A Cry in the Dark

by Denise Grover Swank

“Thanks,” I said again as he headed for the door. “Have a good day.”

  He grabbed a ball cap off a hook on the wall by the door, tugged it on his head, then tipped the brim to me. “You too.”

  I poured myself a cup of coffee after he left—finding a flavored creamer in the fridge—then took it into the bathroom with me. A snapshot of Seth’s face appeared in my head and I shuddered as I tried to expel it.

  I stripped off Max’s overshirt, startled when I saw the splotches of blood on my cami from when Seth had coughed on me. Ruth had washed the blood off my hands and face, but the overshirt had hidden the remaining evidence of my involvement in Seth’s death.

  Horrified, I snatched it over my head and tossed it onto the floor, then sat on the toilet and began to cry, trying to muffle my sobs so I didn’t wake Ruth.

  I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t face this. I needed to get the hell out of Drum. And not after Wyatt fixed my car—I needed to leave today.

  When Ruth took me to Greeneville to see Mr. Chalmers, I’d find a bus schedule and plan a way out of town. But first I needed to get my things out of the motel room. At the very least, I needed my money and brand-new ID. At the moment, I literally only had my pajama bottoms and a bloody cami.

  I showered off the grime and remaining blood that had dried to my skin, washing my hair too. I let myself cry through most of it, but as I shut off the water, I steeled my spine and pulled myself together. Either I could flounder in despair or do something to get myself out of this mess. Self-pity could come later.

  When I got out, I found the clothes Ruth had set out for me on one of the storage shelves. Underwear and a white lacy bra, jeans, and a pale blue button-down shirt. The bra was one size too big, and the jeans were a little snug in the hips, but I didn’t look like I was wearing someone’s hand-me-downs. Ruth hadn’t just tossed me an extra pair of clothes. She’d put some thought into it.

  I didn’t have any makeup to conceal the dark circles under my eyes, but there was nothing to be done about that. I towel-dried my short hair, then headed into the kitchen.

  Ruth was sitting at the kitchen table in her pajamas, nursing a cup of coffee and reading a paperback romance. Her face tilted up and she smiled. “Feel better?”

  “It’s amazing what a shower can do.”

  “A good cry too,” she said sympathetically.

  I grimaced. “Sorry. I tried not to disturb you.”

  “Don’t you dare apologize,” she said, setting down her book as she got to her feet. “You experienced a major trauma last night. Frankly, I’d be leery of you if you hadn’t cried at some point.”

  “It’s just…” Seth’s face popped into view again, and a lump clogged my throat.

  Ruth gave me a hug, then pulled back. “No apologies. I’m gonna take a shower, then I thought we’d head into town and grab breakfast from the café. I want to check on Max, and I’m hopin’ we can get your things out of your room. Franklin and I want you to stay with us until your car gets sorted out.”

  “Thanks, Ruth. You have no idea how much I appreciate your generosity.”

  “Don’t you think a thing about it.” She squeezed my arm, then disappeared into the bathroom. Twenty-five minutes later, she emerged in jeans and a bulky black sweater that looked great with her complexion. She’d taken the time to blow-dry her hair and had put on a little eyeshadow and mascara. “We have to get you a coat of some kind.”

  “I’ll be fine until I get the jacket from my room,” I said.

  “I should have given you a sweater too.”

  I waved her off. “I’m fine.”

  “Everything fits?”

  I laughed. “You have bigger boobs than I do, but the push-up cups are doin’ wonders.”

  She laughed too, but the humor soon slipped from her face and she reached out and squeezed my upper arms. “I’m here for you, girl. Okay?”

  My tears were back, dammit. I nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Let’s go get some food and some coffee that isn’t thick enough to double as motor oil. Damn. I love that man, but Franklin needs to learn how to make a decent pot of coffee.”

  I paid more attention as we made the drive to town. I realized we weren’t that far from Drum as the crow flies, but the narrow, torn-up paved road switchbacked left and right as it descended toward the town, making the journey seem deceptively longer. The snow that had dusted the sides of the roads the night before had mostly disappeared.

