A Cry in the Dark

by Denise Grover Swank

  “She can’t go back over to the motel,” Max said. “The deputies have her room roped off for their investigation, not to mention the whole rest of the motel since whoever did this kicked in some doors.”

  “They can’t go into my room, can they?” I asked in a panic. “Wouldn’t they need a warrant?”

  Max’s eyes narrowed. “You got somethin’ in there to hide?”

  He laughed like he’d made a joke. But I didn’t want the police to look too hard at my identification paperwork. My cell phone. Of course, the gun—the only thing that could really incriminate me—was gone.

  The gun just didn’t vanish into thin air, though. Someone had taken it, along with my key fob…the real question was what they planned to do with them.

  Chapter Seven

  Ruth offered to take me to her place, but first she insisted on leading Max upstairs and making sure he got to bed. I decided to clean up while I waited, but first I picked up the clear bottle and removed the lid to get a whiff. The smell of pure alcohol made my nose burn, and I made a face as I set it down.

  “You’re besmirchin’ what’s supposed to be the finest moonshine in all of Eastern Tennessee,” Wyatt said from the door to the back room. He was leaning his shoulder into the doorframe as though he didn’t have a care in the world.

  Startled, I jumped a good couple of inches, and my heart started to race. I wasn’t sure if it was because he’d scared me or because of his effect on my hormones, but I chose to believe it was the former. “What in the hell are you doing here? I thought you and Max were at odds.”

  “You’ve already been drawn into the Drummond family secrets, huh?” he asked, sounding bored. “That didn’t take long.”

  “If you came to see Max, he’s—”

  He slowly began to advance toward me. “It wasn’t Max I came to see.”

  “If it’s Ruth, she’ll be—”

  “I didn’t come to see Ruth either.”

  I swallowed hard. “What do you want?”

  He laughed, but he didn’t sound amused as he walked behind the bar and picked up the bottle. Although he supposedly didn’t spend much time at the bar, he seemed comfortable enough as he reached under the counter and retrieved a glass. He poured himself a small amount of moonshine, then downed it.

  “Same damn garbage it always was,” he said, setting the glass and the bottle on the counter, his gaze fixed on me.

  He was close enough to make me uncomfortable, and while I had plenty of space to back up and put some distance between us, I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of letting him know I was intimidated. Max had said he didn’t think Wyatt capable of murder, but was he capable of hurting a woman? Plenty of men were.

  “What do you want?” I repeated, but with a lot more attitude than before.

  A hard look filled his bloodshot, slightly puffy eyes. He’d either been crying or drinking, but the moonshine on his breath made it difficult for me to tell the difference. “I’m gonna give you one more chance to tell me what you’re doin’ here.”

  What did he think I’d done? It struck me that he might have been at the garage at the time of the murder. The car alarm would certainly have given him a jolt. If he’d run over to the motel, he might have witnessed something.

  Had he seen me next to Seth’s body?

  Was he the one who’d taken my gun and key fob?

  I propped a hand on my hip and glared up at him. “Or what? What are you gonna do to me, Wyatt? Kill me?”

  As the words fell out of my mouth, I wanted to reel them back in. If he actually did want to kill me, was it a good idea to so blatantly accuse him of it?

  I blamed the whiskey and my nerves.

  But his reaction was more startled than intimidating—his eyes flew wide and he took a step back. “What?”

  “What’s goin’ on here?” Ruth asked in a hard voice as she came around the front of the counter, holding a handgun of her own. When she saw who was with me, she relaxed a little but didn’t put down her gun. Wyatt’s look of surprise might have been comical if I’d been in a laughing mood.

  “What are you doin’ here?” she asked him.

  Frustration tightened his face. “I came to talk to Carly. No need for a weapon.”

  “We’re all a little jumpy what with poor Seth lyin’ out there in the parking lot, surrounded by a chalk line.”

  “If you think I’m gonna hurt either one of you, then you really don’t know me at all, do you?”

