Buried in Secrets (Carly Moore #4) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,92

Wyatt’s truck into when I first got to town. Only Wyatt wasn’t a drunk.

“There seem to be a lot of car wrecks around here.”

She tsked. “Drinking and driving on curves is never a good idea.” She glanced down the street again. “What time does this shindig start?”

“Six, but the band starts around seven.”

“Good,” she said, looking at me with her sharp eyes. “I think I might just turn up.” Then she turned around and went inside.

Chapter Twenty-Four

After we made a mountain of hamburger patties, Tiny decided he didn’t want to be stuck inside, so Max borrowed multiple grills and fired them up by the back door, while poor Pickle would have to run in and out of the kitchen with the fries.

When I finished in the kitchen and headed back outside to help set up the serving tables, I saw that Wyatt had shown up and was helping Max set up the drink station. They’d gotten about ten coolers and had set up a keg of beer.

Ruth showed up around five. Tater and his friends moved some of the barricades so she could back her car up to the edge of the parking lot to make it easier to carry the cases to the drink station.

I was so shocked when Ruth got out of the car, I might have let out a small squeal. She was wearing a pretty white and yellow sundress and her hair was curled. She’d even put on makeup and looked a good five years younger. Her face broke into a huge smile when she saw the strings of unlit white lights strung from the building to the posts, covering the parking lot.

“This looks like something you’d see in a movie, Max,” she said.

“We haven’t tried ’em yet,” he said, wrapping an arm around her back and snugging her up next to him. “I was waitin’ for you.”

“That’s my woman, Max,” Tater called out good-naturedly as he carried two cases of bottled water past them.

“Maybe so,” Max teased, “but a man can keep tryin’.”

Wyatt, who’d already started putting the cans and bottles in coolers, shot me a look before quickly returning to his task.

“Okay, Scout,” Max called out to one of Tater’s friends. “Flip the switch.”

Scout picked up the surge protector strip and pressed the button, and all the lights burst to life. Ruth and I clapped and cheered, and Max beamed like he was Santa Claus bringing Christmas magic to Drum. The time of year wasn’t right, but the analogy wasn’t far off.

Families with young kids showed up at six. They went through the food line and then sat at picnic tables. A woman strummed a guitar and sang children’s songs while Tater’s friend made balloon animals.

More people trickled in, and by seven the lot and street were full of people. Tiny and Pickle were struggling to keep up with the food.

“How many people do you think are here?” I asked Ruth between tallying up orders. I’d already had to change out the cash box twice.

“I don’t know. Over a hundred. Maybe one fifty?”

“I’m not sure we’ll have enough food.”

“Max’s got a popcorn maker on the way for after we stop serving dinner. Maybe that will tide them over.”

The man really had thought of everything.

At seven, the woman with the guitar was replaced by a bluegrass band of several older men. The kids danced around the tables and played in the grass strips on the side of the road, and a few older couples danced in the open part of the parking lot.

Soon after, Selena came through my line, looking pleased.

“This is lovely,” she said. “It’s exactly what this town needed.”

I had to agree with her. I’d never seen so many happy people in Drum, and it struck me as odd that I hadn’t noticed that they weren’t happy before.

When Marco hadn’t shown up by seven-thirty, I started to worry. I caught Max’s attention and asked him if he’d heard from him.

His forehead creased. “No. But I’m sure he’ll be here as soon as he can.” He gave me a sly grin. “Wild horses couldn’t keep the man away from you.”

I smiled back, reveling in the fact that he was right. Then I turned back to my dwindling line, surprised when I realized I was face to face with Ricky and Thad Crimshaw.

“Hi, Ricky,” I said. “Hi, Thad.”

“You know my boys?” a man asked behind them, his tone accusatory.

Rob Crimshaw. His eyes were hard, and while I knew he was in his forties, the lines