About ten minutes later, the town came into view and I paid more attention this time than I had when I’d driven in with Wyatt. The first block included a Laundromat and a café on the right side, along with some barren storefronts with worn For Rent signs on their grimy windows. Drum City Hall and a small library hunkered on the left. Next to them were a beauty salon and an insurance office.

Ruth stopped at the four-lane intersection. The tavern was on the right. A small vacant building sat opposite it, next to the motel, surrounded by crime scene tape. I could see a church halfway down the road to the left, followed by several houses.

Ruth turned right and pulled into the parking lot behind the tavern, clucking when she saw all the cars already parked there.

“I should have known,” she said. “The looky-loos are already here, and the tavern has the best view in town of the crime scene. They’ll be hanging out inside, hopin’ to get a front seat to the action. Max won’t have the good sense to turn them away.”

“Maybe he’s still in bed,” I said as I opened the door and climbed out. “He did have a lot to drink last night.”

“Let’s hope,” she said as she slammed her door shut. “I’ve never seen him shaken up like that. Not even after Wyatt shunned the family.”

I slammed my door too, thrilled when it actually shut, and hurried after her. She’d lent me a pair of her athletic shoes. My toes slipped forward, leaving a slight gap at my heels.

She glanced back at the car, then grinned at me.

“Good job. It usually takes people a half dozen times to get the hang of it.” She shoved her shoulder into mine as we kept walking.

I grinned, knowing it was stupid to feel proud of something so trivial, but I’d take what I could get. “It’s a special skill set.”

She laughed as she unlocked the back door, holding it open for me to enter first.

I heard voices when I walked in, and Ruth and I exchanged a look and headed straight for the dining room. Max was standing behind the bar, nursing a cup of what I hoped was coffee, while a group of older men and women were gathered around the front window.

Ruth didn’t waste any time making a beeline to Max, leaving me to follow.

“What the hell, Max?” she snarled in an undertone when she reached him.

He stared at her with hooded eyes underscored with dark circles. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

“Why are all these people in the bar?”

He waved a hand toward them in a broad sweep. “What’s it look like?”

“It looks like a bunch of bullshit,” she said, stomping past me and over to the group. “All right now. Show’s over.”

One of the women turned toward her with a haughty glare. “Max said we could be here.”

“Well, Max may own the place, but I’m the manager. And seein’ as how we’re servin’ neither food nor drink yet and you haven’t purchased a damn thing, you need to head on out.”

“But—”

“You’re more than welcome to come back at noon if you feel so inclined, but only if you’re paying customers.”

“We’re not hurtin’ anything,” another woman objected.

“Actually,” Ruth said, with plenty of attitude, “Max has a raging headache and he’s in dire need of peace and quiet. He’ll be ready to face the lunch crowd in about four hours.” She walked over to the front door and held it open. “So y’all head on out and we’ll see you in a bit. Don’t forget that chicken-fried steak is the Tuesday lunch special!”

The small crowd shuffled out, although several people shot Ruth belligerent looks on their way out. When the last of them left, she shut the door behind them and locked it. “No one comes through that door until we open for lunch.”

I knew she wasn’t talking to me, so I snuck a glance at Max, who looked like he was about to barf up last night’s dinner.

Ruth marched back over to him and snatched the mug from his hand and took a whiff. With a look of disgust, she dumped it into the sink.

“Hey!” he protested.

“The hair of the dog won’t help you, Maxwell Lincoln Drummond. You need breakfast.”

He gave her a surly glare.

“Don’t you be giving me that look, young man,” she snorted, and I nearly laughed because she couldn’t be more than a couple of years older than him. “You need a generous helpin’ of grease.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Why aren’t you sick as a dog?”

“Because you were the only fool drinking himself into a stupor,” Ruth responded.

“If we go to Watson’s Café, everyone’s gonna be grilling me, wanting to know what happened,” he said, digging in his heels. “I don’t want to deal with the questions.”

“Then why the hell did you let those fools in?”

“It seemed like the best way to get the banging on the door to stop.”

The front door started to open, and Ruth stared at it with a look of disbelief. “How the hell…?”

A man walked in wearing a cowboy hat, brown leather jacket, and jeans. Ruth had definitely locked the door, which meant he had a key. He removed his hat, revealing thick dark hair, as he shut the door behind him.

“That didn’t take long,” Ruth muttered under her breath.

At the sound of her voice, he looked up and did a double take when he saw the two of us standing side by side. The slightly wary look in his eyes told me he’d hoped to find Max alone, but our presence mustn’t have bothered him, because he strode into the bar. He didn’t give off a threatening vibe, so I relaxed, especially since neither Ruth nor Max seemed intent on kicking him out.

Max groaned. “I wondered how long it would take for you to show up, Carson.”

“Don’t go shootin’ the messenger, Max,” Carson said with a little chuckle as he lifted his hands in surrender. “Just doin’ as I’m instructed.”

Max leaned into the counter and waved his free hand in a circle. “Go on, then.”

Carson’s warm eyes filled with sympathy. “As you can imagine, your father wasn’t pleased to hear there was a murder on his property.”

“Yeah, well I’m none too pleased myself,” Max said, staring down at his coffee cup, his face drawn. “And not because my father’s upset.” He looked up and met Carson’s eyes. “Seth was a good kid.”

“Your father plans to personally extend his sympathy to Hank.” Carson started to say something else but shut his mouth as his gaze shifted to me. “Perhaps we should discuss this in private.”

“Yeah,” Max said with a huge sigh. Then he gave Ruth an expectant look.

“Carly needs to get her things,” she said. “We’ll go on over and see about gettin’ ’em, then come back to get you before we go to breakfast.”

Max grunted his acknowledgment as he waited for us to walk out the front door.

“Who was that?” I asked once we were outside.

“Carson Purdy. Bart Drummond’s faithful lackey.” She paused for a beat before adding, “He runs the Drummond property and does a host of other ‘jobs.’” She said the last word with air quotes.