trouble stayin’ away from each other.”
The thought had occurred to me. “Well, if Max actually fires me, then leavin’ Drum might be the answer.”
“You’re thinkin’ about leavin’ Drum?” he asked in surprise. “And why would Max fire you?”
“There’s something else I need to tell you. Greta paid me a visit at the bar last night.”
He shifted in his seat and shot me a glance. “What?”
I filled him in on what she’d told me about the second possible father of Lula’s baby.
“So you want to head to Ewing?”
“Yeah, I hope that’s okay.”
“We have the whole day,” he said. “So we can go where we need to go.”
“We’d planned on eating breakfast at Watson’s”—indeed, he was already driving there—“but I doubt Greta has anything else to share, so we don’t have to go there now.”
“Hell yeah, we’re still goin’ there,” he said as though I’d suggested we stop breathing. “They have the best biscuits and gravy in Hensen County. We can’t let you pass up the opportunity to try ’em, especially since you’re talkin’ about leavin’ Drum. Now tell me what happened with Max.”
“Don’t you want to talk about the mystery man?”
“We can talk about him over breakfast. I want to hear what happened with Max.”
So I told him about Greta getting scared at the end of our chat, plus how I’d arranged for Max to walk her to her car.
“So she gave him the brush-off and he blamed you?”
“No. That wasn’t what ticked him off, but he added my interference to his list of grievances.” I took a breath. “He was mostly pissed because I went over to investigate after I saw one of his father’s business associates leaving the Alpine Inn.”
“You did what?” he asked. “What in the world possessed you to do that?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him the real reason. Wyatt refused to let me in, and I was trying to get dirt on Bart Drummond. But I doubted that explanation would fly with Marco. “He and Bart had lunch at the tavern a few days ago, and he was a real jerk. I guess I was just being nosy.”
“Bart was at the tavern?” he asked in surprise.
“Yeah. I heard it was unusual.”
“I doubt he’s been there more than a handful of times in the past few years. Who was this guy?”
“He’s from Nashville. I have no idea why he was here or what their business was about.”
His brow furrowed. “Now I know why Max was pissed. You scared the shit out of him.”
“Why?”
“Carly, Bart Drummond is not a man to trifle with.”
“You sound like you’re talking about Todd Bingham.”
“Don’t play stupid,” he said. “You know Bart is his own brand of dangerous. Diggin’ into his business is no better than diggin’ into Bingham’s. It might even be worse.”
“Then why don’t you do something about it, Marco? Aren’t you a deputy sheriff?” I couldn’t help my accusatory tone.
My accusation rolled off Marco like water off a duck’s back. “Because Bart Drummond has lined so many pockets at so many levels that it would be pointless to arrest him. The DA would never prosecute. And if the DA did decide to press charges, there’s every chance he’d get a judge who was beholden to him too.”
“So Bart Drummond has enough money to get away with whatever he wants,” I said in disgust.
“No,” he said slowly. “Not money per se. The Drummonds used to be a lot richer when Max and I were kids. But he holds power. Influence. So while his bank account is a lot lighter than it used to be, he’s still in control. He’s the master of favors. He’ll do a favor for you, and at some point, he’ll ask you to do a favor for him. You wouldn’t believe the number of people we’ve arrested who were doin’ Bart Drummond’s dirty work. They take the fall, then refuse to name him, which lets him get away with murder. Sometimes literally.”
That hit close to home. Carson Purdy had been Bart’s right-hand man. Was this proof he’d been working on his behalf after all? If so, Bart had told Carson to kill me. But Carson had almost killed Wyatt as well. Had it been on Bart’s orders?
“Why wouldn’t they rat him out?” I asked.
“Fear. Rumor has it that he has secrets on just about everyone in town.”
A cold sweat broke out on my neck. If he ever found out my secret, I was in big trouble. “So if y’all know what he’s