A Cry in the Dark: Carly Moore Series

by Denise Grover Swank

  Three months ago, I would have said, No, I don’t get it at all, but then again, I’d closed myself off from other people after my mother was taken from me. Something had changed in Arkansas. When my car had broken down, Rose and her friends had invited me into their lives. They’d made my problems their own. They’d helped me realize that for all the world’s evils, plenty of people were good. That family could be created out of circumstance, not just blood. “Like you and Tiny standing up to Dwight tonight.”

  “We’ll always have your back, Carly.”

  Tears burned my eyes. It felt good to feel like I belonged somewhere. That I meant something to someone.

  “So Wyatt…?” he said slowly.

  He’d already asked this question, so what was he getting at? “Wyatt’s helping Hank. I’m helping Hank. We have a common cause.”

  “I get Wyatt’s interest in Seth, but why are you helping Hank?” he asked. “You know that people’s tongues are gonna be wagging.” He leaned toward me and cast me a teasing grin that did little to ease the worry lines around his eyes. “They say he’s got a fortune buried behind his house.”

  “So I’ve heard,” I said. “Dwight accused me of trying to steal it.”

  “It’s all a bunch of nonsense,” he said. “Some people say Hank’s father left him the fortune and Hank himself buried it back there. Others think it’s what’s left from his past career.” He shot me a knowing look.

  What past career?

  “And I’ve heard a few people say that his daughter, Barb,” he continued, “stole it from Bingham.”

  “If everyone knows Bingham’s bad news, why do you let him into the tavern?” I asked.

  “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” He shot me a rueful look. “It pays to be on Bingham’s good side.”

  “Literally?” I asked, thinking of what Wyatt had told me about the police.

  “No!” he protested. “I don’t tolerate any kind of drugs in my place. And I don’t show up at his place peddlin’ the Drummond moonshine. We respect each other’s boundaries.”

  “But the difference is he’s dealing in illegal goods, Max,” I said. “You’re on the up-and-up.” I narrowed my eyes. “Aren’t you?”

  “You’ve worked for me for three days,” he said, clearly offended. “Have you even gotten a whiff of anything illegal?”

  “Other than you almost stabbing Dwight’s hand?” I said. “No.”

  “If I’d wanted to stab his hand, I would have,” he said. “The people in this town lead miserable lives, and they drown out their misery either through alcohol or drugs. I just so happened to have a corner on the legal market, which left the illegal one to Bingham.” He took a breath. “Look, if people wanna do drugs, they’re gonna find a dealer. At least Bingham’s is homegrown and he’s not selling poison.”

  “Like the drugs that killed Barbara,” I said.

  He cast me a questioning glance. “Yeah. But you don’t need to know any details and neither do I. We need to just live and let live.”

  I could read between the lines. Although I doubted he agreed with his own pronouncement, he was trying to get me to leave Bingham alone. I suspected Wyatt had done the same thing earlier, when he’d insisted he wasn’t going to pursue the truck that ran him off the road. In their own way, they were both trying to protect me. Which also meant Max wouldn’t answer any more questions that might help me understand Bingham and the Atlanta connection.

  Max pulled onto the narrow road that took us up the mountain, taking the turns and switchbacks slow since his high beams didn’t seem to reveal much in the pitch-black night.

  “You got a replacement for the gun you lost?” he asked quietly.

  I hesitated. “No.”

  He nodded. “I know Hank’s got a few, but he might be asleep and who knows if Dwight plans to show up tonight. Open the glove compartment.”

  I did, fumbling for the latch in the glow of the dashboard lights. When it popped open, a dim light illuminated the interior and revealed a small bundle wrapped in a faded red shop rag.

  “I want you to keep that with you. Not on you while you’re working at the tavern, mind you,” he hastily added. “I’ve got a strict no-weapons policy in Max’s Tavern, but when Tiny and I aren’t with you…” He turned to face me. “I think you need some kind of protection.”

