Buried in Secrets: Carly Moore #4 Read online

  Buried in Secrets

  Carly Moore #4

  Denise Grover Swank

  Copyright © 2020 by Denise Grover Swank

  Cover design: Bookfly Covers

  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

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Also by Denise Grover Swank

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

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “Carly, you’re going to be late again.”

  I glanced up from my computer screen and blinked at Carnita, the town librarian who had become my friend over the past seven months. She sat at her own desk about six feet away, perpendicular to the row of three computers for library patrons.

  “Thanks.” It wasn’t uncommon for me to lose track of time, and if not for her, I’d never get to work on schedule.

  “You must have found something fascinating to hold your attention that long.”

  I jotted one last piece of information down in my notebook and closed out the tab. “Yeah, well…”

  “You must have enough information about the history of Drum to write a book,” Carnita said, sounding excited. “Just imagine. A book to memorialize Drum!”

  From what I’d learned about the history of Drum, it would be more like an exposé.

  I laughed. “I’m no author, and even if I was, I’d stick to fiction. Did you happen to get those new Shannon Mayer books?” Before moving to Drum, I’d read almost exclusively e-books, but Drum, Tennessee was a rural town in the Smoky Mountains and internet access was sparse. While I could connect to the internet to download a book at the library and Max’s Tavern, my phone was a plain, pay-as-you-go model that struggled to find reception and didn’t have internet access, and I didn’t have a tablet.

  She laughed. “Since you’re one of the few people around here who requests books, I was able to order three. They should be here in a few days.”

  “And the new copies of the Baby-Sitters Club? I had a couple of girls at Tutoring Club ask about them.”

  “They’re supposed to arrive next week, but I’ll be sure to let you know when they show up.” She smiled. “I appreciate you encouraging them to come in here and check out books.”

  “Who knows,” I said, “maybe some of them will go to college one day. They need to learn librarians are their friends.”

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’d been a librarian yourself,” Carnita said warmly.

  “Nah,” I said. “I’ve just spent a lot of time in them.” I grabbed my oversized purse off the floor and stuffed my notebook inside. “Thanks for taking my requests, Carnita. You’re the best.”

  She beamed. “Girl, if you keep encouraging people to come in and borrow books instead of DVDs, I’ll fill as many of your requests as I can!” Since most of Drum and the surrounding area didn’t have cable TV either, the library had about three times as many DVDs as they did books.

  “We both know the kids in Tutoring Club need to read, period, but the adults are a harder sell. I’m trying to get enough people together to start a book club,” I said. “But they have to realize they like to read first.”

  “Keep it up, and I’ll give you a permanent spot on the computer waiting list.”

  I laughed. “That sounds like a deal.” I usually had to sign up for computer time a week or more in advance.

  I headed out the door and down the block and a half to Max’s Tavern to start my shift. Carnita thought I was researching the history of Drum, and she wasn’t wrong. I’d just narrowed my focus to any seemingly motiveless crimes committed in the area over the last forty years. It had taken me months, but I’d come up with over two dozen. My goal was to tie them all back to Bart Drummond, the town patriarch who ruled with his wealth and his not-so-secret favor system. People came to Bart and asked for help—a multiple month extension on a late mortgage. Getting out of a DUI. Landing a job. Bart was often more than happy to play Santa, but his gifts came with a price: at some point, he would ask for a favor in return, and they would have to do it. No questions asked.

  I was sure a few of those favors had ended in murder.

  Part of Bart’s power came from his family history. The Drummonds had helped found the town nearly two centuries ago. It was named after them, which only seemed appropriate since they’d run it since its inception—first with their moonshine business, and later, lumber profits. But moonshine was now legal, and the lumber business had shut down. The Drummonds didn’t have the power they once had, but they hadn’t been stomped to the ground either.

  But I planned to put on a pair of heavy boots and finish the job.

  I walked through the back door of the tavern, changed into my T-shirt, then headed out to the dining room.

  Ruth was waiting on a table, but she shot me a quick glance that let me know she wasn’t happy.

  I sighed, wondering what was wrong. Ruth was the unofficial manager of Max’s Tavern, mostly because Max, the owner, preferred for someone else to make the tough calls. Although I counted her a friend, there was no denying she was temperamental, and she’d been extra moody lately. No one knew what she was so upset about, and we all knew better than to ask, but when in doubt, it was always safe to presume Molly was to blame.

  Max was behind the bar, wiping down the counter where he kept the liquor bottles. They tended to get dusty since most customers kept to the basics in Drum—draft beer and whiskey. It was rare we got an order for a cocktail, and it usually came from a sporadic out-of-towner.

