“Well, ain’t this a surprise?” he said.

It was the guy from Monday Night Football at the tavern, the one who’d acted weird about my supposed history in Georgia, only his buddies had called him Dewey.

“I sure didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, soft enough that his boss wouldn’t be able to hear him. “Who knew the old coot had it in him?”

I wanted to give him a piece of my mind, but for all I knew, he’d take it out on Hank.

“Mobley said you’d help me get Hank inside,” I said, trying to keep my tone calm.

He gestured to the glass doors. “If you’d kindly hold it open.” As I moved toward the door, he said, “I heard you were stayin’ with him, and since you didn’t deny it, it must be true.”

My hackles rose. “How’d you hear I’d be stayin’ with Mr. Chalmers?”

Then I realized I’d announced it to the whole damn town when I’d shouted at Wyatt last night.

“Drum’s a small town,” he said. “It don’t take long for word to get round.” He leaned closer, his eyes glittering. “You know half the town thinks you did it, and you’re only stayin’ with Hank to find the fortune.”

There was no containing the bark or laughter. “What fortune?”

His grin spread and he nodded. “Good call. Play stupid. I like it.”

Whatever people were saying in town, I highly doubted Hank had any money, let alone a fortune. Still, there was no point in engaging a man like this in conversation. I was here for a grieving grandfather. I went out the door and stood to the side as I held it open.

“I’m sure Hank will appreciate havin’ a fine young thing givin’ ’im sponge baths,” Dwight said as he stopped next to me, looking me up and down. He had the audacity to give me a leering wink.

I held his gaze and tried to rein in my temper. “I highly doubt that Mr. Chalmers will be thinking about sponge baths while mourning the death of his beloved grandson.”

He shrugged with a grin. “He may be in mournin’, but he ain’t dead.”

“I’m here to help Mr. Chalmers see his dead grandson,” I said in a voice that should have frosted the glass door I was still holding. “If you can’t help me with that while treating us both with respect, I’ll be happy to have a chat with your boss.”

He held up his hands in self-defense. “Whoa. Down there, girl. No need to get your panties in a bunch.”

I was about to jerk the wheelchair from his grasp, but he pushed ahead of me and guided it down the ramp, toward the truck. He did a double take and asked, “Is this Wyatt Drummond’s truck?”

Should I be worried that this lowlife was familiar enough with Wyatt to recognize it?

“That’s none of your concern,” I snapped.

He shot me a grin, then opened the passenger door of the truck, calling out good-naturedly, “Hey there, Hank. I’m Dwight and I’m gonna be helpin’ you inside.” His respectful tone caught me by surprise. “The whole damn town’s upset about Seth.”

“Dwight…” Hank said faintly. “You Ben Henderson’s son?”

“Yes, sir,” Dwight said as he helped Hank turn sideways in his seat. “One of ’em.”

Hank nodded but didn’t say anything.

Dwight slung Hank’s arm over his shoulder and helped him down. He got him settled in the chair and started pushing it toward a side door.

“I thought you were workin’ at the dog food plant down in Greeneville,” Hank said as Dwight pushed the chair across the parking lot.

“I was, sir,” Dwight said, still sounding respectful. “But my pa took sick, so I found something closer to home. I was lucky enough to get hired on by Mobley a couple of months ago.”

Hank nodded with an absent look in his eyes. “That’s good. Family’s important.”

“If you could get the door?” Dwight said to me. His tone was civil, but his snide grin told a different story.

I walked ahead of them and opened the single door, hoping the wheelchair would fit. Once I reached it, I turned around to see Dwight’s gaze on my denim-covered ass.

He pushed the chair past me and licked his lower lip.

It took everything in me not to throat-punch him.

“Hank,” I heard Mobley call out in a soft voice. When I followed Dwight and Hank inside, I saw the funeral director coming down the hall to greet us. “I am so sorry to hear about your loss. And after the loss of your poor daughter last year and Mary a year or so before that…” He shook his head. “I’m just so sorry.”

Hank’s eyes welled up and he hung his head. “I can’t believe he’s gone. That’s why I’m here. To see it for myself.”

“When I heard you were wanting to see him today, I explained the situation to the medical examiner’s office in Johnson City. They let us pick him up early this morning, but I’ve got to warn you, Ol’ Jimmy hasn’t had a chance to work his magic yet.”

“That’s okay.” Hank’s voice shook, and his face had lost color.

“Maybe this is all too much, Hank,” I said, pushing past Dwight and squatting next to the chair. He’d just been released from the hospital. He likely shouldn’t even be making this trip. “We can come back tomorrow or come early for the visitation.”

“No,” he said, sitting up straighter. The adjustment made him look even frailer, but there was nothing weak about his voice. “I want to see my grandson.”

“Then we’ll do it together,” I said with a reassuring smile.

Hank nodded, his eyes glassy and his chin trembling.

I wanted to get this over with and get him home and settled.

“Let’s all head on back,” Mobley said as he spun around and started walking.

I stayed next to Hank and studied him. If I saw any sign that he couldn’t handle what was happening, I’d find a way to get him out of here.

We headed down a long hall into what looked like a hospital room—or a morgue—with a stainless steel table in the center of the room. A body covered with a sheet lay on top of it, the head to my right.

Hank released a strangled sound.

Dwight guided the chair into the room and parked it a few feet from the table. I stopped next to Hank and reached down to pick up his hand. He glanced up at me with vacant eyes and squeezed.

Dwight shuffled to the head of the table and started to uncover Seth’s head, but Hank blurted out, “Wait! I wanna be standin’ when I see him.”

My stomach was in knots. I really didn’t want to see Seth again, not like this, but Hank needed to see his grandson and he needed support. I sure didn’t want to leave him with Dwight.

“You can’t stand,” Dwight scoffed. “Your leg’s cut off.”

“Dwight,” Mobley snapped. “Treat Mr. Chalmers with respect.”

Dwight looked pissed and he stepped to the other end of the table as though saying he wasn’t having any part of this.

I locked the wheels of the chair and squatted in front of Hank. “I’m gonna help you stand, then we’ll move up to the table.”

I regretted not bringing his crutches in with us, but I figured I could support him for a minute or so. When I’d helped lift him into the truck with the nurse less than an hour ago, I’d realized he didn’t weigh all that much.