  “And whose fault is that?” she asked, still pointing her gun at him. When he didn’t answer, she gave him a sharp nod. “Little early in the day to be givin’ her that car repair estimate.”

  “That’s not why I’m here.”

  “Well, she’s about to head home with me, so you can talk to her tomorrow during business hours.” She motioned toward the back door with her weapon. “Now get along.”

  He turned to look at me as though searching my face for something, but I had no idea what. Maybe he really did think I’d killed Seth.

  Finally, he pushed out a breath of frustration and took another step backward. “I’ll be back to talk to you after the lunch rush.”

  “I’m hopin’ you’ll have an estimate for me by then so I can get the hell out of here,” I snapped back, even though I knew I wasn’t going anywhere.

  Unless I ran for it.

  Could I? The thought filled me with equal parts relief and fear.

  Even with a new identity, I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, yet I was terrified I’d landed in a mess big enough to attract the exact wrong kind of attention. What if someone from the sheriff’s office had found my gun and key fob and considered me a suspect? I really needed advice from my friends back in Arkansas, but first I had to find someplace in this godforsaken town that had cell service.

  Wyatt continued backing up until he reached the end of the counter. With one final look I struggled to define, he turned around and strode out the back. As soon as we heard the thud of the heavy metal back door, Ruth said, “What the hell was that about?”

  “I have no idea,” I said, resting my forearms on the counter and leaning forward. This night was going from bad to worse. I nearly confided everything to Ruth, but something told me that would be a mistake. She wasn’t Rose, and this town was clearly messed up. I decided to change the subject to one that wasn’t much more pleasant. “Who’s gonna tell Seth’s grandfather?”

  Based on the way she flinched, I’d caught her off guard. “I guess a sheriff’s deputy. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

  “I’d like to see him.” That surprised her even more, so to avoid suspicion, I said, “Seth was still alive when I found him. I just think his grandfather might want to know about his last moments.” I paused, then pushed past the lump in my throat. “I know I would.”

  Her face crumpled and tears filled her eyes. “I would too. How about I take you down there before you start your lunch shift? I was planning to go to Greeneville anyway. I just planned to do it later in the day.”

  “I don’t want to put you out, Ruth.”

  “No worries,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Like I said, I’m goin’ anyway. I’ll just go earlier than I’d planned.”

  I didn’t have a coat, but I assured Ruth I didn’t need one. Max must have told her I didn’t have shoes, because she’d brought me a pair of open-back slippers in case my feet were bigger than hers. (I was a half size smaller.) I followed her out to the parking lot, light snow crunching under our feet, and Ruth led me toward an old sedan that was as big as a tank. I walked around to the passenger side. I’d never seen a car this big in person.

  “The door sticks,” she said as I reached for the handle.

  She was right. It took me three tries and finally a hard yank to get it open. The door sagged and it took me several more attempts to get it closed.

  “I keep nagging Franklin to fix it, but he claims there’s nothin’ to be done.”

  “It’s not a problem,” I
said, wrapping my arms around myself as I shivered.

  “You’re a terrible liar,” she said with a laugh, inserting a huge key into the ignition and turning the engine over. “It’s a beast of a car, but the engine gets hot fast in the winter.” She glanced over at me with a huge grin. “And I can tell all my friends I drive a Cadillac…even if it’s from 1973.”

  “At least it runs,” I said with a chuckle. “It’s more than I’ve got.”

  She laughed again. “True enough.”

  After she let the engine idle for a few seconds, she backed up and pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Ruth, you have no idea how much I appreciate you coming in after Max called you,” I said. “And bringing me home on top of that?” I shook my head. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  Ruth shook her head. “You’ve already done plenty. You saved my ass tonight with the Monday Night Football crowd, and you’re fun to boot. Givin’ you a place to crash is nothin’.” She cast a glance my way. “Tell me you were usin’ my sheets before you were woke up.”