  “Need any help?” I asked as I walked behind the bar. There were only two tables with customers and they both belonged to Ruth, leaving me with nothing to do.

  “You want to clean?” he asked with a laugh. “You must have caught wind that Ruth’s in a mood.”

  “All it took was a glance,” I said. “What happened?”

  “One word: Molly.”

  I resisted the urge to groan. Molly’s sister, May, had been married to Franklin, aka Tater, who’d left her for Ruth. To say there was bad blood between the two women was an understatement. They were like gasoline and a lit match.

  Max never should have hired Molly in the first place, but he often did things he shouldn’t, and he refused to fire either one of them. Of course, he knew better than to try firing Ruth—she’d worked there longer than he had. Besides, he probably knew I’d walk out in solidarity. Moody or not, Ruth was my friend, and she wasn’t two-faced. You always knew where you stood with her, and here in Drum, that stood for something. Molly, on the other hand, had made nice with Gi
nger, the other lunch waitress, only to paint her (and Ruth and me, of course) in a bad light to Max.

  “You need to stop having them work a shift together,” I said under my breath, so Ruth wouldn’t hear. “You know it causes problems.”

  “I didn’t. But I guess Molly left Ruth a note telling her she’d left the bathroom dirty last night.”

  I sucked in a deep breath, telling myself that I really needed to learn how to meditate. “I cleaned the bathroom before I left at ten last night, and only a handful of guys were left at the bar. So unless some drunk went in and peed or pooped everywhere, I’m sure it was fine.” I gave him a look. “Did you check it?”

  “Hell,” he said in exasperation. “I didn’t even know it was an issue until Ruth marched in the dining room an hour ago and shoved the note in my face.”

  “You know Molly’s just stirring up trouble,” I said.

  “Well, I do now.”

  But that wasn’t true. He’d known for a while, and in typical Max fashion, he’d buried his head in the sand and ignored it.

  If he wasn’t going to deal with this, then I was. “You have to fire her, Max. You don’t need to wait until you find a replacement. Ruth and I can take on more lunch shifts, and Ginger might be able to pull a dinner shift every now and then if one of us needs a day off.”

  He frowned as he wiped down a bottle of brandy. Based on the yellowed label, it had to be a couple of decades old.

  “When you find a replacement, the person should be part-time,” I continued. “It’s been hard to get enough hours for three full-time waitresses.”

  He should have fired her two months ago. Less than a week into her employment, it had become obvious it wasn’t going to work. But Max hated conflict, and truth be told, he didn’t like change. It was like pulling teeth to get him to do something that wasn’t part of his routine.

  “How about I take charge of looking for someone?” I suggested.

  “I don’t know,” he said, his mouth twisting to the side. “I doubt Ruth will go for that.”

  “We both know something’s going on with Ruth, so I’m not sure we should dump this on her. How about I tell her you’ve given us the green light to hire someone else. Maybe she and I can do it together.”

  “But I haven’t even fired Molly yet.”

  “You need to do that tomorrow. First thing when she shows up. I’ll cover her lunch shift. I’m coming in early for Tutoring Club anyway.”

  He gave me a sideways look. “So you’re the one runnin’ things now?”

  I laughed. “Me and Ruth. Glad you noticed.”

  He grunted and turned back to his task.

  I headed over to intercept Ruth, hoping the news that Molly would soon be history would cheer her up.

  “You’re never gonna believe what that bitch did now,” she snapped, her eyes blazing.

  I put a hand on my hip and shook my head. “Max already told me. He also told me that you’re right. She’s got to go.” I knew better than to admit that I’d been the one to convince him. She’d be madder than a wet hornet that he’d listened to me and not her.

  “Finally,” she said with plenty of sass, but I could see the relief in her eyes.

  “I told him that you and I are going to take charge of hiring her replacement. A part-time replacement.”

  She lifted her hands. “Praise the Lord.”

  “How do you want to go about this?” I asked. “Put an ad in the Ewing paper?”

  “Maybe,” she said. “I might know someone.”

  I wasn’t sure what to make of that. She hadn’t mentioned this mysterious “someone” two months ago, before Molly was hired, and even though we’d gotten more time off lately, neither one of us had much of a social life.

  “Want to give me a hint who?” I asked.

  “You don’t know her. I’ll give her a call and ask.”

  “Max hasn’t fired Molly yet, so we need to be discreet until he does.”

  She rolled her eyes but nodded. Her mood hadn’t lifted as much as I’d thought it would, which suggested something other than Molly was weighing on her.

  A family of regulars walked through the door and settled down at a table in my section. The boy was part of my tutoring club, which Max and Wyatt had encouraged me to start back in April after I’d helped a couple of kids with their math homework. My cover story was that I’d tutored students as a second job, but the truth was I used to be a third-grade schoolteacher in my old life in Dallas. Back when I was Caroline Blakely, oil heiress, engaged to a man who’d conspired with my father to kill me.

