“I wonder if Wyatt has any idea.”
Marco gave me a dry look. “Do you really think he’d tell you? He isn’t what you’d call an open book.”
“Maybe he’ll talk with an arrest warrant breathing down his neck.”
He pushed out a sigh. “Do you know where to find him?”
“I do, but I have an appointment with Bingham at ten.” It was on the edge of my tongue to tell him that Wyatt was probably there too, but I didn’t want to put him in a sticky position. He’d already bent and flat-out broken plenty of rules to help out.
“Do you really think that’s the best use of our time?” he asked. “Maybe we should focus on finding Dick Stinnett.”
“I considered it,” I said, “but I suspect that Bingham has useful information. You know he has it out for Bart. It stands to reason he might have been keeping tabs on Wyatt.”
“That’s not creepy as shit,” Marco groused.
I shrugged. “You can’t tell me you’re surprised.”
Rather than respond, he looked down the road.
“So I’ll talk to Bingham. Then we’ll head to Ewing.” If I didn’t change my mind and go to work for an hour or so. I hated to just throw Ginger and Molly in the deep end. But I’d decide after I talked to Bingham. “Don’t forget you need to wait off Bingham’s property.”
“I don’t have to do that now,” he said. “Since I’m officially helpin’ you.”
I shook my head. “You and I both know I have to do this alone.”
The expression on his face said he wasn’t any too happy about it, but he nodded after a moment. I hopped in my car and headed back to the highway, leaving Marco to follow.
He pulled onto the side of the road, and I left him behind as I made the turn onto Bingham’s property and drove toward the white bungalow house with peeling paint that sat in front of a giant metal building surrounded by cars in varying states of rust decay. I knew the large building housed the body shop that he also used as a chop shop.
I parked out front, noticing that Wyatt’s truck wasn’t anywhere to be seen, not that I’d expected him to be so obvious. I hoped that meant he’d hidden it well and not that he wasn’t here.
The front door of the house opened as I got out of my car, Bingham filling the doorway.
“You know what I’ve figured out about you, Carly Moore?” he asked with a sly grin as he shut the door behind him. “You’re a shit stirrer.”
My eyes widened and I stopped in place.
He took a couple of steps toward me across the covered porch. “You’ve been stirring up shit in this town practically since you crossed the city limits, and you’re still at it.”
I held up my hands, but I kept my back straight. “I’m not trying to cause you any trouble, Bingham, and I’m sure not here to accuse you of anything.”
“Yet here you are, darkening my doorstep, days after they found Heather.”
“I already told you that I know you’re not stupid enough to have left a body out there. You didn’t kill her.” I took a step closer. “But I think you might know something about who did.”
His eyes hardened. “So you think I’m a snitch?”
Dammit, this wasn’t going as I’d hoped. He had his dander up.
“No, Bingham, I think you’re an intelligent man who pays attention to the world around him.”
His stance suggested I hadn’t buttered him up much.
“Come on, Bingham. We both know that Wyatt didn’t kill Heather, and while I’m not insinuating that you know who did, you might be able to point me in the right direction so I can figure it out.”
His jaw relaxed slightly, and he leaned a shoulder against a pillar next to the top of the steps. “And why would I do that?”
“Because I can’t help thinking Bart Drummond played a part in this, and it would be in your best interest to help me prove it.” I nodded to the front door. “You gonna invite me in?”
His hard look was back. “I told you last time you showed up at my front door that I don’t conduct business in my house.”
And I’d assumed it was just an excuse to keep me out. “Then can we sit down instead of standing across from each other like we’re about to have a showdown at noon?”
He cracked a grin and backed up, taking a seat in a wicker chair that looked like it would collapse under his weight. I climbed the steps and sat in the chair next to him.
“So I know you dated Heather during one of her breakups with Wyatt.”
He burst out laughing. “You don’t waste time with small talk.”
“You’re a busy man. I figured you would appreciate skipping the small talk.”
He nodded. “True enough.” Releasing a sigh, he sat back in his chair. “Sayin’ I dated her would be generous. Sayin’ I fucked her would be more accurate.”
I resisted the urge to cringe at his crassness. “So it was a hookup situation.”
“If that makes it more palatable for you. Sure.”
“How long did it last?”
“A month or so? We hooked up a couple of times a week. She had an itch and I was happy to scratch it.”
I had to be careful with my next question. “Did you ever get the impression she had ulterior motives for being with you?”
“You mean other than tryin’ to make Drummond jealous?” he asked.
“Was that her motive?”
He pushed out a breath. “I’m sure that was part of her intention, but you’re right. I got the impression she was tryin’ to get information out of me.”
“Did you tell her anything?”
“I told her I didn’t mix business and fuckin’.”
Apparently he had a lot of rules about how he conducted business.
“So she eventually got back together with Wyatt,” I said, “but I’m sure you kept an eye on her.”
His eyes darkened. “Why would I keep an eye on a gold-diggin’ bitch?”
“Because she went from you back to Wyatt.”
He released a short laugh. “You think I was jealous?” He sounded incredulous.
