His mouth was pinched. “I need to talk to Max,” he said, leaving it at that, then pushed past me toward Max’s office.
“What in the hell’s goin’ on?” Ruth asked behind me. “And don’t you dare try tellin’ me you don’t know.”
I dragged her to the storeroom so Tiny wouldn’t hear us. “The deputies said they wanted to question Wyatt about Heather.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Why?” Then her eyes flew wide. “Oh, my God. Was she buried out there?”
“Shh!” I whisper-shouted. “I don’t know. The sheriff’s deputies didn’t say anything about the body. Only that they wanted to talk to him about Heather.”
“She was out there,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “She’s been out there all this time.”
We were silent for a moment, because I was thinking the exact same thing.
“Do they think he’s involved with her death?” I asked. “Or do you think they’re hoping he’ll help them pin it on Bart?”
She released a bitter laugh. “They’ll never try to pin anything on Bart.”
That’s what I was afraid of too.
“He needs a lawyer, Ruth,” I said. “I told him not to answer any questions without an attorney, but he said he had nothing to hide.”
Her lips pursed. “Sounds like Wyatt.”
Only the more I thought about the whole situation, it didn’t sound like the Wyatt I’d gotten to know at all. Ruth had been familiar with pre-prison Wyatt. I’d gotten to know the post-prison version, and Post-Prison Wyatt wasn’t trusting of anything. He certainly wasn’t free with information.
So why would he just go like that?
Ruth took a deep breath, then blew it out. “Hidin’ in this back room isn’t gonna do anyone a lick of good. Let’s get back to work.” She started to walk out, then turned to face me in the doorway, blocking it. “Oh, and let’s keep this from Molly as long as possible. It seems like she’s workin’ out after all, and I don’t want to go scarin’ her off.”
I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure lying was the best course. Nevertheless, it was her first day, which meant she didn’t need to be privy to everything going on in the tavern.
Max still wasn’t behind the bar when we headed back to the dining room, and Molly looked more frazzled than she had before, not that I blamed her. The entire floor staff had temporarily abandoned her.
Ruth took over behind the bar, so I loosely covered her section along with my own for the next few minutes before Max returned, his face devoid of expression.
I only hoped this didn’t set him to drinking again.
Marco emerged a few minutes later, wearing jeans and a snug-fitting black T-shirt, and headed behind the bar to start serving drinks with Max, which surprised me at first, before I remembered what Marco had said about working as a bartender with Max in college. Before Bart and Emily Drummond had called Max home during his last semester of his senior year.
He’d been called home because of Wyatt’s arrest. Wyatt had broken into the car repair shop he now owned to steal a baseball his father had sold to the previous owner. The theft charges had been dropped, but he’d gone to jail for driving under the influence. Heather had been with Wyatt, but she’d left town before she could be called to testify against him.
Or maybe she’d never left Drummond land this whole time.
Either way, if her bones had been found, it didn’t look good for Wyatt, even if I had trouble believing he would have hurt her.
I didn’t have time to talk to Max or Marco because the dinner crowd left and more of the construction guys showed up. I headed over to check on Molly since most of the orders were drinks now. I was ready to fend off a flurry of questions about the sheriff’s deputies, but she seemed more taken with the new staff member who’d shown up.
“Damn,” she said under her breath, keeping her eyes on Marco, who was pulling draft beers. “That is one mighty fine-lookin’ man.”
“He’s not a long-term sort of guy, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.” I couldn’t ignore the unsettled feeling in my gut. I’d spoken the truth, but for some reason, saying the words felt like a betrayal.
“I know I should be lookin’ for long term at my age, but short term will do,” she said, practically salivating. “I’ve had a long dry spell. The options around here are limited.”
I did a double take, then asked before I could stop myself, “Just how old are you?”
“Twenty-eight,” she said without appearing offended.
“And you think it’s time to settle down and get married?”
She scrunched up her face. “Don’t you? What are you, around twenty-nine? Thirty?”
