A Cry in the Dark

by Denise Grover Swank

  “Do you have any idea how many people are involved in this project?” I asked.

  He laughed. “Project? I like that.” He shook his head in amusement, but his smile quickly faded. “No, but I suspect you can help fill in some of the blanks.”

  I tried to keep my breath even and my body still so I didn’t give away my fear. “Hypothetically speaking,” I said slowly, “let’s say I do know more than I’ve been lettin’ on. What guarantee do I have that it’s enough to placate you?”

  “I guess you don’t,” he said. “It’s a high-risk game for all of us.”

  “So let’s say I did see more, why wouldn’t I have told the sheriff?”

  “That is a mighty fine question indeed,” he said. “By the time I left the bar that night, I knew you weren’t the dealer. You were too inept. Too soft.” His gaze lowered to my chest, and then he glanced back up with a grin. “But if you were who you claimed to be, you’d have no reason to lie to the sheriff, and I know you did. Which means the boy warned you that they were crooked.”

  It was on my lips to agree with him. To tell him he’d guessed correctly. So why didn’t I just tell him everything and be done with it?

  Because I ran the risk of signing their death warrant. I suspected Bingham was his own judge, jury, and executioner.

  He shifted in his seat, a knowing grin lighting up his face. “You know, the Alpine Inn is fairly close to your boyfriend’s garage.”

  Panic swamped my thoughts, addling my senses. I quickly pulled myself together.

  He knew.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, trying to sound stumped.

  “A car alarm went off the night of Seth’s murder.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “There were other people there that night,” Bingham said. “People who didn’t see things but heard them. Loud voices. A car alarm, then gunshots.” He leaned forward. “See, that’s the important part. The car alarm went off before the gunshots. Why do you suppose that was?”

  Sweat broke out at the nape of my neck. “So you think someone saw something and set off the alarm?”

  Confidence lit up his eyes. “I can understand your hesitation.” He held his hands out at his sides. “You’re holding cards I want. Cards I need to play my hand. You’re worried what I’ll do once I get ’em, but you ain’t got nothin’ to be worried about. I only go after my enemies.” His face changed, and I could see he was about to whip out intimidation tactics, just as I’d predicted.

  He leaned in, within arm’s reach of me, and quirked a brow. “Are you my enemy, Carly Moore?”

  Fear was a cold lump in my chest. “I’m no one’s enemy.”

  “See, that’s not true. People standing in my way are my enemy, and you, Carly Moore are standing in my way.”

  I glanced at his phone surprised it hadn’t gone to sleep. The timer was forty-three seconds from going off. “I promised you information the sheriff didn’t have.” By admitting this, I was letting him know I was aware of so much more, but with my person-of-interest status, the sheriff’s department was my greatest threat at the moment. Bingham was a very close second. Maybe I could take care of both at the same time by sending him after a deputy. “You were right about why I didn’t tell the sheriff’s department everything.”

  His smile was full of evil. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.”

  “Seth said it was a sheriff’s deputy who pulled the trigger.”

  His eyes widened. “Is that so?”

  “Didn’t expect that?”

  He cocked his head and pursed his lips as though weighing his decision to answer. “No,” he finally said. “I didn’t.”

  Then I told a lie. “He said three men confronted him in the parking lot, and a fourth man drove them away.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What else did he share?”

  “He wanted me to tell Hank that he was sorry.”

  He gave a slight nod. “What else?”

  The timer went off, and an annoyed look crossed his face.

  I stood. “Looks like our time is done.”

  He stood too. “Is it?”

  “I don’t have anything else to share with you, Bingham.”

  “Maybe you don’t want to share it, but you know more. That car alarm that went off before the boy was shot?” He paused. “That car was yours. I know that for a fact, and no one was at the garage at the time, which means you set it off.”

  My heartbeat pulsed in my head.

  He leaned closer. “Dwight Henderson crossed me. You don’t want you or your new friends to end up like him.” He took a step back and smiled. “I’ll give you some time to think about it.”

