One Foot in the Grave (Carly Moore #3) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,49
in her drawer. When she saw my crestfallen face, she gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Batteries aren’t included.”
“That’s okay,” I said as I dug out my wallet. “I’m just thankful you had a recorder.”
She rang me up and I handed over a ten-dollar bill to cover the six-dollar device. I dropped my change into my purse along with the recorder as I headed for the exit.
“I hope you nail the bastard to the wall!” she called out after me.
For a moment, I thought she meant Wyatt, but then I remembered my cover story. Some PI I was turning out to be. I gave her a wave. “Thanks.”
She held up a fist. “Solidarity!”
I grinned at her and held up my fist too. “Solidarity.”
As I walked to my car—mindful that Wyatt was parked in the next lot over—I wondered how much solidarity Bart Drummond had left in Drum. Despite the promise of the new resort, many people were disillusioned with him. That might work to my advantage.
I needed to get to Mitzi’s house quickly so I’d have time to pay a visit to Gladys and Thelma.
But first I had to get batteries. Groaning in frustration, I turned on the car and headed to Dollar General, where I picked up AA batteries, two new puzzles that had shown up since the last time I’d scoured the puzzle assortment, and a bag of candies I knew Thelma liked.
After I inserted the batteries and made a test recording to ensure the recorder worked, I plugged Mitzi’s address into the GPS built into my car. It told me it was a five-minute drive to her house on the other side of town.
Wyatt was trailing behind as I headed to Mitzi’s. I parked in front and turned off the car. I started the recorder and tucked it into my purse. I wasn’t sure it was legal to record a conversation with another person in Tennessee without their knowledge or consent, but it wasn’t like I planned to hand it over to the sheriff. Any recordings I made were for my own personal notes.
I started walking toward the front door, fully aware that Wyatt was parked at the end of the street. When I approached the porch, a man in his late thirties stepped out of the house. He wasn’t tall, but he looked muscular. His light brown hair had begun to recede. He was wearing a T-shirt that read, Live Hard, Die Young, and his hands were fisted at his sides. Not a good sign.
“She ain’t gonna talk to you.”
I stopped short, caught by surprise. “Excuse me?”
“Abby said you was comin’ over, but now Mitzi’s a nervous wreck all over again. I ain’t lettin’ you talk to her.”
“I’m not here to upset her, Mr.…” I figured his name wasn’t Ziegler, but I hadn’t gotten Mitzi’s married name… if she had one. For all I knew this was her brother, not a significant other.
“My name ain’t important,” he snarled, then spat into the bushes in front of the porch. “What’s important is that you realize you ain’t talkin’ to her.”
“Did someone tell you not to talk to me?” I asked. “Was Mitzi threatened?”
He marched down the steps and pointed a finger only a few inches from my face. “Get the hell off my property,” he said through clenched teeth. “You stay away from Mitzi, or I’ll make your life a livin’ hell. Trust me, girl, I’ve got the power to do it.”
I took a step back, holding my hands up next to my head but maintaining eye contact with a nonthreatening gaze. “I don’t want to upset her or put her in harm’s way. I only want the truth.”
“Well, you ain’t gettin’ it here.”
I took another step back. “If Mitzi changes her mind, tell her to call Carly Moore. I work at Max’s Tavern. She can reach me there.”
His upper lip curled. “I knew you worked for them.”
Then he turned around and walked into the house, slamming the door behind him. Seconds later, a baby started crying.
Damn. I should have considered that the fact that I worked for a Drummond might paint me in a bad light.
I’d started toward my car when I realized Wyatt was making a beeline for me.
So much for keeping his cover.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his eyes blazing.
“I’m fine,” I said in a huff, although I had to admit it was nice knowing that if things had gotten hairy with Mitzi’s enforcer, I would have had backup of my own.