While I understood why she felt that way, I wondered how deeply Wyatt had hurt her for her to still be so affected.

She pushed out a sigh of exhaustion. “Go home and get some rest. Since we’re runnin’ with just three of us, we’ll open at four tomorrow. Enjoy your partial day off.”

We walked out to the parking lot together, and Ruth followed me home until I turned off at Hank’s. While we’d never discussed that I might be in danger, it was like she was making sure I got home safely. It made me even more grateful for her friendship.

I was exhausted, but my thoughts kept tossing around, refusing to let me sleep until well into the night. I had set my alarm for seven thirty, but I hit the snooze button a few too many times and woke up after eight.

Hank was on the porch again, so I took a quick shower and washed my hair and blow-dried it into loose, fluffy waves, then went out to make him some oatmeal and fruit.

I brought his food out on a tray and set it on the small table between the chairs.

“You don’t get too cold out here?” I asked. “I can get you another blanket.”

“Stop your fussin’. I’m fine.”

We were silent for a few moments, watching the birds, before I said, “I’m goin’ out with Marco again, so I need to change your compression bandage before I leave.”

“I already did it,” he grumped, then shoveled a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth.

“Then I want to take a look at it before I go.”

“I’ve got to learn how to do some of this myself,” he said. “You’re workin’ doubles and cookin’ and cleanin’ and takin’ care of me.” He turned to look at me. “Since Ginger’s gonna help out a few days a week, I don’t think we need Wyatt comin’ out here anymore. He upsets you too much.”

“But you like Wyatt. He keeps you company while I’m workin’.”

“And maybe he can come back at some point, but for now, I think it’s best all the way around if he’s not hangin’ around.”

“Hank…I’m sorry. I feel bad.”

“Don’t feel bad. It ain’t nothin’.”

It was plenty of something.

“Hank,” I said carefully. “I have some follow-up questions after our chat last night.”

“Okay…” He sounded leery.

“I know you said Walter Baker never worked for you, but what about Louise?”

He sat perfectly still while the birds on the feeder released a melodic call.

“Hank?”

“I don’t like dredgin’ up old memories.”

“And I hate to make you dredge them, but this is important.”

“She worked for me some. She helped process the pot after it was harvested and bag it up. I fired her because I suspected she was spyin’ on me for Drummond.” He took a sip of his coffee, then made a face. “Cold.”

“I’ll get you a fresh cup, but first tell me when she worked for you in relation to the murder.”

He took another sip of the cold coffee, and his look of disgust was so dramatic I knew he was stalling.

“Hank.”

“I fired her the day before it happened.”

Oh crap. “So when she showed up at the Drummonds’ looking for Bart and mentioned your name, it was because she was letting him know she was no longer in a position to spy for him.”

“Likely,” he admitted.

“So she did ask Bart for a favor,” I said, not all that surprised. “And the payment was to spy on you. But what did she get in return?”

“Hell if I know,” Hank said. “She could have just been reporting to him for the hell of it.”

“You seriously have no idea?” I asked.

“It all happened over a decade ago, girlie. You need to let it go.”

I could see Marco’s SUV through the trees next to the road. Hank was going to luck out of the rest of this conversation. At least for now.

“You got something goin’ with the Roland kid?” he asked with plenty of attitude.

“No. We’re just friends lookin’ for another friend.” Or two. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back, but there should be enough leftovers for dinner tonight. I’ll make a pot of chili tomorrow.”

Marco pulled onto the property and drove toward the house. When he stopped, he rolled down his window. “You ready?”

Hank looked fit to be tied. “Don’t you know it’s not polite to pull up to a lady’s house and honk, expecting her to run out for your date?”

Marco’s eyes widened.

“Hank, I told you it wasn’t a date,” I said in exasperation. I sent Marco an apologetic glance. “I’ll run in to get my bag.”

I brought Hank’s dirty dishes inside, setting the oatmeal bowl in the sink and filling it with water while I got him a fresh cup of coffee. Then I grabbed my bag and purse and headed out the door.

“Maybe don’t have Wyatt stay away today,” I said. “It’s gonna be a long day all by yourself.”

“If you’re gonna keep gettin’ rides, then I can start drivin’ again,” he said. “It’ll be nice to get out. Maybe go to church.”

I blinked in surprise. “You want to go to church?”

He’d never once mentioned it.

“What? You think I’m gonna catch on fire if I cross the threshold?” he grumped, his gaze firmly on Marco.

“Of course not, but I could have taken you. It’s part of my job. And I’ll be getting my own car soon enough,” I said, handing him the fresh cup of coffee. “I sold my old one to Todd Bingham last night for four thousand dollars. We’re going to Ewing today. Maybe I’ll look for a new car while I’m there.” Although I had no idea how Hank would go about driving without a right leg. I’d call the doctor’s office tomorrow.

Hank gave me a frown. Did he think I was more likely to leave if I had my own car? I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for caring, Hank. I haven’t had someone who cared for me like this for a very long time.”

Not since my mother.

He gave me a warm smile. “Be safe today. I have a feelin’ you’re pokin’ some big hornets’ nests with sticks.”

That was twice I’d been told this very thing, and boy was it true.

“You know it,” I said with a grin, then bounded down the steps and got into Marco’s Explorer.

When I got inside, Marco said, “Did I hear you say you sold your car to Bingham last night?” He shot me a dark look. “Did you go out to his property alone?”

“No. Ruth opened the tavern around six and called me into work. He came by to see me. And he was all alone.”

He backed up the SUV and headed to the road. “That’s not like him.”

“Yep. I asked him about Shane Jones and showed him my photo, but he claims Shane doesn’t work for him. However, I showed the photo to Ruth and she does remember him. He came in a few months back with Dwight Henderson.”

“The guy who worked at Mobley Funeral Home?”

“That’s the one, but Ruth knew the friend as Charlie. We know that Dwight was having drugs smuggled into the area in caskets delivered from Atlanta. We need to ask Pete Mobley, the funeral home director, if he recognizes Charlie.” I turned to him. “Did your friend at the sheriff’s department find anything?”