Her Scream in the Silence: Carly Moore #2 Page 7

I thought about Lula’s reaction to the news that I was staying with Hank. Had he been something like Bingham back in the day? He hadn’t hesitated to shoot the intruder who’d attacked me—one of Seth’s killers—but that had been self-defense. I had trouble seeing him hurting anyone for any other reason.

  “Whatever you were like in the past, you’re a good man now,” I said, looking up at him.

  “Nah. You just see what you want to see,” he said with a sigh. “I done plenty bad. So has Wyatt. And I suspect so have you. But the levels of bad are different for all of us. Mine just happen to be worse than the lot of you.”

  I wondered what he meant by that, but part of me didn’t want to know. I’d meant it—the Hank I knew was a good man.

  “Wyatt knows about my past. I shared it all with him, but he refuses to tell me anything substantial about his,” I said, realizing I was opening a can of worms. Hank still didn’t know about my former life. I’d tried to tell him once, but he’d cut me off, insisting that I keep my secrets—it didn’t matter where I came from, it only mattered that I was here now.

  “Secrets are like currency in Drum,” he’d said. “You’re sellin’ pieces of yourself when you share them. Be careful who you sell ’em to.”

  Hank only knew me as the woman who’d held his dying grandson’s hand and then had the tenacity to track down his killers since the sheriff’s department wasn’t to be trusted. “I’ve been with men who held secrets from me, and those secrets nearly got me killed. He knows this, yet he still refuses to trust me.” I shook my head. “I’m done playin’ the fool. I’m done beggin’ and pleadin’ with him. I’m just done.”

  He limped over and placed a hand on my shoulder. “It’s never a good idea to make a decision when you’re tired and upset. You need to sleep on it.”

  I nodded, but I knew I wasn’t going to change my mind. Unless Wyatt came clean—with all of it—we were done.

  Chapter Seven

  We got an early start the next morning. I was worried about the road conditions, but most of the snow had melted, leaving behind only a few slippery patches. Hank’s appointment was at ten, and the appointment went well, although Hank seemed resistant to the doctor’s suggestion that he get an artificial leg.

  “I ain’t got the money for somethin’ like that,” Hank said after we left the office an hour later and got into the car.

  “You’re on Medicare, Hank. Surely they’ll pay for part of it. At least find out how much it would cost you out of pocket before you decide against it.”

  “If I get a fake leg, I’ll have to come down here to Greeneville several times a week,” he said, refusing to look at me. “It’s too much trouble.”

  “You know I’ll bring you.”

  “I ain’t gonna ask you to do that,” he scoffed. “You’re working at the tavern most days.”

  “Not anymore,” I said. “Lula came back.”

  He turned to me in surprise. “You lost your job?”

  “No, Max wants me to keep working part-time.”

  He frowned. “And you’re just now tellin’ me this?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Max thinks Lula will take off sooner rather than later,” I said with hesitation.

  “Sounds like you disagree with that.”

  “I took her home last night. That’s why I was late getting back. Sounds like she’s not planning on going anywhere, at least not until her mother gets out of prison this spring.”

  “Louise is gettin’ out?” he asked, sitting up in his seat.

  I shot him a glance. “You know her?”

  “I know most people in this town. The good and the bad.”

  “Are you saying Lula’s mother is a bad person?”

  He made a sour face. “She killed her husband.”

  “Because he was drowning Lula.”

  He snorted. “Is that what you heard?”

  “Yeah, from Jerry and from Lula herself. Jerry said Lula’s mother had to do CPR on her until the ambulance arrived.” I turned to him with narrowed eyes. “Are you saying it didn’t happen that way?”

  “I’m saying I’m sure there’s more to the story than most people know. Now take me to Popeyes Chicken for lunch. I’m starvin’.”

  “Popeyes isn’t good for your diabetes, Hank.”

  “If I can’t have fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and biscuits, then life ain’t worth livin’.”

