“Marco…”
“You don’t have to tell me, Carly, but you definitely need to figure it out for yourself.”
He was right, and it burned.
I was such a fool when it came to men.
“After I left Wyatt’s, I headed to the construction site to see you, had my encounter with Bart, then dropped by the vet clinic to see Abby.” I told him what she’d told me.
He stopped me when I got to the part about Wyatt’s presence at Heather’s going-away party. “He didn’t tell you about that?”
“No.”
“One of those lies of omission.”
“It seems like a pretty big thing to leave out, doesn’t it?” I asked.
“Yeah, it does, which leads me to why he did. He told you about her two best friends, so he knew you’d go to them first and get the truth.”
“I know. It doesn’t make any sense.” I stabbed a forkful of lettuce. “I need to talk to Mitzi, but Abby said the news of Heather’s death has upset her and she’s fragile.”
“What does that mean?”
“Good question. She was worried I’d upset her, but I assured her that I’d be perfectly cordial. So Abby agreed to call her and see if she’ll be willing to talk to me. I’m supposed to drop by the vet clinic after lunch to find out what she says.”
“Are you going to go have tea with Emily?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
He looked grim. Then his lips tipped up into the hint of a smile. “What’s Wyatt gonna do if he realizes you’re heading to his parents’ house?”
“It’s almost worth going out there to see his reaction.”
“If you decide to go, be careful. Don’t let your guard down. Know that Bart isn’t one step ahead of you. He’s six feet ahead.”
“I know.”
He was silent for a moment, his gaze locked on the dilapidated mill. “As I mentioned, if you do this, you could get in trouble for interfering with an active investigation, but on the off chance the sheriff’s department catches wind that you’re looking into Heather’s death, just blow it off as gossip. They’ll likely buy it and give you a warning.”
“Yeah, good idea.”
“Let’s drive to the vet clinic together,” he said, reaching to turn on the engine. “I’d feel better if I know what you’re doing and where you are.”
“So you can track me down if I disappear?”
“Exactly,” he said with a grim expression.
As morbid as that sounded, it filled me with a sense of security. Of course, it was likely misplaced. I’d been kidnapped from the tavern last December.
“Let’s finish our lunch first,” I said. “We can drive Wyatt crazy a little longer.”
He grinned. “I’m good with that.”
Chapter Twelve
We’d already eaten some of our lunches, so it didn’t take us much longer to finish. Marco purposely drove away from the creek a couple of blocks before returning to Main Street so Wyatt could go on thinking we were oblivious to his presence. Sure enough, he kept following us. We weren’t far out of town before we saw his truck in the distance in the rearview mirrors.
“He’s probably wondering why I’m goin’ with you in your sheriff’s vehicle,” I said, spotting the clinic ahead.
“I’m more worried what the staff at the vet clinic’s gonna think about it,” he said, turning on his signal before he pulled into the parking lot.
“I think it might give me more credibility. Abby wasn’t worried about the truth coming out. She was more worried about why I was looking.”
He nodded and put the vehicle in park. “Go work your magic.”
I made a face, then got out of the car and headed into the building. When I walked through the door, Sasha and Abby were both standing at the window in the waiting room, staring out at Marco’s car.
“Is that Marco Roland?” Sasha asked.
I couldn’t tell from her tone whether she considered that a good thing. For all I knew, she was one of his multiple conquests, although he didn’t seem to have many disgruntled ex-lovers. He always made a point of telling the women he saw he wasn’t looking for anything more than a few dates.
“Yeah…” I said hesitantly.
“I thought so,” she said, still peering out the window. “Are you two a thing?”
“Because if you’re not,” Abby interjected, “I’m gonna need you to give me his number. I haven’t had good sex since my divorce three years ago, and Marco Roland is known for amazing sex.”
I flushed a little as my stomach twisted. So the sheriff’s car had affected them, only not how Marco had anticipated.
“Um…he’s taken,” I said with a tight smile. A wave of horror washed over me. What had possessed me to say that? And what was this unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach?
“Girl, then what are you doin’ tryin’ to prove Wyatt Drummond’s innocence?” Abby asked.
“Because Marco’s not a long-term kind of guy,” Sasha said, “although rumor has it that he’s stuck with Carly for a few months.”
Abby looked at me as though seeing me in a whole new light.
“Did you get a chance to talk to Mitzi?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Abby said, peering out the window again. “She says she’ll meet you. Is Marco takin’ you to see her?”
“No. We were having lunch together, and he offered to bring me by after we finished.”
“Oh!” Sasha exclaimed. “We should make a calendar of the hot men of Drum holding puppies and kittens. We could sell those to keep the clinic afloat.” She turned to me. “Can you ask him to do it for us? Abby’ll even spay or neuter your kittens for free.”
Abby started to protest, then shrugged. “But he has to do it shirtless.”
“I can ask him,” I said hesitantly, not too keen on the idea of them using Marco as eye candy. “But I can’t guarantee he’ll say yes.” In fact, part of me hoped he’d say no. Marco was more than just a good-looking face on a built body. He was my friend and I hated to think of them using him like that. Or at least that was what I told myself.