  Then he walked past me and out of the library.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  What had happened to Dwight Henderson?

  I closed my notebook and grabbed my purse, realizing I’d never once thought about using my gun. Then again, he hadn’t given me reason to, but the threat for the future was clear. What if I told him everything I knew and it wasn’t enough to appease him?

  What if I’d handled this all wrong?

  I shot out the front door and headed down the sidewalk toward the bar instead of Wyatt’s garage, because I needed to see my friends with my own eyes to make sure they were safe. But I caught something out of the corner of my eye, and I noticed Jerry standing next to the edge of Watson’s Café. When he saw me, he ducked his head and took off toward the Laundromat, in the opposite direction of the tavern and motel.

  Was Jerry spying on me for Bingham? Even if there wasn’t a photo as he’d claimed, someone had reported seeing me with Wyatt. Bingham had said people had heard things in the motel parking lot. Had he meant Jerry?

  I hustled to the tavern and burst through the door, worried the actual murderers would nab me off the street and make sure I took anything I might know to my grave. All the more reason to be open with Bingham, right?

  But it felt so wrong.

  “Carly,” Max said in surprise. “What are you doin’ here already? Your shift doesn’t start for a couple of hours.”

  I took a look around the room and saw there were only two occupied tables—an older couple and a man who looked to be in his forties.

  Ruth appeared at the entrance to the back. She paused when she saw me and hurried forward. “From the look on your face, you’ve heard the news.”

  “What news?”

  “Then you don’t know?”

  “What happened?”

  A peek at Max confirmed that he knew what she was talking about. He walked around to the front of the bar and shot a glance at the customers. “We should go in the back.”

  “Is Hank okay?” I asked in a near panic. “Oh, my God. Is it Wyatt?”

  Ruth’s nose scrunched with her confusion. “Wyatt?”

  Max gently took my arm and guided me to the back, next to the food counter. “Detective Daniels was in here earlier, askin’ questions about what happened last night.” He paused and held my gaze. “Carly, Dwight Henderson was murdered.”

  I felt myself start to sway.

  Bingham had killed Dwight Henderson, and he’d bragged about it.

  “Whoa there.” Max slipped an arm around my back to keep me upright.

  “What happened?”

  “Nobody seems to know,” Max said. “We only know they found his body by the dump outside of town.”

  “Detective Daniels thinks I did it?” I whispered.

  “He didn’t say that,” Ruth said reassuringly. “But he was askin’ a lot of questions about what happened here and what happened at the funeral home.”

  “You didn’t see him last night after I dropped you off, did you?” Max asked. “He didn’t drop by and threaten you?”

  I nearly laughed. “No. He didn’t.”

  But Cecil Abrams had, and no matter how much we’d cleaned, it was inevitable we’d left some sort of DNA evidence behind.

  Which Bingham was fully aware of.

  H
e’d intentionally put me in a tight bind so he would have control of me.

  “Who brought you into town?” Ruth asked with a frown.

  I ran a hand over my hair. I needed to think. “Wyatt. He had to run down to Ewing, so he dropped me off at the library. That’s where I’ve been for the last hour or so.”

  “What were you doin’ at the library?” Max asked as though it was the silliest thing he’d ever heard. “The waiting list for the computers is days long.”

  “I was looking at diabetic cookbooks.”

  “Why did you think something happened to Wyatt?” Ruth asked, hanging on to the Wyatt issue like a dog with a bone.

  “Uh…” I couldn’t tell them Bingham had already run him off the road once. “Nothin’ feels safe right now, and the only other people I have a vested interest in are standing next to me.” I flashed a smile at Tiny through the pass-through above the food counter so he knew I was including him.

  He smiled back. “Don’t worry, Little Bit. You’ll be okay.”

  Was he referring to my situation with the sheriff or the overall danger? I hoped to God he was right. I could use a break.

  “You’re shakin’ like a leaf,” Max said, worry in his voice. “Do you want to go rest in my apartment upstairs? You can watch TV or take a nap.”

