away. And you know something about what happened to Jerry.”
“Did you ever think they might all be related?” she asked.
I had, but I wasn’t going to admit that to her. “Who told you I was looking into Bart Drummond? Carnita thinks I’m writing a book.”
She eyed me up and down. “You don’t seem like the type to sit back and write a book for revenge. You’re a doer.”
“I’m researching the town because I like history,” I said. “As for Bart Drummond, he was kind enough to give Jerry a job when everyone else looked down on him. Why would I have something against my boss’s father?” I was proud of myself for not retching as I said the words.
She gave me a look that suggested I’d lost my mind, then burst into laughter. “You really should consider an actin’ career. I almost believed that.”
I nearly told her that Max disagreed, but I didn’t think that would be to my advantage. “If you want me to find something, you’re going to have to give me something.”
She lifted a shoulder into a shrug. “It was in a small metal box. Padlocked shut.”
“Well, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” I quipped. “How big was the box?”
“Hell, I don’t know. About yea big.” She held her hands about two feet apart. “It was a small toolbox. Black with a silver handle.”
“And something was inside?”
She snorted. “Do I look like the kind of woman who would be scrapin’ around for an empty toolbox?”
“Hell if I know,” I said. “I don’t know you at all.”
“I don’t know about that.” Her chin jutted out, and she looked me up and down. “I think you and me are more alike than you’re willin’ to admit.”
I tried not to shudder.
“Did you ever wonder why I took the fall for Walter’s murder?” Her confrontational tone was gone, and I felt like I might be getting a glimpse of the real Louise Baker.
Took the fall. I’d suspected as much, and although I couldn’t take her word for it—or for anything—she was suggesting that she’d let herself get steamrolled. “You owed Bart a favor.”
“So you know about his favors, do ya?”
I tried to hide my excitement. This was the first time I’d ever talked to anyone who had gone to Bart for a favor. Although I’d put together a list of people to approach, Marco and I halted our investigation after Jerry’s so-called accident. “I’ve heard rumors.”
“Yeah,” she said, shaking out another cigarette. “I took the fall for a favor, but I figured I could work it to my advantage.”
“So you hid something in the toolbox, and now it’s gone.”
She pointed at me again, her cigarette tucked between her index and middle finger. “Now you’re catchin’ on.”
“You said you want to bring Bart down. Why?”
She gave me an incredulous look. “He killed my husband.” Her response stunned me, and my shock must have been obvious, because she said, “Walter may not have been much, and he was dumber than a stump, but he was mine. Nobody kills my kin and gets away with it.”
“Why didn’t you tell the sheriff who really shot him when you were arrested?”
Her eyes hardened. “I made a deal, and I honored it. Now I want revenge.”
“So why not go to the sheriff now and tell them what really happened?”
She shook her head. “Sometimes you say the stupidest shit. I can’t do that. I was convicted for the murder. I did the time. It’s a done deal. Case closed. And even so, ain’t nobody gonna take me seriously.”
“They might,” I said. “There are some people in the department who stand on the right side of the law.”
Her brows lifted. “Like your boyfriend sittin’ in there now, watchin’ over you?” She laughed. “Yeah, I knew it was Marco Roland the minute I walked in. Even if I hadn’t seen his photo in the papers for all his recent heroic works”—she used air quotes—“I would have known him for hangin’ around with you.”
My mouth dropped open.
“Yep. I’ve been trailin’ you. Or rather someone’s been doin’ it for me.”
A cold shock jolted through me. Was Louise the one responsible for Jerry’s murder? “Did you send a man out to Marco’s house last week to threaten me?”
“Nope. But we both know who’s behind it.” She eyed me with a leer. “You just need your proof. How badly do you want it?”
The thought of teaming up with Louise made my skin crawl.
“You think about it,” she said, stuffing her still-unlit cigarette behind her