A Cry in the Dark (Carly Moore #1) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,33

setting off my car alarm? There was no way of knowing, and the guilt was excruciating. I jerked upright in bed, trying to dislodge the claws that had sunk into my back.

I hoped Hank Chalmers would help me decide what to do about the sheriff’s department. Perhaps go above their heads? I could always go to the state police if the sheriff’s department was corrupt. And even if the deputy who’d reported to the scene last night wasn’t involved, someone clearly was—Seth had been adamant that a sheriff’s deputy had shot him.

I tried to turn over and get more sleep, but the smell of coffee eventually lured me out of my room.

When I walked into the kitchen, Franklin was making a sandwich at the counter. Thankfully, he didn’t look too surprised to see me. I could understand why Ruth was attracted to him. Franklin was a solid man—good-looking but not enough to get him into trouble. Tanned skin from working outside and a toned body to go with it. He looked to be a couple of years shy of forty, even though he had crow’s-feet around his eyes, also likely from working outside.

“We didn’t get properly introduced last night,” I said. “I’m Carly Moore.”

He gave me a warm smile. “Franklin Tate. Ruth calls me Franklin, but just about everyone else calls me Tater.”

I fought a grin. “So you want me to call you Tater?”

He shrugged, still grinning, “Sure. Why not?”

“I guess Ruth filled you in on what happened,” I said, still standing in the entrance to the kitchen.

He shook his head as he slapped a generous helping of deli turkey from a hard-plastic container onto a slice of white bread. “Ain’t right that a boy was murdered like that, and it definitely ain’t right that you had to see ’im.” He turned his gaze to me as he picked up a mustard bottle from the counter. “But Ruth said you stayed with him until the end.” He gave a sharp nod, his eyes glassy. “That was good of you.”

“No one should die alone,” I said, overwhelmed with an onslaught of sorrow.

He nodded again, then turned back to his lunch, squirting a generous amount of mustard on his turkey. “Ruth also said you needed a place to stay.”

“I hope this was okay. I suspect they’ll let me back into my room in the motel tonight, and if not, I’ll ask Max to give me another one.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” he said, slapping a piece of bread on the mess and slipping the sandwich into a plastic baggie. “You stay as long as you need to. Everyone knows that motel ain’t fit for flea-bitten dogs, which was why I was more than happy to bring the sheets.”

“Thank you,” I said. “That’s really kind of you and Ruth to take in a stranger.”

“Ruth says you’re good people,” Franklin said, tossing his sandwich, a huge bag of chips, and a prepackaged cupcake into a hard-sided lunch bag. “That’s good enough for me.”

“Thanks, Frank—I mean, Tater. If I can help out in any way, you and Ruth let me know.”

He grinned. “I’m just happy she’s got some help at the tavern. You can call me Franklin if you’d like. Help yourself to coffee and a shower or whatever else you need. Ruth put some clothes out for you in the bathroom in case you woke up before she did.”

“Thanks,” I said again as he headed for the door. “Have a good day.”

He grabbed a ball cap off a hook on the wall by the door, tugged it on his head, then tipped the brim to me. “You too.”

I poured myself a cup of coffee after he left—finding a flavored creamer in the fridge—then took it into the bathroom with me. A snapshot of Seth’s face appeared in my head and I shuddered as I tried to expel it.

I stripped off Max’s overshirt, startled when I saw the splotches of blood on my cami from when Seth had coughed on me. Ruth had washed the blood off my hands and face, but the overshirt had hidden the remaining evidence of my involvement in Seth’s death.

Horrified, I snatched it over my head and tossed it onto the floor, then sat on the toilet and began to cry, trying to muffle my sobs so I didn’t wake Ruth.

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t face this. I needed to get the hell out of Drum. And not after Wyatt fixed my car—I needed to leave today.

When Ruth took

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