One Foot in the Grave: Carly Moore #3 Read online

  One Foot in the Grave

  Carly Moore #3

  Denise Grover Swank

  Copyright © 2020 by Denise Grover Swank

  Developmental Editor: Angela Polidoro

  Cover Design: Bookfly Design

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Also by Denise Grover Swank

  Also by Denise Grover Swank writing as D.G. Swank

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “Where’s that order, Tiny?” Ruth bellowed from the order counter.

  “Sweetie Pie just dropped the burger on the floor,” the large, red-headed fry cook grumbled. “It’s gonna be another ten minutes.”

  Sweetie Pie was the newest cook to join Max’s Tavern since I’d started working there as a waitress, the fifth in as many months. And just like the others, she wasn’t working out so well.

  Ruth, the manager and my co-waitress, was fit to be tied. “What’s it take to get decent help around here?”

  “It’s gonna be okay,” Lula, the third waitress on Max’s staff, said in her soft voice. “She’s doin’ the best that she can.”

  Ruth darted Lula a glare, but she stopped short of letting loose on her. Her uncharacteristic restraint could be put down to two things. The first was that the situation was only temporary. Lula was filling in as a favor until we found someone else to take her spot. She’d left the job months ago, and we hadn’t felt the need for a third waitress, but the tavern’s business had grown exponentially over the last few weeks, now that construction had started on the Drummond Lodge and Spa. With few other dining options around, most of the construction workers came to Max’s Tavern for both lunch and dinner. It hadn’t taken us long to realize the crowd was too big for one or two of us. We’d both been pulling doubles for two weeks. Max had finally gone behind Ruth’s back and called Lula to see if she’d lend a helping hand during the lunch shifts, which would have been great if Lula were more useful. Half the time she screwed up orders too.

  Which Ruth would also have yelled at her for if not for reason number two—Lula was the girlfriend of Drum, Tennessee’s resident drug czar, Todd Bingham, and she had given birth to his baby daughter only five weeks earlier.

  Truth be told, Ruth didn’t want Lula working with us at all, but Max had asked, and Lula had agreed. I suspected part of her reason for doing so was that she wanted more of a relationship with him—they’d recently discovered they were half-siblings. Though Max may have regretted making his request. Bingham had shown up in the tavern twice so far to let his displeasure over the situation be known to anyone within earshot—which had been the entire tavern since he’d bellowed at the top of his lungs.

  Lula insisted she was an independent woman and no one was gonna tell her what to do. Her incarcerated mother had been controlling her for years from behind bars, but she’d finally shaken free of her hold, and she was claiming her freedom. (Her mother was supposed to have been released this spring, but last I’d heard, her parole hearing had been postponed.) Ultimately, Ruth stood behind Lula’s decision, more out of female solidarity than gratitude. Still, we all knew Lula wasn’t in it for the long haul, and Max was actively looking for someone to hire. So far, he’d come up with a big fat nothing. Little wonder given how much we’d struggled to find useful kitchen help.

  I grabbed my two plates off the counter, grateful neither was a burger so Ruth couldn’t lay claim to it, and hurried them out to the table of two hungry construction workers. Both of them were fine-looking, especially the blond guy with bright blue eyes. The other man had brown hair with a beard that was a bit bushy for my taste.

  Setting their plates on the table, I gave them both a friendly smile, careful not to appear too friendly. “If y’all need anything else, you be sure to let me know.”

  The guy with the beard shot his companion an encouraging look that had my guard up.

  I was used to all sorts of clientele at Max’s, from the friendly older people who showed up during the lunch and early dinner shifts to the rough guys in Bingham’s motley crew, and I could handle them all, but I had a weakness for cute guys. It hadn’t served me well—I had a short list of exes to prove it—and I didn’t intend to fall prey to it again.

  “Uh, yeah,” the blond guy said, looking nervous. “We just got into Drum today, and I was wondering what there is to do around here at night.”

  His lack of cockiness weakened my resolve. “So you’re stayin’ in town for the construction of the spa?”

  “Just the excavation,” he answered, maintaining eye contact. “We’re stayin’ at the Alpine Inn across the street.”

  “In that case, I offer my apologies in advance,” I said with a teasing grin.

  “That bad, huh?” he asked, returning my smile.

  I tilted my head and gave him an apologetic look. “Let’s just say you’ll have a whole new appreciation for Motel 6.”

  His friend laughed and I started to walk away, but the blond guy called out, “You never told me about the entertainment in this town.”

  I glanced back at him, shaking my head. “You’re lookin’ at it. Max’s Tavern. There’s a Braves game tonight that a good portion of the town will show up to watch.” I cocked an eyebrow. “You a Braves fan?”

  “Depends,” he said with a sly grin. “Are you?”

