I held his gaze, and the understanding and warmth flooded me. He’d become so important to me. He knew about my mother’s death and how much it had changed my life, which saved me from saying the words. Flipping my hand over, I twined our fingers together. “Thank you, Marco.”
“You two are the sweetest couple,” Greta said next to our table. She was wearing a pink vintage-looking diner outfit, with a white collar and white trim on the pockets. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail. And she was beaming as her gaze went from our hands to my face.
Marco gave my hand a squeeze and released me. “For the umpteenth time, Greta, we’re just friends.”
“Friends who hold hands? And stare into each other’s eyes?” Her eyes danced with amusement. “And I know for a fact you haven’t seen another woman for over a month, Marco Roland, so why won’t you two just admit that you’re seeing each other?”
“Because we’re not,” I said good-naturedly. “We’re just very good friends. Marco was the one who helped nurse me back to health after the whole…situation with Lula, and we bonded over it, is all.”
Her smile faded as her voice lowered. “I’ll never be able to repay you for savin’ me.”
We rarely spoke about it—especially in public—but I suspected hearing about Heather’s murder had made an impact on both of us.
But her bounce wasn’t gone for long. “You two are like an old married couple, and if you’re not sleepin’ together, I sure as Pete don’t know why not.” She shook her head. “What can I get you?”
My thoughts were lingering on her comment about us sleeping together, and I shot Marco a long look as he ordered the special—fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Why was it so weird for a man and a woman to just be friends? And why didn’t Marco seem annoyed by the constant questions about our relationship status?
Greta turned to me with an expectant look, and I realized she was waiting for me to order, not an explanation about my love life or lack thereof.
I asked for a chef’s salad, which historically consisted mostly of iceberg lettuce, but the only vegetables at Max’s Tavern were the potatoes Tiny used for fries and cucumbers made into pickles. I craved a good salad, but a mediocre one would suffice.
As soon as Greta walked away Marco turned serious. “What happened with Bart at the construction site?”
I ran my fingertip over the condensation on the outside of my iced tea glass. “Bart knew I planned on looking into Heather’s murder, and he wants me to tell him what I find before I turn it over to the sheriff.”
His gaze darkened. “So he can destroy the evidence?”
“He didn’t say.”
“How’d he know you were lookin’ into it?”
“I don’t know, but he knew. And he invited me to have tea with Emily today at three. He told me I was free to ask questions about Heather and Wyatt.”
“Are you plannin’ to go?” he asked in shock.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m tempted, but I’m also supposed to be at work at three.” I gave him a questioning look. “What do you think I should do?”
“Obviously you don’t go,” he said as though explaining something to a fool. “He’s playin’ you.”
I pursed my lips. He was right.
“You’re considerin’ goin’ anyway,” he said, his voice tight.
Looking up at his blue-green eyes, I said, “I guess I am.”
His emotions shuttered. “Why is he so important to you?”
For a moment I wasn’t sure who he was referring to. Bart was important to me, but only in the sense that I wanted to make him pay for all he’d done. For all he planned to do. Then it occurred to me that he meant Wyatt. “Wyatt’s not important to me in the sense you’re thinking. But I would hate to see him railroaded.” I lowered my voice and leaned closer so I couldn’t be overheard. “And I realize this is a good opportunity to get more dirt on Bart.”
His face paled.
“Surely you knew I was looking to find some.”
“Yeah.” He looked like he was about to be sick. “And while I understand why, I’m still worried, Carly. Bart Drummond is not a man to be trifled with.”
“And that’s why this is good cover to be lookin’,” I said. “So truth be told, I have ulterior motives for doing this.”
He gave me a long, hard look and twisted in his seat, glancing around the room. Lifting his hand, he called out, “Greta, we’re gonna need our lunches to go.”
She gave us an odd look but nodded. “Okay.”
Marco was silent while we waited, his jaw tight.
I watched him, worried I’d pissed him off.
