him a long hard stare. “Don’t ever tell me I can’t do something.”

  Guarded amusement filled his eyes. “Point taken.” Then, as though remembering himself, his face hardened. “Let me take you inside and introduce you to Max.”

  The last thing I needed was a babysitter, especially one who seemed to think I was up to no good.

  “Are you going to get me a special rate or something?” I asked in a terse tone as I leaned over and grabbed the handle
of my bag. “Because if not, I’m perfectly capable of renting my own hotel room.”

  He looked properly chastised. “Don’t you need help with your bag?”

  “No,” I snapped. “I do not.” I started to roll my suitcase over the packed earth, most of the gravel long gone, giving it a jerk when it got stuck on one of the few remaining stones. Of course.

  “Want to give me your number?” he asked, his accusatory tone back.

  I stopped and turned around to face him. “Excuse me?”

  “For the car.” He nudged his head toward the tow truck. “So I can give you the estimate.”

  This was what I got for being all sanctimonious. “Uh. Yeah.”

  He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. “Okay. Go ahead.”

  The problem was I didn’t remember my phone number. I’d decided to use the burner until I got a job. I’d get a real phone after saving up a few paychecks. “How about I just text it to you. What’s your number?”

  His face was a blank slate as he rattled off a number, which I entered into a text message and typed. I started to enter my real name, the one I needed to keep hidden, then deleted it and entered Moore. Damn, that was going to take some getting used to. I pushed send, only to get an error message. I still didn’t have service.

  “I don’t have cell service in town,” I said, holding it up as though to offer proof. “So my phone number won’t be of much use.”

  “I’ll just call you at the motel, then,” he said, his gaze on my phone.

  I stuffed it into my purse. It wasn’t like it was going to do me much good here. Besides which, I had no one to call. “Do you have cell service?”

  “Nope.” Then he turned and headed for the cab of his truck.

  If he didn’t have cell service and neither did I, why was he asking for my number? At least his attitude had dampened my attraction to him. The last thing I needed in my life was to be distracted by a handsome man.

  I decided not to waste any more time on it and resumed lugging my suitcase toward the tavern. It continued getting stuck on chunks of gravel, so I eventually picked it up and carried it to the front of the building. It kept banging my shins, likely hard enough to leave more bruises. I almost admonished myself for packing too much, but other than my car, all my worldly possessions were either in my purse or my suitcase. When I reached concrete, I tried to roll it, but one of the wheels was wobbly and the suitcase started going sideways.

  I might as well have gotten my honeymoon luggage from Target instead of Neiman Marcus for as well as this bag was holding up.

  Honeymoon luggage.

  I’d bought this blasted suitcase for the three-week Hawaii vacation I’d planned with my fiancé, Jake. Back then, I’d thought I was happy, or happy enough. I’d thought I understood the world and my part in it. But it had all been a lie. I’d heard something after our rehearsal dinner that had opened my eyes to the truth. Instead of taking this bag on my honeymoon, I’d brought it in my getaway car—and, thanks to my last broken-down car, to Henryetta, Arkansas. To the people who’d given me a new life.

  The thought of Henryetta and the friends I’d made there brought back a fresh wave of grief, but I took a deep breath and pushed it down. I could feel sorry for myself later. Now, I needed to get a room for the night…or more likely for the next several nights.

  What was I going to do if I didn’t have enough money to pay for the repairs? Because I needed to face the possibility that it might happen.

  I’d deal with it when I got the estimate.

  I opened the front door and walked inside. The décor was dark—wood, floors, and ceiling—but it felt homey rather than off-putting. A family sat in a booth to my right and ESPN was playing on the large screen TV mounted to the back wall.

  A man with dishwater blond hair stood behind the bar, leaning his elbow on the counter as he watched me enter the establishment. He was young and good-looking, and the shit-eating grin that spread across his face when he saw my suitcase indicated he was pretty confident in his own skin. “I have a lot of people comin’ into the tavern, but I’ve never had anyone want to camp out here.”

  He didn’t look anything like Wyatt, but something about his grin reminded me of the man who had just dropped me off.

  “You must be Max,” I said as I fought my suitcase to follow me across the floor.

  He laughed. “Should I be worried that you know who I am, but I don’t remember you?”

  So he was a player, not that I was surprised. He had that cocky confidence most players wore like a glove.

  “We haven’t met,” I assured him. “Your brother told me about your bar and your motel.”

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Wyatt?”

  “Drives a tow truck?” When he nodded, I said, “He towed my car here.” I gestured to the luggage. “Hence the suitcase.”

  “So you need a room for the night?” he asked.

