“Do you think Seth’s murder has something to do with Bart Drummond?”

“Seems like everything that happens in Drum ties back to Bart Drummond, but in this instance, I don’t see how. Seth was after the dealer who sold his momma drugs, and Bart wouldn’t dirty his hands with something like that.”

“Do you know who would?” I asked.

“Todd Bingham,” he said as he stared straight ahead, his body stiff. “He runs the drug business in Drum.”

Bingham, the man who’d gone out of his way to intimidate me on Monday night. I’d already suspected he was involved in the drug trade in Drum. I figured if anyone in this town had a foot in its criminal underworld, it would be that creep, but I knew he wasn’t one of the three. The man who’d killed Seth scared me enough that I wouldn’t be forgetting his voice anytime soon. Technically speaking, Bingham could have been the driver, but I doubted he’d ever take such a backseat role. “Do you think Bingham had anything to do with Seth’s death?”

“If it involves drugs, then he’s got his hand in it.” He turned to face me. “You need to stay far away from Todd Bingham. Very far away.”

My stomach cramped as I shot him a long look and then returned my gaze to the road. “Why doesn’t the sheriff’s department arrest him?”

“’Cause he’s got the sheriff’s department in his pocket.”

Which fit with what Seth had said about his murderer being a deputy. ““You know that dealer I mentioned from Atlanta . . . how they were supposed to have made a delivery? Do you think Wyatt could have anything to do with the drug deal?”

“Wyatt?” he asked in surprise, then shook his head. “Hell, no. He can’t stand drugs. He dropped by often enough to see Seth, and I heard ’em discussin’ it.”

“Do you want to involve Wyatt in this, then? Tell him what we know?” I was in over my head, and if Wyatt could be trusted, I wasn’t opposed to involving him.

Hank didn’t answer for a few seconds. “I need to think on it.” He paused for several seconds, then said, “We can trust him not to harm us. I just can’t be 100% certain he won’t run to his daddy with anything we tell him. While he and his family give the appearance that he has nothing to do with them, he’s barely makin’ enough to pay Junior, so how’d he come up with the money to pay for Seth’s funeral?” He frowned. “I need to ask him more questions.”

I slowly nodded. Getting more answers sounded like a good call.

“If Barb died over a year ago, why was Seth goin’ after the dealer now?” I asked.

“I didn’t want him to get messed up in any of this, so I told him Barb’s boyfriend had purposely overdosed her. Figured that would put an end to it, since George was gone too,” Hank said. “About a month ago, Seth found out that wasn’t true.”

“Oh dear.”

“The night of Barb’s overdose, George went berserk in downtown Drum. Breakin’ windows and shoutin’ nonsense. Someone called the sheriff and a deputy shot and killed him.” When my mouth dropped open in shock, he said, “Whatever he and Barb took made ’em batshit crazy. Witnesses said the deputy told George to put down the bat he was holding, but instead he lunged for the sheriff. That’s when he got shot.”

“How did Seth find out the truth?” I asked.

“There’s plenty of drugs here in town, but nothing like what they were on. Things have been pretty quiet since they passed, but a month ago, someone had the damn same reaction. Then another. Those people didn’t die and they never caught the attention of the sheriff’s department, but Seth put it together with his momma’s death and started digging around until he found the truth.”

“Sounds like he was a smart boy,” I said.

He swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and looked close to breaking down. “He was. He was gonna go to college. He was gonna get the hell out of here and make something of himself.”

I nearly told Hank how sorry I was again, but all the apologies in the world weren’t going to bring Seth back. The best way to help him was to find out who’d killed his grandson.

“I think I recognized the voice of one of the killers,” I said, taking a quick glance at Hank.

His eyes widened slightly. “You know him?”

“That’s just it…I know I’ve heard his voice before, but I don’t know him. He was at Max’s for Monday Night Football, but there were so many guys there that night and everyone was new to me…” I cringed. “I can’t remember who it was, but I’m sure he came in with Bingham’s group.”

“He’ll likely be back next week,” Hank said with a nod. “You need to play dumb. You can’t let him know you suspect anything or you’ll be next.”

“I can’t just let this go, Hank.”

“That’s exactly what you’ll do. We’re both gonna let this go. End of story.”

I wasn’t sure he meant it, but he was tired, and I suspected he thought we were both in over our heads. Although he was likely right, I’d picked this battle and meant to stick with it. Still, it had already been a long, excruciating day for him, and I didn’t want to push him. “I’m set to work every night this week and weekend, but Wyatt says he’ll help keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” he grunted. “I’m too damn old for a babysitter.”

“No one is babysitting you, Hank. We’re just making sure you have what you need until you regain your strength.”

“What I need is my grandson, and ain’t nobody can give me that,” he said, his weariness obvious.

There was no arguing that point.

We drove in silence again, mostly because Hank was falling asleep again. The county road was curvy, and we were climbing fast.

Before I reached the road that led to either Drum or Greeneville, I noticed a sign that announced the entrance to Balder Mountain trail and realized it was the infamous trailhead that had ruined the town. If I had the lay of the land right, the trailhead was now closer to Ewing. I couldn’t think of a reason why anyone would continue up the mountain unless it was their destination. No wonder the town was drying up.

About ten minutes past Drum, when I turned onto the narrow county road leading to Hank’s house, I noticed a shiny black pickup truck make the turn with us.

That truck made me nervous, and it took me a few seconds to figure out it was more than just paranoia—a shiny black pickup just like it had almost rear-ended us in Greeneville. There were thousands of pickup trucks in the Tennessee mountains; it was unlikely it was the same one, but I was still on edge.

I knew the turnoff for Hank’s property—I’d purposely sought it out this morning after leaving Ruth’s house—but I didn’t know the road well enough to anticipate our distance from it. If the truck followed us onto the property, I’d have a hard time losing it.

I would have sold my right kidney to be able to call Wyatt, but I didn’t even bother wasting my time to check my phone. The only time I’d had service today was in Ewing and down in Greeneville.