A Cry in the Dark (Carly Moore #1) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,73
in the Tennessee mountains; it was unlikely it was the same one, but I was still on edge.
I knew the turnoff for Hank’s property—I’d purposely sought it out this morning after leaving Ruth’s house—but I didn’t know the road well enough to anticipate our distance from it. If the truck followed us onto the property, I’d have a hard time losing it.
I would have sold my right kidney to be able to call Wyatt, but I didn’t even bother wasting my time to check my phone. The only time I’d had service today was in Ewing and down in Greeneville.
We continued for a couple more miles, the truck still behind us but at a distance of several car lengths, and I began to hope the color and make of the truck were a coincidence.
But as I noticed Hank’s drive up ahead, the truck began gaining on us.
Oh shit.
I considered speeding up and going past the turnoff, but then I caught sight of Ruth’s monstrous Cadillac parked in front of Hank’s house. I turned onto the gravel driveway, taking it faster than I normally would, sending a spray of gravel onto the road and pelting the truck.
Hank jerked awake as his side slammed into the door.
“What happened?” he asked, looking around wildly.
The truck continued on past the driveway and I felt like an idiot.
“Nothing,” I said, my pulse pounding in my head. “False alarm.”
Wyatt came bursting out of the house, and the look on his face made me tense defensively.
“What the hell?” he shouted as I opened the driver’s door. “What about that road made you think it was a racetrack? This isn’t Dukes of Hazard!”
“I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassment washing through me and making my cheeks hot. “I thought someone was following us.”
“Where are they now?” Wyatt asked, still angry as he opened Hank’s door.
“They drove on past,” I said sheepishly. “But it looked a lot like the truck that almost rear-ended us in Greeneville.”
“You almost wrecked my truck?” he asked in dismay.
“Now, hold on there, boy,” Hank admonished. “It wasn’t her fault, so lighten up.”
Wyatt pursed his lips and started to slip his arm under Hank’s legs to carry him inside.
“You stop right there,” Hank snapped. “I ain’t gettin’ carried into my house like a damn baby.” He glanced behind the seat. “Where’s my crutches?”
Wyatt grabbed them out of the truck bed and handed them to Hank. “What took y’all so long?”
“We had to make a couple of stops,” Hank said, swinging his legs around the side of the seat and slowly sliding down.
“A couple of stops?” Wyatt demanded as he held Hank upright once his foot hit the ground. “Where the hell did you go?”
“I made Carly stop for breakfast,” Hank said, gingerly tucking the crutches under his armpits. “And then I made her take me to see Seth.”
“You went to Johnson City?”
“No,” Hank said, taking a wobbly step. “Mobley had Seth moved to his funeral home early this morning.”
“How’d he make that happen?” Wyatt asked. “They don’t usually release bodies that quickly.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know how Wyatt knew that piece of information. “Maybe they figured it was a cut-and-dried case,” I said. “Gunshot wounds to the chest. No questions about cause of death.”
Wyatt sent me a scowl.
“I cancelled the visitation tomorrow,” Hank said. “Funeral’s on Friday. I was hopin’ you could say a word or two.”
Wyatt’s eyes widened slightly, but he swallowed and nodded. “Yeah,” he said, his demeanor now subdued. “I’d be honored, Hank.”
“Good. That’s settled.” He cast a glance at the road as we heard a vehicle approach from the left. “There’s that truck again.” He nodded to road. “It is the same truck that nearly hit us in Greeneville.”
The truck had turned around and was now slowly passing Hank’s property, continuing down the hill without stopping.
“How can you be sure?” Wyatt asked, his voice tight.
“Because it had the same sticker on the tailgate,” Hank said. “The kangaroo.”
“How would you know that if it nearly rear-ended you?”
Hank shot him a look of annoyance. “I wondered why it hadn’t honked at her, so I turned around and looked at the back end after Carly turned. Didn’t honk at her now either, when she turned into my drive and showered them with gravel.”
Wyatt’s face hardened and he rushed toward me, holding out his hand. “Keys.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked, feeling the terror of that night, of the cry in the dark, all over again.