In reality, I was thirty-one, about to turn thirty-two in June, but I couldn’t give her that answer.
“Thirty.” I’d just celebrated my new fake birthday back in March. Ruth had baked me a cake and brought it into work, and Max and Tiny had encouraged me to blow out all thirty candles. Marco had shown up at the tavern to give me a bouquet of flowers and a cheesy birthday card. And Hank…he’d gotten Ginger, the woman who cleaned the house and checked on Hank while I was working, to buy me a gift certificate to a salon in Ewing to have my hair cut and colored. When I’d thanked him with tears in my eyes, he’d gruffly told me that he was tired of me filling the house with poisonous gases every time I dyed my hair to cover my blonde roots with auburn, but that was just Hank being his ornery self. When I’d hugged him, he’d held me extra tight.
But Molly seemed to have taken my age to heart.
“Girl,” she said with her hands on her hips. “You are in serious trouble. Those eggs are dryin’ up as we speak.”
“I wouldn’t say that…”
“We’re hittin’ spinster land.”
“Ruth’s not married, and she’s thirty-seven.”
“Ruth ain’t nothin’ like us,” Molly said, curling her upper lip.
My protective instincts kicked in. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that Ruth does whatever she damn well pleases without giving anyone else a second thought.”
“So?” I asked, starting to let some attitude slip in. While Ruth could be judgmental and bossy, once you got on her good side, she had your back to the bitter end. If I told Ruth I’d killed a man, she’d be the first one to grab a shovel to help bury the body.
“Let’s just say that she’s never tried to fit in,” Molly said with an edge in her voice. “And she’s not above breakin’ up a happy home to get a man.” One of her customers gave her a wave. “Duty calls.”
I tried to hide my shock. Ruth had broken up a marriage? Was that what had ended her friendship with Molly’s sister?
I didn’t have time to ask her what she meant by that, and I didn’t want to ask Ruth, so I was left stewing all night until closing time. Max kicked everyone out at midnight, then told Ruth and Molly to be back to the tavern for the lunch shift and me to come in around three. Marco said it looked like the construction site would be shut down again, and Max expected another large crowd in the afternoon.
“Why not have Carly come in for the lunch shift too?” Ruth asked with a hand on her hip.
“You’ll have the next day off,” Max said in a tone that brooked no argument. “And once the site opens up, you won’t need to come in until three.”
That must have pacified Ruth, because she didn’t attempt to argue.
Ruth, Molly, and I sat down at a table, and I showed Molly how to add up our tips and how much to give the cooks. Then I realized that while Max didn’t take tips, it was customary to tip the bartenders. Which meant we needed to be taking some off for Wyatt and Marco.
“Max,” I called out. “How do you want to handle Wyatt’s and Marco’s tips?”
He gave me a long look. “Don’t you worry about it. I’ll put out a jar for them.”
I frowned, but I was too exhausted to worry about anything other than Wyatt. He hadn’t come back, and if Max had received a call from him, he had
n’t said a word. Nor had I seen him on the phone all night.
Once Molly was done counting her money, I sent her on home. Ruth had left too, and I went to look for Max and Marco in the office.
“Have you heard anything from Wyatt?” I blurted out.
A dark look filled Max’s eyes. “No.”
I ran my hand over my head in frustration. “Can we call the sheriff’s office and find out?” Then I glanced at Marco and realized I already had a source. “What am I thinkin’? Marco, can you find out?”
“No. I’m tryin’ to look impartial to all of this.”
I could see what he meant. He was Max Drummond’s close friend, and they had to worry about Marco being partial. Hadn’t Wyatt warned me about that very thing? “Do you know when we’ll find out?”
“No,” Max said with a sigh.
I turned back to Marco. “Do you think the construction site will open back up at some point tomorrow?”
“I’m not sure. I do know they’ve been lookin’ for more bodies, but so far they’ve only found the one. It might take another day or it might take a week.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Carly,” Max said with a sympathetic smile. “You’re beat. Go on home and get some rest. I’m sure Wyatt’s fine, so stop worryin’ and try to enjoy your afternoon off.”
