A Cry in the Dark: Carly Moore Series

by Denise Grover Swank

  Hank remained silent.

  Bingham’s shoulders lifted as he gave me his full attention for five long seconds. Sweat broke out at the base of my spine, and I was sure he was just going to shoot Hank and take me off to get his answers however he saw fit. But then his body relaxed. “Okay. You’ve piqued my interest. You’ve got your deal, Ms. Moore, and so do you, Chalmers. Let’s hope neither one of you make me regret it.”

  I was already having regrets.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Bingham strode up to the dead guy, crouched over, and jerked off his ski mask before letting the head flop back down onto the ground.

  “Know ’im?” Hank asked.

  Bingham laughed, but it sounded bitter. “You didn’t check?”

  “Nope. Decided to let you unwrap your present.”

  Bingham stared up at me. He was closer now and the porch light revealed the features the darkness had hid before. Despite his wry grin, I could see that he was a hard man whose answer to problems typically involved violence.

  “Ms. Moore,” he said. “Would you like to take a look at him?”

  I shot Hank a questioning look and he shrugged.

  “I want to see if I’ve served him before,” I said. “I know you’ve sent men to watch me. I want to see if anyone else has done the same.”

  Bingham didn’t deny sending someone to watch me, not that I expected him to.

  I walked past Hank and down the two steps, walking around the body to look down at his face.

  “Well?” Bingham asked.

  “There’s not enough light.”

  “Gates,” Bingham called out, and within seconds, one of his men was shining a flashlight on the man’s face.

  I froze. I’d seen him all right. He’d been at the bar tonight. Ruth had told me that he and his buddy were Bingham’s men. His friend had answered my questions, but this guy had refused to answer me. Had he known that I’d heard him talking with the others in the parking lot?

  Had Bingham sent both men to watch me, unaware Cecil was a traitor? Or had the two guys at the bar been working together apart from Bingham? I wasn’t sure, but I suspected that if Bingham hadn’t known they’d been at the bar tonight, he’d assume the friend was a traitor too. I didn’t like the idea of condemning an innocent man.

  “He looks familiar,” I said. “And I’m sure I’ve seen him in the bar. Definitely on Monday night.”

  “Any other times?” he asked.

  I looked up at him. “I’ll think it over and give you an answer during our Q & A.”

  I realized we hadn’t determined a time or place, but I had no doubt he’d get in touch.

  A slow smile spread across his face. This had become a game to him, and he was enjoying every bit of it.

  “Is it one of your guys?” Hank asked.

  “Yep,” Bingham confirmed, then motioned to his men. “Cecil Abrams.”

  His men surged forward, and the three of them picked up the man—two at his shoulders, the other at his feet—and started to lift him.

  “Hold on there,” I said, standing to the side. “Part of your job is cleanup, which means you can’t be spreading DNA all over Hank’s yard. Wrap him up before you carry him off.”

  “She’s right,” Hank said. “You clean up the yard. We’ll take care of the porch.”

  “You heard ’em,” Bingham said. “Get a tarp. Besides, you don’t want to dirty up the back of your truck, Gates.”

  The men dropped the body with a sick thud, and I recoiled in horror. The guy who had brought over the flashlight walked back to the dented truck. A short while later, he returned with the tarp, and they made quick work of wrapping up the body and stowing it in the back of the truck.

  “Now the ground,” I said when they opened the truck doors, looking like they were about to load up on their trucks. Even in the dark I could see where Cecil had bled onto the dirt path that led from the drive to the front porch. Cleanup would entail a whole lot more work than just removing the body.

  “Excuse me?” Bingham said, sounding incredulous.

  “There’s blood on the ground. Clean it up.” He started to advance toward me, but I lifted my shotgun and pointed it at him. “You agreed to clean up the outside, Mr. Bingham. You’re not finished yet.”

  “What the hell do you expect me to do?”

  “Get rid of the blood.”

