A Cry in the Dark: Carly Moore Series

by Denise Grover Swank

  “So don’t fight with me,” he said softly. “Just let me give you a ride back to Drum. We don’t even have to talk.”

  I had absolutely no reason to tell him, not other than my pride and the potential awkwardness of being cooped up with him for the hour-long car ride. I wasn’t worried about my safety. If he’d planned to hurt me, he’d had plenty of opportunity to do so by now. “Fine.”

  I expected him to respond to my terse agreement, but he simply stood and waited for me to get up.

  “I’m parked out front,” he said, gesturing toward the lobby doors.

  We walked toward them, side by side, and I got confused when I didn’t see his tow truck. Instead, he headed toward a beat-up, red pickup truck.

  I stopped in my tracks, my heart racing.

  Wyatt realized I was no longer walking with him and turned back to face me.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.

  Was my fear so obvious?

  I took a step back, fighting to catch my breath. While pickup trucks were popular in this part of the state—I’d seen several of this make and model on the road—how likely was it there’d be two red ones within the city limits of Drum? If Wyatt was somehow involved with Seth’s murder, it would explain why he’d been so pissed to see me in Hank’s hospital room. Maybe he was worried I’d rat him out.

  My mind tried to work through the possibility that Wyatt had played some role in last night’s tragedy, but certain pieces didn’t fit. If he’d had something to do with it, why had he shown up at the tavern this morning to verbally accost me? Was it because he’d found my gun and key fob? If so, why hadn’t he confronted me?

  “Carly?” Wyatt walked toward me, worry in his eyes. When he reached for my upper arm, I involuntarily recoiled. He lifted his hands up next to his head, fingers splayed as he took a step back. “I’m not gonna touch you.”

  To my horror, I started to cry.

  His hands dropped to his sides, and he took a step toward me, then stopped.

  “Are you afraid of me?” he asked, sounding incredulous.

  How did I answer that? Lie and say no? Tell him yes, and possibly risk my life?

  He took another step back, taking my nonanswer as answer enough. “Okay, that’s fair. I’ve been an ass, and now I’m about to take you on remote mountain roads while there’s a murderer out in Drum. You don’t know me from Adam, and I haven’t really gone out of my way to earn your trust.”

  I took another look at his truck and realized it didn’t have the long scratch the killers’ truck had sported, and now I felt like a fool.

  “I don’t want to go back up there,” I confessed, wiping tears from my cheeks. “Part of me wants to jump on the next bus out of town, no matter where it goes, just to get the hell out of this nightmare.”

  He watched me for a moment, mulling over my words, and then finally said, “So why don’t you?”

  I expected to hear sarcasm, but he sounded genuinely curious. “What about my car?”

  “Look,” he said with a sigh, “we both know it’s likely gonna cost more than it’s worth to fix it. You’d be better off puttin’ the money on a vehicle that actually works.”

  But it wasn’t that easy. First, if I left, there’d be a warrant out for my arrest. The last thing I wanted was for my picture to get circulated with the name Charlene Moore attached to it. And what about Ruth? Detective Daniels had said he’d hold her accountable if I didn’t return to Drum. But I couldn’t tell Wyatt any of that. Whether he thought I had something to do with Seth’s death, or if he thought—or feared—I might have seen more than I’d admitted to before Seth died, no need to hand him another log to add to the fire.

  Then there was Hank Chalmers. True, I barely knew him, but he’d just lost his grandson, and he needed help. For some reason, I felt compelled to give it to him. Perhaps it was guilt for not saving Seth. Or perhaps it was that I’d liked caring for Violet during her last month, offering the quiet support to help her die with dignity. Hank wasn’t dying, but he deserved to convalesce with dignity too. Besides, surely he needed to get home to plan his grandson’s funeral.

  In the end, one point mattered more than the rest. Those men had shot down Seth in cold blood and casually left him to die. There were other wrongs I wasn’t strong enough to right, but I wanted to make Seth’s killers pay.

