“Victims? Many of those people purchased their fates with their own bad choices.”

“Which is why I’m trying to make only good decisions.” I stood and glanced at the door. “Is Lula home?”

“You gonna go cryin’ to her?” he growled.

“This business is between you and me. I need to speak to her about the baptism.”

His forehead creased in an annoyed, or maybe unhappy, look, but he opened the door and called out, “Lula?”

“Shh!” she called out in a whisper-shout from inside. “Beatrice just went to sleep.” Then her face popped into the opening. “Hey, Carly.” She stepped out onto the porch and glanced up at Bingham. “Is your meetin’ done?”

“Yep. Carly said she needs to speak to you about the baptism.” He gave me a nod. “You think about what I said.” Then he went inside, closing the door behind him.

“What do you need to know?” Lula asked.

I’d figured she would know I wanted to ask about Wyatt, but as it happened, I did have a question. “What time should I be at the church?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, didn’t I?” she said with a laugh. “The service starts at ten, but the minister wants us there about twenty minutes early.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be there.” I paused, then asked, “Have you heard from Wyatt this morning?”

Guilt filled her eyes. “I can’t talk about it.”

“Lula, I’m the one who sent him to you.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“I need to talk to him, Lula. It’s important.”

She lifted her chin. “Then tell me, and if I see him, I’ll be sure to pass on the message.”

Dammit. She was stonewalling me too. “Tell him that I need to talk to him.”

Except I had no idea how he was going to contact me if I was out on the road. “Tell him I’m working the lunch shift,” I added, deciding on the spot. “I’ll be there from noon to about one thirty. He can call me there.” It might be a waste of time if Wyatt didn’t call, but at least I could help Ginger get acclimated, and Molly might know something useful. She was May’s sister, after all.

“Okay.” Then she added, “If I see him.”

Shaking my head, I headed for the steps.

The Drummonds were infuriating.

Chapter Twenty-One

I knew Marco was dying to know what I’d found out, so I parked my car behind his and got into his Explorer.

“I’ll take the fact that you seem to be in one piece as a good sign,” he said, relief washing over his face.

“Yeah, but I don’t have all the answers I hoped to get.”

“What did you find out?”

“Bingham and Heather had a month-long hookup relationship. He thinks she was after information, but his direct quote was he doesn’t mix business and fucking. Interestingly enough, he doesn’t conduct business in his house either.”

“Quite the gentleman.”

I made a face. “One thing I hadn’t known was that the sheriff’s department found Wyatt and Heather at Balder Mountain State Park after an anonymous tip was called in, but that doesn’t seem like Bart’s style. Also, it’s noteworthy that they would have just gotten him for breaking and entering, not the DUI, if the sheriff’s deputy hadn’t found them in the car.”

“Who do you think called in the tip?” he asked. “Bingham?”

“Bingham swears it wasn’t him, and crazily enough, I believe him.”

“So who did it?” he asked.

“This is purely speculation, but I think it was Heather’s behind-the-scenes boyfriend. Bingham thinks Heather was in on it—that it was a setup for Wyatt—and I have to say it makes sense.”

He was silent for a moment. “For what purpose?”

“What if Heather was upset because Wyatt had disowned his family? She was counting on the Drummond money, but he messed that up for her.”

“So she punished him by turning him in to the sheriff’s department?”

“No,” I said, “I think she was trying to get the money she thought she was owed directly from the Drummonds. I’d even go so far as to suggest she blackmailed them.”

“But she only got five thousand,” Marco countered.

“Because things didn’t work out the way she was hoping. Bart and Wyatt are both more stubborn than she realized. Bart wanted to use an attorney to make the whole thing go away, and Wyatt didn’t want a thing to do with his family.”

He was quiet for a moment. “We really need to find her boyfriend. Let’s go back to my place to make some calls. Then we can head to Ewing to talk to Dick Stinnett. After we talk to him, we can find May.”

I hunched my shoulders. “Actually, I need to go in for the lunch shift. I need to talk to Wyatt.”

He stilled. “And why do you think he’s gonna show up at the tavern?”

“I don’t,” I said. “But I suspect Lula knows how to get ahold of him, and I told her to have him contact me at the tavern between noon and one thirty.”

He gave me a long look. “Are you sure talkin to him is necessary?”

“I need to him to answer some questions.”

“Assuming he’ll tell you anything at all. You’re busting your ass to try to help him, and he’s not doing a single thing to make it easier on you,” Marco said, anger creeping into his voice. “While I don’t think he did it, he needs to start being a hell of a lot more up-front with what he knows.”

“Agreed,” I said quietly. “But what’s the alternative? Stop trying to help him?”

“I’ll admit that part of me is tempted, but you won’t because you’re worried he’ll get railroaded.”

“Marco,” I said, something tugging on my heart.

He gave me a soft smile. “I’m not mad, Carly. I admire your dedication to finding justice. I’m just not sure he appreciates everything you’re doing for him, and I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

“I’m not emotionally involved, Marco. Not like I was before.”

He looked into my eyes for a moment, as if considering that, then gave a nod of acknowledgment. “You don’t have to be at the tavern until twelve, so we still have time to make some calls. I’ll follow you to my house.”

“Okay.”

I got out and walked back to my car. Then we drove to his place. After we went inside, he found a phone book for Ewing and started calling used car lots, asking for Dick Stinnett. It only took three calls to locate him, and Marco set up an appointment to meet with him at two.

“Marco, are you sure about being involved in this?”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about trading in my Explorer.”

That was a bald-faced lie. His SUV was less than two years old and he loved it.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s move on to May McMurphy.”

“Our best bet is to ask her sister,” I said. “She’s working the lunch shift.”