  I carefully pulled the bundle out of the compartment and set it on my lower thighs.

  “The safety’s on, so go ahead and unwrap it.”

  I unwrapped the cloth carefully, slowly, as though I was scared I was about to get bitten by a snake.

  “It’s a Beretta,” he said. “It’s lightweight, so it shouldn’t add much weight to your purse. It’s loaded, and I have another box of ammunition in the glove compartment.”

  I pulled out the box, setting it on the seat next to me.

  “I take it you’re familiar with guns since you had one,” he said.

  I picked up the weapon and turned it over to examine it in the dull light, making sure it pointed out the passenger window. “I’ve had some training.”

  “And target practice?”

  “That too,” I murmured. I quickly checked the clip to verify that it was loaded, then held it up, pointing it at an imaginary target outside the window so my hands could get used to the weight and feel of it.

  “Who are you, Carly Moore?” he asked with a grin. “You look totally badass right now.”

  His statement caught me off guard. I was supposed to be a twenty-nine-year-old woman who’d worked most of her life in retail—my resume said my last job had been as an assistant manager at the Gap.

  I set the gun down on the rag and wrapped it back up.

  “My father was a hunter. He taught me about guns.” I said, suppressing a laugh. The closest my father had gotten to hunting was looking for me.

  Thankfully, Max changed the subject. “How’s Hank doin’?” Max asked. “Really?”

  “He’s got a lot going on—dealing with his amputation as well as the grief from losing Seth. He has his moments of sadness, but he’s also strong.”

  “Losin’ Barb was hard on him. Seth was all he had left.”

  “No brothers or sisters? Cousins?”

  “All gone.”

  I was afraid to ask him where they’d gone.

  I pointed ahead. “The turnoff is to the left up here.”

  Max slowed down and I slipped the gun and ammunition into my purse. As Max turned onto Hank’s property, Wyatt’s tow truck came into view, parked to the side of the house. Light glowed from the windows of Hank’s home, and Wyatt had even turned on a dim porch light, though it barely illuminated the area in front of the door.

  When Max pulled in, Wyatt emerged from the front door. He’d changed into jeans and a long-sleeved Henley. I’d expected he’d wait for us on the front porch, but he descended the steps and walked toward the driver’s side of Max’s truck.

  Max had already opened his door, and he got out and met him at the front of the truck. I did the same, although I stopped far enough back to give them space.

  “What happened with Henderson?” Wyatt asked, his voice hard.

  To my surprise, Max told him, using more detail than I had.

  Wyatt cast a glance at me, the first time he’d acknowledged my presence since he’d walked out the door, and the look of deep concern and relief he gave me took my breath away.

  Why would Wyatt give a shit about me?

  He turned back to Max. “I appreciate you bringin’ her home. I didn’t want to leave Hank.”

  Max nodded. “Of course. Carly’s part of our family now. Family takes care of its own.”

  I didn’t miss the hint of warning.

  Wyatt didn’t respond.

  Max cast a quick glance at the tow truck. “You on call tonight?”

  “Yeah” was Wyatt’s response.

  “Then maybe I should be the one to stay,” Max said.

  “We’ll be fine.”

  �
��Wait,” I said, taking a step closer. “What are you talking about?”

  Max swung his head to face me. “I presumed he was stayin’ to watch over you and Hank.”

  “I am,” Wyatt quickly asserted.

  Max nodded. “Who’s bringin’ her in to work tomorrow?”

  “I’ll make sure she gets there,” Wyatt said.

  I nearly protested that they were discussing this as though I didn’t have a say in any of it. I opened my mouth to say as much, only I realized I didn’t have a say in any of it. I was completely at their mercy, and I fucking hated it.

  “Thanks for the ride, Max,” I said, heading for the porch. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Good night, Carly,” he called after me.

  I went inside and took off my jacket, which was still smeared with mud from my escapade on the ravine, then hung it up on the coat rack. I was surprised Ruth hadn’t mentioned it. Nothing seemed to escape her eagle eyes.