Greta brought out our food and Marco took the ticket, something he usually did when we ate together, and slapped down some cash. He told Greta to keep the change and was out of the booth in a flash.
I followed him out the door, my nerves a tangled mess. I knew he was upset that I was putting myself in danger, and while I wanted to ease his concerns, I couldn’t. I refused to give this up.
Out on the sidewalk, he stared down at me, still holding our lunches. “We need somewhere quiet to talk. Why don’t you get in my car and we’ll drive over to Old Mill Park so people aren’t gawking at us while we eat.”
“Okay.”
I got into the front seat of his sheriff’s car, and he drove the short distance to the edge of Drum’s downtown, then turned onto a road that ran along a creek at the edge of downtown proper. A couple of blocks north was a dilapidated waterwheel attached to a small building with faded red paint. Rumor had it the Drummonds had built it for the town over a hundred years ago as a gift—and proceeded to use it for their moonshine business.
I took it as a reminder that if someone was offering you something for nothing, they usually had other motives in play. Especially in Drum.
Turned out I was adopting that philosophy as my own.
The building needed to be torn down, but a few women had created a historical society and convinced the citizens it was an important part of Drum history. And while the townsfolk had agreed to keep it, they hadn’t loosened their purse strings to fix it up either.
You couldn’t go in it, nor anywhere close to it—it was surrounded by a chain-link fence, covered by a thick canopy of tree branches—but there was a picnic table a few feet from the fence. There was a small parking area in front of it—trampled grass—and it was a known picnic area…or make-out spot. Often both.
“Did you bring me here to make out, Marco?” I teased as he put the vehicle in park.
He turned off the engine and stared out the windshield at the creek. “I might try if I thought it would make a difference.”
“Your skills are that magical?” I asked in a wry tone.
He turned to look at me, but there was no teasing glint in his eyes—I saw all the marks of a tortured soul. “I think it’s time for us to come up with a plan to get you out of town.”
I jolted, unprepared for his statement. “You want me to leave Drum?”
“Selfishly, no. God, no.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t even want to think about life without you, but I care about you, Carly, and you’re not just playin’ with fire, you’re takin’ on a ragin’ inferno.”
“He’s one man, Marco. One man.”
“He is not just one man, and underestimatin’ him will be your downfall.” He took a breath. “Bart Drummond is cunning. You think Max and I never tried to best him over the years? It became a competition to Max, his F-you for all those years Bart overlooked him and rained down all his blessings on Wyatt. He never succeeded, Carly. We never succeeded. Bart found out every. Damn. Time. He knows exactly what you are up to right now—before you’ve even started doin’ it. Why do you think he invited you to tea with Emily? Why do you think he took you over to that hole and asked you to tell him what you found? He knew you’d look into Heather’s murder, and he knows you intend to use it against him.”
“So you’re tellin’
me to just let it go? Let the sheriff’s department arrest Wyatt for a murder he didn’t commit?”
“How do you know he didn’t commit it?” he said, his voice rising. “What makes you so damn sure?”
I was taken aback by his anger. “Because the man I got to know wouldn’t do that.”
“People can surprise you, Carly. In bad ways as well as good. Think about your childhood friend, the one you were supposed to marry. Did you ever think he might be capable of murder? Of murdering you?”
Tears stung my eyes, because he was right. About all of it.
He grabbed my hand and held on tight, his eyes burning green with intensity. “I will never hurt you, Carly, and I will never lie to you either. Because I know you’ll never, ever trust me again the moment you catch me in a single lie. I’m tellin’ you right now to leave this alone. Let it go. I’ve racked my brain tryin’ to figure a way to get you out of this, and all I ever come up with is a lot of nothing. Which is why we should move on to plan B,” he said, glancing down at the food bag. “We need to get you out of Drum.”
“What about Hank?”
“I’ll find a way to protect Hank, even if it means gettin’ him out of town too.”
