He nodded. “Okay, but we still have about a half hour to kill before you need to be at work. Anything you want to do between now and then?”

I found myself thinking of Emily Drummond, and of the look she’d given me when she talked about Max and his duty. Max. Why hadn’t we asked him about any of this?

“I say we head into the tavern and ask Max what he knows,” I said.

His eyes widened. “Shit. I didn’t even think about that.”

“I know. Me neither. It just occurred to me.”

“Of course, he wasn’t here when Wyatt was arrested,” Marco said, “but he was here when Heather left.”

“Let’s head to town,” I said, getting up and grabbing my purse. “You’ll follow me again?”

He gave me a pensive look. “Yeah, but after you get off work, maybe you should leave your car in the parking lot so we can ride together in the Explorer.”

“Is that really a good idea?” I asked. “I mean, I’m glad you’re coming with me, but maybe we should take my car.”

“I’ll think it over,” he said, moving for the door. “We can decide when you get off.”

When we walked in the back door to the tavern, Tiny gave us a wave from the kitchen, where he and Sweetie Pie were prepping for the day, and we found Max in his office.

Max looked up from his computer, startled, and turned his chair to face us. “What are you two doing here together?”

Marco gestured his thumb behind him. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about Wyatt and Heather, but can we do it in the dining room?”

“Are you serious, Marco?” His face hardened. “The ink’s barely dry on the warrant for Wyatt’s arrest.”

“You know about that?” Marco asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I had a friendly chat with some not-so-friendly deputies who dropped by to see if he was here or if I knew where they could find him.”

Marco released a groan. “For God’s sake, I’m not here to arrest Wyatt.” When Max didn’t say anything, he added, “I’m helpin’ Carly with her investigation. We’re here to see if you can give us any leads.”

Max inhaled deeply, then said, “I don’t know anything about any of it.”

“You might know more than you think,” I said. “And if we’re asking questions, we might help you jog something loose.”

Max’s gaze lifted to his friend.

“He’s your brother, Max. I’m not out to arrest him,” Marco pleaded. “I know he didn’t kill her. I’m tryin’ to help him, even if he doesn’t seem to be doin’ much to help himself.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Max asked, his jaw clenching.

“It means he hasn’t exactly been forthcoming,” I said. “He has information that could help me clear his name, yet he’s barely told me anything.” I held out my hand. “Max, I’m trying to figure this out before the sheriff catches up to him. Please. Anything you tell us will help.”

He studied us for a moment before nodding. “Okay.” Then he closed out the spreadsheet he was working on and stood. “I’m gonna need more coffee for this.” He picked up his stained, nearly empty cup and followed us out of the office. He slid behind the bar and refreshed his cup. “I’d rather do this standin’ up, if you don’t mind. You two can sit at the bar if you’d like. Either of you want a cup of coffee?”

“Sure,” Marco said as he pulled out a barstool.

“No, thanks,” I said, taking a seat next to him, and pulled my notebook and recorder out of my purse. I felt no need to hide the fact that I was taking notes, given they knew exactly what I was up to, plus it occurred to me that I probably didn’t have much time left on the tape.

Max stared at me like I’d grown two heads.

“What?” I said, clicking the recorder on. “I want to be able to go back and listen in case I missed something.”

Max shot a glance at Marco, then shrugged.

Opening the notebook to the next available page, I said, “Wyatt and Heather dated while you and Marco were in eighth and ninth grade. What did you think of her?”

Max’s mouth curved into a derisive grin as he poured some coffee for Marco. “What I really thought of her or the watered-down version?”

His answer took me by surprise. “The truth.”

“I thought she was gorgeous and had big tits. You can only imagine what a boy that age would do with an image like that.”

I cringed. “Gross. Maybe not that honest.”

Max laughed and Marco covered his mouth to hide a grin.

“Okay,” I said, “besides inspiring you to perfect your masturbation technique, what kind of impression did she make?”

Max laughed. “I was a stupid, barely pubescent boy. At the time, I was envious of my brother. It wasn’t until college that I realized she was a first-class manipulator. She knew I was attracted to her, and she played me like a fiddle when Wyatt wasn’t around. She tried to play our parents too, but my father seemed especially immune. After finding out that he had so many girlfriends spread out over the area, part of me is surprised he wasn’t more taken with her. She definitely knew how to play Wyatt, homing in on his need to prove himself to dear old Dad. She encouraged it so that it became an unhealthy obsession for both of them. I think part of Wyatt was glad to see her go to college. He was relieved to not have pressure from both sides anymore.”

“So do you think she was interested in Wyatt for his money, even in high school?” I asked.

“I never really thought about it at the time, or even much later,” Max said, leaning his forearm on the counter. “I always thought she was interested in Wyatt because he was tall and good-looking. He was on the football team, he lifted weights, and he was popular. I’m sure every girl in high school wanted to date him on that basis alone. But for Heather, in hindsight, yeah, she was probably interested in the money from the start.”

“So you knew her to be manipulative?” I asked.

“Again,” Max said, shifting his weight, “I didn’t put any of this together at the time, and if I’m being honest, I didn’t make the connection until I started dating a few girls who were just like her.” He turned to Marco. “What do you remember about her?”

Marco cast me a sidelong glance and cringed. “I’ll admit that her looks were…distracting, but I never spent any time around her. Wyatt didn’t hang out with us much, and Max’s interactions with her were all from family dinners and hanging out at their house.”

“You didn’t see her when you were over?” I asked.

Marco and Max were both silent for a moment. Then Max said, “Marco wasn’t over much. I tended to go to his house.”

“Was that your choice or your father’s?” I asked.

Max’s face reddened.

“It’s okay, Max,” Marco said. “I always knew your father didn’t care for me.”

“Why?” I asked.

“We were a lot poorer than most of the families in town,” Marco said. “My father was a dreamer, always working on some cockamamie project or another that he was sure was going to be a huge success. The gadget to finally make us rich. Bart Drummond considered him a joke and a blight on the town. I was guilty by association.”