“You work with Max Drummond too,” Sasha said. “Ask him too.”
“Okay.” No harm in asking, although I had no idea if either one of them would agree. “Do you have Mitzi’s number and/or address?” I asked.
Abby frowned as she walked over to the receptionist desk and grabbed a folded piece of paper. “If you go this afternoon, she asked that you knock lightly instead of using the doorbell. The baby might be down for his nap.”
“Okay,” I said, taking the paper from her before she could change her mind. I opened it and gave it a quick glance—Mitzi’s name, address, and phone number—then tucked it into my front pocket. “Thank you.”
She gave me a pointed look. “Sasha’s onto something with that calendar idea. Be sure to ask Marco and Max if they’d be willing to pose.”
“And if they have any hot friends,” Sasha added as I reached for the door. But something flickered in her eyes, and she pushed past me. “Or I could just ask him myself.”
I hurried after her, worried about her ambushing Marco. He looked surprised when he saw her, but he rolled down his window as she approached his car with purpose. It was only when I stopped by the car that I realized Abby had followed us.
“Hey there, Deputy Roland,” Sasha said in a seductive voice as she thrust her hip out to the side.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, shooting me a questioning glance before turning back to her.
“We were wondering if you’d be open to letting us take your photo to put in a calendar. It’s for a good cause.”
His forehead wrinkled and he gave me a perplexed look.
“They want you to pose holding puppies or kittens,” I said. “With your shirt off.”
“We want her to ask Max too,” Sasha said, leaning her arm against the base of his window. “But I wanted to personally invite you.”
I couldn’t believe she was being so
flirtatious after I’d let them assume Marco and I were seeing each other. Then again, Sasha clearly knew about his reputation with women, so maybe she wanted him to know she was ready and willing whenever he kicked me to the curb.
“Well, thank you,” Marco said in a slow drawl. “I’ll be sure to give it some thought.”
Sasha’s bottom lip stuck out. “You can’t just tell me now?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Nah, I need to think it over a bit.”
“If you think you have to ask Carly if it’s okay, she’s given us her blessing. She even said she’d try to get Max to help us.”
That wasn’t exactly how things had gone down, but his eyes lit up. “Did she now?”
“How long have you two been a thing?” Sasha asked. I could practically hear what she wasn’t saying: And how long until you’ll be movin’ on? Because I’d like to submit my application.
Or maybe my imagination was getting away from me. She didn’t look overly flirty.
Marco looked like he was about to burst out into laughter.
Before he could correct her about our relationship, I said, “I told her you were taken.”
If possible, his smile spread even wider. “So you’re ready to share us with the world now?”
“You’ve been keepin’ your relationship with this man a secret?” Abby asked behind me. “Why?”
“I can’t say that I blame her,” Marco said. “I do have a reputation for cycling through the ladies, but I don’t plan on ending things with Carly anytime soon, so she and I will need to have a discussion about me posin’ for anything.”
I stared at him in shock, then quickly realized he was backing up my story. “I wanted to make sure he stuck.”
He gave me a sweet smile. “I’m good and stuck.”
This was getting cheesy quick, so I walked around to the passenger door and got in.
Marco started the engine.
“I’ll be sure to get back to you…?” His voice rose at the end.
“Sasha,” she said. “You can call me here at the clinic. Or stop by.” She batted her eyelashes.
“Will do, Sasha,” Marco said as he rolled up the window. When he backed out, Sasha was still standing there, waggling her fingers, but Abby had headed back inside.
Marco headed toward Drum.
“So you told them we were a couple?” he asked with a grin.
I nearly told him I’d only done it because they’d wanted him to pose half naked, but I didn’t want to lie, especially after his proclamation that he wouldn’t lie to me. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You know word’s gonna spread,” he said.
I felt my cheeks burning. “Feel free to tell people we broke up. In fact, I can spread the word tonight at the tavern. I’d hate to put a damper on your love life.”
“I haven’t been out with anyone in months,” he said. “No damper.”
Months. I’d noticed this last month or so, but I hadn’t realized it had been that long.
“Why not?” I asked, scared to hear the answer.
“Dunno. I guess I’ve cycled through everyone.” He shot me a grin, having used the phrase he’d used with Sasha.
“You haven’t cycled through Sasha or Abby.”
“I’m runnin’ out of women,” he said with a chuckle. “I decided to pace myself.”
I glanced in the rearview mirror. “Looks like Wyatt’s back.”
“Oh, he never left. He drove past the clinic, then turned around and parked down the road.”
I shook my head.
“Did Mitzi agree to meet with you?”
“Yeah. I got her address and phone number. As soon as you drop me off at my car, I’m going to head to Ewing to meet with her.”
“And where will you go after that?”
“I’ll have some time to kill, so I might stop by the nursing home.”
He flashed me a smile. “You bringin’ Gladys another puzzle?”
“Maybe.”
I’d met Gladys in December, on a visit to Greta’s grandma, Thelma, at the Greener Pastures nursing home. Gladys had given me and Marco information about one of the nursing home’s employees. I’d taken to visiting both of them whenever I was in Ewing, but today I had an ulterior motive. Today I planned to finally ask Thelma—who seemed to know a lot about the happenings in Drum decades before—what she knew about Heather.