  “Miss Carly,” the little boy called out as I approached their table. “I read part of that book about the guy in the underpants! Two whole chapters!”

  “You did? That’s great, Dustin!” I rubbed his head.

  He beamed with pride. Reading had been a struggle for him, but after our first sit-down talk at Tutoring Club, I had concluded he just hadn’t found anything he loved yet. I’d ordered some books of my own to hand out to the kids, and when they really loved a book, I let them keep it. The fact that he’d read two chapters since the day before, during summer break no less, was amazing.

  His parents looked equally pleased. Thank goodness. His father had been resistant to his son spending part of his summer “learning.”

  I took their drink orders and then waited on a group of construction workers who looked beat from working outside all day. It was cooler at our altitude, but it was still hot working in the sun.

  More construction guys came in soon after. There wasn’t a ready supply of skilled labor on the mountain, so Bart had to bring them in from out of town to build his resort. Some of them stayed in the fleabag motel Max’s father owned across the street, but the rest were holed up in Ewing, much to Bart Drummond’s chagrin. Or so I’d heard. I hadn’t seen the man for nearly three months. The last time I’d seen him, we’d stood side by side, studying the hole where his oldest son’s girlfriend’s body had been discovered.

  The excavation and foundation guys had left, replaced by construction workers, electricians, and plumbers. The only continual workers were the construction manager, a few of his underlings, and my friend Jerry, an older man who was a permanent resident at the motel across the street.

  Jerry was well into his sixties and had been down on his luck for as long as I’d known him, but it hadn’t been difficult for him to land this job. The contractor had approached him in the tavern and offered him a full-time gofer gig on the spot. It stank of week-old fish, but I hadn’t had the heart to destroy Jerry’s happiness by saying Bart Drummond might be using him. Nearly three months had passed, and I hadn’t caught wind that they were using him for anything nefarious. Then again, Bart Drummond loved to play the long game.

  A little after seven, Wyatt Drummond walked through the door. He was Max’s older brother and my former, sort-of boyfriend. If you could call seeing someone off and on for three weeks a boyfriend. I knew he preferred that term, and if he had his way, I’d be calling him that still. But Wyatt was the kind of man who collected secrets and wasn’t generous in doling them out. Even though he knew the truth of who I was—who I’d been—I knew next to nothing about him, and he wasn’t inclined to share. Worse, he’d pretended differently to keep me on the hook. In the beginning, he’d convinced me we could work together to take down our corrupt fathers. I was working alone now, but I fully intended to make both men pay their comeuppance. Because Bart Drummond knew who I was too, and he’d threatened my landlord Hank, which made this very personal.

  Wyatt often worked the bar with Max on the weekends, but he rarely came in on a weeknight unless Max needed the night off for a rare date, or we were busier than usual. We weren’t crazy busy, so I had no idea why he was here.

  He made a beeline to the bar, straight for his brother. They talked for a few seconds, then Max glanced around the room and the two men headed for Max’s office.

  “What was that about?” Ruth asked, sounding more perplexe
d than upset that Max had left the bar unmanned.

  “I have no idea. Are you good on drinks?” I asked. “My section’s caught up if you want me to fill any orders.”

  “I’m good.” She headed off to one of her tables, and I studied the entrance to the back. In the seven months I’d been around, I’d only seen the two of them hole up in Max’s office twice. The first time was when Max was hiding Lula, their half sister, and it had happened again when Wyatt was about to be arrested for murder after his ex’s body was found. Whatever they were discussing wasn’t good news.

  I considered going back and trying to eavesdrop, but a couple of customers walked in and sat at one of my tables.

  About five minutes later, Wyatt walked out and headed for the front door. When he saw me, he gave me a long, unreadable look before he left.

  “And what was that about?” Ruth asked behind me.

  Max walked out of the backroom next with a haunted look in his eyes.

  “I don’t have a clue.” But I intended to find out.

  Chapter Two

  I woke up the next morning, stretching in my bed and wishing for the umpteenth time that Drum had a gym. While I tried to make healthy meals for Hank and me, my hours at the tavern weren’t conducive to exercise. Marco and I sometimes ran together, but I hadn’t seen him in nearly a week…which was starting to worry me. We’d had a discussion that hadn’t ended well, and now I wondered if he was giving himself space to figure out where to go from here.

  Marco had been my best friend for most of the seven months I’d spent in this town, but a couple of months ago, I’d begun to realize I had more than friendly feelings for him. He’d made it obvious he had feelings for me too, but we both knew I had major trust issues.