  One of Bingham’s men strode toward me. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  Hank pointed his weapon at the man. “You heard ’er. Clean up the blood. There’s a couple of shovels in the garage you can use, but don’t be takin’ any of my buckets. If you’ve got nothin’ to put it in, use a trash bag.”

  Bingham stared at me for a long second, then said, his face expressionless, “You heard the lady. Clean up the blood.”

  I lowered my weapon.

  The men shot angry, deadly looks in my direction as they took off toward Hank’s detached garage, which sat about twenty feet to the left of the house. It took them about a minute to open the overhead door and find a couple of shovels and several trash bags. They had to squeeze in around a car that was parked in the middle of the two-car garage, its hood open.

  Gates shone his flashlight beam on the ground and the other two men dug up the dark-stained, hard-packed earth that made up the path leading from the porch toward the gravel drive. The blood-soaked soil went into trash bags.

  Bingham watched me the entire time, his narrow gaze studying me with only occasional glances toward his men to assess their progress.

  “I’m starting to wonder if it wasn’t a case of mistaken identity after all, Ms. Moore.”

  “Why?” I asked in a sassy tone to cover my fear. “Because I’ve watched a few episodes of Law and Order? Please. I’d be plain stupid to let you leave evidence behind, and I can assure you, Mr. Bingham, that I’m not stupid.”

  He tilted his head, his eyes lighting up. “No. You most definitely aren’t.”

  “We got it all,” one of the men said. “Let’s get.”

  A smile spread across Bingham’s face. “Nope. We don’t go until Ms. Moore gives us our leave.”

  I cast a glance at Hank, who gave me a quick nod, telling me it was my decision. Gates panned his flashlight over the dug-up path, and I drifted closer for a better look. The dirt would need to be smoothed over and packed down to escape notice, but we could handle that ourselves. I’d just wanted most of the blood evidence gone. After a quick survey, I looked Bingham in the eye and said, “It’s far from thorough, but it will do.”

  Bingham burst out laughing. When he settled a bit, he tipped an imaginary hat to me. “I’m very much lookin’ forward to our tête-à-tête later.”

  On his signal, he and his men got into their trucks. They backed up in the yard and took off down the mountain.

  I stood on the porch and watched them drive away, taking several deep breaths as I tried to settle my nerves.

  “You okay?” Hank asked.

  I spun around to face him, realizing again that he’d pushed himself way too far. “We need to get you back to bed.”

  “The hell we do. We ain’t done yet.”

  “I can do it myself, Hank. You can’t be scrubbing the porch.” I didn’t see much blood splatter, but it would be enough to incriminate us.

  “No, but I might think of things you wouldn’t. The bleach is in the house. We need to clean them shovels before we put ’em away.”

  I nodded. He was right.

  “That was some smooth thinkin’, girl,” he said. “If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought you’d done this before.”

  I slowly shook my head, starting to tremble. “No. I’m just good at thinking on my feet. That’s what made me a good teacher.”

  “You were a teacher?” he asked, surprised.

  Shit. I gave him a weak smile. “When I was training new employees.”

  He looked me over as though seeing me with new eyes.

  He was making me nervous. “I
f you think I had anything to do with Seth’s death, I’ll go stay with Ruth and her boyfriend.”

  “Nah,” he said shrewdly. “I know you didn’t have nothin’ to do with it other than what you told me. And I know you’re not here lookin’ for my mythical fortune.”

  “But you don’t trust me now?” I finished.

  He smiled. “The hell I don’t. You had my back and I had yours, which is why I declared you kin.”

  “I don’t understand. Why do you have an agreement with Bingham?”

  “Because I used to run the drug business in these parts,” he said. “Until I sold it all to Bingham.”

  My mouth dropped open and I stared at him in shock. I was living with and caring for a man who had poisoned countless people.

  “The look on your face right now tells me all I need to know about your supposed involvement in this Georgia drug scheme.” He suddenly looked eighty years old, although I suspected he was in his late sixties.

  “You said used to. What made you stop?”