  He had a point. I loved those things too, and I supposed everything was okay in moderation, so I headed to Popeyes. We sat inside and ate more greasy food than either of us had a right to. I tried to get him to tell me more about Lula and her parents, but he just gave me a pointed look and said, “The past is better left where it belongs. You of all people know that.”

  The way he said it made me think he knew more about me than he let on, but then he quickly changed the subject by complaining about the temperature in the doctor’s waiting room.

  When we finished eating, we headed to Target. Hank sat in the Starbucks seating area while I shopped for some warmer clothes, a coat for Jerry (I decided he deserved a new one for what he’d done), socks and new underwear for Hank (his were so old and ratty, I planned on throwing them away as soon as we got home), some toiletries for both of us, and a box of hair dye to cover my blonde roots. Ruth had asked me to pick up a few items for her, so I got those as well as Lula’s vitamins. After I checked out—cringing at the total—I found Hank in his chair, dozing against the window.

  It made me consider giving up my grocery store stop, but fresh fruits and vegetables were hard to find in Drum, and Hank’s next appointment wasn’t for another two weeks. So Hank stayed in the car and napped some more while I shopped, which I decided was a good thing. I’d been sneaking increasingly healthier food into his diet, and I didn’t want him figuring it out during my shopping excursion.

  By the time I finished, it was around one thirty, and since Hank refused to let me take him to get his hair cut, saying he was good for another month (I figured I’d try my hand at giving him a haircut later at home), I decided to head back to Drum. It hit me that I’d have to go without cell phone service for a couple of weeks before Hank and I came back to Greeneville, so I made a quick check of my burner phone to see if I’d gotten any texts or calls since I’d last checked it a few hours earlier. I felt a little silly for checking again. My friends in Henryetta knew it was too dangerous to get in touch with me, and vice versa, unless something major happened. Hearing nothing was actually the better scenario, or so I told myself. Truth was, I missed them. But I had a new life, a new home, and I had to accept that.

  While there was nothing from Arkansas, there was a call and a message from Max’s Tavern, which caught me off guard. I had no idea why Max would be calling me on my day off. I expected to hear his voice in the voicemail, but it was Ruth who said, “What a surprise…Lula didn’t show today. I told Max she’s done. I know you’re in Greeneville, but in case you were makin’ plans around your new part-time schedule, cancel ’em.”

  I stared down at my phone to check the time of the call. 1:05. Max must have called Ruth in to cover the lunch shift, but where was Lula?

  I called the tavern as I pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Have you heard from Lula?” I blurted out as soon as Max answered.

  “Well, hello to you too,” he grumped. “And no. Haven’t heard a word, but that’s typical Lula behavior.”

  “Have you called her?” I asked. “What if she had car trouble?”

  “She hasn’t got a phone,” he said. “And Ruth doesn’t want to hear a single excuse. Lula took off again after she swore she was stickin’ around this time.” I could hear the disappointment in his voice.

  “I don’t think she took off, Max,” I said. “Last night she told me she really needs to keep her job until her mother gets released from prison next spring.” Lula hadn’t wanted Max to know, but I figured she’d be all right with me telling him if it meant I could help her keep her job. Besides, I was genuinel
y worried that she hadn’t shown up for her shift, and I needed Max to take my concerns seriously.

  “Her momma’s gettin’ out? I had no idea.”

  “That’s where she went. To Nashville to see her mother in prison.”

  “What?” he asked, sounding shocked. “It took three weeks?”

  “The delivery driver gave her a ride to Chattanooga, and one of his friends ran her up to Nashville. I have no idea why it took so long.”

  “Why in the hell wouldn’t she tell me?” He didn’t disguise the pain in his voice.

  “I don’t know.”

  “And why would she tell you, a woman she just met?”

  “I don’t know, Max. I told her I was worried about Bingham’s interest in her, and I suspect she told me about her mother to change the subject.” When he remained silent, I said, “I pass the turnoff to her property on the way back to Drum. How about I stop by and make sure she’s okay?”