“Yeah,” I said, then headed out the back door. Easier said than done.
Marco got up and followed me out the back door, seemingly lost in thought as he walked me to my car. When I opened the car door, he lightly touched my arm. “Are you okay?”
I blinked at him in surprise. “Yeah. Why are you asking?”
“You just seem worried about Wyatt.”
I stared at him in confusion, unsure where he was going with this. “Well, yeah, I’m sure Max is too.”
“Max is his brother.”
My eyes narrowed. “What aren’t you saying, Marco?”
He shook his head and glanced away. I gave him a moment, surprised to see him like this. Then again, someone we knew had been brought in for questioning after a pile of human bones had been found. The situation was serious, and his mood was warranted. He pulled me in for a hug, and I hugged him back, slightly confused when the embrace lasted longer than usual. When he released me, he gave me a soft smile. “I’m gonna follow you home.”
“That’s not necessary,” I said, still confused. “Blake and his friend never showed up. I don’t expect any trouble from either one of them.”
“There are bigger worries afoot than two drunk men.” He pulled his key fob out of his jeans pocket and motioned for me to get in the car.
He followed me close all the way home, pulling up behind me and watching me get out of the car. I started to walk toward him, but he lifted his hand in a wave goodbye, then left me thinking about what he’d last said to me.
A chill of foreboding ran down my spine as I watched him drive away.
Chapter Seven
I woke up to someone knocking on my bedroom door. Hank rarely woke me in the morning, so it only took me a second or two to freak out.
Jumping out of bed, I ran to the door and flung it open, scared to death Ginger had found Hank hurt or unconscious from his diabetes. Instead, I found myself standing face-to-face with Wyatt.
“Sorry to wake you,” he said with a sheepish look.
“I told him to leave you alone!” Hank shouted from what I presumed was the front porch, his favorite spot to drink his morning coffee.
“You’re out,” I exclaimed, the previous night rushing back into my memory. Then I shook my head. “I mean, I was worried they were going to arrest you.”
“Not yet, anyway,” he said. His gaze lowered to my chest, then quickly jerked back up to my face, chagrin filling his eyes.
I was wearing a thin tank top and a pair of short pajama bottoms, so I hastily crossed my arms over my chest. “Did you come to see Hank?”
Wyatt had been a mentor of sorts to Hank’s grandson, Seth, and he and Hank had become close. Which was why Wyatt had initially mistrusted me when I’d moved in with Hank as his live-in helper. Now that Wyatt and I weren’t together, Hank would only let him come over while I was at work, which mostly turned out not to be a problem since I was almost always at work.
“No,” he said. “I came to see you.”
My eyes widened. “Oh.”
“Can we talk?” His voice lowered. “Maybe not within earshot of Hank?”
“Uh…yeah. Do you want to take a walk? I’ll throw on some clothes.”
He nodded. “I’d appreciate it.”
“The clothes or the walk?” I teased before I thought better of it.
“Both.” Then he turned and headed for the kitchen.
I hadn’t done laundry for over a week, so I worried about what I was going to throw on, but when I went to check the hamper, it was empty, and my clothes were folded and put away.
Ginger.
God bless that woman and, in turn, Wyatt. He’d decided the housekeeping was too much for me to keep up with on top of caring for Hank’s wounds and doing the cooking, and Ginger and her husband, Junior, who worked for Wyatt at his garage, needed the money. He paid Ginger to do light housekeeping a couple of times a week, but now that I thought of it, I wondered if Ginger wouldn’t mind picking up a few lunch shifts at the tavern. She wouldn’t have to work more than a couple of hours at a time, and the construction workers tipped pretty well. I’d make sure to mention it to her today. And thank her for doing my laundry—something she’d never done before.