  Still, could I really get in a truck with someone who might be involved in the murder? Part of me wanted to trust Wyatt, but Jake, my lifelong best friend had snowed me. I’d known Wyatt less than twenty-four hours.

  I stopped crying and faced him with reluctant resolve. “No,” I finally said. “I have to go back to Drum.”

  “Why?” he asked, taking a step closer. To my surprise, his eyes were still warm. Compassionate. He sure didn’t look like a murderer. Maybe I was a fool, but I decided I’d accept the ride. Whatever he might know, I didn’t think he’d hurt Seth. I didn’t think he had it in him. “Maybe I can help you.”

  I inhaled deeply. “I don’t need any help other than the ride, but thank you for the offer.”

  Sorrow and defeat washed over his face, but he just turned and walked toward his truck, leaving me to follow.

  There was no way I could risk telling him anything.

  Wyatt was right. He didn’t have my trust, and he was a long way from earning it. I knew the cost of trusting the wrong man.

  Chapter Twelve

  About fifteen minutes into the drive, Wyatt must have gotten tired of the silence that hung between us, taut as a wire, because he turned on the radio and country music filled the cab. After about ten minutes, he seemed to forget himself and softly sang the refrain of one of the songs, tapping his finger on the steering wheel of the truck. I couldn’t help smiling, but I turned to look out the side window, a mistake given the incline and all of the curves. My stomach started roiling.

  At the top of the eleven o’clock hour, a newscaster came on and announced the national news. An update about Congress and something the president had done that had people all up in arms. I’d tuned most of it out until I heard the announcer mention my name. Caroline Blakely, not Carly Moore.

  I sucked in a breath and turned to face the radio, hoping I hadn’t missed most of the report.

  “…has been missing since August. Caroline was last seen the night before her wedding to Jake Wood, son of Roger Wood, CEO of Wood Technologies. Police have had few leads on the case, and the oil magnate and Caroline’s fiancé have held a press conference announcing a reward for her safe return.”

  The audio switched over to a feed from the news conference. “Caroline, if you’re out there,” my father said in a strong, clear voice, “I will do anything and everything in my power to bring you home. I will find you. God help the persons who get in my way.”

  Hearing his voice was like a punch in the gut. My heart hammered in my chest and I clutched my hands to hide their shaking. Most people would have taken his words as a loving father who was out of his mind with worry over his missing daughter. I heard a man who had issued a very clear threat.

  In the back of my mind, I could hear my father telling Jake, “You don’t have to be married long. We can arrange an accident just like her mother’s.”

  I’d tried to snuff the memories out, to contain them, because they had the capacity to break me. Helplessness clawed at my throat. I knew what he’d done, but there was nothing I could do to make him pay. He had every resource imaginable at his fingertips and I was just a third-grade teacher on the run.

  “Whoever took my bride…” Jake said, his voice breaking, “we just want her back. Please.”

  It almost sounded like he meant it. I would have believed him if I hadn’t heard him beg my father for “what he’d promised.”

  “We’re offering a five-hundred-thousand-dollar reward,” my father said. “Send any and all leads to bringcarolinehome.com or this number.” He called out a number, but I sat stiff in my seat, trying not to freak out and clue Wyatt in that somet
hing was wrong.

  The announcer’s voice returned. “Caroline is thirty-one years old and is described as being 5’4”, one hundred and twenty-five pounds. She has long blonde hair, blue eyes, and a one-inch red birthmark on her lower left abdomen. There’s a photo of her on our website, along with the tip line number.”

  “I don’t know about you,” a female host said, “but I could sure use that half million dollars. With Blakely Oil, you know Randall Blakely is good for it.”

  “I hear you, Jane,” the male announcer said. “I may go look for her myself.”