“Hell, no,” I scoffed. “But you’re smart enough to keep tabs on her. Just in case she accidently stumbled upon something that could be used against you.”
He didn’t respond, but the corners of his mouth ticked up.
“I’m trying to figure out a timeline here—she went back to Wyatt, then nagged him into demanding that his father give him the tavern. But instead of getting it, Wyatt disowned his family.”
Bingham gave me a long look. “What comes next? You’re the one tellin’ this story.”
“A week or so later, Wyatt drove drunk to Earl Cartwright’s garage and stole back the baseball his father sold.”
He continued to watch me.
“Then they went to Balder Mountain State Park, and the sheriff showed up and arrested him.”
“That’s the story.”
The way he said it implied there was a lot more to it, and that he knew a thing or two about how it had gone down. Wyatt had said his father had contacted the sheriff after having him followed, but what if he was wrong? What if it hadn’t been Bart?
I looked Bingham square in the eye. “How’d the sheriff know where to arrest him? I’m sure the arrest report would tell me, but you could save me the trouble of looking.”
A slow grin spread across his face. “An anonymous tip was called in.”
“Any idea where that tip might have come from?”
His grin spread. “I can see you’re dyin’ to pin it on me. I’m sorry to disappoint, but I didn’t do it. I generally like to handle things my own way. No need to bring in a middleman, especially law enforcement.”
“Yet you knew it was an anonymous tip. Surely you gave some thought as to who called it in.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs as he stared out into the trees beyond my car. “I always suspected Heather set him up. It was no secret she wanted the Drummond money. The tavern closed for a few days. Th
en Bart had Carson Purdy run it for a bit, tellin’ everyone that Wyatt was sick. It wasn’t hard to believe since he stuck to his house. Wyatt was arrested not long afterward, and then Max came back from school, not only runnin’ the place but ownin’ it, just like Wyatt had demanded. How’s that for karma?”
Heather must have been furious. “Why would she have had Wyatt arrested if she wanted the money?”
“Rumor had it Wyatt was done. He’d put up with a lot of shit from his old man, and he’d reached the breaking point. But Heather had invested a lot of time in her trust fund project, and she had no intention of walking away empty-handed.”
“So her plan all along was to blackmail the Drummonds?”
“I don’t know that for a fact, but I’ve always suspected.”
“So why make all that fuss about the Drummonds pressuring her to change her testimony?” I shook my head, realizing the answer myself. “Because she fully expected them to pay her off. And the Drummonds didn’t pay up because they expected Wyatt to use their attorney, and then they’d grease the wheels of justice and get the charges reduced or dropped.”
Bingham winked. “But it turned out the oldest Drummond boy wasn’t the team player his daddy raised him to be.”
“The Drummonds gave her five thousand dollars to leave town,” I said. “But that’s got to be a far cry from what she expected.”
“She was probably just cuttin’ her losses,” Bingham said. “Take the money and move on to the next mark.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I think she had another plan.” I turned to glance at him. “She had a boyfriend on the side. Any idea who it was?”
He snorted. “It sure as hell wasn’t me, so you can stop barkin’ up that tree.”
“I know it wasn’t you,” I said. “You’re too smart to get caught up in someone else’s machinations.”
“It could be argued that you’re gettin’ me caught up in some now.”
“Nah,” I said. “I’m not involving you in anything. I’m only borrowin’ your ear.”
A guarded look crossed his face. “I don’t allow many people to borrow my ear.”
“I’m not using you, Bingham,” I said. “We’re both working toward the same end.”
“Damn straight,” he said in a growl. “No one uses me.”
“I’m not using you,” I said insistently.
“What am I gettin’ out of all this?”
That was a good question. I was about to tell him that the information he could provide me might help me bring down Bart, but I was beginning to wonder if Bart had anything to do with Heather’s death after all. Even through a favor. What if Heather and her boyfriend had set Wyatt up, expecting the Drummonds to pay her big bucks to go away? What if they’d fought about the low payout and he’d taken out his frustrations by murdering her?
“I don’t know,” I said, deciding to go with honesty.
“I ain’t a charity.”
“Consider it a gift to your baby’s godmother.”
His eyes darkened, and it was clear that Lula had forced me on him, not that I’d expected differently.
I knew I was opening a huge can of worms, but I asked anyway, “What do you want?”
A sly grin spread across his face. “A favor that I can call in later.”
Ice flooded my veins. “I never knew you were in the favor business, Bingham.”
“I’m typically not. Maybe I’ve been inspired by our mutual friend.”
Owing Bingham a favor was the worst idea, yet I was tempted. What if he knew the identity of Heather’s boyfriend? What was that name worth?
But I still hadn’t spoken to Dick or May, and it was possible I could get the information I needed without his help. I wouldn’t make myself beholden to Bingham unless I had no other option. “No.”
He chuckled. “No? You don’t want to know what I know?”
“Of course I do, but I’m not going to indebt myself to you to get it.”
He stood. “Then I guess our appointment has ended.” He started for the door but turned back before he reached it. “If you change your mind later, the price goes up, so consider this your second chance.”