“He’d never go, Marco, and if he did agree to leave, I’d bring him with me.”
His gaze lifted to mine. “You can’t do that, Carly. Do you know how conspicuous you’d be together, a beautiful thirty-year-old woman travelin’ with a one-legged older man? When you run, you need to hide.”
I didn’t say anything, because as much as it hurt to admit, he was right. When I ran, I’d lose everyone I cared about. Again.
The thought lit a fire in me. I was done being jerked around and manipulated. I wasn’t losing Hank and I wasn’t losing Marco. I was standing my ground. I was getting justice.
My jaw tightened. “No. I’m not going.”
“Why?” he pleaded. “To save Wyatt? A man who lied to you and broke your heart?”
I looked up at him, my voice breaking. “It’s complicated, Marco.”
“I’m in no hurry. Why don’t you explain it to me? Help me understand.”
“It started off as helping Wyatt, but you’re right. Most of his lies have been lies of omission, but they’re lies nonetheless.” I paused for a moment to consider it. “Several people want me dead, Marco. And if Bingham hadn’t found me last December, for all I know, I’d be buried in a mountainside too. Right next to Greta.” I shivered at the memory. “They probably would have pinned our deaths on Bingham—on the obvious suspect—and doing that wouldn’t have brought me justice, just like it won’t bring Heather justice. I want the person who really killed her to be held responsible.”
“You mean you don’t trust the Hensen County Sheriff’s Department to conduct a fair and thorough investigation?” There was just a hint of humor in his voice—both of us knew there were probably more corrupt cops than not. He’d admitted as much in the course of our search for Lula and Greta.
“Can you honestly say you do?”
He pushed out a long sigh. “What else is pushin’ you to do this?”
“That threat hangin’ over Hank’s head. If I can’t figure out a way to make Bart pay for all he’s done, he’s going to keep playing me like a fiddle. Do you expect me to leave him at Bart’s mercy? How do you expect me to leave him at all?”
“Hank would hate that Bart’s usin’ him as a threat to you.”
“Which is why we can’t tell him,” I insisted. “Because then he’ll force me to go.”
“Don’t you see you’re lying to him too? One of those lies of omission?”
I covered my face with my hands, realizing he was right.
He pulled my hands away, lowering his head so we were eye to eye.
“I don’t want to leave him, Marco. I have to stay.”
“I know he’s like a father to you, but he wouldn’t want you riskin’ your life. You know that.”
“I’m tired of running,” I said in a whisper. “I’ve been running from my father like a coward. Maybe it’s time to take a stand.”
“Then I’ll help you take a stand against your father, but leave Bart Drummond out of it.”
My mouth parted in shock. “You’d help me take on my father?”
“If that’s what it takes to make sure you’re safe, then yeah.” He sat up straighter. “Isn’t that what Wyatt promised and failed to deliver?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. It was a rhetorical question. “My father is part of an international drug cartel. You think Bart’s tough? He’s a cakewalk compared to Randall Blakely.” I shook my head, my voice calm and even. “No. I start with Bart because he’s practice for the big leagues and he was behind Seth’s death. He may not have pulled the trigger, but he was part of it, and I’m going to make sure he pays for that.”
Marco was silent for several long seconds. “You’re gonna need help.”
My eyes flew wide. “You’re gonna help me?”
“What kind of friend would I be if I let you do this alone?”
“But how?” I asked. “They won’t make you a detective, and it looks like they’re keeping you away from the real investigation.”
“I can’t help with that part, but I can keep my ears to the ground in the department. See if I can find out what’s goin’ on with the investigation. That part’s gonna be hard since they think I’m loyal to Max.”
“Aren’t you?” I asked in surprise.
“Yeah. But not blindly.” Which I already knew. He’d made a point of considering every angle when Lula disappeared, including the possibility that Max, who’d been acting strange, was involved. “I don’t want you goin’ out on your own, though. You need to take someone as backup. Someone who will protect you.”
