One Foot in the Grave - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,25

It wasn’t like I’d been much of a confidant for him either—he’d told me next to nothing.

“I know.”

We stood in silence for several seconds before I asked in a softer tone, “Do you want to sit down?” I gestured to another rock on the other side. “The seats aren’t super comfy, but it beats standing.”

He glanced at the squatty rock and sat down opposite me.

“Seth used to like comin’ out here,” he said quietly, his gaze on the pool. A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “He’d sometimes sit out here for an hour or more, waiting to get a good shot of a bird or a deer or whatever showed up.”

I’d found evidence of Seth’s photography skills in his room when I’d cleaned it out. I’d framed a few photos of birds for Hank for his birthday in January. “He was very talented.”

“Yeah,” Wyatt said in a gruff tone. “He was.”

And Bart Drummond had likely arranged his murder, hence our agreement to make him pay for his actions before we did the same with my father. Only Wyatt had reneged, and his father had walked around for the past five months while that talented boy was buried six feet under.

My anger simmered.

“I know I have no right askin’ this, but I’m gonna ask anyway,” he said, keeping his gaze on the water. “I need your help.”

“With what?” I asked, hesitant.

His face lifted. “I didn’t kill Heather, and I want to know who did. You know from firsthand experience with Seth’s death that the sheriff department won’t look into this too hard, which means I’ll need to conduct my own investigation.”

“And you want me to help prove your innocence?” I asked, my guard still up. “You could just do it yourself.”

“People are gonna assume I did it, which means they won’t talk to me. And if I hire a PI, they won’t talk to them either since they’ll be an outsider.”

“I’m an outsider.”

“Most people have accepted you,” he said. “They like you. They’ll talk.” Then he added, “They talked to you when you were lookin’ for Lula.”

The mention of Lula only pissed me off more, but he had a point. He’d spent the past several years distancing himself from this town. No one was going to tell him squat.

“Max has got me workin’ doubles,” I said. “How am I supposed to help you if I’m working all the time?”

“Molly can take some of your shifts.”

And Ginger, if she and Max agreed to the arrangement.

I pursed my lips, watching the water from the pool spill over several rocks before it continued downstream. Wyatt and I might not be together anymore, but I didn’t believe he was capable of murder. Or at least not the cold-blooded murder of someone he’d once loved. I also suspected he was about to get railroaded, and I didn’t want to see that happen. Maybe I really could help. Turned out I’d done a pretty solid job of tracking Greta down, although I’d had Marco as backup. Plus, I couldn’t help thinking Bart had played a role in Heather’s death, and if I found proof, it might help me knock him to his knees.

“Are you paying?” I asked.

He frowned. “I don’t have deep pockets like Bingham does.”

I released a bitter laugh. “You think Bingham paid me to look for Lula?” I shook my head, berating myself for getting into this, yet I couldn’t seem to stop myself. “I looked for Lula because no one else would. Because I was genuinely worried about her. Little did I know that you and Max had her holed up at your place. You put Greta in danger and you nearly got me killed, all because you, once again, couldn’t trust me, so why in God’s name would you ask me to help you clear your name? What magic switch flipped that makes you trust me now?”

His eyes narrowed. “Twice now you’ve said that you were nearly killed, and the day you left me you said you were poisoned. Who poisoned you? What happened, Carly?”

“Those are personal questions, Wyatt, and we don’t do those,” I snapped. “You want my help? You can pay me with information.”

“Carly…”

His tone told me everything I needed to know. He’d used the same exact tone half a dozen other times when he’d hedged and equivocated and circled around the truth, and I wasn’t having it. I got up and hopped over the creek, then started down the path.

“Carly!” he called after me.

I kept walking, pissed

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