  I knew what he was asking, but it was never going to happen. I laughed. “Who isn’t?”

  After I checked on my other tables, getting refills for one couple and taking another party’s dessert orders, I returned to the guys’ table.

  “Can I get you anything else?” I asked before thinking it through.

  “Yeah,” the blond guy said. “Your number would be great, especially if you’re free to go out with me tonight.”

  I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “Well, both of those requests are never gonna happen. I don’t have a cell phone and I’m workin’ tonight.”

  His grin spread. “I guess I know where I’ll be tonight.”

  “So the check, then?” I asked.

  His friend laughed. “Yeah. The check.”

  I slipped my order pad out of my apron pocket and put the ticket on the table. “We prefer cash. The internet around here is a little flaky. Makes it harder to run cards.”

  The blond guy snatched the ticket off the table. As he reached for his wallet, I turned away doing a quick scan of my tables, and saw Marco Roland standing a couple of tables away.

  He had a cocky grin, like always, and was wearing his sheriff’s deputy uniform.

  I shook my head. Marco was too good-looking for his own good, and he knew it and f
launted it. Half the women in Drum and the surrounding area had fallen for his charm, but he wasn’t a use ’em and lose ’em type of guy. He always made it very clear from the get-go that he wasn’t looking for anything more serious than a couple of dates, although dates was a generous term. Even if there were places to go on dates in Drum, I highly doubted Marco would have utilized them. Occasionally he brought women to Max’s in the evening, but I suspected most of the action transpired at his place. He had to be running out of women, though, because his “dates” had become less frequent over the last couple of months.

  A playful smile lit up his eyes as I approached him, and he cast a glance toward the table behind me. “You flirtin’ for tips now?”

  “Who said I was flirting?”

  He leaned closer, a surprised expression on his face. “Don’t tell me you’re seriously considerin’ goin’ out with that bozo.”

  Was I? I shrugged. “I don’t know, Marco. It’s been a long dry spell.”

  Sympathy filled his eyes, and I knew we were both thinking about the man who had created that dry spell, Wyatt Drummond.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’m working doubles every damn day, so the only date I’d be goin’ on would be the horizontal kind, and I’d be too damn tired to do anything but sleep.”

  He laughed. “And if you fell asleep, it’s because he’s not doin’ it right.”

  Rolling my eyes, I chuckled. “What are you having today? And I take it the order’s to go since you’re standin’ here.”

  “I’ll take the special of the day, whatever it is. Surprise me. And I’ll be eatin’ at the bar, so just bring it over there.”

  “You could have ordered at the bar, you know.”

  “I know,” he said, his mischievous grin returning. “But then I’d run the risk of Lula takin’ my order and I wanted it done right.”

  “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you have about a 33.3 percent chance of Sweetie Pie screwin’ it up.”

  “She’s not any better yet?” he asked, casting a glance over my shoulder toward the back.

  “Nope,” I said with a sigh. “Apparently it’s hard to find good help these days.”

  The blond man and his friend brushed past us on their way to the door, and the bearded guy tipped an imaginary hat, wearing an insulting smirk. “Deputy.”

  The blond guy laughed.

  “Y’all be safe out there,” Marco called after them good-naturedly, but as soon as they were out the door, he scowled.

  Whatever fleeting interest I’d had in the asshole walked right out the door with him.

  Marco wandered over to the bar where Max, my boss and Marco’s longtime friend, was standing at the counter, watching us.

  Scooping up the ticket and cash off the flirty guy’s table, I headed to the back counter to place Marco’s order—the special was meatloaf and mashed potatoes. After I hung Marco’s ticket, I counted the bills. He’d left me a thirty percent tip along with his name—Blake—and a message: I’ll be back to see you later, beautiful.

  I made a face. If the way he and his asshole friend had treated Marco hadn’t turned me off, the cheesy message would have done the trick. The rotten cherry on top was his name. It was too close to my real last name—Blakely—and I wanted as much distance from my previous life as possible.

  “Finally gettin’ yourself a new boyfriend, Carly?” Lula asked as she walked over with a ticket, grinning from ear to ear. She was stupid-happy in love with Bingham, and she thought everyone else should be in love too. Especially me. She felt responsible for my breakup with Wyatt, no matter how many times I insisted she wasn’t.

  “God, no,” I said with a scowl.

  She waggled her eyebrows. “He’s cute.”

  “He’s an asshole.”

  She laughed. “You’ve gotta find someone, Carly. And you keep sayin’ there’s nothing goin’ on with Marco…”

  “There’s not,” I said insistently. “We’re just friends. Best friends.”

  “You can’t be friends with a guy. That’s not the way things work.”

  “Well, it works that way for us.” And since I’d already had this conversation six or seven times in as many days, I left it at that. I poured a glass of water, dropped in a slice of lemon and another of lime, and took it over to Marco.