  “Actually,” I said. “I was going to go to Wyatt’s garage to use his computer.” Then, so he didn’t get suspicious, I added, “To look up more recipes. The library only had a few cookbooks and I suspect I’ll find some on Pinterest.”

  “Just use the computer in my office,” Max said. “I’m not plannin’ on goin’ in there, and that way we know you’re safe. I don’t like the idea of you walkin’ down there by yourself.”

  “Thanks,” I said gratefully, then gave him a hug. Truth be told, I didn’t like the thought either, and it seemed foolish to call Junior to have him escort me.

  Max grinned. “The password to get into the computer is taped to the wall.”

  “That doesn’t seem very safe,” I said.

  Ruth snorted. “That’s what I’ve been tellin’ him.”

  Max headed back to the dining room, but Ruth stayed and gave me a scrutinizing once-over. “You’ve got a thing for Wyatt Drummond.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked, but my cheeks flushed.

  She pushed out a huge sigh. “Girl. That man doesn’t get attached to anyone or anything. You need to steer clear or you’re destined for heartache.”

  That wasn’t true. Wyatt had gotten close to Seth, something she clearly knew given she was the one who’d told me. I was about to confront her with it, but she sighed, muttering that women were fools when it came to love, and headed back to the dining room too.

  “Don’t you listen to her,” Tiny said, leaning his elbow on the window ledge. “Wyatt Drummond’s a good man.”

  Relief flooded through me. “Then why does she seem to hate him?”

  I couldn’t help wondering if she knew something I didn’t. She definitely had more history with him.

  “That’s her story to tell, not mine, but I will say that her judgment of him is clouded because of it.”

  I nodded.

  “Have you eaten yet?”

  “I had a turkey sandwich earlier.”

  “Pfft! You go get settled in Max’s office. I’ll send Bitty in with the lunch special. Homemade mac and cheese. My special recipe.”

  Tears stung my eyes. “Thanks, Tiny.”

  He gave me a sharp nod. “We take care of our own.”

  There it was again. That feeling of being included. Of being protected and cared for. Of being part of something larger than myself.

  My heart gave me a little nudge.

  What if I didn’t leave? What if I stayed like I had in Arkansas?

  But that was plain insanity. I was a person of interest in two murders, and a powerful, criminal madman was threatening me. Yet I was smart enough to know that I’d lucked into this position of belonging. All those years I’d spent on the East Coast had been long and lonely, and if I left Drum, I suspected I’d only find more of the same.

  I shook my head. This was premature. I needed to get myself out of danger before I considered staying.

  But if I intended to stay, I’d have to change my tactics in how I handled Bingham.

  I’d figure that out later.

  Heading into the small office, I pulled out the chair and promptly banged it into the wall as I made room to squeeze my legs into the desk’s kneehole. The room couldn’t be more than six or seven feet wide and just about as deep. I strongly suspected it was a repurposed closet.

  The computer login info was where Max had said it would be, and Ruth was right. He needed to be more careful with it, especially since he had a spreadsheet open for the tavern’s expenses and income. I minimized the screen, then opened a browser. After I logged into my VPN, which showed my location as Minnesota, I went to the eyecam website and found the login section. If the numbers on Seth’s hand were the password, I’d still need a username. Whoever else had the numbers may have tried to log in too. Only they likely didn’t know what service he’d used.

  Bitty appeared in the doorway with a bowl and some silverware.

  “I’m not a waitress,” she said in a tone that let me know she considered my position beneath hers.

  “I appreciate you bringing my food, Bitty,” I said, meaning it. “I would have been happy to come get it.”

  I took her glare to mean I hadn’t appeased her. Sighing, I picked up the bowl and took a bite of the creamy, cheesy noodles. Tiny was right. I really needed comfort food right now.

  Eyeing the phone on Max’s desk, I considered calling Hank and asking him if he could guess Seth’s username, but I doubted he would know. I should have told Wyatt about the numbers when I’d had the chance. He might have known something.

