Buried in Secrets (Carly Moore #4) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,79

hours, so if you get a chance, give me a call.” Usually, I would have left it at that, but I’d finally let myself acknowledge that I loved him, and the floodgates had opened. “I can’t wait to see you tonight. I can’t wait to spend many nights with you, and not just for sex, although that was amazing.” My face flushed. What was I doing? “Anyway, you just really make me happy, Marco, and I know I see you all the time, but I still can’t wait to see you again.” I knew how pathetic I sounded, but all these feelings were catching me off guard. While I’d loved men before, I’d never felt like this. I was like a stereotypical schoolgirl with a massive crush. “Okay, that sounded clingy, but if I haven’t scared you off, call me. I love you.” Then I hung up and tossed my phone on the passenger seat.

I’d be lucky if that message didn’t send him running.

I’d planned on going straight to the nursing home, but curiosity drove me down a different path. I found myself cruising past Jim’s insurance office. The memorial was bigger today, but there were fewer people standing in front of it. I parked in front of a laundromat across the street but stayed in my car and watched the people paying their respects. It was obvious people had really liked and respected Jim Palmer.

“Why did Pam kill you?” I said out loud.

Most of the circumstantial evidence pointed toward the possibility Bart might have guided her, but there was also the Baptist church connection to consider.

Behind the memorial, the front door of the insurance office opened, and a pretty blond woman walked out. She wore a mint green skirt and a short sleeve, button-up white shirt, both of which looked like they came from a Lilly Pulitzer store, along with a pair of black espadrilles. She looked remarkably put together for someone in Ewing. She walked toward a white, newer model sedan, and as she turned her face toward the street, I realized she was Melinda Palmer.

People walked over to her and several of them hugged her and patted her arm or her face. She started to cry and got into her car. It backed up, then she drove to the entrance of the parking lot and turned left.

Before I thought about what I was doing, I pulled out of my parking space and turned onto the street and started to follow her.

This was crazy. I had no idea where she was going, and I didn’t really know what I hoped to accomplish, but I decided to do it anyway and hope I didn’t get caught.

I didn’t expect her to drive to the First Baptist Church.

She pulled into the parking lot, and I drove past it, turned around, and then drove by again in time to see her walk inside. But then I nearly ran off the road because about ten to twelve teens—boys and girls—were working in the flower beds, and one of them was Ricky Crimshaw.

I turned around again and pulled into the parking lot, making sure to park a couple of rows away from Melinda Palmer’s car. Several of the teens watched me with wary expressions as I walked toward them. Ricky was on his knees, weeding around a bush. When he realized something had caught his friends’ attention, he glanced up. His eyes widened, and he looked even more surprised when he realized I was walking toward him.

“Ricky?” I said as I got closer, standing about twenty feet away on the grass. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Several of the boys laughed, and one said, “Way to go, Crimshaw! Older women are where it’s at!”

“What do you expect?” another boy said. “His mom went for a younger man too.”

“Watch out,” a girl called to me. “The Crimshaws are murderers.”

“That’s enough of that nonsense,” I said in my strictest teacher voice. The look on her face told me it hadn’t totally lost its effectiveness.

Ricky’s face flushed, and he hurried to his feet and came over. The group got back to work, but they kept casting curious glances at us.

“What was that about?” I asked, lowering my voice so I didn’t embarrass him any further.

He shrugged. “Some people are saying my mom was sleepin’ with the guy she killed.”

“Do you think she was?” I asked.

“No way,” he said in disgust. “She was always around, so I don’t know when she would have found time for