“Maybe not. That would be a reason for hirin’ someone like Charlie. It sounds like maybe he is capable of such a thing.”

My stomach churned.

The funeral home came into view at the end of the street, the Lexus fully visible. Marco pulled over to the curb and put the Explorer in park. “Mobley’s reputation is already on the line with the drug smuggling. If word gets out that he’s been cheatin’ on his wife with a woman in her twenties, and he got her pregnant to boot? I’m not sure he’d recover.”

I swallowed bile. “So he took her to keep his dirty little secret.”

Which meant she was dead.

“Hey,” Marco said, reaching over and snagging my hand. “Don’t think the worst.” But I heard the hopelessness in his voice.

“He runs a funeral home, Marco,” I said flatly. “His business is taking care of dead bodies.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I know.”

“Greta.” My voice broke, and I couldn’t stop a tear from falling down my cheek. “If Charlie took her, it’s because I was talking to her.” I released sob. “What if I got her killed, Marco?”

“Hey,” he said, turning in his seat to face me. He was still holding my hand and squeezed it. “Let’s not think like that.”

“It’s hard not to.”

“We don’t know that they’re dead. He might be keepin’ them alive somewhere. When he leaves, he might lead us right to them.” Which meant we were back to the original theory that the same people had taken them both. I hadn’t told Marco my new theory, and I decided now wasn’t the time. Mobley certainly seemed to know something. Hopefully, he’d lead us to at least one of them.

I nodded, only because I couldn’t bear to consider the possibility of them being dead. But we had to look at this practically. What purpose would Mobley have for keeping them alive?

“Carly,” he said with an authority I wasn’t used to hearing in his voice. “Worst-case scenario, if Greta is dead—you did not kill her.”

A fresh round of tears filled my eyes. “Is this when you tell me that I didn’t pull the trigger, or however they killed her?” Oh God. What had they done to her? I couldn’t let my mind dwell on it.

“No, although it’s true. You have to remember that Charlie has been watching Greta for weeks, probably since Purdy’s death, based on when he started working at the nursing home. And he was in the café last week asking about Lula. He would have taken her whether you were askin’ questions or not."

I nodded.

“Carly.”

I jerked my gaze to his.

“This is not your fault.” The compassion on his face was nearly my undoing.

I nodded again but didn’t answer.

He pushed out a breath, probably realizing that was the best response he was going to get from me.

Movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I realized Mobley was in the parking lot, practically sprinting to his car.

I sat up straighter. “He’s on the move.”

Marco sat up too, shifting the car into drive. “Showtime.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Mobley headed out of the parking lot as though he were being chased by a pack of wild dogs.

“He isn’t exactly cool under pressure,” Marco said. “That will definitely work in our favor.”

Marco slowly drove down the side street parallel to the funeral home parking lot, staying back several car lengths, as Mobley sped out. The Lexus barely slowed down before Mobley turned right onto the four-lane highway, narrowly missing a car, and heading away from town.

I curled my upper lip in disgust. “I get the impression that a life of crime might be new to him.”

“Maybe,” Marco said. “We’ve definitely put the fear of God into him.” He turned right at the stop sign, pulling up behind a pickup truck, several car lengths behind the Lexus.

We followed behind the truck for several miles until Mobley turned into the parking lot with a faded sign for Mountain View Lodge and Spa.

“Marco…” This was where Lula had met her man of importance.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice tight. “I get the connection.” He drove past and I turned in my seat to watch Mobley’s car head around a two-story motel that looked like it had been built many decades ago. Mobley was driving down a lane that went between the motel and a smaller building that had the word spa in faded letters on the side. I was shocked Bart Drummond owned this dump. Then again, the tavern and the Alpine Inn weren’t exactly nice. Sure, Max was now the owner of record for the former, but Bart had owned them both back in the day.

“He’s driving around the back.”

“I’ll pull a U-turn up here,” he said, swerving into the left lane. He drove about twenty feet, waiting for an approaching car to pass us, then jerked the car around in the opposite direction, heading back toward the spa.

I held on to the door and the dashboard as he made the three-point turn. When we reached the resort, he turned into the parking lot and drove around back.

“There’s his car,” I said, pointing toward the black Lexus parked in the middle of the lot. The only other cars around were a blue Hyundai and a rusted green minivan. Trees crept up to the back side of the parking lot, making me feel closed in.

Marco drove to the very back of the lot behind the spa and parked in a dark corner.

“What do you think he’s doing in there?” I asked, my stomach in knots. “Do you think that’s where he’s keeping Lula and Greta?”

“I don’t know.”

“Should we contact the sheriff’s department?”

“And tell them what?” he asked. “That Pete Mobley sped away from the funeral home and pulled into a motel parking lot?”

When he put it that way… “If they’re in there, we can’t just sit here, Marco.”

“That’s exactly what we’re gonna do. Sit here and wait to see which room he comes out of and if anyone’s with him.” He shot me a frustrated look. “We can’t go from door to door, Carly.”

“But what if we freaked him out and he’s going to hurt them?”

He grabbed my hand and squeezed. “I’m just as frustrated as you are, Carly. Trust me. But there’s nothing we can do but wait.”

I pulled my hand free and grabbed a tissue out of my purse.

“We could be here a while,” he said. “He might be in there for hours or he might be in there for five minutes.”

I had to do something, and my worried mind turned to the next concern on my list. Max. I was willing to suck up my pride for some peace of mind. I pulled out my cell phone. No service. “I’m worried about Max.”

“If he’s with Wyatt, he’s fine.”

“Do you have cell service?”

He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and checked the screen. “No.”

Another danger to add to our list. We wouldn’t be able to call for backup even if Marco decided it was a good time to move.

I shifted in my seat, antsy and frustrated.

“Carly,” Marco said with a sigh. “Take a deep breath and try to relax.”