“Bart’s puttin’ in a new resort and spa,” Emily said. “He’ll close the small one outside of Ewing.”

“You own the spa in Ewing?” I asked. This was the link I needed to tie Lula to Bart.

“I’m not sure you can call the Mountain View Lodge much of a spa,” he said dismissively. “The new resort will be much grander.”

“But he’ll hire all the old staff,” Emily said. “I insisted on it.”

“If they choose to come, dear.” Bart patted her arm. “They may not want to make the drive.”

“And where will the resort be located?” I asked, trying to buy some time. I wanted to ask Bart questions about Lula, but a direct approach seemed too dangerous, and I didn’t want to insult Emily.

“Well, that’s been a source of contention,” Bart said with a sly grin. “I’m puttin’ it on the edge of the vast Drummond property, but it borders Bingham land.” He made a dismissive gesture. “That’s all worked out now.”

“Bart just found out he won the court case this week,” Emily said. “They’ll break ground in the spring.”

“How exciting,” I said with fake enthusiasm. “How soon do you think it will open? I’m sure you’ll be needing staff.” I held Bart’s gaze. “Lula might be lookin’ for a job since she and Ruth don’t seem to be seein’ eye to eye these days.”

To his credit, Bart didn’t show a reaction.

“Poor Lula,” Emily said. “What an awful thing, to have one parent who kills the other.” That stung, although I could tell it wasn’t an intentional barb—Bart might know my secret, or at least part of it, but he wasn’t the sharing type. But what she said next completely reclaimed my attention. “Quite the mess. I couldn’t help but feel partially responsible.”

“How so?” I asked in surprise.

“I’m sure Carly’s not interested in Balder Mountain gossip,” Bart said. “That’s ancient history now.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “I’m a history buff. And besides, I figure the more I know about the people and the town, the better I’ll fit in.”

“Louise dropped by the house lookin’ for Bart that day. She said something about Hank that I didn’t understand. I asked her to repeat herself, but she seemed so upset.” She looked off in the distance, seemingly lost in thought, then asked, “How is Hank doin’, by the way?”

“His leg is healing nicely,” I said, my mind reeling from what she’d said about Hank. Especially since Hank had seemed so cagey about the incident when we’d discussed it the day before. “But he misses Seth terribly.”

“How can you stand livin’ out at that shack?” she asked. “I hear it’s haunted up there from all the…” Her voice trailed off as though she couldn’t bring herself to finish.

I blinked in surprise. “I have yet to meet any ghosts.”

If there was a ghost, I’d expect it to be the man Hank had killed in my defense.

“Don’t pay Emily any mind,” Bart said good-naturedly. “She’s a believer in the supernatural. Me,” he said, holding my gaze, “I’m a firm believer in the here and now, and I believe you and I have some business to discuss. Perhaps we can get together next week. Whenever your schedule will allow.”

I had no doubt about the topic—my real identity—but if he wasn’t going to turn me in to my father, then I must have something he wanted. Part of me was scared to find out what that was.

“Perhaps you can get Wyatt to bring you,” Emily said, sounding wistful.

“No,” Bart said, “I have a business proposition for Carly, and I think it’s best if she has no outside influence. In fact,” he added, “I think it’s best if you don’t mention this to anyone. Especially my sons.”

My fake smile spread a small fraction of an inch to acknowledge I’d heard his request, but I wasn’t about to agree to it. I needed to give this some thought, but a seed of hope formed inside me. This would influence Wyatt to take me into his confidence, wouldn’t it? Surely he’d want to help protect me.

“I’ll be in touch,” Bart said.

“Maybe you can stay for tea when you come,” Emily said. “We hardly get visitors out to the house these days.”

“I’m sure that Carly will have to run off as soon as our meeting is done,” Bart said. “She’s a very busy woman.”

Did he know I was looking for Lula? I wouldn’t be surprised. Even if his power had waned, Bart Drummond seemed to have his finger on the pulse of everything that happened in Drum. Was that why he wanted to meet with me? To convince me to stop my search? If so, why not send Emily to another area of the store and convince me now? No, it was something else entirely.

“Mrs. Drummond?” a woman from the pharmacy counter called out. “Your prescription is ready.”

“Oh,” Emily said, looking flustered. “My doctor called in a new prescription for my nausea. I hope this one works.” Then she added, “It was so lovely seeing you. I do hope you’ll find time to stay for tea when you stop by to see Bart.”

“Don’t worry,” Bart said with a shit-eating grin that looked eerily familiar, likely because I’d seen a nearly identical grin on Max’s face countless times. “We’ll be seeing a whole lot more of Carly.” Then he steered her around me and headed to the pharmacy counter.

I didn’t like the sound of that. What did Bart have planned for me?

But I’d been dismissed, which I was one hundred percent good with. I really didn’t want to chat with Bart, and I had places to go before I headed back to Drum.

After I went to the nursing home, I was paying a visit to Mountain View Lodge.

Chapter Twenty-One

Greener Pastures was on the other side of Ewing, at the top of a steep slope. It seemed dangerous to keep a bunch of elderly people next to such a sharp incline, but then again, the brick building looked like it had originally been intended as a bomb shelter. I doubted they got out much.

The front doors opened to a wide hall that led to a large room with multiple tables set up to my right. A few older women sat at one of the tables, working on a jigsaw puzzle. To my left was a nursing station desk with an older woman tapping on her smartphone. She barely looked up when I stopped in front of her. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Miss Thelma.”

“Thelma Baines or Thelma Tureen?” she asked, her attention still on her phone.

“Uh…I’m not sure. Her granddaughter Greta comes to see her all the time. Her granddaughter Ginger said it would be okay to stop by for a visit.”

“Honey, ain’t nobody gonna stop you. Head on back.” She made a vague gesture toward her right. “Thelma Tureen’s in room 26.”

“Thank you.” I turned and walked down the hall, passing a wall plastered in headshots of the various employees, or so I assumed, but my attention was captured by a man in a wheelchair who seemed catatonic. My heart ached, and I considered stopping to check on him, but I was already leaving Marco longer than I’d planned. I needed to talk to Thelma and get out of here.