  “I was,” I said, leaning my head back into the velour seat back. “They were heavenly.”

  “Don’t you worry. I have ’em on my guest bed too. You’ll be able to sleep like a baby.”

  I wasn’t sure how much I’d sleep, but at least I’d be lying on soft sheets.

  We were quiet for the rest of the fifteen-minute drive. It was dark, so I couldn’t make out much other than we were surrounded by trees. She turned from the two-lane road onto a narrow paved road and took another turn onto a gravel road about five minutes later, pulling up to a clear patch of earth with a mobile home that looked only slightly newer than her car. A newer dark green pickup truck was parked in front of it.

  “At least Franklin’s home,” she said, sounding relieved.

  “Does he work the night shift?” I asked.

  “No, he was hanging out at his friend’s house after he left Max’s. He wasn’t home yet when Max called.”

  I focused my attention on the trailer ahead of us.

  “I know it ain’t much,” Ruth said, sounding embarrassed.

  “It’s the heart of the home that counts,” I said, “not the contents.”

  She pulled to a stop next to the truck and shifted the large gear shift into park before turning to face me. Her face brightened. “You know what? You’re exactly right.”

  “My mom used to tell me that,” I said, still hearing her murmur the words into my ear as she held me on her lap. I’d been too old to be cradled like that—around eight or nine—but she and my father had just had a knock-down, drag-out argument that had scared me. It was the first time they’d ever fought so brutally, and I’d hidden in the closet so they wouldn’t be able to find me. Only my mother had come looking. “Oh, Carly,” she’d said, pulling me to her, “don’t you worry. We’ll always have each other. You and me, we’re the heart of this home.”

  If only it had been true.

  “She sounds like a wise woman,” Ruth said, letting the engine idle. “Do you want to call her? I’ve got a workin’ landline.”

  My mouth lifted into a tight smile. “Thanks for the offer, but she died when I was a kid.” That didn’t fit Charlene Moore’s purchased narrative, but my heart was too raw to pretend the mother whose death had destroyed me could be reached by a simple phone call. And I didn’t want to lie to Ruth any more than necessary.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  I shrugged. “Water under the bridge.”

  “I lost my mother a couple of years ago,” she said, then made a face. “Drugs. She’d lived her entire life clean, so nobody would have guessed she’d surrender herself to meth in her late forties. Men and alcohol had been her vices of choice.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ruth.”

  She bit her lower lip and studied the metal trailer in front of us. A soft light glowed through the curtain-covered front windows. “Just like you said, water under the bridge.”

  She turned off the ignition and opened the car door. Something about the way she did it suggested the water under her bridge hadn’t traveled very far downstream.

  I put my all into opening my own door, pleased when it unlatched on the first try. After I shut it, I followed Ruth up the rickety stairs to the front door.

  She opened it without using a key and stepped to the side so I could walk in.

  The interior furnishings were in better shape than the outside. The tan sofa looked worn but clean, and while the dark brown faux leather recliner was covered in cracks, the afghan draped over it made it look homey.

  “It ain’t much,” she said as she shut the door and set her purse on a small oak kitchen table with white legs.

  “I haven’t felt so at home in weeks,” I confessed before I thought better of it.

  She gave me a look of surprise.

  “I’m in the middle of moving,” I said. “All my stuff’s in storage until I figure out where I’m going to end up.” Only then did I remember I’d told the deputy I was on vacation. Crap.

  “You’re movin’ and you don’t know where you’re goin’?” she asked in surprise, slipping off her coat.

  “No,” I said. “I just decided I needed a change, and I’m figuring out where to land.”

  A huge smile spread across her face. “Maybe you’ll stick around Drum.” The horror on my face must have shown, because she laughed. “I’m teasing. No one willingly sticks around Drum except for the Drummonds themselves. Seems like the rest of us are stuck here.” She wrapped her arms across her chest. “Well, on that happy note, let me show you to your room.”

