“We know he drives a black pickup,” I added.

“Did you get the plate number?”

“No, but I think Wyatt talked to him. The guy showed up after I went inside, and Wyatt stayed out there longer than it would take to hose off your crutches. I thought maybe he was talking to you, but you were out of it.”

“Sure was.”

I told him about Wyatt’s call.

“I suspect the guy dropped by inquiring about parts,” Marco said. “But it’s odd that he went straight to the back to do it.”

“Maybe Wyatt knows him or got some information from him.”

“I’ll call my friend Ken, and then you call Wyatt.”

As he started to reach for the phone, I said, “I went all the way to Ewing to get this blood pressure cuff, so I’m going to actually use it before you make that call.”

But it was obvious that a long nap was exactly what he’d needed. His color was back and the dark circles under his eyes were gone. Still, the way he was carefully moving around told me the pain hadn’t completely abated.

He sat back in his seat and held his left arm out straight. “Okay, Nurse Carly.”

I opened the box and wrapped the cuff around his arm. “I ran into someone at the Walgreens in Ewing.” I looked up and held his blue-green eyes. “Two someones… Emily and Bart Drummond.”

He held perfectly still, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t because of the cuff around his arm, filling with air. “What happened?”

I’d started this conversation, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to follow through with it. Marco didn’t know about my life as Caroline Blakely. If I told him about Bart’s invitation, he’d want to know what Bart had on me, and I wasn’t ready to tell him. While I trusted Marco, the fewer people who knew, the safer I’d be. “Emily was pleased to see me. Bart…he was harder to read.”

“That’s Bart for you. How did Emily look?”

“Thin. Tired. She was picking up a new prescription for her nausea.”

He frowned. “She’s had a rough go of it with this round of chemo. Max is worried about her.”

“He never talks about it.”

The cuff stopped filling with air and began to deflate.

“He’s great at compartmentalizing,” Marco said.

“Maybe not as great as you both seem to think since he gets shit-faced drunk as a coping mechanism.” I looked at the blood pressure reading. “122 over 76. Perfect.”

“See?” he said. “I told you I’m fine. I was just tired.”

“Emily did make a comment about Lula that I found interesting. She said Lula’s mother showed up on their doorstep the day she shot her husband. Louise was looking for Bart, apparently, but she also said something about Hank.”

His brow shot up. “Hank was involved in it?”

“I don’t know. Emily doesn’t remember what she said, but it made me wonder if Louise showed up to ask Bart for a favor.”

A frown creased his forehead. “She would have to be pretty desperate to resort to that.”

“My thoughts exactly, which is why I need to get Hank to talk. He seemed pretty surprised to hear Louise was getting out soon. And he seemed a little off when I brought it up.…like maybe he knew more than he was sharing.”

He looked deep in thought, so I stood and said, “Call your friend, and I’ll heat up your food from Watson’s.”

I transferred the food from the Styrofoam container to a plate and put it in the microwave. Marco might be feeling better, but I still didn’t think he should go back out anytime soon. Still, I couldn’t stand the thought of doing nothing. Not when Lula and Greta were missing. I’d heard that the longer someone was missing, the greater the chance they weren’t coming back alive. Time was of the essence.

No one else was going to look for those two women. Could I really just wait?

The microwave dinged, and I removed the plate and started to bring it to the living room, but Marco was up and hopping to his small kitchen table.

“Ken said he’d look up Shane Jones and get back to me, but it might not be until tomorrow.” He glanced at the plate, then back at me. “You gonna eat too?”

“I ate earlier. I probably should get back to Hank. You and I can’t do anything more tonight, but I can ask Wyatt what he knows about Shane Jones and talk to Hank about his version of what happened to Lula and her parents.”

He was quiet for a moment. “You’ll fill me in on what you find out?”

I grinned. “Only if you tell me what you find out from Ken.”

“Deal.”

“I also have to find a ride to Hank’s, but I’m hoping Wyatt will play taxi.”

“I can take you home, Carly,” he said, his voice full of guilt.

“You need to stay here and rest, and Wyatt and I are due for a good chat anyway.”

His eyes twinkled. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

I groaned and walked into the living room to pick up the cordless phone. “You’re obviously feeling better.”

“I’ll be ready to go back out tomorrow,” he said quietly.

“Let’s just wait and see.” I called Wyatt’s home number and got his machine again, so I hung up and called Hank’s number.

“Hey, Hank,” I said when he answered. “Have you seen Wyatt this afternoon?”

“He came here lookin’ for you. Then Junior called and Wyatt took off.”

Frustration washed through me. Why hadn’t I gotten stranded in a town that had cell phone towers? “How long ago was that?”

“I dunno. Maybe fifteen minutes.”

I didn’t want to call Ruth, and Hank couldn’t drive. If push came to shove, I could get Marco to take me back, but he needed to stay home and rest. Selfishly, I wanted him to help me continue the investigation as soon as possible—which meant he needed to do as little as possible tonight. “And Wyatt didn’t say where he was going?”

“Nope, just took off like a bat out of hell.”

“Dammit.”

“Hey, Carly,” Marco said, sounding pretty pleased with himself. “I know where Wyatt is, and he’s not lookin’ like Mr. Mary Sunshine.”

Sure enough, when I opened the front door, he was bounding up the steps with a dark look on his face.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Wyatt. How did you find me?” I asked, but I knew the answer before I finished the question. According to Hank, Wyatt had bolted after talking to Junior. Junior had found out from Ginger.

He stopped on the porch a couple of feet in front of me. “What the hell’s goin’ on with Max? The tavern is closed, and when I went in to find out why, Max was drunk off his ass. But he was coherent enough to go on and on about how he fired you for stickin’ your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“I don’t want to miss the good stuff,” Marco called out good-naturedly. “Come on in, Wyatt.”

Wyatt gave me a look that let me know he was waiting for my permission, so I stepped aside and let him in. The motion jarred my arm, and I realized I was still holding the phone.