A Cry in the Dark

by Denise Grover Swank

  “Todd Bingham’s no fool. You can’t string him along, Carly.”

  “I don’t plan to. And I’m counting on the public place to keep me safe.”

  He grimaced. “Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t. When and where are you meetin’?”

  “I don’t know.” And it worried me more than I wanted to let on.

  “All the more reason for me to stay close. Maybe Ewing’s a bad idea.”

  “No, if there’s even the slightest chance your source knows something, you need to go,” I said. “And I have another purpose for going to the library—I’m hoping to get onto a computer to do some internet sleuthing.”

  He frowned, looking like he was at war with himself. Finally, he said, “Don’t use the computer at the library. Go to the garage and use mine. In fact, when you finish at the library, call Junior and have him walk you to the garage and then the tavern. I’ll give you a ride back to Hank’s after you finish your shift. The old man will have to suck it up because I’m stayin’. I’m not leavin’ you alone tonight. If someone breaks in, I plan to be there to kick his ass to kingdom come.”

  I smiled up at him.

  “What?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

  “Nothing,” I said, feeling like a fool. The last thing I should do was indulge in my feelings for him, or encourage any feelings he might have for me.

  I released my seatbelt and started to reach for the door handle.

  “Carly.”

  I turned back to face him, then sucked in a breath when I saw the longing in his eyes. Every nerve ending in my body pinged.

  His hand lifted to my cheek as he lowered his mouth to mine in a surprising gentle kiss. When he lifted his head, he smiled. “I’ve been wantin’ to do that since I saw you sittin’ on that rock at the overlook.”

  Before I could respond, he kissed me again, this time with a hunger that matched my own. Needing more of him, I lifted my hand to the back of his neck, pressing him closer and tilting my head to give him better access.

  He groaned and my body reacted with a primal urge I’d never felt with another man. And that was what brought me to my senses.

  I pulled back, my chest heaving, and I took some satisfaction in the fact that Wyatt was in the same state.

  “I can’t,” I said, sliding back toward the door to get some distance.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I told myself I wouldn’t kiss you, but you’re…” His voice trailed off.

  “I’m not sorry you kissed me,” I said. “And obviously I kissed you back. But…” How did I explain this without insulting him and destroying the bridge of trust we’d just spanned?

  “I trust you to keep me safe, Wyatt. And I trust you to help find Seth’s murderer. But after what happened with Jake, I’m not sure I can trust any man with my heart.” Despite everything that had transpired between us since meeting a few days ago, I knew Wyatt was a good man, and he deserved more than what I could give him. I had so little to offer.

  And here I was, keeping secrets from him still, having withheld Seth’s numbers from him. But I’d tell him when he came back.

  He gave me a sad smile. “We’ll take it slow. Give me time.”

  I just smiled and scooted out of the car. We both knew time was a luxury I didn’t have. As soon as I found some closure for Hank and some justice for Seth, I had to leave town.

  Suddenly, I wasn’t so eager to go.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  When I looked back at Wyatt from the door of the library, he was still sitting there in his truck, keeping watch. I gave him a little wave and a smile, and he smiled back and took off toward Ewing.

  The library was smaller than I’d imagined, and a quick glance told me there were more DVDs than books. The DVDs occupied four rows of shelves along the left side of the space, while three computer stations were situated along the right wall, currently in use by an older man, an even older woman, and a man in his twenties. The librarian sat at a desk at the wall opposite the front door, and she was on her own computer. Books lined the wall behind her, and the room opened past the computer stations, revealing an alcove full of books. In the middle of the book alcove was a small table with two beat-up elementary school chairs.

  The middle-aged librarian greeted me with a warm smile.

  “I’m looking for diabetic cookbooks,” I said, “but I don’t have a library card.”

  “I’m Carnita,” she said, her eyes bright. “Welcome to the Drum Library. You can’t check out any books, but you’re welcome to look at whatever you’d like.” She stood and walked around the desk. “I take it you’re here for Hank?”

  I nodded, unsure if it was a good thing she knew who I was when I hadn’t introduced myself, but she seemed pleased. “I’ve been trying to push information on that man for years. Let’s hope you’re more successful.”

  She led me to a small section of cookbooks and pulled one out. “We don’t have many, but this is a good one.”

  “Thanks, Carnita,” I said. “I’ll take a look.” She headed back to her desk while I carried the book back to the table and took a small notebook out of my purse, taking notes. I’d been working for about fifteen minutes when I felt someone brush by me then take a seat on the opposite side of the table.

  My heart kick-started when I realized it was Bingham.

  He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “This public enough for you?”

  I didn’t answer.

  He removed his phone from his coat pocket and opened the screen. Once he had his clock app open, he set the timer for ten minutes.

  “I believe we agreed on ten minutes?” he asked with a quirked brow, setting the phone down between us without starting the timer. I suspected he was a good decade and a half older than me, but it wasn’t obvious from his appearance—until you looked in his eyes. His eyes bore the weight of all the hard living he’d done. They were hard and dark, and I could tell they’d seen things that would likely give me nightmares. And he’d been the cause of many of them.