  “Hank Chalmers’ property is back that way,” Ruth said, pointing to a gravel driveway on my side of the road. Hank, as in Seth’s grandfather. A house stood about seventy feet back from the road, and I could see a couple of deputy cars out front.

  “What are they doin’ there?” I asked, my heart in my throat. What if they’d found whatever evidence Seth had hidden?

  Her mouth pursed. “Likely lookin’ for drugs or whatever reason he was killed.” She turned to look at me. “He didn’t say nothin’?”

  Guilt consumed me, and I had to glance away before I answered her. “He was a scared kid who wanted to make sure his grandfather knew he loved him.”

  “So he did say something to you besides askin’ you not to leave?” she asked in surprise. “That’s not what you told that deputy.”

  Oh. Shit. I gave her a sheepish look. “I don’t know about you, but a boy’s goodbye to his grandfather seems like a private thing. If I’d told that deputy, he would have put it into the report. If Mr. Chalmers wants me to tell the deputy, then I’ll do it, but not without his blessing.”

  Her mouth formed an O and she was so busy staring at me she nearly drove off the road. She righted the course with a sharp jerk of the wheel. “That’s why you want to see Hank. You’ve got a message for him.”

  “Please don’t tell anyone,” I pleaded. “For one thing, I could get in trouble with the sheriff, and like I said, it feels private. If I gave my grandmother a farewell while I was dying, I don’t think I’d want the whole world to hear it.”

  “I guess,” she said with a slight shrug, holding the wheel with both hands as she studied the road. “You’re special people, Carly. Most folks wouldn’t go out of their way to deliver a message.”

  I squirmed slightly. “Maybe they would if they’d promised a dying boy.”

  “Maybe.” She didn’t seem so certain.

  “Do you have any family around here?” I asked to change the subject.

  “Not much anymore. I had a few cousins who got lucky and up and moved to Knoxville. I stuck around to help my momma with the rent, but she started stealing my money for drugs roundabout the time I turned thirty. She had men in and out of her life, but I have no idea who my father is. She had me at fifteen and never said. If he’s anything like the others, that suits me just fine.”

  I took it she didn’t have kids. If she did, they could have been living with their father, but there was something fierce and protective about Ruth, and I was fairly certain she’d never willingly give up her kids to someone else.

  “I don’t have any kids,” she said, as though reading my mind. “After livin’ with my momma, there wasn’t any way on earth I’d put them through something like that.”

  “I highly doubt you’d be like your mother,” I said.

  She shook her head. “I wouldn’t lose myself to drugs, that’s for damn sure, but I still live in a hellhole. I don’t want to be raising kids in this mess.”

  She didn’t want to have kids if she couldn’t provide for them. I respected that, but I hoped that she’d find a way to have kids if she really wanted them.

  The narrow road ended on a two-lane county road, and Ruth turned right. The land was flat on her side, but a cliff butted up to the road on my side. The rock had clearly been cut away for the road.

  About ten minutes later, the town came into view and I paid more attention this time than I had when I’d driven in with Wyatt. The first block included a Laundromat and a café on the right side, along with some barren storefronts with worn For
Rent signs on their grimy windows. Drum City Hall and a small library hunkered on the left. Next to them were a beauty salon and an insurance office.

  Ruth stopped at the four-lane intersection. The tavern was on the right. A small vacant building sat opposite it, next to the motel, surrounded by crime scene tape. I could see a church halfway down the road to the left, followed by several houses.

  Ruth turned right and pulled into the parking lot behind the tavern, clucking when she saw all the cars already parked there.

  “I should have known,” she said. “The looky-loos are already here, and the tavern has the best view in town of the crime scene. They’ll be hanging out inside, hopin’ to get a front seat to the action. Max won’t have the good sense to turn them away.”

  “Maybe he’s still in bed,” I said as I opened the door and climbed out. “He did have a lot to drink last night.”