  “Probably several nights. He said it would take a few days.”

  “You must have done a number on it.”

  Standing across from him, I leaned into the counter. “I don’t have much luck with vehicles.”

  “Know your strengths and your weaknesses,” a woman said behind me with a country twang. “That’s what I always say.”

  I turned to see a waitress who looked to be in her mid-thirties, carrying a platter topped with several plates of food. She was wearing jeans and a dark blue scoop neck T-shirt that read Max’s Tavern. Her short blonde hair was pulled into two tiny pigtails at the back of her head, and she was pretty even with little make-up.

  I shot her a grin and she grinned back.

  “I like her, Max,” she said. “Don’t you scare her away.”

  Max laughed. “She’s renting a room across the street.”

  The woman shifted her attention to the family in the booth as she set down the plates one by one. When she returned to us, she propped a hand on her hip. “Like I said, don’t be runnin’ her off.”

  I cringed. “That bad?”

  “Are you really stayin’ overnight?” She looked me up and down. “You’re not the Alpine Inn’s typical client.”

  Oh crap. What did that mean? Was it a rent-by-the-hour kind of place? “I’m scared to ask what the typical client is.”

  “Don’t you listen to her,” Max said, picking up a rag behind the counter and wiping down the bar top. “I’ll put you on the end where there’s not much action. It’ll be quiet as a graveyard.”

  The waitress leveled her gaze on him.

  “What?” Max said, holding his arms out from his sides. “For what it’s worth, Ruth, I don’t have any other guests tonight besides Big Joe and Jerry, so Ms.…” He gave me an expectant look, waiting for me to offer my name.

  “Carly,” I said cautiously.

  “So Ms. Carly,” Max said with a grin, “will have plenty of quiet and privacy.”

  “Uh-huh,” Ruth said. She turned to me with resignation in her eyes. “I’ll have Franklin bring up a set of sheets when he meets me for my break.”

  “Hey now!” Max protested. “Don’t go besmirching my establishment!”

  “When was the last time you ordered new sheets for the dump you call a motel?” Ruth asked, both hands planted on her hips again.

  His back straightened. “That’s neither here nor there.”

  The woman turned to me with a tight grin. “And that’s why I’m havin’ my man bring you a set of sheets. Don’t you worry. I replaced all my sheets a couple of months ago when we went to Costco down in Knoxville. Four-hundred-thread-count sheets and they feel as smoooooth as silk,” she said, her drawl becoming more pronounced on the last few words.” She shot Max a glare. “Damn cheapskate’s too tight to buy good quality sheets.”

  “Ruth,” Max said with a sigh, “you’re gonna make her think my place isn’t good enough for her.”

  “Maybe that’s because it’s not,” she snapped back.

  “I’m kind of stuck here,” I admitted. �
�My car broke down, and Wyatt says the repair might take a few days.” Then before I could chicken out, I added, “Say, if you know of anyone needing temporary help while I’m here, I’m available.”

  Ruth leaned her arm on the bar top and leveled her gaze with Max. “We’re down a waitress what with Lula running off to Chattanooga with that trucker. You should hire Carly until she comes back.”

  “I ain’t decided if I’m gonna let Lula come back this time,” Max grumbled. “I’m tired of her taking off whenever she damn well feels like it then popping back in as if nothing happened.”

  “Who do you think you’re foolin’?” Ruth said with a disgusted shake of her head. “This ain’t the first time she’s run off, and it surely won’t be the last. You’ll take her back, just like you always do.”

  I decided to jump in before they really started arguing. “I’m not looking for anything permanent, but I can definitely fill in until I leave or Lula comes back. I waitressed back when I was in—” I shut myself down before I could get out the word college. The old me had a master’s degree in elementary education. Charlene Moore had barely graduated high school. The thought provoked another wave of unexpected grief. I loved teaching, but the credentials would have been too difficult to fake. The thought of going back to school for another five or six years to study something I already knew…

  I could cry later. Right now I had to finish the statement I’d left hanging before my new acquaintances regarded me with the same suspicion I’d seen in Wyatt’s eyes. Of course, it didn’t matter much if they thought I was strange. In a few days, this place would be in my rearview mirror.

  Make the best of it, Carly. You need the money.

  “I used to waitress back when I was in Michigan, before I moved to Atlanta.” Too much backstory. It makes you look desperate. “In any case,” I said, sounding a little too chipper, even to my ears. “I can fill in until you take Lula back. If you take her back.”

  He groaned. “Ruth’s right. I take that fool-headed girl back every time, but one of these days, enough will be enough.”