“Even if we prove Bart was behind it, Pam’s still going to prison, isn’t she?”

He gave me a long look. “She killed a man, Carly. A man with a wife and two kids. She stole him from the people who care about him.”

I nodded, knowing he was right, but Pam was so quiet and meek. I suspected it would have taken a lot to make her shoot someone.

“Too bad I can’t talk to the victim’s family,” I said. “If she killed him as a form of repayment to Bart, then he must have gotten himself into trouble. Maybe he even asked for a favor himself.”

“There’s always the funeral or the wake,” Marco said. “I can come with you. The body’s in Knoxville for an autopsy, so the funeral will probably be in a few days.”

“That would be tasteless to ask questions there,” I said, feeling slimy.

He pushed out a sigh. “I can figure out a legitimate excuse for us to go.”

Still, it felt smarmy. We would be questioning the character of a murdered man. Then again, I had no intention of approaching anyone in his family, and it would be a good opportunity to learn more about him.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about Jerry,” he said slowly, as though he anticipated my reaction and was preparing himself for it.

“And?”

“Him workin’ on Drummond’s land might be a good thing.”

My mouth fell open. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He held up a hand. “Now hear me out.”

I gave him a dark look.

“Jerry might be a little slow at times, but he isn’t stupid. What if he has his own reason for workin’ for Drummond?”

“And what would that be?” In my mind’s eye, I saw Bart Drummond. Then a new fear struck me. “Oh my God. Do you think Bart considers this a favor?”

His eyes widened. “What? No. Jerry didn’t ask him for a job. He said Bart offered it.”

“So why do you think Jerry took it?” I asked.

“What if Jerry means to spy on him?”

“Jerry? Spy?” I asked in shock, but after a moment’s consideration, I realized it wasn’t such a shocking suggestion after all. Jerry had shot Carson Purdy, saving our lives. He was tougher than he seemed. And yet… “He has no reason to. He has no idea we’re digging up dirt on Bart, and I’ve never heard anything about him having a personal vendetta against the Drummonds. His wife died of cancer, which not even Bart Drummond could have pulled off. It seems unlikely.”

“Maybe so, but we could try to use him.”

“First, listen to what you just said,” I said, getting irritated. “Use Jerry? The man who saved our lives?” I shook my head. “No. We will not be using Jerry.”

He reached across the table and placed his hand over mine. Tingles shot up my arm and I ached to turn my hand over and link our fingers. To prolong the moment. Which irritated me given the fact I was pissed. It made me question my judgment. Again.

“Carly, that’s not what I meant,” he said, squeezing my hand, obviously oblivious to my reaction. “It was a poor choice of words, so just hear me out. That man thinks the world of you. He’d keep an eye out for things if you asked.”

“I’m already worried about him working for the devil himself. The last thing he needs is to put himself at further risk.” I shook my head again, forcing myself to pull my hand out from underneath his. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Okay,” he said, sitting back in his seat. “We’ll leave it be.”

Maybe so, but I couldn’t help thinking that he only intended to leave it be for now.

Standing, he picked up his plate and walked over to the sink. “Let’s agree to check in with each other at some point today. Where are you going to get started?”

I stood too, pursing my lips. “Ewing. I’m thinking I might go see Thelma at the nursing home. She knows a lot about Bart’s favors. I think I found the house fire she mentioned in my research. A lot of innocent people died. If we can link Bart to that one, we might have something. Maybe she’ll tell me more this time because I have names and dates.”

Thelma was my friend Greta’s grandmother, and she’d proven a wealth of information about all things Drum related. Particularly the Drummonds.

“Just be careful what you allude to.” Since Hank didn’t have a dishwasher, Marco plugged the sink and filled it with soap and water. “We don’t want to tip anyone off to what you’re up to.”

“Thelma won’t tell anyone.”

“Probably not, but there’s a chance other people might be listening.” He held out his hand, reaching for my plate.

“You sound paranoid,” I said, handing it to him with a weak smile. “But so am I. I’ll be careful.”

He washed a plate and handed it to me to dry, I took it without even thinking. We’d spent enough time together to have a comfortable routine when we were at Hank’s—he preferred washing and I liked to put the dishes away.

“If you’re planning on bringing Pam’s daughter a casserole today,” he said, scrubbing the next plate, “you might want to run to the Dollar General to pick up some ingredients that are more Drum friendly.”

I laughed. “You think the good people of Drum won’t like cauliflower rice?”

He shot me a grin over his shoulder. “Not likely. I love you, and even I won’t eat it.” He froze for a second before turning back to the sink. “You know what I meant.”

Still, some of the awkwardness from the night before had leaked back in. My heart stuttered. Marco’s affection for me went deeper than friendship, and however reluctant I was to admit it, I knew the same was true of my feelings for him. But if we brought it out into the open, we’d have to do something about it, and I still wasn’t ready. So I ignored his profession, even as it burned inside of me.

“Message received,” I said in a teasing tone. “No casseroles with cauliflower rice for you or the citizens of Drum.”

He handed me a plate, his ornery grin back. “Trust me. We all thank you.”

We finished up the dirty dishes, and he helped me decide on what to bring Pam’s daughter and Sandy from the ladies club. Chicken and rice casserole for Ashlynn, and brownies for Sandy. I had all the ingredients for both and wouldn’t have to run into town to get anything.

Marco pulled the drain stopper and let the water out of the sink, then cast a glance at the clock on the wall. “I need to get going, but if you’re still in Ewing this afternoon, give me a call. I have an interview there at one.” He hesitated, sounding unsure of himself. “Maybe we can do a late lunch.”

“I’d like that,” I said, hating that we were suddenly tiptoeing around each other. A week ago we would have just planned it and been done with it.

He dried his hands with a towel, his biceps reacting to the simple movement in a way that attracted my eyes. Then he turned to me, putting his hands on my upper arms as he held my gaze with a serious expression. “Be careful, Carly. Very careful. Try not to look too suspicious.”

“Okay.”

He hesitated again, acting like he wanted to give me a hug, but instead he dropped his hold and headed for the front door.