window on the passenger side.
My heart skipped a beat. The truck had a long scratch on the back side panel. It was the getaway truck from Seth’s murder.
A loud pop filled the air and Wyatt threw himself on top of me.
The squeal of tires filled my ears as I scrambled to push Wyatt off me. “That’s the truck!”
“Stay down,” he grunted, wrapping himself around me.
I strained against him and got free. “Wyatt. I’m fine!”
But the prostrate body on the sidewalk revealed that Bitty wasn’t.
And the truck was long gone.
Chapter Thirty
I was thankful Detective Daniels hadn’t been assigned to Bitty’s murder, although I had to wonder why not. I wasn’t an expert, but two murders within less than a hundred feet from one another in four days? Even I knew her murder was somehow related to Seth’s. Not that I was sharing that information with the sheriff’s deputies.
Wyatt and I gave our statements, and then Detective Marta White interviewed Tiny, Max, and Ruth to see if Bitty had any enemies.
“She wasn’t the friendliest woman in the world,” Tiny admitted. “But she didn’t have anyone who hated her enough to kill her.”
The detective nodded. “She havin’ any money trouble?”
Tiny released a scoff. “Who doesn’t around these parts?”
Max closed the tavern early, and we all sat around a table waiting for Detective White to give us permission to go home.
“Who do you think did it?” Ruth asked Max and Tiny.
Max shook his head and took a long pull of his whiskey. “Haven’t got a clue.”
But I was starting to come up with my own conclusion. One I wasn’t comfortable sharing with anyone except Wyatt.
We left an hour later, and I didn’t waste any time telling Wyatt my theory as soon as he started driving me toward Hank’s.
“What if it was Bitty?” I asked. “What if she got the website and login info?”
“How would Bitty get that?” he asked in disbelief. “I doubt she knew much about usin’ a computer let alone how to find a deleted history.”
“What if she didn’t need the history? She brought me lunch in Max’s office. I’m pretty sure I was on the video cam website, Wyatt.”
He inhaled sharply. “But she’d still need the username.”
“You told me the email address out loud. She could have heard it. I said the numbers out loud too.” How could I have been so careless?
“And she gave the information to one of the murderers,” he said. “Maybe she thought she was meetin’ him to get her reward, but instead of money, she got a bullet to her head.”
Sadly, I suspected he was right.
“Shit.” He shot me a glance. “Someone’s tyin’ up loose ends.”
My stomach dropped.
He hit the brakes and pulled to the side of the road, making a screeching U-turn before heading back to Drum.
“What are you doing?” I asked, starting to panic.
“Gettin’ you the hell out of this town.” He hit the gas and started to speed.
“Wyatt, slow down. We can’t risk getting pulled over.”
“I’m not slowing down until we’re out of this county,” he said, his hands tight on the steering wheel.
But he did adjust his speed as we passed through Drum. I cast a glance at the motel as we slowly pulled past it. The crime scene tape was gone, and so was the old station wagon.
“Who owns that old station wagon that’s always there?” I asked, my voice tight. “I’ve never seen it gone.”
“It’s Jerry’s.”
“Where’s Jerry?” I asked in a panic. “What if someone kills him next?”
“We can’t worry about Jerry right now,” Wyatt said, reaching over and snagging my hand. “You are my main concern. Once I know you’re safe, I’ll find him.”
“What about Hank? Who’s going to take care of him tonight?”
“He’s fine on his own. After Max called and said Bingham had you cornered, he practically kicked me out the door with his remaining foot.” He gave me a reassuring smile. “Hank will be fine. That man knows how to take care of himself.”
We’d made it through to the other side of Drum, and Wyatt increased his speed but kept to the speed limit on the winding road. As we approached the turnoff to Ewing, red flashing lights appeared behind us.
I turned in my seat, trying to see into the windshield of the pursuing car, but the glare of the headlights made it impossible. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m not speeding,” Wyatt said. “They have no reason to pull me over.”
My stomach churned. “So you’re not pulling over?”
“No.”
Wyatt was a convicted felon. What kind of