“Tell her I said hello.”
“I will.”
As he crossed the bridge over the creek into town, he said quietly, “You said you had time to kill. That means you’re plannin’ to see Emily Drummond, doesn’t it?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
“Please be careful, Carly. And call me as soon as you get to the tavern. Since I’ll be out on patrol, I likely won’t get the call, but I’ll check my messages as soon as I get to a spot with cell reception.”
“Okay.”
He was silent as he pulled into a parking spot a few spaces from my car. “You must be nervous about Drum opening to the rest of the world.”
I gave him a wry grin. “I suspect Drum isn’t opening to the world—it’s Bart Drummond’s resort. Do you think cell service is going to extend to downtown Drum?”
“Good question,” he asked. “I have no idea how far those towers send out signals.”
I laughed. “Can you imagine how many people are going to start hanging out at his resort—people who aren’t paying customers?”
He grinned, but it quickly faded. “Maybe more of a reason to leave.”
“And go where? How many remote towns will be as accepting of me as all y’all have been?” I shook my head. “No. I’m taking a stand, and it’s starting with Bart.” I reached for the door handle. “But this isn’t your fight, Marco, so maybe you should stay out of it.”
Because I couldn’t stand it if something happened to him—again—because he was trying to protect me.
I opened the door and got out before he could answer, but he rolled his window down and called out to me as I walked toward my car. “You can’t say something like that and just walk away!”
Turning to face him, I gave him an imploring look. “Just think about it, okay?”
His jaw set. “I don’t need to.”
I wasn’t going to argue with him from the sidewalk, so I waved goodbye before I turned to walk the rest of the way to my car.
He remained in place until I pulled out of my parking place, then followed me to the turnoff for Ewing before branching off and heading toward the state park.
I continued out of town, not surprised when Wyatt’s truck came into view two cars behind me, but I had more important things to think about than my tail. Like what I was going to say to Mitzi. I made a mental list of things to ask her and decided to wing it from there.
Part of me wanted to take notes, but I’d rethought the wisdom of that after talking to Marco. A gossip didn’t take notes, and it would be hard to write things down on the sly, without drawing the attention of the people I was talking to. Still, I worried about forgetting things, and my junky cell phone didn’t have the capacity to take audio recordings. Maybe I could get a smartphone at some point, just so I could use it for taking notes and pictures, something I’d also been missing, but for the time being I didn’t have enough money to justify the expense.
I decided I should try to find a handheld recorder instead, so my first stop in Ewing was at the Helping Hands Thrift Store.
I approached the woman at a register and asked, “Do you know if you have any handheld recorders?”
She gave me a strange look. “Why would you be wantin’ one of those?”
I shrugged, playing dumb. “I’m trying to record my husband talkin’ in his sleep. He keeps sayin’ another woman’s name and I want to prove it to him.”
Her brow furrowed and righteous indignation flashed in her eyes. “If we have one, it’s gonna be in aisle 6. That’s where we keep the electronics, but some of them are pretty vintage, if
you know what I mean.”
Thanking her, I headed to aisle six, trying not to get my hopes up. It was no surprise when I encountered a table covered with rummage sale rejects—huge, blocky computer monitors and some computer towers. A ragtag assortment of keyboards and mouses, old cassette players, and even a knockoff Walkman. Off to the side sat a handheld recorder that looked like it had seen better days. The buttons were well-worn, but there was a cassette inside, even if it wouldn’t work when I pressed the play and fast-forward buttons.
“You’re gonna need to get batteries,” a man said from behind me.
I turned to see a guy in his twenties pushing a broom. His name tag said Red.
“We have to take the batteries out, but you can ask Tammy at the front to pop some in to verify it works before you buy it.”
I tightened my hold on it. “Thanks.”
Sure enough, when I headed to the front, Tammy—the cashier I’d spoken to upon entering—fished out AA batteries to stick in the back. Once she pressed the play button, we could hear a man’s voice droning on about the American Revolution.
“Sounds like a stuffy lecture,” Tammy said.
“Agreed,” I said, eager to make my purchase and record my conversation with Mitzi.
But Tammy took the batteries out and put them in her drawer. When she saw my crestfallen face, she gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Batteries aren’t included.”
“That’s okay,” I said as I dug out my wallet. “I’m just thankful you had a recorder.”
She rang me up and I handed over a ten-dollar bill to cover the six-dollar device. I dropped my change into my purse along with the recorder as I headed for the exit.
“I hope you nail the bastard to the wall!” she called out after me.
For a moment, I thought she meant Wyatt, but then I remembered my cover story. Some PI I was turning out to be. I gave her a wave. “Thanks.”
She held up a fist. “Solidarity!”
I grinned at her and held up my fist too. “Solidarity.”
As I walked to my car—mindful that Wyatt was parked in the next lot over—I wondered how much solidarity Bart Drummond had left in Drum. Despite the promise of the new resort, many people were disillusioned with him. That might work to my advantage.
One Foot in the Grave: Carly Moore #3 Page 12