  A lamp on an end table was turned on, and to my surprise, Hank was asleep in the recliner, his light snores drowning out the low volume of the late-night talk show on the TV. Wyatt had put a blanket over him. I noticed someone had set a pillow and a folded blanket down at one end of the sofa. Was that where Wyatt planned to sleep?

  I headed into Seth’s bedroom, ready to strip the bed since Wyatt had claimed the sofa, and pulled up to a dead halt just steps inside.

  “I changed the bedding,” Wyatt whispered behind me. “I didn’t want you to have to deal with it after workin’ all night.”

  It was such a little thing, but it caught me off guard. “Wyatt…thanks,” I said, setting my purse next to my suitcase.

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice gruff. “No problem.”

  “I saw Hank in the recliner.”

  “He has an easier time gettin’ up and down from it. I figured we’d let him have his way the first couple of nights. Then we can encourage him to sleep in his bed.”

  I glanced back at him in surprise. He really was planning to be part of this for the long haul. “His diet is terrible. He planned to live off TV dinners and Pop-Tarts.”

  Wyatt grimaced. “An old man who doesn’t cook livin’ with a teenage boy…I suspect he’d been living like that for a while.” He smiled at me. “Thanks for cookin’ him dinner. He raved about it when I showed up. I had a plate, and he was right.”

  I felt my cheeks flush. “Maybe so, but I’m not sure he should be eating pasta. Turns out I don’t know anything about the proper diet for a diabetic. I plan on going to the library to look it up, then I’ll figure out a way to sneak it in. Make it so he’s eating healthy but not realizing it.”

  His expression turned guarded. “You’re getting attached to him.”

  “Well, of course I am,” I said, insulted and hurt. “After all of this, you still think I’m here to hurt him?”

  “No, Carly, I’m past that.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and glared up at him.

  “It’s just that wanting to cook the right food for him goes beyond exchanging care for room and board.” He shrugged. “Although judging from the groceries in the fridge and cabinets, you’re providing the board too.”

  “He has to eat,” I said in defense. “And he only had forty-three dollars in his wallet.” Which I didn’t even have, but I didn’t see the point of reminding him of my financial situation.

  “Most people around here qualify for food stamps,” he said. “And processed food is cheapest, not to mention there’s not a lot of fresh food and vegetables available in the winter.”

  “Oh.”

  He watched me for a second, then lowered his voice. “I wish you’d told me about Dwight Henderson sooner.” He lifted a hand before I had a chance to protest. “I understand why you didn’t, but I want you to trust me, Carly. I plan to earn your trust.”

  “I shouldn’t be here long enough for that to be necessary.” It was true, so why did I feel like a bitch for saying it?

  Some emotion passed over his face, something that looked a lot like hurt. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead he nodded. “I’ll be on the sofa if you need me.”

  Then he walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

  Wyatt had shoved the clutter that had previously been strewn all over the floor to one side. I knew the sheriff’s department must have come here to search Seth’s things, but for all I knew, the deputy who’d murdered him had shown up and searched under the guise of doing his job. I took a moment to scan the room.

  The walls were covered in pencil drawings on loose-leaf notebook paper, which I supposed was more readily available in Drum than sketch paper. The drawings were mostly of wildlife, but a few were of people. Several of Hank, a few of a woman, and one of Wyatt.

  Presuming these were Seth’s, they were very, very good. He obviously had been uber talented, and it made me sick to think he’d never be able to explore it. To attend art school, or learn how to paint.

  I moved closer to the drawing of Wyatt. While Seth had been better with animals, he’d had a way of drawing eyes that made them feel like windows to the soul. The woman’s eyes were mostly confused and cloudy. Hank’s were stoic and strong. But Wyatt’s…it took me a moment to decide what emotions they conveyed. Gentleness and strength. What was Wyatt’s role in the boy’s life? Did he know more about what had happened to Seth than he was letting on? Would he help me find justice for him?

