I hadn’t planned on going inside and calling attention to the fact I was this interested in Pam’s case, but it didn’t feel right to just leave without her. After another five minutes, I got out of the car and headed for the entrance. There was a metal detector six feet from the front door, not that I was surprised.
“Purpose of your visit?” a deputy asked in a bored tone.
I started to answer when I heard a man say, “Carly Moore?”
I turned in the direction of the voice and saw a deputy headed down the hall toward me. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Then again, I’d met a lot of deputies after the Paul Conrad incident.
“Are you here to see Marco?” the deputy asked from the other side of the metal detector. He was close enough for me to read the name on his badge—Taggert. He was in his late thirties or early forties, with thinning light brown hair and medium brown eyes. I vaguely remembered meeting him during that mess, but it hadn’t been memorable.
“Is he here?” I asked in surprise.
“Yeah. Just brought a suspect in. Do you want to wait for him?”
“Uh…” I wasn’t sure whether to tell him the real reason for my visit, but it struck me that it would be a whole lot worse if I lied and Ashlynn came out looking for me. Besides, I wasn’t doing anything wrong. “I’m actually picking up a friend. She’s here visiting her mother.”
“Inmate or an employee?”
“Inmate.”
His gaze narrowed, but I didn’t volunteer any more information. I could see judgment brewing in his eyes.
“Is there any way for me to check whether she already left?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “I was supposed to pick her up and take her to work.”
“There’s a desk where visitors log in and out,” Deputy Taggert said, then motioned to the deputy next to me. “Let her through. I’m gonna take her back.”
I placed my purse on the conveyor belt and walked through the scanner. Deputy Taggert watched as I walked through and then grabbed my purse from the x-ray machine.
“How have you been doing since the Deputy Conrad ordeal?” Deputy Taggert asked in a low tone as he led me down a hallway. There was a heavy metal door with a keycard reader on one side, and a counter against the wall next to it. A bored-looking man sat behind a plexiglass shield.
“I struggled,” I admitted. I didn’t think anyone could go through a hostage situation less than six months after having been hunted down by a killer and declare themselves to be just fine. “But I’m mostly good now.” I gave him a smile. “Marco’s helped me through it.”
“He’s a good deputy and an even better man,” he said. “We’re lucky to have him on the force.”
I smiled again but didn’t say anything. I didn’t know if Marco considered Deputy Taggert a friend or foe, and if he was in the latter group, I didn’t want to give him anything to use against Marco.
“Who’s your friend visiting?” he said as we continued walking.
I hesitated, but there was no getting past this. “Pam Crimshaw.”
Deputy Taggert stumbled to a stop and turned to me. “Say what?” His eyes narrowed. “How’d you get mixed up in the Pam Crimshaw mess?”
“I’m not,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing. “I know Pam from the tavern where I work. Her friends set up a dinner schedule for her family and today was my day. When I dropped off my casserole, her daughter, Ashlynn, told me that her mother usually took her to work here in Ewing. I volunteered to bring her since I was coming to town anyway.”
“You just dropped her off?”
“That’s right, about an hour ago. She told me to be back in forty-five minutes. I visited a friend at the nursing home and cut my visit short to be back in time, but Ashlynn wasn’t outside when I got here.”
He gave me a long stare. “Did you know her daughter before this?”’
“No.” I gave him a wary look. “But she was trying to figure out a way to get to Ewing, and since I was headed here anyway…”
“You were just being neighborly,” he said with a smile, but it looked stiff.
I shrugged, really wishing I’d just stayed in the car. “Yeah. Exactly.”
“Just like you were bein’ neighborly when you were tryin’ to find out who killed Heather Stone?”
“That was different,” I admitted. “I was helping a friend, and I freely admit that I was looking into who did it. Today I’m simply a chauffeur.”
“And the friend you were helping was Wyatt Drummond.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yeah.”
The look in his eyes suggested he didn’t like my answer, but he didn’t press the matter.
So much for staying under the radar. Dammit.
He continued the short distance to the plexiglass window and leaned his forearm on the counter. “Steve,” he said to the man behind the desk, “can you look at the log and tell me if—” He turned to me with raised brows. “What’s her name?”
“Ashlynn Crimshaw.”
He turned back to the window. “If Ashlynn Crimshaw has already signed out after seeing her mother?”
The deputy looked surprised, but he glanced down at his sheet before looking back up at Deputy Taggert. “For Pam Crimshaw?”
“That’s right,” Deputy Taggert said.
“She ain’t had no visitors today,” the deputy said. “No one’s been to see her other than her lawyer last night.”
“Are you sure?” I asked in disbelief. “I dropped Ashlynn off about an hour ago.”
“Positive,” the deputy behind the glass said. “I ain’t had no women visitors at all today.”
I turned slightly, shocked at the realization that Ashlynn hadn’t come in to see her mother. Why had she made such a show of coming? Why waste both of our time?
“Thank you for your help, Deputy Taggert,” I said, glancing up at the man next to me. “Who knows how long I would have been waiting for her if you hadn’t helped.”
“I’m sure Marco could have found out for you. Have you told him you’re here?”
