He had narrowed his focus on me, and it didn’t look like friendly interest.

Had I made another enemy? I wasn’t sure I could afford any more.

Chapter Nineteen

I decided the best way to handle Truck Guy was to ignore him. I got into the car and glanced over at Marco, who was sound asleep, his face pale.

Marco was in no shape to be going anywhere but his own bed. He was done for the day.

Shifting the vehicle into drive, I pulled out and Marco stirred. “You finished?”

“Yeah, and I have someone else to talk to about Greta. Turns out Junior’s wife is her cousin, and she’s willing to tell us anything she knows.”

He tried to sit up and released a cry of pain. “Sorry.” He took a deep breath. “Maybe she’ll have another lead.”

“I think we should just take you home, Marco.”

“No,” he said, gripping the armrest on the door. “We’ll stop by Watson’s first. Then you can take me home to get my pills.”

I had no intention of bringing him back out with me after I took him home, but I was keeping that plan to myself for now. The car I used was back at Hank’s, so I’d be stuck out there, but I’d figure that part out later.

“Okay,” I said amicably. “We’ll stop at Watson’s, but don’t you dare pass out on me, because I am not carryin’ your body around.”

“I’m not gonna pass out,” he grumped. I’d been joking, but his face was so pale I wondered if it was a legitimate concern.

I was lucky enough to find a spot directly in front of the café. I got Marco’s crutches out of the back, put his clean shoes on his feet, and helped him out onto the sidewalk.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d suspect you had experience with one-legged men,” he teased, but his voice was strained.

“Been practicing,” I said, opening the door. “But let’s not overdo it in here. We can always come back later.” Or I could come without him, since this seemed like a safe interview too.

I’d expected him to wave me off, but he had to be hurting even more than I’d thought because he nodded before slowly hobbling in. The café wasn’t nearly as busy as it had been in the morning. Marco took the first available booth close to the front door, and practically fell onto the vinyl seat. He extended his left leg, putting his foot onto the seat next to me.

“You’re back,” Angie said cheerfully as she headed over to us pulling out her notepad.

“We couldn’t stay away,” Marco said with a big grin. “Can you believe Carly had never had Watson’s food until last night? Now she can’t get enough of it.”

That wasn’t true. I’d had their breakfast before, and Marco had ended up with my dinner last night, but I wasn’t about to correct him.

“Know what you want?” Angie asked. “The special today is meatloaf.”

“Sign me up,” Marco said a little too jubilantly. I knew he was trying to sell that he was okay, but it only made me more worried.

I decided to get the meal I’d ordered the night before. “I’ll take a club sandwich and a salad with ranch dressing,” I said, then looked Marco in the eye. “But I think we should get our food to go.”

He studied me for a long second, and I was sure he was about to correct me, but then the corner of his lip tipped up into a hint of a grin. “You heard the lady.”

“You two an item?” Angie asked, glancing back and forth between us.

“Yep,” Marco said with a wink at the same time, I said, “No.”

Angie looked rightfully confused, so I added, “Marco’s such a jokester. We’re just friends.”

She looked us over once more. “Y’all want drinks while you wait?”

Marco ordered water and I got iced tea. When she walked away, I leaned in closer and lowered my voice. “Marco, maybe we should do this tomorrow.”

“We’re already here, and besides, I’m hungry.” But his eyes looked glazed and his cheeks were flushed.

I leaned over the table and pressed the back of my hand to his forehead and then his cheek. Both were slightly warm, and I wasn’t sure if he had a low-grade fever or if he was just warm from the exertion of getting inside.

He grinned. “You playin’ nursemaid?”

“I’ve had plenty of practice with Hank.”

Closing his eyes, he slumped down in the seat and rested his head back. Within about twenty seconds, I was sure he was asleep.

Angie was standing in the back with another waitress, who looked a couple of decades older. I slid out of the booth, taking care not to disturb Marco, and headed to the back.

“Is there a bathroom back here?” I asked, deciding to ease my way into this.

“Right there,” said the other woman, whose name tag read Sheila. She thumbed to a door down the hall.

“Oops,” I said with a laugh. “Right in front of me.”

I hurried into the bathroom and decided to use the facilities while I could. When I came out a few minutes later, Sheila was waiting on a table, but Angie was still standing in the back.

“Did you ever hear from Greta?” I asked.

“Nope,” she said with a frown.

“Marco was pretty worried, so we paid her sister a visit to see if she knew anything.”

“Did she?” Angie asked and I could see a hint of worry in her eyes.

I stepped closer and lowered my voice. “No. She doesn’t know where she is, but she doesn’t seem all that concerned.”

She shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Melody doesn’t give a shit about that girl. Only keeps her around for babysitting and makes her hand over most of her paychecks for room and board.”

That didn’t sound all that surprising. “She said Greta hasn’t had a boyfriend since Tim Hines. Do you know if that’s true?”

She gave me the once-over. “How do you know Greta?”

“I confess, I only just met her yesterday. I came by Watson’s to ask her some questions about Lula, and then she stopped by the tavern to talk. I think she saw someone who frightened her, because she looked scared and left in a hurry. I had Max walk her to her car, and now she’s missing.” I took a breath. “I’m worried.”

Angie didn’t respond, but she looked worried too.

“Melody said someone came in last week asking Greta about Lula. Do you know anything about that?”

She picked up a pitcher of water. “I’ll come over to your booth in a minute.”

It wasn’t exactly a promise of anything, and her expression was blank, but it was the best I was going to get.

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.” When I sat back down, Marco stirred. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” He tried to sit up but slouched back down in his seat.

“I think you need to go to the doctor, Marco.”

“I just need a pain pill and sleep.”

I hoped that would fix it, but I wasn’t so sure. Then again, he’d seemed fine until our mud adventure, and that had come after the exertion of climbing up and down Max’s narrow staircase, not to mention the emotional strain of arguing with his best friend. Marco had been shot twice three weeks ago. He was on medical leave for a reason.