“Who?”
“Someone with a vested interest in this.”
I was confused for a moment. Then it hit me like a brick. “Wyatt?”
“I know he still cares about you—the way he took out the guy attacking you proved that—which means he’ll be good backup.”
“Maybe I could get Bingham to loan me a guy.” When Marco’s eyebrow shot up, I said, “What about Jerry? He protected us from Carson Purdy.”
He looked even more dubious. “And his hand was shakin’ the entire time.”
“You really think it’s a good idea to take Wyatt while I’m interviewing witnesses? Won’t it look like intimidation?”
“With the easier ones, yeah. But the tougher ones, no. You’ll need someone with confidence.”
Which Wyatt had in spades.
“You were flat-out against this five minutes ago.”
He shrugged, grabbing the bag between us and digging into it. “If you’re dead set on doin’ this, I figure I’d prefer to support you than to leave you unprotected.”
“Hank knows I’m looking into this,” I said. “And he’s none too pleased either. He told Wyatt he’d have to pay the blood price if anything happened to me.”
“A blood price? I haven’t heard that term in years. The Drummonds used it quite a bit back in their bootleggin’ days. It was their version of a handshake deal. If the other party reneged, the offended party got to take their blood price.” He was silent for a moment as he handed the Styrofoam container of salad to me. “Wyatt actually agreed?”
“Yeah, which was why he was none too pleased when I ditched him and went to see you at the construction site.”
He looked past me through the passenger window, squinting. “That would explain why Wyatt’s truck is parked on the side of the road the next block down.”
Spinning around, I peered through the tree branches, and sure enough, Wyatt’s F-150 was parked on the side of the road. “He’s following me.”
“If he agreed to a blood price, I’m not surprised. He’s got a lot hangin’ on you stayin’ alive.” His lips pursed. “We’ll just let this ride. He’s providin’ backup and thinks you’re none the wiser.”
“But he’s following me!”<
br />
“I know. And that’s good. For now.”
I started to protest but stopped. He was right. Wyatt was my backup, yet I didn’t have to deal with him. The contentious side of me wanted him to know I knew, but I could tell him later.
“You see the wisdom in it too?”
I opened the lid to my salad. “You got a fork in there?”
He handed it to me, holding my gaze.
“I’m not protesting, am I? That’s the best you’re gonna get out of me.”
He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was appeased, but barely.
“So what’s your investigation plan?” he asked as he opened his own container. “And why were you playin’ with puppies?”
“I was holding kittens at the Drum Veterinary Clinic. Apparently they have a litter of six kittens that will be ready to be adopted next week.” I gave him an appraising glance. “Have you considered getting a cat?”
He released a snort. “Hell, no. And I don’t believe for a minute that you were there to adopt a kitten.”
“Okay, it started out as a cover to get me in the door. I was there to speak to Abby Atwood, who is now Dr. Donahey, DVM.”
“Why’d you want to talk to Abby?”
“She and Mitzi Ziegler were best friends with Heather in school.”
“No one could ever accuse you of lettin’ grass grow under your feet,” he said with a chuckle. “What did you find out?”
“If you’re really going to help me with this, then I should share everything with you,” I said. “Then we can look at all the information together, and you can help me decide where to look next.”
He nodded, looking pleased, so I launched into an account of everything that had happened from the moment Wyatt had knocked on my bedroom door this morning to when I’d left his house. I left out nothing except for my hurt feelings. They were a moot point for this investigation.
“That man has a lot of nerve asking for your help,” he finally said.
“I know.”
“I think you need to ask yourself what you hope to gain if we prove his innocence. His gratitude? The answers he’s refused to give you? Are you hopin’ he’ll tell you he fucked up and he’s sorry and he wants you back? Because you want something. You need to figure out what it is and try to determine how heartbroken you’ll be if he doesn’t give it to you.”
One Foot in the Grave: Carly Moore #3 Page 11