A Cry in the Dark (Carly Moore #1) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,120
ten years ago. The Drummond family had owned the logging company for nearly a century, but they’d been forced to close it due to federal logging restrictions. The town had lost nearly one hundred jobs.
I tried to imagine my father’s reaction if the oil company his father had founded were to go bankrupt. It would be a massive understatement to say he wouldn’t take it well.
The other reports were about Bart Drummond’s fight to stop the feds from moving the Balder Mountain trailhead, and then the subsequent decline of Drum.
On the second page, there was a post about Wyatt’s arrest for robbery, breaking and entering, and his DUI. I typed Wyatt Drummond into the search bar and a whole page of posts popped up—the news report I’d already seen, along with several different versions, including one that featured an interview with the young woman who had been arrested with him—Heather Stone. She claimed to be innocent of all wrongdoing and worried that Bart Drummond would pin the robbery on her. The other posts were about Wyatt’s hearing and bail—set at thirty thousand dollars. A few more about the robbery dropped charges, and finally one about his trial and conviction for a DUI and breaking and entering. He was sentenced to three years in prison and given a five-thousand-dollar fine. The article stated that the punishment was extremely unusual since Wyatt hadn’t been involved in any kind of accident, the owner had declined to press charges, and it was his first offense, but he’d likely only serve two years with good behavior. Bart Drummond had refused comment.
I typed in Heather Stone next, and very little came back. A few posts about Wyatt’s arrest that listed her name, the post where she’d confessed her fear at being railroaded, and one about her refusal to testify.
I typed in Todd Bingham next, surprised at how few results came up. Bingham might be the reigning king of the town, but he’d apparently stayed clean in the eyes of the law.
Dwight Henderson was next. There was more about him—including the domestic violence arrest a year ago and several robbery and possession charges, all dropped or pled down to lesser charges that involved a few months of jail time. Nothing about his murder yet.
Next, I searched for Barb Chalmers. Her overdose was front and center, along with her boyfriend’s vandalism spree and murder by a sheriff’s deputy—Timothy Spigot. The post showed photos of Barb, her boyfriend George Davis, and Deputy Spigot. (Something about him looked familiar, although I was certain I hadn’t seen him in the tavern. Had he been at the crime scene?) There was an obituary notice for Barb, as well as an obituary for Mary Chalmers, Hank’s wife.
I considered searching for Jerry, but I didn’t have his last name. An uneasy feeling washed over me when I thought about him, quickly followed by disappointment. I’d really liked Jerry. But then I reminded myself I didn’t have proof that he’d been spying on me.
“Carly?”
I’d been so absorbed in my work that I hadn’t heard anyone approach. My stomach fluttered when I saw Wyatt leaning against the doorframe.
“Hi,” I said softly.
He entered the office and sat on the corner of the desk, worry in his eyes. “Has Daniels come by to talk to you?”
“No.” I hesitated, then said, “I’d bet good money that Bingham killed him. He told me to be careful or I’d end up like Henderson.”
His jaw tightened and fury filled his eyes. “Bingham threatened you? When? Here?”
“No,” I said. “The library.”
He got to his feet, looking like he was about to rush out the door and hunt Bingham down.
I jumped up and grabbed his arm to keep him in place. “He dropped by to get his ten minutes in a public place.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. I had less than ten minutes now before I had to report for my shift. “There’s something I didn’t tell you about the night Seth died.” When he didn’t react, I added, “He told me that he found evidence.”
His eyes flew wide. “What? Why didn’t you tell me before?” Then he shook his head. “No. It doesn’t matter. You need to trust me at your own pace.”
“I was worried if I told you, you might not meet your source in Ewing. Did you find out anything that will help?”
Pursing his lips, he shook his head. “He never showed.”
“Does that mean anything? Is your source reliable?”