One Foot in the Grave - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,119
to disappear and wanted to know if I could help. I said sure, bring it by, but she wanted me to come get it instead. I told her that I didn’t work that way. So she said she wanted to drop it off, no contact. I said fine, leave it at the end of my driveway, and I’ll send a guy to drive it in the rest of the way. I asked her how she wanted me to pay her, and after some hemming and hawing, she finally said she’d pass on the money, even though I could tell she really wanted to take it.”
A woman?
“I’ll admit, I was damn curious, but I didn’t ask questions. I figured it was a disgruntled wife tryin’ to get back at her soon-to-be ex by gettin’ rid of his prized Corvette or something. Only it turned out to be a Chevy Cavalier. A real piece of shit at that.”
“And the time frame aligns with when she left?” I asked.
“It’s been a few years, but I’d say yes. Plus, that’s not how I do things, so it stuck out.” He leaned even closer, his eyes alight with the knowledge he was about to share. “There’s one more thing that I found odd.”
“Okay…”
“When I said I was curious, I was curious enough that I hid in the woods, waiting to see who dropped off the car. It was definitely a woman, but it was the person who picked her up that caught my attention.”
“Who?”
“Someone in a deputy sheriff car.”
I sat back in my seat. Had it been Paul? Had he recruited a woman to help him dispose of the car? Was it Mitzi?
He released a short laugh. “Awww…the wheels are turnin’…”
“This has been more helpful than you know.”
“Then my work here is done.” He started to slide out of his seat.
“Why were you so agreeable?” I asked.
He paused at the end of the seat. “Lula. She likes you, and you gave her the benefit of the doubt. And she’s fond of that fool brother of hers.” He stood. “But don’t push your luck in the future…unless it involves Bart Drummond. When it comes to him, I’m all ears.”
He and his men left, and I hurried over to Max to assure him I was fine.
“Well?” Max grunted when I reached him behind the bar.
“He had some really valuable information. Something that could ultimately save Wyatt’s ass.”
Max looked skeptical, but I didn’t have time to pacify him. I had a lot of thinking to do.
While I served my tables, I spent the next five minutes mulling over what Bingham had told me, trying to make it fit with what I knew.
A woman.
The top two women who came to mind were May and Mitzi, and May seemed the most likely suspect. By her own admission, she’d been upset about Heather leaving. Maybe she’d killed her in the heat of the moment. But who had Heather been talking to about getting drugs? Or had May made that up?
Would Mitzi answer more questions if I called her? Paul would likely be at work.
I headed over to the bar again. “Max, I need to make a phone call.”
He gave me a wary look. “Okay.”
“I’ll be right back.”
I grabbed my purse out of the back room and found Mitzi’s phone number, then went into the office, my heart beating like a jackrabbit while I placed the call.
“Hello?” a tentative female voice answered.
“Mitzi?” I asked. “This is Carly.”
“What do you want?” she demanded.
Obviously she blamed me for what had happened with Paul. “I had a few more questions.”
“I’m not talkin’ to you,” she said. “You got me into all kinds of trouble.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want that to happen, but an innocent man is about to be arrested.”
“Maybe he’s not so innocent,” she snapped.
“You and I both know that’s not true,” I said. Then, deciding to take a chance, I said, “We both know who killed her.”
She was silent for a moment. “What do you know?”
Oh. Crap. “I know Paul helped dispose of her car.”
“You can’t prove that,” she said.
Wait. Was Mitzi the killer? What if I’d gotten it wrong, and Paul had helped her dispose of the body rather than the other way around?
“How’d you come up with Tulsa?” I asked. “She never told anyone she was going there. Did you drive all the way there to mail that postcard to Hilde?”
“What are you talkin’ about?” she asked. Then she gasped. “You think I killed her?”