Buried in Secrets (Carly Moore #4) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,13

headed straight for me as soon as she emerged from the back, still tying her apron.

“Did he do it?”

It took me a second to figure out what she was talking about. “Oh, you mean Molly. Yeah. He did it.”

Confusion filled her eyes. “What did you think I was talking about?”

Releasing a sigh, I said, “The talk of the town is that Pam Crimshaw killed a man in Ewing yesterday.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Pam Crimshaw? Are they sure it wasn’t Rob?”

“Yup. She walked into an insurance office and shot an insurance agent in cold blood, in front of his office staff and a customer. At least that’s the story. No reason was given.”

She put a hand on her chest. “I can’t believe it.”

“I know,” I said. “She seems so sweet. I’ve never even heard her raise her voice or take a tone. Which is saying something considering how bossy Diane can get.”

“She went through a rough patch with Thad, but even then she seemed sweet as pie.”

I shook my head. “Carnita mentioned something about Thad getting into trouble. Do you know any details?”

“Just that alcohol was involved and he totaled Pam’s car. Everybody lived, thank goodness.” She paused. “I can’t believe she’d kill anyone.”

She started to head off, but I grabbed her arm and lowered my voice. “Did you talk to the person you were considering for Molly’s job?”

“No. I decided to wait until I found out Max had actually done the deed. Honestly, I was sure he’d chicken out. Did you prod him to do it?”

“No, he was in the process when I showed up. In fact, it must have gotten heated because Ginger fled to the garage.”

She lifted her chin. “Well, I’m proud of him. I’m gonna go tell him so.” She turned toward the bar, then said, “And I’ll cover Molly’s lunch shift tomorrow. You come in at five.”

“Thanks.”

She went to congratulate Max for firing her nemesis, but he didn’t look grateful for her praise.

Kids started arriving for Tutoring Club at three-thirty. Most were elementary aged, but I also had a couple of reluctant middle schoolers. I had the older kids practice some math problems on mini-white boards I’d picked up at the Target in Greenville, and the younger ones worked on addition and multiplication worksheets. When the younger kids finished, we discussed which book we should read for the next book club meeting. (Captain Underpants for the win. I knew Carnita had three copies and I had two. Hopefully, I’d be able to pick up a couple of other books in the series by next week.) I let the two middle-school students pick their own books—Hatchet for the seventh-grade boy and a copy of a Baby-Sitters Club book for the sixth-grade girl. Both students struggled with reading, enough so that I’d suggested to their mothers that we set up some one-on-one sessions every other Monday, a half hour before the start of Tutoring Club. I wasn’t a reading specialist, but I planned to do some research on working with middle-school students. Helping these kids was giving me a sense of purpose I hadn’t felt in a long time.

While the kids were working, I could hear the mothers whispering about Pam. I tried my best to eavesdrop, but the kids needed too much help. I wasn’t sure what was going on in Drum Elementary, but it didn’t seem to involve a whole lot of teaching. Of course, I was sure they didn’t have many resources, but so many students were behind it seemed like the school itself was offering insufficient instruction. In any case, I didn’t hear anything of use.

My next hope was the evening dinner crowd…which proved just about as useless. People were discussing the murder—gossiping was a huge form of entertainment in Drum—but I didn’t hear anything I hadn’t already learned. Pam had killed Jim Palmer. No one knew why. Diane Lassiter was organizing a meal train. There was plenty of speculation that Pam and Jim had been carrying on an affair, but no one had ever seen them together.

Jerry showed up at around seven, looking tanned, dirty, and tired. I headed over to take his order as he plopped down on a barstool at the counter.

“Hey, Carly,” he said, beaming. “How’re you doin’?”

“I’m about as tired as you look. How’s the new job goin’?”

“Great,” he said with a soft groan as he settled onto the stool. “In fact, I just got a promotion.”

“Wow! That’s wonderful!” I meant every word of it. His job at the