I started to apologize, but his phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket and frowned as he answered. After he exchanged a couple of remarks that made no sense to me, he glanced over at me and mouthed, I need to get back to my car.
“Okay.” I started the engine and headed back to the jail as he continued a conversation about warrants and judges.
“I’m about to head over there right now,” he said as I pulled into the parking lot. He wrapped up the call and hung up as I parked next to his car.
He reached for the door handle, and I grabbed his arm. “I’m sorry, Marco. I didn’t mean it.”
He turned to me, his eyes full of anguish. “That’s just it, Carly. You did.” He leaned over and kissed me. “I have to go. We’ll talk about it later, okay?”
“Yeah.”
He got out and shut the door, and I watched him get in his sheriff vehicle and drive away.
I stayed in the parking spot and stared out at the road for several minutes.
I’d overreacted and Marco had every right to be hurt. What if I’d blown it? What if he thought I had too much baggage? I burst out laughing, which quickly turned to tears. Of course I had too much baggage. I’d been telling him as much for months. If he broke up with me, maybe that was my sign that it really was time to leave.
It was nearly three o’clock, so I decided to head back to Drum and go to work early. Ruth would pepper me with questions about Marco, but I’d soldier through, because I didn’t want to be alone right now. Not when I saw solitude in my near future.
Max hadn’t opened for lunch, and he and Ruth and the new waitress, Trixie, were cleaning up the parking lot and putting the dining room back together when I arrived. Trixie was outgoing and friendly, and I was immediately thrilled Max had hired her. Tiny and Pickle were taking the tables and chairs back to the Methodist church. The event had been such a success, Max had promised to have another block party in a few weeks for the Fourth of July. He was even talking about getting fireworks.
As I suspected, Ruth was full of questions, and to my surprise, so were Tiny and Pickle. I put my fight with Marco behind me and tried to sound happy as I answered. Last night’s party—and probably Trixie’s presence—had put everyone in a good mood, and it was contagious. I told myself that Marco understood my fears and hesitations, that he would forgive me.
We opened at five for dinner, and Max made sure we were prepared for the crowd for the Braves game, especially since Wyatt wouldn’t be in to help. The customers were still talking about the night before, and we told everyone Max had plans for the Fourth. The dinner crowd cleared out, but some stuck around for the game, and more people poured in. We were busy enough that it kept my mind off of my fight with Marco, although I kept watching to see if he’d walk in the door like he usually did.
Bingham came in at around ten and took the booth closest to the door. Lula and his usual entourage weren’t with him.
Ruth shot me a questioning look, as if she knew he was there to see me.
I walked over and slid into the seat opposite him.
“I don’t like to be summoned,” he said with a dark look.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” I said. “You could have used a phone.”
He rested his hands on the table, linking his fingers. “I don’t trust the phone.”
Marco’s phone or any phone? But I kept the question to myself. “I was approached by someone last night who has an interesting proposition for both of us, but this isn’t the time or place to discuss it.”
He glanced over at the bar. “Not interested.”
That wasn’t the reaction I’d expected. “You don’t even know who made the proposition or what it’s about.”
“Still not interested,” he said, not looking at me.
I stared at him. Months ago, he’d told me he was interested in anything that had to do with Bart Drummond, and he had to know whatever I’d brought to him pertained to Bart. “Even if someone’s wife says she has something you want?”
He slowly turned to face me.
Did that mean he knew what this was about? Because I sure didn’t. “As I mentioned, I can’t discuss it here. But I’d like to make arrangements to discuss it soon.”
“We’ll discuss it tonight,” he said unclasping his hands and sitting back in his seat. “In fifteen minutes in the back parking lot.” He didn’t even wait for an answer—just slid out of the booth and headed for the door.
Well, so much for controlling that situation, but maybe it didn’t matter who was in control. I needed information; he had it.
Or did I? Whatever Bingham knew wouldn’t help Pam. She hadn’t killed Jim Palmer for Bart. She’d killed him for a mother’s vengeance. Why was Emily using me as a go-between?
Marco was right. She’d been setting me up for something. Maybe Bart and Emily were both playing me.
A pain stabbed my chest. Marco.
I headed over to the bar and stopped in front of Max. “Has Marco called?”
His forehead wrinkled. “No, and I have to say I’m surprised he hasn’t come in given the way he was glued to you last night.”
I frowned. “We had a fight before I came in, and now I’m worried.”
He studied me for a moment, then covered my hand with his. “Carly. That man loves you. One fight isn’t going to make him break up with you. He didn’t wait all this time to call it quits a couple of days in.”
He was right, so now I was even more worried, because the man who had broken into Marco’s house had been adamant that the people I cared about might have an accident if I didn’t let it go. Bart hadn’t been involved with Jim Palmer’s murder, but he had to know why I was so interested in it. I hadn’t thought bringing Thad to the jail was dangerous—by then, I knew the truth about the murder—but Bart may have considered it “interference.”
“I need to use the phone?” I said, trying to tamp down my panic.
“Yeah.” He motioned for me to come around the bar. “Use this one,” he said as he lifted the phone out from under the counter.