  He and Max were making small talk, discussing the Braves game and their chance of making it to the World Series this year. As I approached, Max shot me a grin. “I saw that man tryin’ to pick you up.”

  “Never gonna happen,” I said. “And don’t ask why.”

  Max lifted his hands in surrender. “I wasn’t plannin’ to.”

  “Have you got any more interviews lined up for those waitressing positions?” I asked. “Because I’d really like to have a day off. Or at least an evening.”

  “To go on a date?” Max asked.

  I propped a hand on my hip. “Why is everyone so determined for me to go on a date?”

  “Because you’ve been alone too long,” Ruth said as she slid behind the bar and started to pull a beer from the tap. “You’ve got to stop mopin’.”

  “I’m not moping!” I protested.

  Max quickly turned away, his own guilt seeping in. He felt just as responsible for my breakup with Wyatt as Lula did.

  “Back to the actual topic at hand,” I said, noticing that the customers at another table in my section looked like they were ready for their check. “I want a day off, which means you need to find someone to fill in for me.”

  “I tried to set some up,” Max said, his back still to me, “but Ruth nixed ’em all before I could get ’em on the calendar.”

  I groaned. “Ruth, we need to hire someone else. We can’t keep this up forever.”

  “We’re both makin’ good tips,” she said, pulling a beer.

  “Maybe so, but we’ve got no time to spend it.”

  “Hey,” Max said as he glanced over at her. “Are you serving that to one of the construction guys?”

  She scrunched her face in confusion. “Yeah.”

  “Doesn’t he operate heavy equipment?” Max asked. “Those guys are part of the excavation crew.”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s one beer.”

  “The construction of the lodge needs to go off without a hitch, Ruth,” he said, turning his attention to the dining area. “Which means the construction guys can’t be drunk on the job.”

  “For God’s sake, Max,” she said in disgust as she headed around the counter. “It’s one beer.”

  I pinned my gaze on Max. “Why are you so concerned with what’s going on out at the construction site?”

  Max refused to look me in the eye. “Because it’s good for business.”

  But I could tell he was holding something back, which made me leery. Last I’d heard, Max had fallen out with his father, Bart Drummond, early last December, after discovering Lula was his half-sister. Someone had attempted to kidnap her, but she’d managed to run away—and Max had hidden her, assuming Bart was the person who wanted to hurt her. Wyatt had helped him. They hadn’t told anyone they knew where she was, let alone that she was safe. Marco and I had been searching for her, and it had nearly gotten me killed. Hence Max and Lula’s guilt over the whole Wyatt thing. But Wyatt had been keeping secrets from me long before he’d lied about Lula.

  Max had made a big deal of distancing himself from his father. But now I wondered if they’d reconciled. Considering Bart Drummond knew who I was and had threatened to use it against me, I knew exactly how I felt about that.

  The lunch crowd died down, and Bingham showed up at around one thirty to take Lula home to nurse her baby. He stood to the side of the doorway, scanning the tavern with his menacing gaze as though trying to figure out if anyone had intimidated or harassed his girlfriend.

  Max rolled his eyes and headed to his office to catch up on paperwork, passing Lula as she walked out of the back. She ran over to Bingham, squealing with happiness, and launched herself into his
arms.

  His glare softened as he looked down at her, and I was amazed for the hundredth time that this deadly man, well into his forties, had such a soft spot for this twenty-year-old woman.

  “See you tomorrow, Carly,” Lula said as she headed out the door.

  Ruth glanced up from the table she was bussing. “Bring that baby around,” she called out cheerfully. “We need to see her. It’s been too long.”

  Lula gave her a surprised look, which transformed into a wide smile. “Okay.”

  I was surprised too, mostly because Ruth didn’t usually show any interest in Lula’s personal life.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, I walked over to Ruth. “What was that about?”

  She shrugged but didn’t look at me. “We haven’t seen her baby in weeks.”

  I put a hand on my hip. “Since when do you have a thing for babies?”

  She hesitated, then leaned closer and whispered, “Franklin’s makin’ noise about havin’ one.”

  He’d also been saying they were going to buy a house, but so far that hadn’t happened. Whenever I asked Ruth about it, she always said they hadn’t found the right one yet and she didn’t intend to settle.

  I stared at her in shock. “What? How do you feel about that?”

  She shrugged again. “I’m not sure, but I’m not gettin’ any younger, you know? I guess my biological clock’s a-tickin’.”

  “So you want to spend time with Lula’s baby to help you decide?”

  “Yeah, I thought I’d hold Beezus and try her on for size.”

  “You mean Beatrice?” I said, holding back a laugh.

  She waved me off. “Beezus. Beatrice. Same difference.”