“If it was Bingham who helped her in August, and if the price was information about Lula, he might be watchin’ Greta now. Maybe he doesn’t want her passin’ anything along to you.”

I felt like I was going to be sick. If that was the case, I’d gotten Greta kidnapped.

“And if that’s so, goin’ back to see him is a fool’s errand,” Marco said.

We were silent again, and I let all the possibilities run through my head. “Does Greta have any other association with Bingham?”

“Not that I know of, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

“And then there’s the second possible father to consider,” I said. “And the man who stopped by the café to ask Greta about Lula.”

Marco nodded. “I think we need to stop by Watson’s before we head to my place.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Marco? You’re in pain for one thing, and we’re a muddy mess for another.”

“I’ve got another pair of shoes in the back,” he said. “We just need to wash off my crutches and get some new shoes for you.”

“I have shoes in my bag,” I said, another lump forming in my throat. “For my shift tonight.” I still couldn’t believe Max had fired me, but maybe he had a point. What if my snooping had gotten Greta kidnapped or killed?

“He’s gonna hire you back, Carly.”

“I don’t know, Marco. I’ve never seen him so pissed.”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about it. He wasn’t pissed. He was scared.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think he was scared for himself. He was scared for you.”

“Because I’m lookin’ into Lula’s disappearance.” I took a deep breath, preparing to share my suspicions. “Do you think this has to do with his father? Greta said Lula was sleeping with a man of importance. Could it have been Bart Drummond?”

He pursed his lips, considering it, then said, “I don’t know. She’s not really his type.”

“He has a type?” I asked, unsure why I was so surprised by the confirmation that he slept around. Didn’t powerful men sleep around with young women just because they could? My father had become the exact same way after my mother died.

“Bart Drummond sleeps around, but he usually does it out of town. Rumor has it one of his paramours confronted Max’s mother at the tavern when the boys were younger. He was more careful after that.”

“Lula was meetin’ her second guy in Ewing. Is that out of town enough?”

“Bart usually went to Asheville or Greeneville. But he’s getting older and Emily goes out less often than she used to. He might be gettin’ lazier.”

“So Max might have known his father was sleepin’ with Lula. Maybe he knows or suspects his father had something to do with her disappearance, and he’s worried we’ll uncover it and put ourselves in danger.”

“Possibly.”

“Where do we focus our attention first?” I asked. “I feel torn in too many directions.”

“I think we should focus on Greta right now. I think we can work on the assumption their disappearances are connected, and hers is fresher, which likely means we’ll find more clues.”

“And if they’re not connected?” I asked. “Do we stop lookin’ for her and go back to Lula?” I wasn’t sure I felt good about making that call.

The look on Marco’s face suggested he didn’t feel comfortable making it either. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”

We were approaching Drum, so Marco told me to stop at the back of Wyatt’s garage.

I shot him a dark look. “Why?”

“Because he has a hose out back that he’ll let us use.” He grinned. “You could ask the man to drive to Knoxville to get you an ice cream cone, and not only would he do it, but he’d figure out a way to keep it from melting before he handed it to you. He’ll let us use the hose.”

I groaned.

“He’s got it bad for you, Carly. But if you prefer to go to the tavern and wash up in Tiny’s kitchen, I’ll follow your lead.”

Tiny wouldn’t let us bring dirty dishes into the kitchen. He’d lose his mind if I took muddy crutches in there—didn’t matter that we were closed for the day.

“No way,” I said. “Can you imagine Tiny’s fury if we tried such a thing?” I shook my head. “Wyatt’s garage it is.”

Of course his truck was there, but so was Junior’s car. When I pulled up behind the building, I could hear a power tool running in the garage. Maybe we could wash off Marco’s crutches and leave before we were noticed. While I did want to talk to Wyatt tonight, I didn’t want to do it now, especially right after his brother had fired me.

I left the engine on and opened my door. “Stay here. I’ll do it.”

Marco just closed his eyes and grimaced as though a new wave of pain had hit him. I planned to look over his wounds when we got to his house. While I was hardly a nurse, I’d learned a thing or two from caring for Hank and Violet.

I grabbed the crutches out of the back, then walked around to the passenger side and opened the door.

Marco cracked his eyes open.

“I’m gonna take off your shoes,” I said. “You need to change them anyway, so I might as well wash them off here.”

He looked hesitant to agree.

“What?”

“They’re Air Ones.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” I said wryly.

“They’re nearly two-hundred-dollar shoes.”

“Then what were you doing wearing them in the mud?” But I knew the answer to that, so I said, “Never mind. Don’t worry. I promise to be careful.”

He reluctantly nodded his head. I made quick work of untying his shoes. When I slipped off the second one, he cried out in pain, which made me seriously doubt he would be able to continue today. Maybe we should take a break. I’d wanted to cram as much investigating as possible into one day because of my work schedule on Sunday and Monday, but now I had all the time in the world.

I blinked away tears. Losing my job was nothing compared to this mess unfolding around us, and it wouldn’t help anyone if I fell apart now.

A heavy-duty black garden hose was connected to an outside water spigot, so I turned on the water and started to spray the ends of Marco’s crutches.

I wasn’t surprised when Wyatt walked out the back door a few seconds later. He propped his hands on his hips and took in what I was doing. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not.”

“Why isn’t Marco cleaning his own crutches?”

“He slipped in some mud and I think he hurt himself.”

Worry filled his eyes, and he glanced back at the SUV. “Is he okay?”

“Honestly? I don’t know, but he wants to go somewhere before I take him back home, so we thought it best to hose these down.”

“And your boots?” he asked, his voice turning husky as he took a step closer.

“I have my tennis shoes in the car.”

“But are your boots ruined?” he asked.