“No,” I said. “I’m not going to put myself into the exact same position as all of Bart’s victims.”
“Victims? Many of those people purchased their fates with their own bad choices.”
“Which is why I’m trying to make only good decisions.” I stood and glanced at the door. “Is Lula home?”
“You gonna go cryin’ to her?” he growled.
“This business is between you and me. I need to speak to her about the baptism.”
His forehead creased in an annoyed, or maybe unhappy, look, but he opened the door and called out, “Lula?”
“Shh!” she called out in a whisper-shout from inside. “Beatrice just went to sleep.” Then her face popped into the opening. “Hey, Carly.” She stepped out onto the porch and glanced up at Bingham. “Is your meetin’ done?”
“Yep. Carly said she needs to speak to you about the baptism.” He gave me a nod. “You think about what I said.” Then he went inside, closing the door behind him.
“What do you need to know?” Lula asked.
I’d figured she would know I wanted to ask about Wyatt, but as it happened, I did have a question. “What time should I be at the church?”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, didn’t I?” she said with a laugh. “The service starts at ten, but the minister wants us there about twenty minutes early.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be there.” I paused, then asked, “Have you heard from Wyatt this morning?”
Guilt filled her eyes. “I can’t talk about it.”
“Lula, I’m the one who sent him to you.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“I need to talk to him, Lula. It’s important.”
She lifted her chin. “Then tell me, and if I see him, I’ll be sure to pass on the message.”
Dammit. She was stonewalling me too. “Tell him that I need to talk to him.”
Except I had no idea how he was going to contact me if I was out on the road. “Tell him I’m working the lunch shift,” I added, deciding on the spot. “I’ll be there from noon to about one thirty. He can call me there.” It might be a waste of time if Wyatt didn’t call, but at least I could help Ginger get acclimated, and Molly might know something useful. She was May’s sister, after all.
“Okay.” Then she added, “If I see him.”
Shaking my head, I headed for the steps.
The Drummonds were infuriating.
Chapter Twenty-One
I knew Marco was dying to know what I’d found out, so I parked my car behind his and got into his Explorer.
“I’ll take the fact that you seem to be in one piece as a good sign,” he said, relief washing over his face.
“Yeah, but I don’t have all the answers I hoped to get.”
“What did you find out?”
“Bingham and Heather had a month-long hookup relationship. He thinks she was after information, but his direct quote was he doesn’t mix business and fucking. Interestingly enough, he doesn’t conduct business in his house either.”
“Quite the gentleman.”
I made a face. “One thing I hadn’t known was that the sheriff’s department found Wyatt and Heather at Balder Mountain State Park after an anonymous tip was called in, but that doesn’t seem like Bart’s style. Also, it’s noteworthy that they would have just gotten him for breaking and entering, not the DUI, if the sheriff’s deputy hadn’t found them in the car.”
“Who do you think called in the tip?” he asked. “Bingham?”
“Bingham swears it wasn’t him, and crazily enough, I believe him.”
“So who did it?” he asked.
“This is purely speculation, but I think it was Heather’s behind-the-scenes boyfriend. Bingham thinks Heather was in on it—that it was a setup for
Wyatt—and I have to say it makes sense.”
He was silent for a moment. “For what purpose?”
“What if Heather was upset because Wyatt had disowned his family? She was counting on the Drummond money, but he messed that up for her.”
“So she punished him by turning him in to the sheriff’s department?”
“No,” I said, “I think she was trying to get the money she thought she was owed directly from the Drummonds. I’d even go so far as to suggest she blackmailed them.”
“But she only got five thousand,” Marco countered.
“Because things didn’t work out the way she was hoping. Bart and Wyatt are both more stubborn than she realized. Bart wanted to use an attorney to make the whole thing go away, and Wyatt didn’t want a thing to do with his family.”
He was quiet for a moment. “We really need to find her boyfriend. Let’s go back to my place to make some calls. Then we can head to Ewing to talk to Dick Stinnett. After we talk to him, we can find May.”
I hunched my shoulders. “Actually, I need to go in for the lunch shift. I need to talk to Wyatt.”
He stilled. “And why do you think he’s gonna show up at the tavern?”
“I don’t,” I said. “But I suspect Lula knows how to get ahold of him, and I told her to have him contact me at the tavern between noon and one thirty.”
He gave me a long look. “Are you sure talkin to him is necessary?”
“I need to him to answer some questions.”
“Assuming he’ll tell you anything at all. You’re busting your ass to try to help him, and he’s not doing a single thing to make it easier on you,” Marco said, anger creeping into his voice. “While I don’t think he did it, he needs to start being a hell of a lot more up-front with what he knows.”
“Agreed,” I said quietly. “But what’s the alternative? Stop trying to help him?”
“I’ll admit that part of me is tempted, but you won’t because you’re worried he’ll get railroaded.”
“Marco,” I said, something tugging on my heart.
He gave me a soft smile. “I’m not mad, Carly. I admire your dedication to finding justice. I’m just not sure he appreciates everything you’re doing for him, and I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
One Foot in the Grave: Carly Moore #3 Page 22