One Foot in the Grave (Carly Moore #3) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,9
much a curse as a blessing.
“You know what’s funny?” I asked softly. “How everyone scrambles to find an excuse to take the burden of guilt off the person accused of rape. What was she wearing? Was she comin’ on to him? Was he drunk?”
“Jesus, Carly,” Marco protested. “That’s not what I meant.”
I turned back to face him. “Are you sure about that?”
He stared at me, his eyes wide and his mouth open, but I was done with this discussion. I’d gotten what I needed out here.
My fear was gone. I’d replaced it with anger.
Wyatt was behind the bar when I walked back in. He shot me a worried look, but I ignored him.
Blake’s friend was helping him stagger out the front door.
“What in the hell happened?” Ruth asked, her gaze darting from Wyatt to Blake. “That customer came out sporting a black eye, and Wyatt’s icing his hand. The guy was mumbling something about suing for false accusations of rape, and you and Marco were nowhere to be seen.” She sounded pissed, but I could hear the razor’s edge of anxiety in her voice.
I shook my head. “I’m fine. I think it was a huge misunderstanding.”
“So he wasn’t tryin’ to rape you?” Worry filled her eyes as she looked me up and down.
I gave her a tight smile. I could brush this off, but she deserved to know the truth, so I gave her the fifteen-second version of what had happened, including Wyatt punching him and Marco taking me out back to catch my breath.
“So you’re not sure whether he was plannin’ to rape you or not?”
“I’m not sure enough to press charges.”
“Like you would even if he’d completed the evil deed,” she said in disgust, but it was directed at the door Blake had just walked through. “Asshole.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant (about me—the asshole remark was pretty clear), but it could have been any number of things. That a waitress pressing charges against a customer could be bad for business. That men got away with things like this all the time. Or that we’d follow the unspoken creed of the townsfolk of Drum—they took care of their own, which Max always took one step further with the employees of the tavern. He called us family and he didn’t tolerate people hurting his family.
Oh, Lord. Would they seek their own vigilante justice?
“Ruth. For all I know he was reaching for his phone. You have to let this go.”
She simply lifted her brow, her mouth pinched into a tight line, a look my mother used to give me when I was in trouble and she wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. The thought filled me with an unexpected melancholy.
Eye on the prize, Carly. Take down Bart Drummond, then move on to your father, the bastard who killed your mother and plans to kill you.
My concern about Max and Ruth grabbing pitchforks and running out the door was unwarranted since there wasn’t much either of them could do at the moment. Blake was gone, and we were all too busy working for anyone to go after him. His sorry hide would be safe enough until closing time.
Marco entered through the back, taking his seat at the bar, and I kept my head down, trying to get through the rest of the night.
Around eleven, Marco was still sitting at the bar, so I sidled up to him after I dropped off a drink order. “What are you still doin’ here? It’s past your bedtime.”
He gave me an incredulous look. “You really think I’m gonna just go home after the way we left things out back?”
Sighing, I sank into the edge of the counter. “Marco. It’s late, and you need your beauty sleep.” I gave him an ornery smile. “I can’t have you being so tired you get shot again.”
His face softened. “I don’t think it’s exhaustion you have to worry about. More likely I’d be distracted by the worry that I lost my best friend.”
I reached up to touch his cheek. “We had a disagreement. We’ve had plenty before, and somehow we’ve gotten over every single one.”
“This one is different,” he whispered, his gaze holding mine. “You think I was excusing what that fucker did.”
I pulled back, shaking my head. “No. I know you weren’t. I was just trying to make you think about how you were framing the question.” Leaning over, I kissed his forehead. “Go home. Get some sleep and rest easy that we’re fine. Okay?”