  “Ruth won’t care,” he said, sounding glum, and part of me wanted to tell him that he was technically the boss, not Ruth. As much as I liked her, she could be too judgmental. But then again, I was more like Max—a big softy. We tended to give people the benefit of the doubt, and it often bit us in the ass.

  “Nevertheless, I’m going to check on her. I’m worried.”

  “Okay,” he said, and I heard the relief in his voice. “Let me know what you find out.”

  Hank had been quiet during my call, but when I put my phone back into my purse, he turned to me. “The Baker girl took off again?”

  “No,” I said. “She didn’t show for work, but I don’t think she left town.”

  “Yer plannin’ to go by her place, ain’t ya? I want to be back in time to see Ellen.”

  I rolled my eyes. For being a semi-gruff man in his late sixties, he sure loved his daytime TV. “It won’t take that long. You’ll still be home in time to see Ellen.”

  “Well, all right then.”

  He fell asleep again on the drive back up the mountain, so he wasn’t paying attention when I turned onto the county road toward Lula’s house.

  The narrow drive, snaking through the trees, was still partially covered with snow, and I was worried about driving down it in Hank’s rear-wheel drive car, so I pulled into the gravel entrance and put the car in park. When I started to open the door, Hank roused. “What’s goin’ on? Where are you goin’?”

  “I’m at the entrance to the lane to Lula’s house, but I worried that the car might get stuck, and I sure as hell don’t want to call Wyatt Drummond to pull us out.” Not that we’d even be able to call him. Even more incentive to leave the car close to the road.

  “You’re gonna hike down that snowy road in those shoes?” he asked, glancing down at my ankle boots.

  “I bought a pair of snow boots at Target,” I said. “I’ll wear them.”

  He frowned, clearly not approving of this plan, but he didn’t protest.

  I got out and popped the trunk, digging the boots out of a bag and pulling hard on the stretchy band that held them together to separate them. Once they broke free, I sat on the edge of the trunk and changed into my new boots.

  I gave Hank a wave before I started down the road, but he unrolled the window and said, “Maybe I should come with you.”

  That sounded like the worst idea ever, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I said, “If I find anything looks off, I’ll come back, and we’ll get Marco.”

  Marco was still on medical leave from his gunshot wounds, but I knew he was up and driving, although I suspected that was against the doctor’s orders. Given the fact that the Hensen County Sheriff’s Department was as crooked as a dog’s hind leg, Marco was one of the only deputies I trusted. The other was Marta White, the detective who had handled the investigation of Bitty’s and Carson’s deaths, but I wasn’t sure this warranted a detective yet.

  I knew I might be borrowing trouble. Maybe Lula couldn’t get her car started. Or maybe she’d had some kind of accident and was stuck in her house. The latter was a possibility given the fact she lived alone, far from the road, and lacked a phone.

  I picked up my pace.

  I walked about a hundred feet before the lane ended at a small plot of open land and a run-down house. Lula had called it a shack, and that seemed fitting. It was a one-story structure with aged wood planks for walls, and matching wood shingles for the roof. The roof extended over a porch that ran the length of the front of the house, but the roof sagged on one side and several of the porch floorboards were missing. The whole thing looked like it would fall down with a strong wind.

  A small compact, rust-covered car was parked in front of the structure, and the land behind the house dipped slightly toward a narrow babbling brook. I wondered if it was the same creek where Lula’s father had allegedly tried to drown her. It didn’t look deep enough now, but I suspected it contained more water in the spring.

  There weren’t any lights on in the house, but then again, I didn’t see any electrical lines. It was no wonder Lula didn’t have a phone. I was fairly sure she didn’t have electricity.

  “Lula?” I called out as I approached the house. One thing I’d learned about the people living on Balder Mountain was they took protecting their homes seriously, and their security system of choice was a 12-gauge shotgun. She’d already told me she had one. “Lula, it’s Carly. Are you home?”

  When I didn’t hear her answer, I moved closer. “I’m coming up to the front porch.”

  The wood planks sagged under my weight, and I gingerly made my way to the front door and knocked. “Lula? Are you in there?”

  When she didn’t answer, I knocked a couple more times before trying the doorknob.

