A Cry in the Dark (Carly Moore #1) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,35
what you told that deputy.”
Oh. Shit. I gave her a sheepish look. “I don’t know about you, but a boy’s goodbye to his grandfather seems like a private thing. If I’d told that deputy, he would have put it into the report. If Mr. Chalmers wants me to tell the deputy, then I’ll do it, but not without his blessing.”
Her mouth formed an O and she was so busy staring at me she nearly drove off the road. She righted the course with a sharp jerk of the wheel. “That’s why you want to see Hank. You’ve got a message for him.”
“Please don’t tell anyone,” I pleaded. “For one thing, I could get in trouble with the sheriff, and like I said, it feels private. If I gave my grandmother a farewell while I was dying, I don’t think I’d want the whole world to hear it.”
“I guess,” she said with a slight shrug, holding the wheel with both hands as she studied the road. “You’re special people, Carly. Most folks wouldn’t go out of their way to deliver a message.”
I squirmed slightly. “Maybe they would if they’d promised a dying boy.”
“Maybe.” She didn’t seem so certain.
“Do you have any family around here?” I asked to change the subject.
“Not much anymore. I had a few cousins who got lucky and up and moved to Knoxville. I stuck around to help my momma with the rent, but she started stealing my money for drugs roundabout the time I turned thirty. She had men in and out of her life, but I have no idea who my father is. She had me at fifteen and never said. If he’s anything like the others, that suits me just fine.”
I took it she didn’t have kids. If she did, they could have been living with their father, but there was something fierce and protective about Ruth, and I was fairly certain she’d never willingly give up her kids to someone else.
“I don’t have any kids,” she said, as though reading my mind. “After livin’ with my momma, there wasn’t any way on earth I’d put them through something like that.”
“I highly doubt you’d be like your mother,” I said.
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t lose myself to drugs, that’s for damn sure, but I still live in a hellhole. I don’t want to be raising kids in this mess.”
She didn’t want to have kids if she couldn’t provide for them. I respected that, but I hoped that she’d find a way to have kids if she really wanted them.
The narrow road ended on a two-lane county road, and Ruth turned right. The land was flat on her side, but a cliff butted up to the road on my side. The rock had clearly been cut away for the road.
About ten minutes later, the town came into view and I paid more attention this time than I had when I’d driven in with Wyatt. The first block included a Laundromat and a café on the right side, along with some barren storefronts with worn For Rent signs on their grimy windows. Drum City Hall and a small library hunkered on the left. Next to them were a beauty salon and an insurance office.
Ruth stopped at the four-lane intersection. The tavern was on the right. A small vacant building sat opposite it, next to the motel, surrounded by crime scene tape. I could see a church halfway down the road to the left, followed by several houses.
Ruth turned right and pulled into the parking lot behind the tavern, clucking when she saw all the cars already parked there.
“I should have known,” she said. “The looky-loos are already here, and the tavern has the best view in town of the crime scene. They’ll be hanging out inside, hopin’ to get a front seat to the action. Max won’t have the good sense to turn them away.”
“Maybe he’s still in bed,” I said as I opened the door and climbed out. “He did have a lot to drink last night.”
“Let’s hope,” she said as she slammed her door shut. “I’ve never seen him shaken up like that. Not even after Wyatt shunned the family.”
I slammed my door too, thrilled when it actually shut, and hurried after her. She’d lent me a pair of her athletic shoes. My toes slipped forward, leaving a slight gap at my heels.
She glanced back at the car, then grinned at me.
“Good job. It usually takes people a half dozen times to get the