  The announcers shifted to a discussion of an upcoming Christmas tree lighting ceremony in Johnson City, but I was still trapped in my freak out. Would my friends in Arkansas be safe? I hadn’t disguised my looks while living in Henryetta, and I’d left for fear my father was hot on my trail. What about Austin, my friend in Dallas who had hidden me those first two nights? He’d gone as far as to give me his mother’s old car for my escape. Last time I’d checked in with him, he hadn’t even been contacted by my father’s people, but what if Dear Old Dad had started digging deeper into my circle of friends? Based on what I’d learned the night of my rehearsal dinner, he had the resources—not just money but a circle of criminals who’d been breaking the law and getting away with it since before I was born.

  What would my father do to him?

  I needed to call Austin.

  Instinctively, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked the screen. No service. I’d sent Ruth a text saying I’d caught a ride back to Drum, but it occurred to me I wouldn’t even see her reply, if she’d replied, until I returned to Greeneville in the morning.

  “Do you have service out here?” I asked Wyatt.

  “Nope. You thinkin’ about callin’ in a tip?”

  So he had been listening. I was totally blowing this. He was probably wondering why I seemed so interested in the news segment. “Maybe,” I hedged. “I think I might have seen her in Gatlinburg.”

  “Gatlinburg, huh?” he asked, shifting slightly in his seat but keeping his gaze on the road. “I thought you came from Georgia.”

  Had I told him that? I couldn’t remember, but maybe he’d made the connection because of my Georgia plates. Still, I was telling too many stories to people, and I was having trouble keeping track of my lies. “I live in Atlanta, but I spent a few days in Gatlinburg.”

  “And you think you saw this Caroline Blakely there?” he asked, sounding unconvinced.

  “Hey,” I said, “why not? Stranger things have happened.”

  “You were there by yourself?” he asked.

  Great, we were back to twenty questions.

  “What does that have to do with whether I saw her or not?”

  “If you were with someone else, they might want a share of the reward money,” he said in a lazy drawl.

  “You seemed pretty skeptical it could have been her,” I said.

  He shot me a grin, then parroted back, “Stranger things have happened.”

  We were silent for a moment before I said, “I’ve heard some people get cell phone service in Drum. Do you know what service they’re using?”

  “Thinkin’ about switchin’ cell phone plans?” he asked dryly.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  His lips twisted and he turned to look at me for a second before turning back to the road. “There’s a smaller service that recently put up a cell phone tower. Most people think it was due to the influence of my father, Bart Drummond.” His hands shifted on the wheel. “I would guess you’ve heard of him by this point.”

  “His name has come up,” I conceded.

  “The cell phone company is Allegon.”

  “Never heard of it,” I said.

  “Like I said, it’s small, but my father convinced them to put up a tower so the community could have cell service. Only most people can’t afford a monthly plan, and Allegon doesn’t offer pay-as-you-go plans.”

  “Is there an office in Drum?” I asked.

  Wyatt sat up straighter. “Why would you be interested in getting a cell service that likely won’t be of any use when you get to…” His eyes narrowed. “Where is it you were headed?”

  I nearly told him it was none of his business but decided I didn’t feel like fighting. “Wilmington.”

  “And what waits for you there?”

  I shrugged, deciding to tell him a partial truth. “I’m between jobs. I was on my way to Wilmington to search for a new one…and I figured I’d take a vacation while doing it.”

  He didn’t say anything, and we fell back into silence. I couldn’t help but stew about Austin. I needed to find a way to contact him, but I couldn’t risk calling him from a landline. I’d gotten a VPN account with my new identity, which would prevent anyone from tracing the source of any emails I sent, I just needed to find a computer to use.

  “Does the library have computers?” I asked.

  Wyatt’s brow lifted. “Uh…yeah. But good luck gettin’ access to one. The library’s only got three computers, and seein’ as how it’s the only internet most people have access to around Drum, there’s usually a waiting list to get on them.”

  “But I can sign up to use one?”

  He turned to study me as though trying to figure out whether he should tell me something. Finally, he said, “I have a computer at my shop,” he said. “I use it to search for parts, but you can use it if you don’t want to wait on the library.”

  I tried to hold my suspicion at bay. “Why would you help me?”