  “A lot of reasons. It was a different world back then. My main competition was Bart Drummond and his moonshine. I didn’t handle any of the bad stuff, usually just pot and uppers and downers. A bit of cocaine, but most people around these parts couldn’t afford it. I didn’t have the stomach or a cook for meth, and oxy was too hard to acquire. Then my Mary got sick and she begged me to give it up. I’d tried to hide it from her and Barb.” He shook his head. “So I sold it all to Bingham. We agreed that I’d burn my weed farm, and he’d leave me and my kin alone. No sellin’ ’em drugs. No contactin’ ’em for any reason in regards to drugs. When Barb started usin’, I went to Bingham and damn near shot his head off his shoulders, but he insisted he hadn’t been part of it. Her boyfriend was bringin’ in drugs from Georgia.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “He was just as pissed as I was, but he let George be as long as he wasn’t dealin’ in Drum. And then George started dealin’. So Bingham had him dealt with.”

  “You told me that a deputy shot him after he started smashing things in town.”

  A cockeyed grin twisted Hank’s mouth. “That’s what the report says, but it seems mighty convenient to me. Mind you, it’s just a hunch.”

  But it was probably a good one. “So someone else is tryin’ to sell drugs here now?”

  “So it seems,” he said, his voice weary. “And Bingham is determined to stop them. He denies it, but I know he encouraged Seth to go after that drop.”

  “The person who was coming in from Atlanta?”

  “Yep.”

  I opened my mouth to ask him more questions, but he spoke before I could. “Wyatt’s on an emergency call and I suspect he’ll be comin’ back soon. We need to have all of this cleaned up before he gets here. We can’t be tellin’ him what happened here until we know for certain he has our backs.”

  Emergency call my ear. Someone had wanted him out of the way. I only hope he didn’t end up down a ravine this time. In the meantime, we had no way of getting in touch with him.

  “I hope Wyatt’s all right,” I said.

  Hank just shrugged. “Seems mighty convenient he got called out just before that boy showed up.”

  “We both know it was probably a setup,” I said.

  “Perhaps,” he said, scratching his chin, “but it’s like I said, blood runs deep. I wouldn’t be surprised if Bart still has his claws in him.”

  “Sometimes a last name is just a name,” I responded.

  “He never cottoned to his father much,” Hank admitted. “Always rebellin’. His daddy gave him that bar to let ’im think he was makin’ his own way, but a few years later, something happened, and Wyatt disowned the lot of ’em. Just a few weeks later, he was arrested for DUI and robbery. Half the town thought it was a setup, the other didn’t care.”

  That wasn’t the way I’d heard it. Ruth had told me that he’d been disowned after his arrest.

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “That he disowned them before his arrest?”

  “Damn sure.”

  That put everything about his situation in a whole new light. “His own father sent him to prison?”

  “Who’s to say? Although I suspect Bart wouldn’t want the family name tarnished, no matter how he feels about the boy. I suspect he’s the one who got the robbery charges dropped to B & E—and that the judge gave Wyatt such a stiff sentence in retaliation. People say Bart gave Wyatt the money to buy that service station as some sort of amends, but no one knows for certain. All I know is Wyatt went to prison penniless. He used a damn public defender instead of hirin’ an attorney, but then he came back and bought the station with cash.”

  “I keep hearing about this robbery,” I said. “What did he supposedly steal?” Now that I knew Wyatt, if only a little, I had a hard time picturing it. Then again, I hadn’t thought Jake capable of any sort of wrongdoing either. I couldn’t trust myself, especially since I was attracted to Wyatt.

  “The same service station he now owns,” Hank said. “It sold gas and snacks back in the day. His girlfriend was with him and was the lone witness. But then she recanted and left town.”

  “And people think the Drummonds paid her off.” Max had all but confirmed the story, but I didn’t feel comfortable saying so.

  “Yep.”

  “He seems pretty loyal to you, Hank. Hell, you claimed him as your kin with Bingham. Do you really think he’d turn on you?”

  “No, but I’ve learned it’s best to be sure. I’ve had a lifetime of distrustin’ everyone. It’s just like breathin’.”

  “But you seem to trust me,” I said, unable to stop myself.

