“I know.”

“So Max was probably more scared than mad, because if his father finds out you were lookin’ into his business, there’s no tellin’ what he’ll do.”

After my encounter with Carson, plus other whisperings I’d heard, I was pretty sure I knew. “Do you believe Carson was workin’ on his own, independent of Bart?”

He was silent for a moment. “I don’t know. The ground under Bart’s feet isn’t as stable as it used to be. Seein’ Bingham’s success might have made Carson a little power-hungry. Bart’s not known for bein’ boss of the year, if you know what I mean.” He snuck a glance at me. “There’s a good possibility Carson was workin’ independently.”

I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or worried.

“And if Carson was trying to start his own empire,” Marco continued, “I suspect Bart will make an example of the next person who tries to cross him. Every attack on his power makes him lose face, whether or not it’s successful.”

We were silent for a moment, both of us contemplating that. Then Marco asked, “What did Max say that makes you think he might fire you?”

I shifted on the seat to face him. “Max told me that I had no business sticking my nose into anything. Even trying to find Lula. He told me to butt out of everyone’s business. Then he told me to leave.”

“He kicked you out in front of customers?”

“No, it was after we closed. But the dining room needed bussing, and I hadn’t tallied up my tips. I just left them on his desk and took off.”

He was silent for a moment. “He’s not gonna fire you, Carly,” he finally said. “But don’t be surprised if he sits you down and lectures you about leavin’ everything to do with his father alone.” He gestured out the windshield as he drove into town. “Enough about Bart Drummond. I’m ready to get me some biscuits and gravy.”

The diner was busy, but thankfully we got the last empty table. I didn’t recognize the two waitresses who were working the room, though, and there was no sign of Greta.

One of the frenzied waitresses dropped off a couple of menus. “We’re short-staffed, but I’ll bring your waters and silverware in a moment. Coffee?”

She started moving on before I could answer.

“Yes. Please,” I called after her. I needed all the caffeine I could get.

“Where’s Greta?” Marco asked as he glanced around.

“I don’t know. She said she was working today. She mentioned it again last night at the tavern.”

“Maybe she called in sick,” he said with a frown.

“Maybe.” But I couldn’t shake the thought that she’d been scared last night. Based on the dark look on Marco’s face, he was dwelling on it too.

The waitress returned a few minutes later, balancing two coffee cups and a carafe of coffee. She set them on the table, then put two napkin-wrapped sets of silverware down beside them.

“Hey, Angie, where’s Greta?” Marco asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “I thought she was workin’ today.”

The waitress shook her head. “No-show.”

“She didn’t call in?” I asked, my stomach seizing.

“Nope. And a hell of a day to do it. We’re busier than a whorehouse during a church revival.”

I couldn’t help wondering if that meant they were busier or slower than usual.

“Did you call and check on her?” Marco asked, trying to look like a concerned friend and not a deputy interviewing her.

“Sure did. Her sister said she never came home last night.”

“Say, can we have her sister’s number?” Marco asked.

She narrowed her eyes. “What for?”

“I heard Melody was selling eggs. I was wanting to buy some.”

“Yeah,” Angie said. “I’ll get it for you after I put your order in.”

“We’re gonna need our food to go,” Marco said. “Pronto.”

Marco ordered three orders of biscuits and gravy, a couple of side orders of bacon, hash browns, and a cinnamon roll.

“You must be really hungry,” I said, trying to sound funny, but it fell flat.

“You know who the third order’s for, so start girding your loins.”

“Gird my loins?” I asked, trying to find the humor in his phrase, but my guts were churning.

“Wyatt doesn’t hold the market on Drummond stubbornness. I suspect Max hasn’t had enough time to cool down, but we’re gonna go see him anyway.”

“He’s not going to like us waking him up. I suspect he was working until at least three.”

“Tough shit,” he said, his jaw tightening. “We need to ask him some questions.”

About Greta. He was really going to be pissed at me now. But Max might have been the last person to see her, and we needed to know if she’d said anything. For all we knew, her life could depend on it.

But I couldn’t help remembering the way Max had lashed out at me after returning from walking her to her car. Some small part of me wondered if he knew more than he was letting on.

A new thought hit me like a bolt of lightning. What if Max was protecting someone?

What if the married man of importance Lula had been seeing was none other than Bart Drummond?

Chapter Fifteen

Marco may have asked for the food pronto, but it still took nearly fifteen minutes for the server to bring it over. I thought he might want to discuss matters, but he seemed lost in thought and I wasn’t so sure it was a good idea to talk about things in public, especially with the tables so close together. When Angie brought our bags and Melody’s phone number, Marco already had his money out to pay for the food. When I protested, he said I could pay for lunch.

I grabbed the food bags and headed to the entrance, holding the door open so Marco could hop outside.

“Should we go see Melody first?” I asked. “I mean, if Greta stayed somewhere else last night, there’s no reason for us to risk pissing Max off.”

He shook his head. “I know for a fact Greta doesn’t have a boyfriend right now. My gut tells me we need to talk to Max first, then Melody.”

“Marco,” I said, feeling sick to my stomach. “Do you think…?”

“We just need to talk to Max,” he said in a no-nonsense tone. I had to give him credit for insisting we go to Max first, especially since I knew how Max was likely to react, but surely it also meant he believed in his friend’s innocence.

“Okay,” I said with a nod. “I’m going to walk, but why don’t you drive down and park behind the tavern? It will be easier on your leg.”

“You don’t want to ride with me?” he asked in surprise.

“No. I need a little fresh air to clear my head.”

I took off toward the tavern, my stomach sinking deeper with every step I took.

Max was my friend. I didn’t want to think badly of him, but something strange was going on. Marco was right about one thing—hearing about Neil Carpenter had set Max off. It had also made him pissed about the whole Lula thing, when he hadn’t much cared about it before. But why?