A Cry in the Dark (Carly Moore #1) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,119

about to confront her with it, but she sighed, muttering that women were fools when it came to love, and headed back to the dining room too.

“Don’t you listen to her,” Tiny said, leaning his elbow on the window ledge. “Wyatt Drummond’s a good man.”

Relief flooded through me. “Then why does she seem to hate him?”

I couldn’t help wondering if she knew something I didn’t. She definitely had more history with him.

“That’s her story to tell, not mine, but I will say that her judgment of him is clouded because of it.”

I nodded.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“I had a turkey sandwich earlier.”

“Pfft! You go get settled in Max’s office. I’ll send Bitty in with the lunch special. Homemade mac and cheese. My special recipe.”

Tears stung my eyes. “Thanks, Tiny.”

He gave me a sharp nod. “We take care of our own.”

There it was again. That feeling of being included. Of being protected and cared for. Of being part of something larger than myself.

My heart gave me a little nudge.

What if I didn’t leave? What if I stayed like I had in Arkansas?

But that was plain insanity. I was a person of interest in two murders, and a powerful, criminal madman was threatening me. Yet I was smart enough to know that I’d lucked into this position of belonging. All those years I’d spent on the East Coast had been long and lonely, and if I left Drum, I suspected I’d only find more of the same.

I shook my head. This was premature. I needed to get myself out of danger before I considered staying.

But if I intended to stay, I’d have to change my tactics in how I handled Bingham.

I’d figure that out later.

Heading into the small office, I pulled out the chair and promptly banged it into the wall as I made room to squeeze my legs into the desk’s kneehole. The room couldn’t be more than six or seven feet wide and just about as deep. I strongly suspected it was a repurposed closet.

The computer login info was where Max had said it would be, and Ruth was right. He needed to be more careful with it, especially since he had a spreadsheet open for the tavern’s expenses and income. I minimized the screen, then opened a browser. After I logged into my VPN, which showed my location as Minnesota, I went to the eyecam website and found the login section. If the numbers on Seth’s hand were the password, I’d still need a username. Whoever else had the numbers may have tried to log in too. Only they likely didn’t know what service he’d used.

Bitty appeared in the doorway with a bowl and some silverware.

“I’m not a waitress,” she said in a tone that let me know she considered my position beneath hers.

“I appreciate you bringing my food, Bitty,” I said, meaning it. “I would have been happy to come get it.”

I took her glare to mean I hadn’t appeased her. Sighing, I picked up the bowl and took a bite of the creamy, cheesy noodles. Tiny was right. I really needed comfort food right now.

Eyeing the phone on Max’s desk, I considered calling Hank and asking him if he could guess Seth’s username, but I doubted he would know. I should have told Wyatt about the numbers when I’d had the chance. He might have known something.

That thought reminded me that Junior was likely waiting for my call at the garage. I picked up the receiver and dialed his number.

“Hi, Junior,” I said after he answered. “This is Carly.” I explained that I was in Max’s office and wouldn’t need his escort.

“Wyatt’s about to have a minor stroke, lookin’ for you,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve heard the news about Dwight Henderson by now. A sheriff’s deputy came by asking about you and Dwight.”

“I did hear,” I said. “They came to the garage?”

“Wyatt’s scared they’re gonna try to pin it on you.”

I suspected he had reason to be scared. “Is he back yet?”

“No, he’s still in Ewing, but I think he’s on his way back. I’ll tell him where he can find you. Stay put.”

“Trust me, I’m not going anywhere.”

Since I had no idea how to get into Seth’s account, I decided to do a search for Wyatt’s father. Everyone kept insisting that Bart would never dirty himself with drugs, but I suspected the same would be said of my father.

When I typed in Bart’s name, the first thing to come up was Drummond Lumber, which had closed