I threw on a long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of jeans, then grabbed my hiking boots and a pair of socks before I ducked into the bathroom. While the Caroline version of me wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving the house without makeup, the Carly Moore version of me was much more down-to-earth, and I had to admit I liked it. After I brushed my teeth and hair, I put on a few swipes of mascara and some concealer to help hide the dark circles under my eyes, then headed out to find Wyatt…but first I needed a cup of coffee.
I went into the kitchen and found a travel mug with a lid and a note that said,
I made you a cup of coffee the way you like it. It’s the least I could do since I woke you so early.
I couldn’t help smiling a little when I lifted the ceramic tumbler to my lips—strong coffee with hazelnut nondairy creamer.
We’d only been involved for a few weeks, yet he’d remembered.
No. No. No. No. I was not going to let this weaken my resolve. Wyatt put my life in danger and never even apologized. Instead, he was full of excuses to justify what he’d done. And then he’d accused me of working with Bingham, something I’d only done because I’d thought we were saving Lula. And the man hadn’t paid me squat.
Okay, so he’d paid me about a thousand dollars more than my broken-down car was worth, but I didn’t regret it for a minute.
And that wasn’t even touching the fact that Wyatt had a dumpster full of secrets.
Which brought me to the question of why Wyatt was here… now. Up until the last couple of days, we’d barely said five words to each other since our breakup. The only thing I could come up with was that he’d come to talk about his interview with the sheriff department.
It was an unusually chilly morning, so I grabbed a heavy cardigan and shoved my arms into the sleeves as I walked out the door.
Wyatt was leaning against a porch support beam, watching the bird feeder he’d put out for Hank last November. Hank was sitting in his usual chair, his remaining leg propped up on a short stool.
“Your leg bothering you today?” I asked, trying to hide the worry in my voice. Hank hated to be fussed over.
“It’s my arthritic knee,” he said, keeping his gaze on the feeder. “Stop your worrying.”
“I never said I was worried,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.
He gave me a pointed look, and I smiled. Six months ago, I hadn’t even known this man, but now he was more like a father to me than my own fa
ther had ever been.
But Hank didn’t do mushy, so I turned back to the bird feeder. A male and female cardinal stood on the ledge. Hank had taught me more about birds than I’d ever wanted to know, especially after I’d gifted him with two bird guidebooks for Christmas, but I found I enjoyed it too. Hank and I had spent countless mornings on the porch, him watching birds while I read. “Wyatt and I are going to take a walk.”
“I told that boy to let you sleep. That you’re workin’ yourself ragged, but he went on in anyway.”
I flashed him an appreciative look. “That’s okay. I’ll talk to him.”
I stepped off the porch and into the patchy front yard and waited for Wyatt to follow.
“Want to take the trail?” I asked, still not looking at him.
“Sure,” he said, “wherever you want.”
“The trail it is.”
Hank owned several acres that mostly ran deep into the trees. I wasn’t sure about the property lines since there wasn’t any fencing, but there was a well-established trail that led to a small pond fed by a creek.
“So you found out about the trail?” Wyatt asked as I headed to the opening in the trees behind the house.
“Hank told me before the first snowfall,” I said, keeping my gaze on the ground in front of me. “But I didn’t get a chance to check it out until a few weeks ago. Now I come out here a few times a week…if I have time.”
I entered the trees, keeping to the narrow path as the scent of pine filled my nose. The first time I’d come out here, I’d been suffused with a sense of peace, something that was in short supply in my life, so if the weather was cooperative, and even sometimes when it wasn’t, I hiked out to the creek to clear my head.
Wyatt followed silently behind me until we reached the small clearing. The creek formed a small shallow pool, about six feet wide, before it narrowed to a couple of feet. Several large rocks sat around the perimeter on both sides. I hopped over the narrow section and sat in my usual place—on a large gray boulder with jagged edges on one side, smooth stone on the other. A smaller rock was next to it, the perfect footrest, so I set my feet on it and looked over at Wyatt, who was watching me from the other side. The only sound was the babbling of the water.
One Foot in the Grave Page 6