One Foot in the Grave (Carly Moore #3) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,87
“I’m not trying to cause you any trouble, Bingham, and I’m sure not here to accuse you of anything.”
“Yet here you are, darkening my doorstep, days after they found Heather.”
“I already told you that I know you’re not stupid enough to have left a body out there. You didn’t kill her.” I took a step closer. “But I think you might know something about who did.”
His eyes hardened. “So you think I’m a snitch?”
Dammit, this wasn’t going as I’d hoped. He had his dander up.
“No, Bingham, I think you’re an intelligent man who pays attention to the world around him.”
His stance suggested I hadn’t buttered him up much.
“Come on, Bingham. We both know that Wyatt didn’t kill Heather, and while I’m not insinuating that you know who did, you might be able to point me in the right direction so I can figure it out.”
His jaw relaxed slightly, and he leaned a shoulder against a pillar next to the top of the steps. “And why would I do that?”
“Because I can’t help thinking Bart Drummond played a part in this, and it would be in your best interest to help me prove it.” I nodded to the front door. “You gonna invite me in?”
His hard look was back. “I told you last time you showed up at my front door that I don’t conduct business in my house.”
And I’d assumed it was just an excuse to keep me out. “Then can we sit down instead of standing across from each other like we’re about to have a showdown at noon?”
He cracked a grin and backed up, taking a seat in a wicker chair that looked like it would collapse under his weight. I climbed the steps and sat in the chair next to him.
“So I know you dated Heather during one of her breakups with Wyatt.”
He burst out laughing. “You don’t waste time with small talk.”
“You’re a busy man. I figured you would appreciate skipping the small talk.”
He nodded. “True enough.” Releasing a sigh, he sat back in his chair. “Sayin’ I dated her would be generous. Sayin’ I fucked her would be more accurate.”
I resisted the urge to cringe at his crassness. “So it was a hookup situation.”
“If that makes it more palatable for you. Sure.”
“How long did it last?”
“A month or so? We hooked up a couple of times a week. She had an itch and I was happy to scratch it.”
I had to be careful with my next question. “Did you ever get the impression she had ulterior motives for being with you?”
“You mean other than tryin’ to make Drummond jealous?” he asked.
“Was that her motive?”
He pushed out a breath. “I’m sure that was part of her intention, but you’re right. I got the impression she was tryin’ to get information out of me.”
“Did you tell her anything?”
“I told her I didn’t mix business and fuckin’.”
Apparently he had a lot of rules about how he conducted business.
“So she eventually got back together with Wyatt,” I said, “but I’m sure you kept an eye on her.”
His eyes darkened. “Why would I keep an eye on a gold-diggin’ bitch?”
“Because she went from you back to Wyatt.”
He released a short laugh. “You think I was jealous?” He sounded incredulous.
“Hell, no,” I scoffed. “But you’re smart enough to keep tabs on her. Just in case she accidently stumbled upon something that could be used against you.”
He didn’t respond, but the corners of his mouth ticked up.
“I’m trying to figure out a timeline here—she went back to Wyatt, then nagged him into demanding that his father give him the tavern. But instead of getting it, Wyatt disowned his family.”
Bingham gave me a long look. “What comes next? You’re the one tellin’ this story.”
“A week or so later, Wyatt drove drunk to Earl Cartwright’s garage and stole back the baseball his father sold.”
He continued to watch me.
“Then they went to Balder Mountain State Park, and the sheriff showed up and arrested him.”
“That’s the story.”
The way he said it implied there was a lot more to it, and that he knew a thing or two about how it had gone down. Wyatt had said his father had contacted the sheriff after having him followed, but what if he was wrong? What if it hadn’t been Bart?
I looked Bingham square in the eye. “How’d the sheriff know where to arrest him? I’m sure the arrest report would tell me, but you could save me the trouble of looking.”