Buried in Secrets (Carly Moore #4) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,42

you a trafficker?”

“Of babies?” I asked, incredulously. “No!” I pushed out a sigh. “Look, I’m not some evil person, I promise—I just like to help people. But I do admit to coming on strong sometimes.” I took a breath, then tried to appear less crazy. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”

“I ain’t alone, you know. I’ve got my Aunt Selena.”

I perked up at that. “Is she your mother’s sister?”

“No, she’s Momma’s friend. But we call her aunt.”

Selena? She never came to the ladies’ luncheons. I wondered where she fit into Pam’s life. “I take it she lives around here?”

“She lives in downtown Drum. By the Methodist Church.”

She had an uncommon enough name that Ruth or Max probably knew her, especially if she lived downtown. I’d ask them later.

We sat in silence after that. Everything I thought of bringing up seemed too intrusive, and I didn’t want to give her any more reasons to think I was a potential child trafficker. Instead, we listened to music on a used iPod Marco had gotten for me and preloaded with some of my favorite music.

Thinking about the day Marco had given it to me made me smile, but a wash of sadness quickly followed. For the first time since I’d arrived in Drum, I wondered if my priorities were off. Instead of trying to dig up evidence on Bart, maybe I should be putting all of this energy into figuring out a way to have a normal life. I could live as Carly Moore and maybe marry Marco. We wouldn’t be safe in Drum, Tennessee, not with Bart Drummond holding threats over my head, but what if we went somewhere else? I could go as Carly Roland and keep dyeing my hair. Maybe my father would never find me.

That was a foolish pipe dream. My father wouldn’t give up searching for me until the day I died.

So why was I spending all this time on Bart Drummond? Was it my way of burying my head in the sand and hiding from the real problem?

While I knew the location of the sheriff’s department, I didn’t know where to find the county jail. Strangely—or not—Ashlynn did.

“Do you want me to come in?” I asked as I pulled into the parking lot.

“I’m not a kid,” she snapped. Obviously, she was still offended by my questions.

“I know, but it’s your mom…”

She shot me a withering look, then got out of the car. “I’ll be fine. Come back and get me in forty-five minutes.” She shut the door with a little more force than was necessary.

As I watched her walk toward the entrance, I decided to run by the nursing home to see Thelma. It was five minutes away, which meant I had time for a quick visit before I needed to get back.

I bounded into the Greener Pastures Nursing Home, pausing only to wave to my two friends, Roberta and Gladys, who sat at their usual table in the main living area, working on a puzzle.

“Where are you goin’ in such a hurry?” Roberta barked. She was notoriously grumpy and would likely hold this over my head for months. Especially when she discovered I hadn’t brought her and Gladys a new puzzle or a bag of candies.

I just gave her another wave as I headed down the hallway toward Thelma’s room. I was going to pay for that later.

When I reached her door, it was partially closed. I started to knock, but an orderly in the hall said, “She’s in the garden. Her friend brought her some new plants last week, and she likes to dote on them.”

I knew exactly who she meant. In fact, I was the one who’d first brought Emmaline Haskell to see Thelma. Thelma loved flowers, and Emmaline’s property and small greenhouse were bursting with them. They’d hit it off, and Emmaline had made several more visits to see Thelma without me.

I let myself out the door to the courtyard, and sure enough, Thelma was leaning on a four-footed cane with one hand while she wielded a garden hose with the other, watering the plants. Emmaline had brought rose bushes on our first visit, but the space was now planted with multiple varieties of flowers.

“Carly,” she exclaimed in surprise, leaning on her cane as she loosened her hold on the sprayer nozzle at the end of the hose. The flow turned to a trickle.

It was good to see her up and moving around. She had a bad knee and refused