  “That’s right,” I said, hoping I sounded assertive and not as terrified as I felt. “But do you think it’s smart having this conversation in a library where everyone can hear us?”

  He gestured to the area behind me. “There’s no one here. Just you and me.”

  I turned around, and sure enough, Carnita and the people who had been using the computers were nowhere to be seen.

  When I spun back to face him, he was grinning. “I’m not sure what you’ve heard about me, but I’m not as scary as everyone claims.”

  I gave him a sideways glance, trying to pretend I wasn’t afraid of him. “I suspect you’re an intelligent man. A stupid man wouldn’t be in the position you’re in now.”

  He grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “It was meant as one.” I took a breath. “An intelligent man would read the person he was interviewing and adjust his attitude to put them at ease…or to intimidate them. Whichever the situation required.”

  He scooted his chair back and crossed his legs, which were too long to comfortably fit under the small table. He wasn’t a huge man, but the chairs were on the dainty side, making him look like he’d stepped onto the set of an Alice in Wonderland production. “And what does this situation call for?”

  I leaned back in my chair as well. “I’m not some hardened criminal, so you’ll try to appeal to my reasonable side. If that doesn’t work, you’ll pull out the intimidation, but you would prefer to start with the soft approach.”

  He laughed. “You see that in an episode of Law and Order?”

  “No. That’s how I’d do it.”

  He laughed again. “You sure you’re not that drug runner from Atlanta?”

  I gestured to his phone. “Shouldn’t that be running now?”

  His eyes lit up with amusement, and he reached for the phone, pressing the start button. “How’d you end up movin’ in with Hank Chalmers?”

  “I went to visit him in the hospital and found out that
he wouldn’t be able to come home unless someone brought him back to Drum. I needed a place to stay, so we worked out a barter.”

  “Why’d you go see him?”

  “I held his grandson’s hand while he died. I thought Hank might like to meet the person who’d comforted Seth in his last moments.” I figured his next questions would be about those last moments, so I was surprised when he didn’t address it.

  “Seems like Hank’s pretty taken with you for only knowin’ you a couple of days.”

  I shrugged and quoted Shakespeare. “‘Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.’”

  His eyes narrowed. “Only you’re not sleepin’ with him.”

  I groaned in disgust. “What is everyone’s fascination with me sleepin’ with Hank? He’s old enough to be my father and crotchety enough to be my grandfather.”

  “No, you’re hookin’ up with Wyatt Drummond.”

  I forced myself to shake my head. “You heard wrong.”

  “That wasn’t you kissin’ the man outside the library?” he asked with a grin. He gestured to his phone. “I’ve got a photo if you’d like to see it.”

  My chest tightened. I was certain a man like Bingham did everything for a reason, which meant he had a reason for mentioning Wyatt. But the bigger concern was that he or one of his cronies had been stalking me.

  “You’ve spent thirty seconds discussing your take on my personal life. Is that really how you want to use your time?”

  His smile fell and his face became expressionless except for the hard glint in his eyes. “I’m just tryin’ to figure you out.”

  “There’s nothing to figure out. You want to talk about the night Seth died, so I suggest we get right to it, because I’m holding you to the ten minutes.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you saw?”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard the story by now.”

  “That you woke up and found him dyin’? I call bullshit.”

  “So what do you think I saw?”

  “You saw him get killed. For all I know, you’re the one who took the drugs.”

  “I thought we’d already confirmed that I’m not a drug dealer from Georgia,” I said. “It was a coincidence that my car broke down the same night the dealer was supposed to come to Drum.”

  “The dealer was supposed to stay at the Alpine Inn, and you were there too. You’re the only stranger who rented a room that night.”

  “What about on the weekend?” I asked. “Seems Max doesn’t get much traffic. Someone could have rented a room, hidden the stash in it, then notified the buyers a day or two later.”

  “Wouldn’t be smart to leave that much product unsupervised,” Bingham said. “Especially since Max sometimes rents those rooms at an hourly rate.”

  Gross. “So you’re suggesting the person never showed?” I asked.

  “Seems to me,” he said slowly, “that the real dealer wouldn’t make as much fuss as you did when you came to town. Then again, what do I know?” He winked and shot me a wry grin.

  Did he think I was the dealer after all? “If the dealer never showed, then why were Cecil and his friends searching the rooms? Why was Seth there?”

  “Because I told him I expected a drug deal to go down there. I already suspected there were traitors in my midst, and I didn’t want to clue them in. So I told the boy I’d make it worth his while if he went as my eyes and ears.”

  “You asked a teenage boy to watch hardened criminals in the middle of a transaction?” I asked, outraged.

  He shrugged. “The boy wasn’t as innocent as you might think. He’d done a few things that could have gotten him into trouble.”

  Something about the way he said it caught my attention. “You threatened to expose him.”

  He scoffed. “I didn’t need to threaten him with anything. He agreed to be my eyes and ears, but I warned him not to interfere. I can’t help thinkin’ he tried to apprehend them.”

  “You put him in the position to be killed,” I said, my anger rising. “This is your fault.”

