A Cry in the Dark (Carly Moore #1) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,116
Drummonds are history in this town. They may have run it in the past, but I’m in charge now.”
“Does Bart Drummond know that?”
The left corner of his mouth lifted and a playfulness danced in his eyes. “Where’d you come from, girl?”
“I’m not a girl. I’m a woman who happened to be passing through and got stuck in a nightmare. I intend on finding my way out, so answer my question. Does Bart know you’re running it?”
“He’s deluded himself into thinking he’s in charge,” he smirked.
“So you’re in charge?”
His grin spread. “That’s right.”
“And someone’s trying to take over your turf.” I paused, then added, “Or take it back.”
He chuckled. “You think Bart Drummond’s trying to take over my drug business?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But if he wants the town back and you’re in charge, then it stands to reason he needs to knock you off your throne.”
He studied me again, more intensely than before. “So you have a theory?”
“No,” I said. “Just tryin’ to make the pieces fit.”
Uncrossing his legs, he leaned forward. “Bart Drummond is as crooked as it gets, but he’d never lower himself into the gutter of drugs.”
I shrugged. “You know this town better than me, but it’s obvious that you have dissension in your ranks. Cecil Abrams was one of your own.”
He was silent for a moment, then leaned back again, his face inscrutable. “And what about Dwight Henderson?”
Had he heard about my run-in with Dwight? “I don’t follow.”
His brow lifted. “Do you think he was one of the murderers?”
“And how would I know that?”
“We’ve established there was more than one,” he said, crossing his arms. “And we know one of my men was involved. We’ve deduced that someone is trying to horn in on my business. What do you know about Dwight?”
“I know he worked at Mobley’s funeral home until he was fired yesterday.”
“Wonder why he was so pissed to have lost his job?” Bingham asked with a sly grin.
“No,” I said slowly, “but I have a feeling you do.”
“Guess where Mobley gets his caskets?”
Dread pooled in my gut. “Atlanta.”
He sat up and pointed a finger at me. “I knew you were a smart woman.”
“So the drugs didn’t come into Drum at all?”
“The drugs didn’t come on Monday night. The dealer got scared off.” The pleased look on his face clued me in on who’d run them off. “But the plan was to send the drug shipments with the caskets. The motel meeting was supposed to confirm the details…and according to my source, bring a few samples.”
My heart sank. “Seth was there waiting for his proof to bring back to you. He died for nothing.”
“He didn’t die for nothin’. He flushed out two of the interlopers, and a traitor to boot.”
There were multiple things wrong with his statement, the greatest of which was his acceptance of Seth’s death as collateral damage. But very high up on that list was the fact that I would have recognized Dwight’s voice if he’d been in that parking lot. Could he have been the driver?
“Do you have any idea how many people are involved in this project?” I asked.
He laughed. “Project? I like that.” He shook his head in amusement, but his smile quickly faded. “No, but I suspect you can help fill in some of the blanks.”
I tried to keep my breath even and my body still so I didn’t give away my fear. “Hypothetically speaking,” I said slowly, “let’s say I do know more than I’ve been lettin’ on. What guarantee do I have that it’s enough to placate you?”
“I guess you don’t,” he said. “It’s a high-risk game for all of us.”
“So let’s say I did see more, why wouldn’t I have told the sheriff?”
“That is a mighty fine question indeed,” he said. “By the time I left the bar that night, I knew you weren’t the dealer. You were too inept. Too soft.” His gaze lowered to my chest, and then he glanced back up with a grin. “But if you were who you claimed to be, you’d have no reason to lie to the sheriff, and I know you did. Which means the boy warned you that they were crooked.”
It was on my lips to agree with him. To tell him he’d guessed correctly. So why didn’t I just tell him everything and be done with it?
Because I ran the risk of signing their death warrant. I suspected Bingham was his own judge, jury, and executioner.