  She led me down the hall to the first room on the right, a small bedroom with a full-sized bed and a wrought iron headboard. A silver metal lamp sat on the blue-painted nightstand. “This is your room. The bathroom’s across the hall. Franklin’s gotta go to work early, so you might hear him clomping around at six or so. I apologize in advance.”

  “No need. I’m just grateful to be here.”

  “If we’re gonna get to Greeneville for you to see Mr. Hank and back in time to get you to your lunch shift, we should probably leave here around eight.”

  “Sounds good.” She left the room and shut the door behind her, leaving me alone with my memories and my fear.

  Since I was still in my pajamas, I just climbed under the covers and pulled them up to my chin. I lay there for a long time, staring up at the dark ceiling and wondering if my life would ever be normal again.

  Chapter Eight

  I woke up to the sound of running water, and it took me a few seconds to orient myself.

  Seth.

  A spike of pain stabbed my heart as I remembered holding his hand and soaking up his blood with my shirt while I watched him die. No one should die like that, but especially not a seventeen-year-old kid. Had I gotten him killed by setting off my car alarm? There was no way of knowing, and the guilt was excruciating. I jerked upright in bed, trying to dislodge the claws that had sunk into my back.

  I hoped Hank Chalmers would help me decide what to do about the sheriff’s department. Perhaps go above their heads? I could always go to the state police if the sheriff’s department was corrupt. And even if the deputy who’d reported to the scene last night wasn’t involved, someone clearly was—Seth had been adamant that a sheriff’s deputy had shot him.

  I tried to turn over and get more sleep, but the smell of coffee eventually lured me out of my room.

  When I walked into the kitchen, Franklin was making a sandwich at the counter. Thankfully, he didn’t look too surprised to see me. I could understand why Ruth was attracted to him. Franklin was a solid man—good-looking but not enough to get him into trouble. Tanned skin from working outside and a toned body to go with it. He looked to be a couple of years shy of forty, even though he had crow’s-feet around his eyes, also likely from working outside.

  “We didn’t get properly introduced last night,” I said. “I’m Carly Moore.”

  He gave me a warm smile.
“Franklin Tate. Ruth calls me Franklin, but just about everyone else calls me Tater.”

  I fought a grin. “So you want me to call you Tater?”

  He shrugged, still grinning, “Sure. Why not?”

  “I guess Ruth filled you in on what happened,” I said, still standing in the entrance to the kitchen.

  He shook his head as he slapped a generous helping of deli turkey from a hard-plastic container onto a slice of white bread. “Ain’t right that a boy was murdered like that, and it definitely ain’t right that you had to see ’im.” He turned his gaze to me as he picked up a mustard bottle from the counter. “But Ruth said you stayed with him until the end.” He gave a sharp nod, his eyes glassy. “That was good of you.”

  “No one should die alone,” I said, overwhelmed with an onslaught of sorrow.

  He nodded again, then turned back to his lunch, squirting a generous amount of mustard on his turkey. “Ruth also said you needed a place to stay.”

  “I hope this was okay. I suspect they’ll let me back into my room in the motel tonight, and if not, I’ll ask Max to give me another one.”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” he said, slapping a piece of bread on the mess and slipping the sandwich into a plastic baggie. “You stay as long as you need to. Everyone knows that motel ain’t fit for flea-bitten dogs, which was why I was more than happy to bring the sheets.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “That’s really kind of you and Ruth to take in a stranger.”

  “Ruth says you’re good people,” Franklin said, tossing his sandwich, a huge bag of chips, and a prepackaged cupcake into a hard-sided lunch bag. “That’s good enough for me.”

  “Thanks, Frank—I mean, Tater. If I can help out in any way, you and Ruth let me know.”

  He grinned. “I’m just happy she’s got some help at the tavern. You can call me Franklin if you’d like. Help yourself to coffee and a shower or whatever else you need. Ruth put some clothes out for you in the bathroom in case you woke up before she did.”