  “Let’s hope,” she said as she slammed her door shut. “I’ve never seen him shaken up like that. Not even after Wyatt shunned the family.”

  I slammed my door too, thrilled when it actually shut, and hurried after her. She’d lent me a pair of her athletic shoes. My toes slipped forward, leaving a slight gap at my heels.

  She glanced back at the car, then grinned at me.

  “Good job. It usually takes people a half dozen times to get the hang of it.” She shoved her shoulder into mine as we kept walking.

  I grinned, knowing it was stupid to feel proud of something so trivial, but I’d take what I could get. “It’s a special skill set.”

  She laughed as she unlocked the back door, holding it open for me to enter first.

  I heard voices when I walked in, and Ruth and I exchanged a look and headed straight for the dining room. Max was standing behind the bar, nursing a cup of what I hoped was coffee, while a group of older men and women were gathered around the front window.

  Ruth didn’t waste any time making a beeline to Max, leaving me to follow.

  “What the hell, Max?” she snarled in an undertone when she reached him.

  He stared at her with hooded eyes underscored with dark circles. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

  “Why are all these people in the bar?”

  He waved a hand toward them in a broad sweep. “What’s it look like?”

  “It looks like a bunch of bullshit,” she said, stomping past me and over to the group. “All right now. Show’s over.”

  One of the women turned toward her with a haughty glare. “Max said we could be here.”

  “Well, Max may own the place, but I’m the manager. And seein’ as how we’re servin’ neither food nor drink yet and you haven’t purchased a damn thing, you need to head on out.”

  “But—”

  “You’re more than welcome to come back at noon if you feel so inclined, but only if you’re paying customers.”

  “We’re not hurtin’ anything,” another woman objected.

  “Actually,” Ruth said, with plenty of attitude, “Max has a raging headache and he’s in dire need of peace and quiet. He’ll be ready to face the lunch crowd in about four hours.” She walked over to the front door and held it open. “So y’all head on out and we’ll see you in a bit. Don’t forget that chicken-fried steak is the Tuesday lunch special!”

  The small crowd shuffled out, although several people shot Ruth belligerent looks on their way out. When the last of them left, she shut the door behind them and locked it. “No one comes through that door until we open for lunch.”

  I knew she wasn’t talking to me, so I snuck a glance at Max, who looked like he was about to barf up last night’s dinner.

  Ruth marched back over to him and snatched the mug from his hand and took a whiff. With a look of disgust, she dumped it into the sink.

  “Hey!” he protested.

  “The hair of the dog won’t help you, Maxwell Lincoln Drummond. You need breakfast.”

  He gave her a surly glare.

  “Don’t you be giving me that look, young man,” she snorted, and I nearly laughed because she couldn’t be more than a couple of years older than him. “You need a generous helpin’ of grease.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Why aren’t you sick as a dog?”

  “Because you were the only fool drinking himself into a stupor,” Ruth responded.

  “If we go to Watson’s Café, everyone’s gonna be grilling me, wanting to know what happened,” he said, digging in his heels. “I don’t want to deal with the questions.”

  “Then why the hell did you let those fools in?”

  “It seemed like the best way to get the banging on the door to stop.”

  The front door started to open, and Ruth stared at it with a look of disbelief. “How the hell…?”

  A man walked in wearing a cowboy hat, brown leather jacket, and jeans. Ruth had definitely locked the door, which meant he had a key. He removed his hat, revealing thick dark hair, as he shut the door behind him.

  “That didn’t take long,” Ruth muttered under her breath.

  At the sound of her voice, he looked up and did a double take when he saw the two of us standing side by side. The slightly wary look in his eyes told me he’d hoped to find Max alone, but our presence mustn’t have bothered him, because he strode into the bar. He didn’t give off a threatening vibe, so I relaxed, especially since neither Ruth nor Max seemed intent on kicking him out.

  Max groaned. “I wondered how long it would take for you to show up, Carson.”

  “Don’t go shootin’ the messenger, Max,” Carson said with a little chuckle as he lifted his hands in surrender. “Just doin’ as I’m instructed.”

