Her Scream in the Silence (Carly Moore #2) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,31

“But I’ll help you.”

His response caught me by surprise. “You’re still on medical leave.”

“That’s right, which means this won’t be an official investigation. It’ll just be two friends checkin’ on her.”

“Thank you, Marco!”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “For now, I’m only committin’ to checkin’ her house.”

Something I’d already done, although he was bound to notice more than I would.

“We’ll figure out where to go from there,” he continued, “if we go somewhere from there. How soon can you meet me at Lula’s house?”

I glanced around the kitchen. I’d only put half the food away and still had to make Hank’s dinner. Or did I? After Hank’s release from the hospital, Wyatt and I had agreed to share the responsibility of taking care of him. Surely he could do his part.

I mentally added up how long it would take me to finish with the groceries, grab my work shirt, and drive to Lula’s. “About thirty minutes. Do you need directions?”

“Nah,” he said, “I ain’t never been to her house, but I know the turnoff. I’ll meet you in a half hour.”

I hung up the phone and called the garage, my stomach clenching at the thought of talking to Wyatt. I prayed that his employee, Junior, answered instead.

Of course, luck was against me.

“Drummond Auto Repair and Towing,” Wyatt answered.

My breath caught in my throat. Why did I have to like him so much? Why did my body react to him like it had never reacted to anyone else? Why couldn’t he be more forthcoming?

“Wyatt, it’s Carly.”

I heard him exhale in relief. “I’m glad you called. I was givin’ you some space, but I planned to come see you tonight.”

“Were you coming to tell me your secrets?” I asked, my voice stiff.

He hesitated. “Carly…”

“I’m not calling about me,” I said. “Hank and I just got back from Greeneville, and I don’t have time to make him dinner before I leave. Can you come to Hank’s and make sure he eats something healthy? He had Popeyes for lunch, so he really needs to eat something on his diet.”

“Yeah, but I still want to see you.”

“Don’t be coming to the tavern expecting to talk to me,” I said. “It’s Friday night and we’ll be busy. And unless you’re planning on sharing at least one of your secrets, don’t bother talking to me when you get to Hank’s either.”

“I need a little time, Carly, if you’d just—”

I had no idea what else he planned to say, since I hung up. I had bigger issues to contend with than my love life. I needed to focus on what had happened to Lula, because I was sure it was nothing good.

Chapter Nine

Marco’s black Ford Explorer was parked perpendicular to Lula’s driveway, his engine running. Making a U-turn, I parked along the side of the street in front of him. I got out and walked to his driver’s side, wearing my snow boots.

He rolled down his window and said, “Get in. We’ll drive down to her house in my car.”

I walked around the other side and climbed in, nearly salivating over the heated leather seats. I’d had a nice car in my other life—an Acura with a luxury interior and a nice stereo system.

Caroline Blakely would never have thought she’d end up searching a one-room shack for a pregnant waitress who’d been sleeping with a dangerous drug dealer.

He backed up, then turned down the lane, coming to a halt within a few feet of pulling in.

“Did you drive down here before?” he asked, pointing to the drive that was still partially snow-covered.

I wouldn’t have noticed, but now that he mentioned it, I saw some patterns in the mud.

A chill zipped down my spine.

“No. I parked on the street because I was worried I’d get stuck. I didn’t drive down last night either. I dropped her off and watched her walk toward the house.”

He stared out at the lane. “You don’t say. Then I wonder how those tire tracks got there.” Reaching into the backseat, he grabbed a nice digital camera with a long lens. He flipped a switch, turning it on. “Do me a favor and take some photos of those tire tracks.”

I didn’t have to ask why he needed the help. The crutches in the back confirmed that he was still using them, and likely would for weeks to come. “Yeah. Of course, but I thought you weren’t investigating.”

“I’m not,” he countered good-naturedly. “But if this does turn out to be something, then I’m not destroyin’ any