The door to 26 was open, and a woman with short, pure white hair sat in a rocking chair in the corner with a red quilt over her lap, knitting. She looked up with a friendly smile. “Hello. Are you looking for Virginia? They put her in the room next door.”

“No,” I said, taking a step into the room. “If you’re Thelma, I’m here to see you.”

Her smile widened. “Come on in.” She squinted up at me. “Do I know you?”

“No, ma’am. I’m Carly Moore, a friend of Greta and Ginger’s.” I was proud of myself for not fumbling around, trying to remember to use my new last name. It had become more and more natural over the past weeks.

She placed her knitting in her lap. “Oh, yes, Ginger called to tell me you’d be stopping by. I haven’t seen her in a month or so, but she’s busy with those babies. Greta comes to see me though. She shows me pictures of Ginger and her kiddos.”

I noticed she didn’t mention Melody.

“That sounds like Greta,” I said, only then realizing I’d put myself in an impossible situation. Was I really going to tell this elderly woman that her granddaughter was missing? It seemed obvious Ginger hadn’t told her.

“Carly, please sit,” she said, gesturing toward a chair next to the wall at the foot of the bed.

I gingerly took a seat, my nerves starting to get the better of me. “Miss Thelma, has Greta mentioned anything about Tim Hines to you?”

Her mouth puckered with disapproval. “Nasty fellow.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

“You haven’t met him?” she asked in surprise.

“No. I’ve only heard about him. I just moved to Drum about a month ago.”

“Oh, dear,” she said sympathetically. “People don’t usually come to stay in Drum. They prefer to leave.”

“Do you know if Greta wants to leave?”

She blinked in surprise. “I guess I hadn’t considered that.”

“She’s never mentioned it? Like maybe she wanted to escape Tim?”

“No. She said she talked to someone who convinced him to leave her alone. But still, now that I think about it, I doubt she wants to stay in the area.” Pain filled her eyes. “She knows how lonely I get, and she comes more often than most people’s families do.” She glanced up at me. “What if she’s only stayed because of me?”

“I know that she loves you very much,” I said. “And I know she also loves her job. I’m sure she doesn’t see staying in the area as a chore. Plus she helps Melody with her kids.”

“But she’s lonely. That Tim is a nasty piece of work, and her new fella didn’t work out. Good eligible men are hard to come by in these parts. Too many of ’em have dirtied their hands in some illegal mess or another. And she might love those kids, but Melody treats her terribly, and she can’t afford to move out on her own.”

“What about living with Lula?” I asked. I couldn’t see anyone purposely living in that hellhole, but they could have moved somewhere better together.

Tears filled her eyes. “She said Lula’s been growing more distant over the last year. Plus the girl keeps runnin’ off. Deliverin’ those packages.”

“Greta told you about the packages?”

She nodded.

“Do you know who she was delivering them for?”

“No, but she suspected it was tied to Lula’s mother.”

“Her mother?” I asked in surprise. “How so?”

She shook her head, looking troubled. “She wasn’t sure. She said it was just a gut feeling, but Greta doesn’t trust that woman one bit. Says she’s usin’ poor Lula. It worries Greta somethin’ fierce.”

A new thought hit me. “You said Greta spoke to someone who got Tim to leave her alone. Do you think Greta might have tried to get help for Lula too?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think she might have tried to convince the person behind the packages to leave Lula alone? Or that she maybe got someone else to do the convincin’ for her?”

She frowned. “That sounds like something Greta would do.”

Did the packages belong to Bingham? Was that why Bingham had been giving Lula the evil eye at the tavern? Had he expected payment or a report of some kind? But how would Greta fit into that theory?

“You said most of the men around here have done illegal things,” I said. “I know Todd Bingham has his chop shop and drug business. Carson Purdy was trying to start his own drug empire. I suspect many of the young men in town have had dealings with one of them. Was it always like that in Drum?”

“Well, I ain’t been privy to that world in quite some time, but when I was younger, Hank Chalmers and Bart Drummond ran it all. Bart with his moonshine and Hank with his pot and his pills. Then meth and Oxy entered the scene and Hank saw what it did to people and wanted no part of it.”

“And he gave the business to Todd Bingham?”

“Gave it? Oh, no. Hank made himself a tidy profit, I’m quite sure.”

If Hank made a huge profit, then why was he living in such squalor? I’d heard people talk about his supposed fortune, but I’d always assumed they were being foolish.

“And Todd Bingham’s father was involved in illegal activities too, wasn’t he?” I said. “Marco recently filled me in. Said he was a terrible man.”

She nodded with a faraway look. “We were all sure Floyd had killed both of his wives and his son. Sweet child too, that little Rodney.” She shook her head and clucked. “But the good Lord saw fit to give that man a proper earthly punishment on his way to hell.” She cast me a sideways glance. “Fell into a woodchipper.”

“So I’ve heard.” And I was certain God had nothing to do with it unless you considered Todd Bingham to be His instrument.

“Floyd Bingham was a scary man, but he kept to his property and left the rest of the world alone. Sure, he had his own thing goin’, but it wasn’t on the scale that Bart and Hank ran things.”

“And then Todd took over.”

She waved a hand. “I didn’t pay any attention to him. I hardly paid attention to Floyd, other than noticing how poorly he treated his wives. By the time Todd Bingham’s name started bein’ whispered more and more, I was too busy with my own life to care. My husband got sick and I spent a good five years with my head down and taking care of him. And by the time Daniel died, I kind of stopped carin’ about everything.” She gave me a quivering smile. “That’s what got me here. Not carin’. But Greta, she cares enough for the both of us. She’s what keeps me goin’.”

And now she was missing. I needed to tell Thelma, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it yet. “Do you remember anything about Lula’s mother shooting her father?”

“Oh, honey. Everyone remembers that nightmare. But many of us remember it all differently.”

I’d seen the truth of that, but no one had really explained it to me. Since she was being so helpful, I figured I might as well ask. “How so?”

“I’ve never heard anything from any real source, mind you. I’ve only heard what other people supposedly know, so take what I tell you with a grain of salt.”