  Max leaned into the counter and waved his free hand in a circle. “Go on, then.”

  Carson’s warm eyes filled with sympathy. “As you can imagine, your father wasn’t pleased to hear there was a murder on his property.”

  “Yeah, well I’m none too pleased myself,” Max said, staring down at his coffee cup, his face drawn. “And not because my father’s upset.” He looked up and met Carson’s eyes. “Seth was a good kid.”

  “Your father plans to personally extend his sympathy to Hank.” Carson started to say something else but shut his mouth as his gaze shifted to me. “Perhaps we should discuss this in private.”

  “Yeah,” Max said with a huge sigh. Then he gave Ruth an expectant look.

  “Carly needs to get her things,” she said. “We’ll go on over and see about gettin’ ’em, then come back to get you before we go to breakfast.”

  Max grunted his acknowledgment as he waited for us to walk out the front door.

  “Who was that?” I asked once we were outside.

  “Carson Purdy. Bart Drummond’s faithful lackey.” She paused for a beat before adding, “He runs the Drummond property and does a host of other ‘jobs.’” She said the last word with air quotes.

  Did Bart have an interest in the bar? Otherwise, why did Carson have a key?

  I shot her a look of surprise. “He’s here about Seth’s murder? Does he have an interest in him or his family?”

  “Bart Drummond has an interest in absolutely everything that happens in Drum.” She gave me a sideways grimace. “I suspect Carson’s not only quizzing Max about Seth but about you too.”

  “Me?”

  “Nothin’ gets by Bart Drummond. If you stick around, you’d best not forget that.”

  That sounded ominous, but not as ominous as the scene before me.

  Most of the motel parking lot was surrounded by yellow crime scene tape, even the two cars that had been parked in the lot the night before. Little yellow plastic evidence markers with numbers were spread around the asphalt. Thankfully, Seth’s body had been removed and replaced with a chalk outline. A large dark stain spread outside the line.

  I stopped in my tracks, my heart racing as I remembered holding his hand. Looking into his battered face. His terrified eyes.

  “Carly,” Ruth said, standing in front of me to block the view. “You don’
t have to do this. Why don’t you go on ahead to Watson’s Café and wait for me?”

  That would be the easy way out, but it would be a chicken thing to do.

  “No,” I said, taking a deep breath and stiffening my back. “I need to get my own stuff, but I want you with me, if that’s okay.”

  She wrapped an arm around my back. “Of course it’s okay.”

  Several deputies were milling about, and we caught the attention of one of them, who then headed over to us.

  I froze in fear. A deputy had killed Seth, and for all I knew, he was here at the scene, cleaning up his evidence.

  This deputy appeared to be in his late thirties to early forties, and the grumpy look on his face suggested he didn’t appreciate his current assignment. Was that because he’d played a role in the crime? “This is a crime scene, so y’all need to head on out.”

  His voice wasn’t familiar, and I felt a tiny bit of the tension between my shoulder blades ease. I wasn’t sure what I would have done if I’d come face to face with the murderer.

  Ruth gave him a smile. “This here’s Carly, the woman who found the murdered boy. And that right there”—she pointed to the open door to my room—“is Carly’s room with all her worldly possessions. We just want to get her things, then we’ll get out of your hair.”

  “We’re not supposed to let anyone in,” he said, looking Ruth up and down, his gaze lingering on her chest even though it was covered by her bulky sweater.

  Ruth put both hands on her hips and gave him a sassy stare. “We won’t touch a thing other than her suitcase and her purse.”

  “I suppose if I go in with you…”

  “That’s okay with us,” she said enthusiastically.

  He glanced around and then lifted the tape, motioning for us to duck underneath it. Ruth went under first, and I caught his gaze landing on her butt as she scooted under.

  I wanted to call him out on it, but I needed my things, so I bit my tongue and followed.

  He gestured toward the room and we walked over, catching the attention of the other officers working the scene.

  “She’s just getting her belongings,” the deputy told them. “I’ll keep a close eye on ’em.”