  He grinned. “If anyone at the library figures out you’re tryin’ to turn in a tip about Caroline Blakely, they’ll try to horn in on it to get a portion of your reward.”

  “But you won’t?” I asked, cocking my head.

  “What would I do with a quarter of a million dollars?” he asked. “I’ve got everything I could ever want or need in Drum.”

  He was full of shit, but I refrained from telling him so.

  “Is that why you came back?” I asked before I thought better of it.

  “You mean from prison?” he asked without shame. “You heard, huh?”

  My cheeks flushed. “Yeah.”

  “I figured,” he said. “I came back because, for better or worse, Drum is my home. I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

  I had never felt that way about anywhere, not since my mother had died. I wasn’t sure I ever would again. It made me feel like a coward, but my only plan, currently, was to live my life on the run. A small voice inside my head begged me to stop my father, to destroy him, but I had no evidence against him, and he had resources beyond my comprehension.

  When we drove into Drum, Wyatt turned into the parking lot of the garage and pulled to a halt. It was a two-bay garage with a waiting area to the left of the building. It looked like it had once been a service station, but the pumps had been removed. Wyatt’s tow truck was parked on the side of the building, and a dark sedan was parked out front. The garage brought back memories of Henryetta, Arkansas. Neely Kate’s boyfriend, Jed, had worked on my borrowed car. But although he was now a mechanic, he had a background in the criminal underworld, and he was the one who’d secured my new identity a couple of weeks ago.

  A new wave of grief hit me, but I quickly shoved it down. If I wanted to survive, I didn’t have the luxury of grieving.

  Wyatt reached for his door handle. “If we’re lucky, Junior will have figured out an estimate for your car.”

  I followed Wyatt into the small waiting room area, which was really two folding chairs under the windows overlooking the parking lot, facing a tall counter. As I got closer, I realized it was a two-tiered counter—a higher counter for the customers and a lower desk area, which held a desktop computer and keyboard, along with a mess of papers.

  Wyatt walked around and booted up the computer, then opened the browser tab. “Have at it,” he said. “I’m goin’ to check with Junior to see how he’s makin’ out on your car.”

  I sat down on the stool an
d dug into my purse, pulling out a small notebook that held my VPN login information as well as Charlene’s social media logins. I logged into the VPN site, which assigned me a VPN in California, then signed into Facebook. The number of unrecognizable people in my feed caught me off guard, but I told myself it didn’t matter. I was looking for Austin.

  He wasn’t Charlene’s friend, but I found his profile easily enough. He hadn’t made his email address public, though, and he hadn’t posted in a while. I had better luck on Instagram—he’d posted a foodie pic at a restaurant the day before. Relief flooded me. Yesterday, Austin had been alive and well. That was a good sign.

  Maybe the best way to keep him safe was to not contact him at all.

  Maybe I could ask my friends in Arkansas to do it instead.

  I signed into the email account that Jed had set up for me, unsure how to get my message across without just coming out and saying what I meant. I needed to be cryptic in case my father ever linked me to this account, but I couldn’t be too cryptic or they wouldn’t understand.

  Hello, my darlings,

  I hope you are well. I’ve gotten myself into a pickle, but I have no doubt that things will work out, so try not to worry.

  It has come to my attention that my past is rearing its head again, and this time it has teeth. Can you let my friend in Texas know that dangers lurk, and he needs to protect himself? I worry for you as well. I’m sorry for any trouble I’ve brought you.

  C

  My heart panged with loneliness. I’d lived with Rose and her sister for two months, and Neely Kate had been around so much it felt like I’d lived with her too. I owed Jed more than I could ever repay. They were true friends, close friends, and there was every likelihood I’d never see them again. My father’s Dallas crime syndicate was moving into their small Arkansas county. Someone in his organization had discovered I was hiding there, and I’d been forced to flee. I’d already spent two weeks grieving the loss and knew I needed to find a way to move on, but at the moment, it all felt so hopeless.

  “You upset because you found out you’re not gettin’ the reward?” Wyatt asked in the doorway.