  That thought reminded me that Junior was likely waiting for my call at the garage. I picked up the receiver and dialed his number.

  “Hi, Junior,” I said after he answered. “This is Carly.” I explained that I was in Max’s office and wouldn’t need his escort.

  “Wyatt’s about to have a minor stroke, lookin’ for you,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve heard the news about Dwight Henderson by now. A sheriff’s deputy came by asking about you and Dwight.”

  “I did hear,” I said. “They came to the garage?”

  “Wyatt’s scared they’re gonna try to pin it on you.”

  I suspected he had reason to be scared. “Is he back yet?”

  “No, he’s still in Ewing, but I think he’s on his way back. I’ll tell him where he can find you. Stay put.”

  “Trust me, I’m not going anywhere.”

  Since I had no idea how to get into Seth’s account, I decided to do a search for Wyatt’s father. Everyone kept insisting that Bart would never dirty himself with drugs, but I suspected the same would be said of my father.

  When I typed in Bart’s name, the first thing to come up was Drummond Lumber, which had closed ten years ago. The Drummond family had owned the logging company for nearly a century, but they’d been forced to close it due to federal logging restrictions. The town had lost nearly one hundred jobs.

  I tried to imagine my father’s reaction if the oil company his father had founded were to go bankrupt. It would be a massive understatement to say he wouldn’t take it well.

  The other reports were about Bart Drummond’s fight to stop the feds from moving the Balder Mountain trailhead, and then the subsequent decline of Drum.

  On the second page, there was a post about Wyatt’s arrest for robbery, breaking and entering, and his DUI. I typed Wyatt Drummond into the search bar and a whole page of posts popped up—the news report I’d already seen, along with several different versions, including one that featured an interview with the young woman who had been arrested with him—Heather Stone. She claimed to be innocent of all wrongdoing and worried that Bart Drummond would pin the robbery on her. The other posts wer
e about Wyatt’s hearing and bail—set at thirty thousand dollars. A few more about the robbery dropped charges, and finally one about his trial and conviction for a DUI and breaking and entering. He was sentenced to three years in prison and given a five-thousand-dollar fine. The article stated that the punishment was extremely unusual since Wyatt hadn’t been involved in any kind of accident, the owner had declined to press charges, and it was his first offense, but he’d likely only serve two years with good behavior. Bart Drummond had refused comment.

  I typed in Heather Stone next, and very little came back. A few posts about Wyatt’s arrest that listed her name, the post where she’d confessed her fear at being railroaded, and one about her refusal to testify.

  I typed in Todd Bingham next, surprised at how few results came up. Bingham might be the reigning king of the town, but he’d apparently stayed clean in the eyes of the law.

  Dwight Henderson was next. There was more about him—including the domestic violence arrest a year ago and several robbery and possession charges, all dropped or pled down to lesser charges that involved a few months of jail time. Nothing about his murder yet.

  Next, I searched for Barb Chalmers. Her overdose was front and center, along with her boyfriend’s vandalism spree and murder by a sheriff’s deputy—Timothy Spigot. The post showed photos of Barb, her boyfriend George Davis, and Deputy Spigot. (Something about him looked familiar, although I was certain I hadn’t seen him in the tavern. Had he been at the crime scene?) There was an obituary notice for Barb, as well as an obituary for Mary Chalmers, Hank’s wife.

  I considered searching for Jerry, but I didn’t have his last name. An uneasy feeling washed over me when I thought about him, quickly followed by disappointment. I’d really liked Jerry. But then I reminded myself I didn’t have proof that he’d been spying on me.

  “Carly?”

  I’d been so absorbed in my work that I hadn’t heard anyone approach. My stomach fluttered when I saw Wyatt leaning against the doorframe.

  “Hi,” I said softly.

  He entered the office and sat on the corner of the desk, worry in his eyes. “Has Daniels come by to talk to you?”