I called Marco’s home phone first and got his answering machine. “Marco. If you’re home, please pick up, even if you’re furious with me. Please.” I waited a second, giving him a moment to answer. “Marco!” When he still didn’t answer, I hung up and started to call his cell phone.
“Carly,” Max said, his voice tight. “Why are you so freaked out?”
“Someone threatened me this morning,” I said as I listened to his phone ring.
He leaned forward, getting in my face. “What do you mean someone threatened you?”
“They told me to leave something alone or someone I cared about would have an accident.”
Marco’s voicemail kicked in.
“Who threatened you?” Max demanded, sounding panicked. “Leave what alone?”
The message ended and the beep sounded.
“Marco. Call me,” I said insistently. “Please!”
I hung up and looked at Max. “What’s the number of the sheriff’s department?”
“I don’t know,” he said in confusion. “Why would I know that?”
I turned and grabbed the phone book, then found the non-emergency number for the sheriff’s department and dialed it. “May I speak to Deputy Roland, please?” I asked, trying to not sound hysterical.
“Let me check, ma’am,” a woman said. “If you can hold, please.”
I was about to respond, but she put me on hold before I got the chance.
She came back less than a minute later. “Deputy Roland has left for the evening. Can I take a message?”
I swallowed the lump of fear in my throat. “Do you know when he left?” Then, because I doubted they’d give that information to just anyone, I added, “This is his girlfriend, Carly.”
“Oh, Carly!” the woman exclaimed. “I’m Anita, and I’ve heard so much about you. I hope I get to meet you soon.”
How had she heard about me? Had Marco told her? Or had she heard about me
after the shake-up in the department? It only mattered in that she was more likely to share information if Marco had spoken warmly of me.
“I’ll have to come in and tell everyone hello,” I said. “Do you know when Marco left?”
“Hold on. I’ll find out.” She was gone for about ten seconds, then said, “About an hour and a half ago.”
“Do you know if he was going anywhere for a case?”
“No,” she said, sounding worried. “Is he missin’?”
“I don’t know. I expected him to show up by now, but he’s probably fine.” Please God, let him be fine.
“Should we send someone to look for him?” she asked.
Should they? If I said yes, she’d want an explanation, wouldn’t she? I’d have to tell her about the intruder earlier, whose visit we had chosen not to report. It would lead to a cascade of questions that might shine a spotlight right on me. I hated that my issues were putting Marco’s life in danger, but I knew what he’d want me to say. “No, that’s okay. He’s probably somewhere out of cell range, but if you keep an eye out for him, I’d appreciate it.”
“No problem. Let us know when he turns up, and we’ll do the same.”
“Thank you.” I hung up and glanced over at Max. “I have to find him.”
“You can’t go alone,” he protested. “Where are you even goin’?”
“I’m going to see if someone ran him off the road coming home from Ewing,” I said, tugging on the strings of my apron.
“Why would someone run him off the road?”
“Maybe you should ask your father,” I snapped as I tossed the apron onto the counter.
“My father?”
I started for the back. “I have to go.”
He grabbed my arm. “Let me come with you.”
I turned back to face him and pulled out of his hold. “Wyatt’s not working tonight. There’s no one here to cover the bar.”
“You can’t go alone, Carly. Especially if my father’s involved.”
“And you can’t leave the bar.”
“Marco’s my best friend. If you think something happened to him, I’m coming.” He waved Ruth over and told her she was in charge.
“What’s goin’ on?” she asked. “Does this have something to do with Bingham comin’ in?”
Oh crap. Bingham. He would be out back waiting for me in a few minutes. “No. I’ll explain later.” Or at least I’d come up with something to tell her.
I stopped in the storage room to grab my purse and quickly checked to make sure my gun was loaded.
“What the fuck’s goin’ on, Carly?” Max asked in a growl from the doorway.
I checked the safety on the gun, then dropped it back in my purse before looking up at him. “I’ll explain what I can on the road. I’m driving.”
He opened his mouth to protest, only to close it again without saying anything. My car was a lot smaller and newer than his truck. It would be better at handling the curvy mountain roads.
But Bingham was already waiting for me as we walked out the back door, leaning back against his SUV. He shot Max a dark glare. “I ain’t talkin’ to him. Just you or no deal.”
“I can’t talk at all,” I said on my way to my car. “I have to go somewhere.”
Bingham pushed away from his truck, his body tense with anger. “This is a one-shot opportunity,” he said. “Talk to me now or not at all.”
I stopped walking and gave him my full attention. It was going to take some fancy footwork to smooth his ego. “I’m really, really sorry, Bingham, but this is an emergency.”
His jaw set and a hard look filled his eyes. “You are not my puppet master, Carly Moore. You do not get to say jump and expect me to do it. You’ve already irritated the shit out of me. You either talk to me now or not at all.”
I held out my hand. “Bingham, I’m not trying to jerk you around. I swear.”
He moved closer, until he was less than a foot away from me. Max took a step toward him, but I held up my hand to hold him off.
Bingham ignored him entirely. “Do you know how bad it’ll look if I let you get away with this?”
