a laugh. “I didn’t even have sex with him.”
“Really?” he asked in disbelief. “Sorry, none of my business.”
I turned to look up at him. “Isn’t that the kind of thing best friends tell each other?”
He grinned. “Yeah.”
“I have one rule, Marco. No secrets. That’s why I broke up with Wyatt. I couldn’t trust him. I need you to be honest with me, and I’ll tell you everything in return.” I held his gaze. “Everything.”
He held out his hand again. “That’s easy enough. I don’t have any big, dark secrets. You’re the one with something to lose, but I’ll be honored to the day I die if you trust me with yours.”
I grabbed his hand, linking our fingers and holding on to him as though he were my lifeline.
And then I told him everything.
Chapter Thirty-Five
On Thursday, Marco took me back to Hank’s. He took one look at me and knew I’d been sick, and the tables turned—he started waiting on me instead of the other way around. By Friday, I could make it through the day without taking a nap. Ruth stopped by to see me. She was surprised by how poorly I still seemed and suggested that I see a doctor, but I told her I was on the mend and would be as good as new by Monday.
Marco dropped by multiple times over the weekend, and I was sure it was partially out of boredom. Hank seemed to enjoy his company, but on Sunday afternoon he suggested it would be good for both of us if we walked the property—Marco so he wouldn’t end up a one-legged man like him, and me so I’d be in good enough shape to return to work on Monday.
We were close to the road when a car pulled into the driveway and the driver’s window slowly rolled down. The man at the wheel was a stranger. “Carly Moore?”
Marco took a step in front of me. “Who’s askin’?”
“I have a message from Bart Drummond.”
I moved around Marco. I’d been expecting this. In truth, I was surprised it had taken so long. “I’m Carly Moore.”
He handed me an envelope, then rolled up his window and backed out onto the road and drove away.
Taking a breath, I opened the envelope and read the handwritten note.
Your presence is requested at the Drummond residence on Monday at eleven a.m.
Bart Drummond
“You don’t have to go,” Marco said.
“Yeah,” I said, but we both knew I did.
The next day, I put on a dress and makeup, and left early enough to stop by the tavern first.
Max was in his apartment, but I’d warned him I was coming, so he met me downstairs. Concern filled his eyes when he saw me. I’d lost five pounds and my color still hadn’t returned. Makeup helped, but I still looked like I’d been on death’s doorstep.
“Are you sure you want to come back to work tonight?” he asked.
“I’ve missed a whole week of work. I need to make some money, but I’m not sure how long I’ll last.”
“Lula’s workin’ tonight, so don’t you worry about that. We’ll figure it out.”
“Lula’s workin’?” I asked in surprise. “I thought for sure she’d quit now that she’s with Bingham.”
“Well, I’m not sure how much longer she’ll stay. I suspect she’s doin’ it to cover for you. I wouldn’t be surprised if she quits soon after you return.”
“That makes sense.” I gestured to the dining area. “Can I sit? I’m still not—”
“Of course.” He led me to a table like I was about to collapse, then ran and got me a glass of water.
When he sat down next to me, he turned serious. “What really happened to you, Carly? Greta had to take a few days off from Watson’s too. Only when she returned, her face was sportin’ bruises she said came from Tim Hines.”
“It was a really bad bug.”
“One that makes you disappear out of the back of the restaurant? Marco told us all you had the flu, but we’re not stupid, not to mention I stopped by Marco’s last Monday and saw you in his room with an IV pole and Todd Bingham’s personal medic injecting something in your IV.”
“Did you ask Marco?”
“He said you had the flu and refused to address the Bingham part.”
“Well, there you go.”
“But it seems quite the coincidence, considerin’ Wyatt and I delivered Lula to him shortly after your call.”
I didn’t respond.
“Wyatt thinks there’s something between you and Marco.”
“I can’t control what Wyatt thinks,” I said. “And frankly, it’s none of his