“But not very helpful.” He looked frustrated.

“Hey,” I said with a smile. “It’s more than I had before, and I know someone who might know more details now that you’ve pointed me in a direction.”

“You think Naomi’s squabble at church had something to do with Bart?” He shook his head. “You’re chasin’ your tail on that one.”

I’d chase anything at this point.

Chapter Twenty

I had time to fold a load of towels that had been in the dryer for two days as well as sweep and mop the living room and kitchen before I portioned out the food I’d cooked into containers for several days’ worth of meals. Even with the chores, I still pulled into a space in front of the library a few minutes before ten.

I sat in my car, looking through my notes to help prepare for my research. While I planned to do a search for Naomi Palmer, I intended to focus most of my attention on the Crimshaws, then the arresting officers for the cases I’d collected in the notebook. Good thing I’d started writing down the cases’ web addresses in case I needed to go back later.

Carnita was walking down the sidewalk toward the library, so I closed my notebook, grabbed my purse, and got out of my car, meeting her at the front door.

“Oh,” she exclaimed. “You’re early today.”

“I’m pretty sure I reserved a computer last week. Ten to one.”

She beamed. “Well, let’s get you started.” She unlocked the door and flipped on the lights. “Go ahead and boot up a computer. Your pick.”

I took the one at the end—fewer prying eyes, although I found most people who used the computers were more interested in their social media accounts than my research. After I turned it on, Carnita signed in, and I got started before the other two people who had reserved spots showed up.

As I’d expected, my search for Naomi Palmer didn’t turn up much, but I did find an obituary that dated ten years back. The family had asked for donations to the American Heart Association in lieu of flowers, so I wrote down that she’d probably died of a heart condition. But it was an article in the Ewing paper that got me excited—a mention of her name at a coat drive run by the First Baptist Church of Ewing.

I told myself not to get too worked up. Sure, Jim, Jr.’s mother attended the same church as the Crimshaws, but that didn’t mean the younger Palmers still did. They might not attend church at all, but given the fact they were fine, upstanding citizens, I suspected they did.

Leaning toward Carnita’s desk, I asked, “Hey, Carnita. Do you happen to carry church directories?”

She made a face. “That’s a new request. No, but it’s probably a good idea for the people who are interested in genealogy. You’d be surprised how many there are these days.” She cocked her head. “You trying to figure out a family tree?”

I couldn’t confess what I was really up to. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Which family? I might be able to help.”

Crap. Who could I name without giving myself away? “The Binghams.”

She chuckled. “Believe it or not, Todd and Lula have been doin’ their own research into his family tree. Well, both of their families now.” She lowered her voice. “Lula’s mother’s gettin’ out of prison next month, you know.”

I couldn’t hide my surprise. Last November, Lula had mentioned that her mother was likely getting out in the spring, but she’d never shown up and I’d assumed it had been a lie or her parole board had rejected her. “So Lula’s researching her own family tree?”

“Seems like it,” Carnita said.

That was news to pack away for another day. “Well, if Lula and Bingham have already started researching their family trees, I’ll just talk to them about my questions.”

“That’ll save you some time,” Carnita said. “The last time Lula was in, she told me they’d traced Todd’s family back to 1827.”

I wrinkled my nose in confusion. “I’ve never seen either one of them in here using the computers. When do they come in?”

“Todd has his own internet.”

Likely satellite internet, not that I was surprised since he had a satellite phone. Marco had talked about getting satellite internet but had put it off up until now since it was well over a hundred dollars a month for super slow service.

Turning back to the computer, I searched for Jim Palmer, Sr. next. There was more about him than his wife. Jim, Jr. had apparently learned about civic engagement from his father. The older man had a friendly smile and looked a lot like his son. His obituary showed he’d died a year after his wife, also a heart attack based on the same donation request.

On a whim, I searched for the First Baptist Church of Ewing and found few hits other than their website and a Yelp review page with a 2.6 rating. I clicked through to the outdated website. There wasn’t a list of church members, but there were some old photos of previous social events. On the page featuring an ice cream social from three years prior, I found a photo of several members of the younger Palmer family—Jim and his two kids, all three smiling and looking happy.

And there was my connection linking Pam to Jim.

Still, just because they attended the same church didn’t mean they’d had any kind of relationship. If the church was large, they might not have even known each other, although I suspected it wasn’t a mega church. Given the fact that Rob Crimshaw had earned a reputation for being an asshole, I doubted the two families were friends, but they probably knew of each other. It also put Pam and Jim within the same social circle, but I had a hard time seeing the younger insurance agent having an affair with the nearly decade older, unpolished Pam.

I turned to researching the Crimshaw family next, focusing on Rob. Not much pulled up on him, but there were several hits from twenty years prior. He’d been in multiple bar fights and acquired a few DUIs. His name often popped up in association with his father, Stewart Crimshaw. He’d been arrested multiple times for drug possession.

That would have been when Hank was in the thick of the drug game.

Stewart’s last arrest had been for possession with intent to deal, and not a sell to a few friends amount. He’d been carrying a large quantity of OxyContin. Hank had sworn he hated the stuff, so did that mean Stewart Crimshaw had been working for Bingham? Only, it had happened decades ago, back when Bingham was probably just getting started. Whoever he was working for, he’d gotten a ten-year prison sentence. I couldn’t find anything about him after that.

Had Hank lied to me about selling Oxy?

An unsettled feeling filled the pit of my stomach, but I reminded myself that he and Bingham had overlapped, with Bingham selling the stuff that Hank wouldn’t. The odds were greater that his supplier had been Bingham.

What had happened to Stewie? The last article was from eighteen years ago, so he should have been released by now. Had he come back to Drum?

I was about to do more research on Thad’s accident when the computer suddenly shut down and the lights went off.

“What the hell?” the man on the far end shouted, banging the side of the monitor.

“Did you forget to pay the electric bill, Carnita?” the woman next to me asked with a chuckle.