  I started searching through Seth’s bedside table and his dresser, looking for anything that could help me figure out what Seth had found and where he’d hidden it. My biggest dilemma was that I had no idea what I was looking for, and I couldn’t help wondering how much of the mess was Seth’s and how much was from the sheriff’s deputies.

  I sat on the floor and started to sift through the stuff I’d had to carefully step over just to make my way into the room. There were quite a few dirty clothes, and I searched pockets until I found a folded piece of paper tucked in the deep corner of an old pair of jeans. I pulled it out and carefully opened it, revealing a handwritten website address: eyecam.com

  My heart started racing. Was this the site Seth had used to store the camera footage?

  This felt huge, but I had no idea what to do with it. Even if I’d found the access code, I still didn’t have the login information. My best bet was to keep searching his things for any clues.

  I spent the next half hour going through the piles on the floor, folding the clothes and sorting the other items into smaller piles. A search of the closet didn’t reveal anything else, and the walls in the closet seemed secure, so I doubted Seth had hidden a stash of drugs or a paper with his login info in some hidden hidey-hole.

  Frustrated and exhausted, I changed into pajamas and lay down in bed, planning what to do next. I could check outside tomorrow. Maybe I’d find something in the detached garage. Feeling better that I had a plan even though I knew it was likely a long shot, I turned off the light hoping I fell asleep quickly. I needed my rest.

  I had a lot of investigating to do tomorrow.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I woke to the sound of breaking glass.

  At first the sound insinuated itself into my dream—Jake started smashing the crystal we’d gotten for wedding gifts with a golf club. But a grunt shook me free of sleep. I sat up in bed abruptly. The room was completely dark except for the moonlight streaming through the partially obscured window.

  Partially obscured because someone was climbing through it.

  By the time I was awake enough to react, the intruder had already climbed inside.

  Running purely on instinct and adrenaline, I grabbed the table lamp and smashed it on the intruder’s head.

  He seemed momentarily dazed, so I lunged toward the end of the bed where I’d left my purse next to my suitcase.

  I didn’t make it. The intruder leapt for me, knocking me onto the floor and landing on top of me.

  “Wyatt!” I screamed. “Wyatt!”

 
The intruder rolled me over onto my back and straddled my chest as he hit my cheek with an open hand. A flash of pain followed, but I realized that he’d held back. I took small comfort in the fact that he wore a ski mask. Maybe he didn’t plan on killing me after all. The fact that he hadn’t tried to knock me out meant he needed me coherent.

  He slapped a hand over my mouth and nose and pressed hard. “Shut up or I’ll smother you to death.”

  I recognized the voice. This was one of the men who had killed Seth.

  Terror snaked through my head and I saw spots. Instinct told me to fight, but he was sitting on my prone body, in the few feet between the bed and the wall. Even if I tried to throw him off, there was nowhere to throw him off to.

  I went totally still, and the masked man said, “Good girl. Follow my instructions and I’ll let you live. If you scream, I’ll make it painful for you. Do you understand?”

  I slowly nodded, desperate to take in a breath. My pulse pounded in my head.

  My purse was only about a foot to the left of my head, next to the wall. If I could reach the gun…

  He removed his hand, and I gulped in air but remained silent.

  “Good.” He lifted his weight off me and grabbed my arm, pulling me to my knees as he stood. “Now you’re gonna bring me to the stash.”

  “I don’t know where it is.”

  He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a gun, pointing it at my forehead. “That’s not good enough. I know you took it.”

  I fought the urge to sob, telling myself I needed to keep my shit together to get out of this.

  Where the hell was Wyatt?

  Could he still be asleep?

  I needed to get this guy out of the bedroom and into the living room in hopes that Wyatt could take care of him—and do what I could to make sure Hank didn’t get hurt in the process.

  “It’s in the kitchen,” I said in a shaky voice. “Hidden under the refrigerator.” Then, for good measure, I added, “With Hank’s fortune.”