“No,” I said. “But then I didn’t know he was here until you told me. I’m supposed to meet him for lunch later.” I gave him a friendly smile. “Thanks again for your help.”
“Don’t think anything of it.” He leaned over so our faces were even, his about a foot from mine. Lowering his voice, he said, “But a word of advice: You might be more careful with the company you keep.”
A chill swept over my body. I hesitated, unsure how to handle this—was he speaking about Marco? Ashlynn?—but then the door at the end of the hall opened and Marco emerged.
His gaze swept over me, but it took a second for his brain to put things together. Worry washed over his face. “Carly?”
Deputy Taggert straightened and turned to face him. “There you are, Marco.”
Confusion replaced Marco’s worry. “You were lookin’ for me?”
“She was lookin’ for Pam Crimshaw’s daughter,” Deputy Taggert said in an even tone.
“When I dropped off her casserole, she mentioned she wanted to see her mother before she went to work, only she couldn’t get a ride to Ewing for either purpose,” I said, offering him a weak smile. “You know me. I’m always volunteering to help people.”
Marco closed the distance between us and pulled me into his arms, kissing the top of my head. “I know. Your generous heart is one of the things I love most about you.” He dropped one arm and turned to the side to face the deputy, but he kept the other around my back, his hand cupping my upper arm. His touch, so casual yet so familiar, unleashed something within me. He was doing this for show, because he wanted the other deputies to think we were involved, but I liked it. “Thanks for taking care of her, Tag. Sure do appreciate it.”
“Anything I can do to be neighborly,” Taggert said, his word choice intentional. “I’ll let you two get to your lunch date.” Then he headed down the hall toward the exit.
Marco watched him for a few seconds befor
e turning his attention to me. “You okay?” he asked in a whisper.
I nodded. “You still have that meeting you need to attend?”
He tilted his head toward the door. “That was my appointment.”
My eyes widened. “Your appointment was to arrest somebody?”
“Something like that. You want to head to lunch? There’s a café you haven’t tried yet. They have great fried pickles.”
I cast a glance at the counter, where the deputy was watching us like we were his afternoon entertainment. “Yeah. I thought I needed to give someone a ride, but I guess not.” I smiled up at Marco. “Let’s get you your fried pickles.”
“How about we get them to go?” he asked, sounding breezy, but I could feel the tension thrumming through his body. “We could have a picnic at Louis Park.”
Which meant he wanted to talk about something he didn’t want anyone else to overhear. Was it about why I was here, or something else? “I like that idea. It’s a beautiful day.”
“It is now that you’re here.” He placed a soft kiss on my cheek, then straightened. “I’m starving. Let’s go.”
I stared at him for a moment. Show or not, I couldn’t ignore the butterflies in my stomach…or the urge to lift onto my toes and kiss him for real.
He dropped his arm and snagged my hand, lacing our fingers together as we headed out to the parking lot. His eagle gaze quickly zeroed in on my car. “I’d suggest we ride together, but I’m on duty and I don’t want you to leave your car here. Follow me.”
My stomach churned. I’d screwed up by coming here. “Okay.”
He cupped my cheek and turned my face up so that I could see his warm eyes, which looked more blue than green today. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
I only hoped he was right.
Chapter Fourteen
I followed him about a mile to the café. I’d lost my appetite, but I knew Marco was probably hungry. His appetite had a mind of its own and seemed to be unaffected by pesky things like stress and worry. There were several empty spaces when we pulled into the café’s parking lot, and Marco parked in a space, leaving me to pull in next to him.
He was already out of his deputy SUV and headed around the back of his vehicle by the time I opened door, but he held up a hand. “Stay put. I called in an order. It’ll be ready in a few minutes. Let’s sit in your car while we wait.”
“Okay.” I got back in and unlocked the passenger door so he could join me.
“What really happened at the courthouse?” he asked as he got in my car, his voice full of worry. “You weren’t trying to see Pam Crimshaw, were you?”
“No,” I assured him. “It was just like I said.” I told him about how it had all gone down, then leaned my head back against the seat. “I should have never gone in there.”
“It’s okay,” he said softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Maybe not, but Deputy Taggert sure seemed suspicious of me.” I swiveled my head to face him. “Do you trust him?”
“No,” he said, then at my sharp intake of breath, he added, “But I don’t have reason to distrust him either. He was friends with some of the old guard. But he always seemed a little distant from them, so he might have been friendly out of self-preservation.”
“Can you talk to him and find out?”
He snorted. “He might not take it well if I ask him if he was as corrupt as his buddies.”
“Okay, you have a point, but the state police are looking into the corruption within the department. You might be able to use that as a segue to find out where he stands.”
“Maybe, but I’m not doing anything to bring more attention to what just happened or to you. For now, we presume he’s the enemy until proven otherwise.”
“An enemy who can now tie me to Pam.”
“Your cover might still work,” he said, “but he’s going to keep an eye out.”
“Which means he’s a bad guy.”
“Maybe not. Maybe he’s trying to piece this all together and tie it back to Bart too.”
“Do you think that’s likely?”
“No.”