  His gaze softened. “You’re the first person I’ve trusted in a very long time.”

  I stared at him in shock. I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t let him down.

  He was right about all of it, but I knew one thing for certain. It was time for Wyatt to lay his cards on the table, and if he gave me the answers I was looking for, I’d lay down all of mine, because at this point, I needed all the help I could get.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  By the time Wyatt came back, I’d raked the path and scrubbed the porch and shovels with bleach. I’d even spread some dirt onto the porch and swept it off to make the cleaning less obvious. I was putting the shovels away when the headlights of his tow truck appeared on the road and turned onto Hank’s property.

  Wyatt didn’t waste any time rushing out of his truck. “What happened?”

  The panic in his voice sent guilt washing through me. He genuinely cared about our well-being—no one was that good of an actor.

  Except I could still hear Jake’s voice in my head, saying how much he wanted us to spend the rest of our lives together. Of course, he’d intended for our togetherness to be short-lived.

  “We had a break-in,” Hank said evenly. He was still sitting on the front porch with the shotgun across his lap.

  “Did Henderson show up?” he asked, his eyes wide with concern.

  “The intruder wore a mask,” Hank said. “I ran ’im off with my shotgun.”

  Wyatt turned to me. “Carly?”

  “He broke in through Seth’s bedroom window,” I said as I stopped halfway between the porch and Wyatt.

  “Jesus,” he said, striding toward me. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “He tackled her to the floor,” Hank said, his tone cold. “Threatened to kill her if she didn’t take him to the stash.”

  Fury washed over Wyatt’s face. “Did he hurt you?”

  If Wyatt was pretending, he was doing a damn fine job of it. That fury had reached his eyes. “A few bumps and bruises, but I’m okay.”

  Wyatt stood stock-still for several seconds. “I’m goin’ to fuckin’ kill Dwight Henderson with my goddamn bare hands.” He stomped to his truck.

  While Dwight was far from my favorite person, he hadn’t done us any harm tonight. I couldn’t let Wyatt go after the wrong man.

  “Ha
nk!” I called out in a panic. “Tell him what happened!”

  Wyatt stopped in his tracks. “Was there an intruder or not?”

  When we didn’t answer, his gaze swept over the front of the house, landing on the disturbed ground in front of the front porch.

  “Please, dear God, tell me neither one of you was stupid enough to bury a body on the path to the driveway,” he said in a weary tone.

  I paused a beat, waiting to see if Hank would answer, and when he didn’t, I inched closer to Wyatt. “No,” I said. “We didn’t bury anyone.”

  He swiveled his head to look at me from the side. “But somebody’s dead.”

  It wasn’t phrased as a question.

  “Where’d you go, boy?” Hank asked.

  “I got called on a run,” Wyatt said, running a hand through his hair and looking like he was about to collapse from exhaustion. “Abandoned car on Highway 25, parked in the middle of a curve. Obviously a dangerous situation or I would have turned it down. I hauled it down to Ewing. You heard me take the call. Why the sudden suspicion?”

  “Timing of that call seems suspect,” Hank said.

  Wyatt’s brow shot up in outrage. “You’re damn right. That car was planted in the road. Someone knew I was here and lured me away so you two would be little more than sittin’ ducks.” He waved his hand toward the gun on Hank’s lap. “I suspect he paid for that mistake.”

  Hank remained silent, but I’d had enough. Everything in me screamed that he could be trusted, and even if it made me a fool, I was going to listen. “You either trust him or you don’t, Hank. Time to decide.”

  Hank didn’t answer.

  “Are you shittin’ me?” Wyatt shouted. “After everything, you still don’t trust me?”

  “Did your daddy have his hand in this?” Hank asked, sounding furious. “Are you coverin’ up his mess?”

  All the fight bled out of Wyatt, and I could see that Hank had gravely hurt him. But I reminded myself that they had plenty of history, years of it, while I’d only been in Drum for a few days.

  Wyatt turned to me, his eyes pleading. “What about you? Do you trust me?”