  Surprisingly, the door was unlocked, so I slowly pushed it in, then took a step inside the dark house. “Lula?”

  It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the dim light, but then I scanned the room, realizing it was literally a one-room house. A bed was in the far corner—a mattress tucked into an old, dilapidated wooden frame. The bed was unmade, the covers thrown back as though Lula had gotten up in a hurry and hadn’t touched the bedding since. A tall chest of drawers was next to it, a still-glowing kerosene lantern on top.

  A cookstove was across from the bed, close to the front door. On the wall opposite the bed was a line of cabinets with a porcelain sink equipped with a pump handle. No refrigerator. No dishwasher. Also no bathroom. There was a ladder to a loft in the peak of the roof, and I could see a small bed up there. Had that been Lula’s room when she was a girl? The front of the house had two single-pane windows. There was a window in the kitchen area, facing the creek, and another window in the back wall. Red-and-white checkered fabric was nailed into the wood plank walls above them to serve as makeshift curtains.

  The room was warmer than outside but not by much. I could feel some heat radiating from the woodstove and used the sleeve of my coat to open the cast iron door. The interior was filled with glowing embers. Lula had lit a fire, but it looked like it had been hours since she’d added more wood. The few logs on the floor next to the stove suggested it wasn’t because she’d run out of fuel.

  “Lula?” I called out even though I knew she wasn’t home. I climbed the ladder partway to the loft, but it was empty except for a twin mattress that sat on the floor, and several boxes.

  A gnawing worry burrowed in my gut. Lula hadn’t wandered off again. Either something had scared her away—or someone had taken her.

  Chapter Eight

  After I took a picture of the lamp with my crappy cell phone, I extinguished the flame. The place looked even more abandoned in the dark, but I checked around the property just to be sure, even opening the outhouse door and nearly falling over from the stench.

  I hurried back to the road, trying to figure out the fastest way to reach Marco. I considered making the call from the tavern, which would allow me to inform Max and Ruth of what I’d found, but I still needed to take Hank and the groceries home.

  W
hen I reached the car, I contemplated changing back into my ankle boots, but it was so cold and wet I decided to leave on my muddy snow boots.

  “Did you find her?” Hank asked.

  “No,” I said. “And it looked like she’d left without planning to.”

  “How do you know that?” he asked.

  I told him what I’d found, and he frowned. “That don’t necessarily mean nothing. The girl’s not playin’ with a full deck.”

  I thought about her many mistakes the night before, and while I suspected he was right, something felt off about this.

  “What are you gonna do?” he asked.

  “Take you home and call Marco.”

  “You’re really bringin’ in the sheriff?” he asked in surprise.

  “No, I’m calling my friend Marco, who happens to be a deputy sheriff. However, he’s on medical leave right now, so it will be one friend calling another.”

  “Uh-huh,” he grunted.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “You can’t help yourself. You think she’s some poor dumb girl and you feel the need to help her.” When I started to protest—mostly because he’d called her dumb—he held up a hand. “It ain’t an insult, so calm down. You’re just like my Mary.” He paused for a moment, then added softly, “You remind me of her. You’re both so alike—headstrong but softhearted.”

  “Thank you, Hank.”

  “I didn’t say it was necessarily a good thing. My Mary got burned a time or two, and given this girl’s history, I’m worried you’ll get burned too.”

  “All I’m doing is calling Marco,” I said. “We’ll see what he says and go from there.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I didn’t think Marco could handle the case since he was on leave, but surely he could refer me to someone he trusted in his department. Although I’d downplayed the situation for Hank, I thought something reeked about this, and I intended to do what I could to make sure Lula was safe.

  We headed back home, passing Wyatt’s garage on the way. An ache filled my heart, and I wondered how I’d let myself get so attached to him. What a fool. I needed to cut all ties so I wouldn’t be tempted, a difficult task given that we lived in a town with a population of about 2,200 people. My old car was still in the parking lot behind the building. “I need to ask Wyatt to sell my car for parts.”