We were silent for a moment, then I said, “The deputy at the desk said Ashlynn never checked in to see her mother.”
“Really? What do you think happened to her?”
“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “I confess that I pushed Ashlynn a bit to see her. I told her that her mother might need a better attorney than the public defender who was assigned to her.” I ran my hand over my head. “But I was asking too many questions in the car, and it made her suspicious. Still, she seemed on board with the whole thing. She even told me how to get to the jail, and I saw her heading for the entrance. But I didn’t see her go in.”
“So the question is why she didn’t go in.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I said, feeling defeated. “I know she works at a drugstore and had to be at work at one. Maybe I should go find her after we finish our lunch. How many drugstores are there? I can think of at least two.”
“I suspect there’s three or four of them,” he said as he checked his watch. “Speaking of lunch, I think our order’s ready. I’ll go in and get it, then we can head for the park.”
“Okay.”
He hopped out and strode across the parking lot, and I couldn’t stop myself from watching him…and remembering that moment in the jail.
He came out a few minutes later and gave me a smile as he carried the bag to his SUV. When he pulled out of the lot, I followed him in my car, and we drove the short distance to the park.
With one set of swings and a single picnic table, Louis Park could barely be considered a park. But since it was so sparsely appointed, there usually wasn’t anyone around. Today was no exception. We parked in the lot, then walked over to the concrete table together, sitting on opposite sides. Marco reached into the white bag and pulled out a paper-wrapped item, then handed it to me.
“I never told you what I wanted,” I teased. “It was presumptuous of you to just order for me.”
“Trust me,” he said as he reached into the bag and handed me a bottle of water. “I had this last week, and instantly thought of you.”
“Now I’m intrigued.” I opened the wrapper to find a toasted sandwich cut into two triangles, stuffed with a creamy white mixture. “Chicken salad?”
“The best I’ve ever had. I would have told you last week if I hadn’t been so busy. Then I decided to just surprise you.”
My heart melted in a puddle of goo. For the past several months, I’d been complaining that I couldn’t find a place that sold a decent chicken salad sandwich, let alone a good one. “You don’t even like chicken salad very much.”
He shrugged as he pulled out another wrapped sandwich. “I’ve been on the lookout.”
My heart surged with an emotion that I recognized but didn’t want to name. Even if I did, that didn’t mean I was ready to take the plunge. And to tell Marco how I was feeling before I was ready would be unfair and unkind.
I took a bite and nearly wept in happiness. “Thank you,” I said after I swallowed my bite. “It’s so good.”
“As good as your mother used to make?” he asked, unwrapping his own turkey sandwich.
I rested my hand on the table. “You remembered?”
Of course, I remembered too. One night we’d stayed up talking so late we were both half-asleep on the sofa watching TV. He’d told me about one of his good memories of his mother. She used to make him spaghetti with homemade meatballs, and one of the reasons he’d loved it so much was that she let him help make the meatballs, a thrill for an eight-year-old boy who loved to play with anything mushy. It was a simple memory, but given his complicated mess of emotions toward her after he found out about her affairs, it was special to him. And it had twisted something inside of me to hear him talk about it.
He’d asked what my mother used to make for me, and I’d found myself telling him about her chicken salad sandwiches. For some reason
I had no trouble talking to Marco about my mother, something that didn’t come easily with anyone else.
His gaze held mine intently. “I remember everything you tell me, Carly.”
I stared down at the table, unsure what to do with this intense swirl of emotions.
We were silent for a moment before he asked, “What did you do while you were waiting for Ashlynn?”
Clearing the lump out of my throat, I picked up my sandwich again. “I managed to make my visit to Greener Pastures.”
“Did Thelma have any helpful information?”
“Actually, she did. She knows the family of the man who Thad hit in the accident. His name is Karl Lister, and both of his legs were badly broken. He couldn’t walk after his surgeries and had to go to rehab. She thinks they settled a lawsuit.”
“I’ve pulled a report of the accident, but I haven’t had time to look it over yet,” he said.
I nodded. “Good idea. Thelma is worried about me looking into Pam’s case. She thinks it’s too soon. That Bart will figure out what we’re up to and retaliate.”
“I’d be lyin’ if I didn’t admit to worryin’ about the same thing.”
It wasn’t an idle worry, so I didn’t pretend otherwise. I just nodded and said, “I have some people not directly connected to Pam I can talk to. Ashlynn told me about a friend of her mother’s. She and her brothers call her Aunt Selena. She lives in Drum, close to the Methodist church. What’s strange is that she’s supposedly best friends with this woman, but she never goes to the ladies’ luncheons.”
“That’s because Selena is in her sixties,” he said, then took a bite of his sandwich.
“What?”
“Yeah, Selena Martin. Might not be the same person, but I don’t know of any other Selenas in Drum. And I know for a fact she lives about a block from the church.”
“So she’s a good twenty years older than Pam?”
“I guess so,” he said. “I don’t know anything about her connection to Pam, though. I know her from high school. She was my algebra teacher. She still might be teaching, as a matter of fact.”
Buried in Secrets: Carly Moore #4 Page 12