  “I caught him spyin’ on me. I had a choice—tell him what he wanted to know or let him go and lose face. Third option was beatin’ the shit out of him.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Most people would find this hard to believe, but I don’t cotton to beatin’ up teenage boys who are set on avengin’ their mother’s death.”

  “Well, aren’t you the nice guy.”

  His attitude shifted, from defensive to sly as he narrowed his eyes. “Let’s back up to something else. You said they were searchin’ rooms. What makes you say that?”

  Oh. Shit.

  “Why else would they be busting down doors?” I asked, thinking quickly. “Cecil showed up at Hank’s looking for the stash. Stands to reason that’s what they were doing at the motel.”

  “So you’re just speculatin’?” he asked.

  “Of course. Isn’t that what most people do when they only have a few pieces of information? They take what they know and try to make it fit.”

  He scanned me up and down, although his perusal felt more calculating than it did lustful. “Yeah,” he finally said. “That’s exactly what they do.” He paused. “You keep usin’ they when you talk about the people who did this. As in more than one,” he said. “I find that peculiar.”

  “Why? It’s like Hank said, Cecil talked about looking for the stash for his buddies. Stands to reason there are more of them.”

  “Cecil could have done this on his own. Just because his buddies wanted a piece of the stash doesn’t mean they were involved in the murder.” He tilted his head toward me. “Got anything else to volunteer?” When I didn’t say anything, he asked, “Which hand did you hold while the boy was dyin’?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It seems to matter to you since you’re not willin’ to tell me. Shouldn’t be too hard to figure out.”

  I knew where he was headed with this question, and I had no idea how to thwart his agenda other than to play dumb. “Well, when you put it that way, I guess I was on his left side.”

  “So you held his left hand?”

  “Yes.”

  He gave me a long look. “You didn’t notice anything on his hand?” he pressed.

  My pulse escalated. He knew about the numbers. Did he also know what they meant?

  I shook my head, hoping my directness would sell my story. “Should I have?”

  He frowned. “You promised me a piece of information that you claimed the sheriff’s office didn’t have.”

  “All in good time,” I said. “This is supposed to be a question and answer session, not an interrogation.”

  A smirk lit up his eyes. “I prefer the word interview.”

  “Call it what you like, it’s still the same thing.” I narrowed my eyes. Then in a risky and perhaps foolish move, I decided to goad him. “I’ve heard that Bart Drummond runs this town.”

  A fire flashed in his eyes and then quickly faded to indifference. So he was a man who could control his temper. “The Drummonds are history in this town. They may have run it in the past, but I’m in charge now.”

  “Does Bart Drummond know that?”

  The left corner of his mouth lifted and a playfulness danced in his eyes. “Where’d you come from, girl?”

  “I’m not a girl. I’m a woman who happened to be passing through and got stuck in a nightmare. I intend on finding my way out, so answer my question. Does Bart know you’re running it?”

  “He’s deluded himself into thinking he’s in charge,” he smirked.

  “So you’re in charge?”

  His grin spread. “That’s right.”

  “And someone’s trying to take over your turf.” I paused, then added, “Or take it back.”

  He chuckled. “You think Bart Drummond’s trying to take over my drug business?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But if he wants the town back and you’re in charge, then it stands to reason he needs to knock you off your throne.”


  He studied me again, more intensely than before. “So you have a theory?”

  “No,” I said. “Just tryin’ to make the pieces fit.”

  Uncrossing his legs, he leaned forward. “Bart Drummond is as crooked as it gets, but he’d never lower himself into the gutter of drugs.”

  I shrugged. “You know this town better than me, but it’s obvious that you have dissension in your ranks. Cecil Abrams was one of your own.”

  He was silent for a moment, then leaned back again, his face inscrutable. “And what about Dwight Henderson?”

  Had he heard about my run-in with Dwight? “I don’t follow.”

  His brow lifted. “Do you think he was one of the murderers?”

  “And how would I know that?”

  “We’ve established there was more than one,” he said, crossing his arms. “And we know one of my men was involved. We’ve deduced that someone is trying to horn in on my business. What do you know about Dwight?”

  “I know he worked at Mobley’s funeral home until he was fired yesterday.”

  “Wonder why he was so pissed to have lost his job?” Bingham asked with a sly grin.

  “No,” I said slowly, “but I have a feeling you do.”

  “Guess where Mobley gets his caskets?”

  Dread pooled in my gut. “Atlanta.”

  He sat up and pointed a finger at me. “I knew you were a smart woman.”

  “So the drugs didn’t come into Drum at all?”

  “The drugs didn’t come on Monday night. The dealer got scared off.” The pleased look on his face clued me in on who’d run them off. “But the plan was to send the drug shipments with the caskets. The motel meeting was supposed to confirm the details…and according to my source, bring a few samples.”

  My heart sank. “Seth was there waiting for his proof to bring back to you. He died for nothing.”

  “He didn’t die for nothin’. He flushed out two of the interlopers, and a traitor to boot.”

  There were multiple things wrong with his statement, the greatest of which was his acceptance of Seth’s death as collateral damage. But very high up on that list was the fact that I would have recognized Dwight’s voice if he’d been in that parking lot. Could he have been the driver?