“Who’s going to know?” I pleaded. “I won’t tell.”
He gestured to Max and said in disgust, “Him.”
Max lifted his hands. “I’m not any part of this. This is between the two of you.”
But Bingham didn’t look swayed.
“Look,” I said, “I’ll either call or come by your place tomorr—”
“No.” His voice was menacing. He pointed to the ground. “Either now or not at all.” When I didn’t answer, he said, “I do not make concessions for people. They make concessions for me. I think you have overestimated my gratitude.”
What was I doing? Marco was probably at home in the shower. I was throwing away the opportunity to find evidence to nail Bart to the wall, and it would probably take me five minutes, ten minutes at most. Even if Emily had had questionable motives for sending me to Bingham, he might have real, solid information. What difference would ten minutes make?
But images of Marco lying dead in a ditch flashed before my eyes. He might already be dead, but what if he wasn’t? What if I got to him in the nick of time?
I wasn’t going to waste a precious second.
I shook my head and started rushing to my car. “Sorry, Bingham.”
“Don’t you call me again, Carly Moore!” he shouted after me. “You may not like the welcome I give you!”
But his last words were muffled once I got in the car. I started the engine and shot out of the parking space, nearly taking out Bingham in the process.
I was going to pay for that one.
Whipping out of the parking lot, I turned right onto Main Street, my tires squealing in protest.
“Jesus Christ, Carly,” Max shouted. “What the fuck is goin’ on?”
I shot him a brief glance, then shifted my attention back out the windshield, driving well over the forty-five MPH speed limit. “Someone threatened me this morning. He said if I didn’t stop, someone I cared about would have an accident.”
“Who threatened you?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t recognize him, but he made himself very clear. And since he broke into Marco’s house to tell me, it seems logical he’d go after him first.”
“Was Marco there?”
“No. He’d already left for work.”
“What did he want you to stop doing?”
I hesitated. I loved Max like a brother, but I didn’t one hundred percent trust him, and neither did Marco. “I’m not at liberty to say, but”—I shot him another glance—“I think your mother knows.”
“Is that what she talked to you about last night?”
“She was rather cryptic, but yeah.”
“Carly, if this has something to do with my dad…”
I shook my head. “I can’t think about that right now. I just need to find Marco. Where do most of the accidents happen on the highway from Ewing to Drum? Do you know?”
“There’s a couple of places known for accidents,” he said in a quiet voice.
“The guy this morning insinuated many of them aren’t accidents.”
He pushed out a long breath. “I would agree with that.”
“Why doesn’t anyone do anything about it?” I asked.
“What’s there to do, Carly?” he asked in exasperation.
“You can take out an army one soldier at a time,” I said as I gripped the steering wheel in a death lock. “Or you can take out the general.”
“You’re really tryin’ to bring my father down?” he asked in disbelief. “Wyatt told me you were, but I didn’t think you were so foolhardy.”
I pressed my lips together. Damn Wyatt for telling his brother, not that I was surprised. I was more worried about who else he might have told.
“Was it one of my dad’s men who showed up at Marco’s?” He sounded panicked.
“I don’t know. I’d never seen him before. Not even at the
tavern. Don’t most of his guys come in from time to time?”
“Not all of ’em,” he grunted. “What did he look like?”
“Mid-forties. Lecherous. A smoker. He drove an old black pickup truck.” I shot him a glance.
Relief filled his eyes. “Not anyone who sounds familiar. His guys are mostly younger now.”
“Except for Jerry.”
“Yeah.” He looked troubled at the thought.
A light rain began to fall. We drove in silence for about five minutes, the steady rhythm of the windshield wipers the only sound along with rain drops hitting the windshield as the rain became heavier. I tried my best to keep images of Marco’s mangled body from filling my mind. He had to be okay. He had to. I couldn’t live with myself if he’d been hurt or killed because of me.
“There,” Max said, leaning forward as far as his seat belt would let him. “I see something up ahead.”
I rounded a curve and could see the flicker of light in the trees. My heart was beating so fast I was jittery with it.
“It looks like it’s close to the road, so that’s good,” Max said, but his tone revealed his nerves. “That place up ahead is an accident site, but the cars usually go off the road and down the ravine. They often don’t find the cars for days.”
I turned another corner and saw Marco’s Explorer up ahead. Relief washed through me when I realized it was parked on the side of the road and not crashed into a tree or a ditch. The headlights were on, casting beams through the rain, but the windshield wipers weren’t moving.
“Do you see him inside?” I asked as we drove past. I’d slowed down enough to make a U-turn.
“No, but that doesn’t mean he’s not in there.” He paused. “I didn’t see any damage to his vehicle.” He grimaced. “Or any apparent bullet holes.”
The limited relief I’d felt was gone. I parked my car behind Marco’s, threw it into park, and left it running as I grabbed my gun out of my purse. I jumped out and ran to the driver’s door, raindrops pelting me.
Max was right behind me as I opened it.
“He’s not here.” I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or worried. “Where is he?” I asked, trying to stay calm. “Did someone take him?”
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