“What’s with the frown?” Max asked.

“I wish Hank could come.”

“Don’t you worry. We’ll get him out here. Now, believe it or not,” he said, “Tiny needs help in the kitchen makin’ patties.”

“I’ll go help him, but I’m going to move my car down the street so the customers can park out front.”

He nodded, and I walked around the side of the building, surprised that there were now folding tables and chairs being set up with the name of the Methodist church stamped on the backs.

My car had already been unloaded with surprising efficiency. I figured it was best if I left Main Street parking free, so I drove down Parson’s Street, fairly close to Selena’s house. After I got out of the car, I stared at her house across the street, debating whether I should go talk to her. Just as I started to walk away, she came out of her front door.

“Carly Moore! What’s all the commotion about on Main Street?”

“A summer street party, ma’am,” I called back as I walked across the street toward her. “Max has a generator, so he’s serving hamburgers and hot dogs, and he has a band coming for dancing.”

A wistful look filled her eyes. “It’s been a while since Drum’s had a party. It’s not often we have cause to celebrate.”

“You should come,” I said. “It will be fun.”

“I just might,” she said, casting a glance down the street.

“Say, Miss Selena,” I said before I could stop myself. “I saw Ashlynn today.”

“You don’t say? I told you she’d turn up.”

“She was with Jonathon Whitmore out at his house, which looks like it would fall over with a strong wind.”

“Aw, that’s who she runs to when things get bad.”

“She spent the night with him last night. She didn’t go home.”

“I’m not surprised. She and Rob never really got along.”

“Chuck Holston told me he’s not the father of Ashlynn’s baby. That she’s six months along, not five, and he was in jail when she conceived. Chuck suggested that Jonathon is the father, and Jonathon thinks he might be.”

She shook her head. “That boy is a dumb as a stump. Let us hope not.”

“I also found out that Jim Palmer is a part-time youth group leader at the Crimshaws’ church.”

She frowned. “I guess I forgot about that. Now that I think about it, I think Ashlynn mentioned him in passin’.”

Which was peculiar, at the very least. Selena didn’t seem like the kind of woman who was lax with details. “Ashlynn got very uncomfortable when I brought up him being a youth leader. Do you know why?”

She hesitated. “No. From what I remember, Ashlynn was very fond of going to youth group.”

“Jonathon said they went on trips a couple of times a year. Do you know if she went on those?”

“Most definitely, but she got in trouble her senior year in high school. She wasn’t in her room during a bed check. One of the youth leaders brought her home before the end of the trip.”

“Do you remember which trip or which leader brought her home?”

She shook her head. “Oh, no. But I do know that Rob nearly beat that poor child to death.”

I gritted my teeth, trying not to let my reaction show, but I hated men like Rob Crimshaw. “Do you know what happened to Rob’s father, Stewart? I heard he went to prison, but I couldn’t find any information about if or when he got out.”

“Oh, he was murdered there.”

“I didn’t see an obituary,” I said.

“There likely wasn’t one. Rob had turned to the straight and narrow at that point and was focused on the church. He didn’t want the mess of his father’s life contaminating his new one. I’m not even sure he claimed his body.”

“What about his brother?” Hank had told me there were two sons.

“Disappeared,” she said. “Around the time his father was arrested the last time.”

“No one ever heard from him again?”

“Nope, but he’s probably dead somewhere. He was a drunkard. He probably drove his car down a ravine that no one’s searched.” Kind of like the ravine Bingham’s men had rammed Wyatt’s truck into when I first got to town. Only Wyatt wasn’t a drunk.

“There seem to be a lot of car wrecks around here.”

She tsked. “Drinking and driving on curves is never a good idea.” She glanced down the street again. “What time does this shindig start?”

“Six, but the band starts around seven.”

“Good,” she said, looking at me with her sharp eyes. “I think I might just turn up.” Then she turned around and went inside.

Chapter Twenty-Four

After we made a mountain of hamburger patties, Tiny decided he didn’t want to be stuck inside, so Max borrowed multiple grills and fired them up by the back door, while poor Pickle would have to run in and out of the kitchen with the fries.

When I finished in the kitchen and headed back outside to help set up the serving tables, I saw that Wyatt had shown up and was helping Max set up the drink station. They’d gotten about ten coolers and had set up a keg of beer.

Ruth showed up around five. Tater and his friends moved some of the barricades so she could back her car up to the edge of the parking lot to make it easier to carry the cases to the drink station.

I was so shocked when Ruth got out of the car, I might have let out a small squeal. She was wearing a pretty white and yellow sundress and her hair was curled. She’d even put on makeup and looked a good five years younger. Her face broke into a huge smile when she saw the strings of unlit white lights strung from the building to the posts, covering the parking lot.

“This looks like something you’d see in a movie, Max,” she said.

“We haven’t tried ’em yet,” he said, wrapping an arm around her back and snugging her up next to him. “I was waitin’ for you.”

“That’s my woman, Max,” Tater called out good-naturedly as he carried two cases of bottled water past them.

“Maybe so,” Max teased, “but a man can keep tryin’.”

Wyatt, who’d already started putting the cans and bottles in coolers, shot me a look before quickly returning to his task.

“Okay, Scout,” Max called out to one of Tater’s friends. “Flip the switch.”

Scout picked up the surge protector strip and pressed the button, and all the lights burst to life. Ruth and I clapped and cheered, and Max beamed like he was Santa Claus bringing Christmas magic to Drum. The time of year wasn’t right, but the analogy wasn’t far off.

Families with young kids showed up at six. They went through the food line and then sat at picnic tables. A woman strummed a guitar and sang children’s songs while Tater’s friend made balloon animals.

More people trickled in, and by seven the lot and street were full of people. Tiny and Pickle were struggling to keep up with the food.

“How many people do you think are here?” I asked Ruth between tallying up orders. I’d already had to change out the cash box twice.