“Yeah,” Wyatt said in a gruff tone. “He was.”
And Bart Drummond had likely arranged his murder, hence our agreement to make him pay for his actions before we did the same with my father. Only Wyatt had reneged, and his father had walked around for the past five months while that talented boy was buried six feet under.
My anger simmered.
“I know I have no right askin’ this, but I’m gonna ask anyway,” he said, keeping his gaze on the water. “I need your help.”
“With what?” I asked, hesitant.
His face lifted. “I didn’t kill Heather, and I want to know who did. You know from firsthand experience with Seth’s death that the sheriff department won’t look into this too hard, which means I’ll need to conduct my own investigation.”
“And you want me to help prove your innocence?” I asked, my guard still up. “You could just do it yourself.”
“People are gonna assume I did it, which means they won’t talk to me. And if I hire a PI, they won’t talk to them either since they’ll be an outsider.”
“I’m an outsider.”
“Most people have accepted you,” he said. “They like you. They’ll talk.” Then he added, “They talked to you when you were lookin’ for Lula.”
The mention of Lula only pissed me off more, but he had a point. He’d spent the past several years distancing himself from this town. No one was going to tell him squat.
“Max has got me workin’ doubles,” I said. “How am I supposed to help you if I’m working all the time?”
“Molly can take some of your shifts.”
And Ginger, if she and Max agreed to the arrangement.
I pursed my lips, watching the water from the pool spill over several rocks before it continued downstream. Wyatt and I might not be together anymore, but I didn’t believe he was capable of murder. Or at least not the cold-blooded murder of someone he’d once loved. I also suspected he was about to get railroaded, and I didn’t want to see that happen. Maybe I really could help. Turned out I’d done a pretty solid job of tracking Greta down, although I’d had Marco as backup. Plus, I couldn’t help thinking Bart had played a role in Heather’s death, and if I found proof, it might help me knock him to his knees.
“Are you paying?” I asked.
He frowned. “I don’t have deep pockets like Bingham does.”
I released a bitter laugh. “You think Bingham paid me to look for Lula?” I shook my head, berating myself for getting into this, yet I couldn’t seem to stop myself. “I looked for Lula because no one else would. Because I was genuinely worried about her. Little did I know that you and Max had her holed up at your place. You put Greta in danger and you nearly got me killed, all because you, once again, couldn’t trust me, so why in God’s name would you ask me to help you clear your name? What magic switch flipped that makes you trust me now?”
His eyes narrowed. “Twice now you’ve said that you were nearly killed, and the day you left me you said you were poisoned. Who poisoned you? What happened, Carly?”
“Those are personal questions, Wyatt, and we don’t do those,” I snapped. “You want my help? You can pay me with information.”
“Carly…”
His tone told me everything I needed to know. He’d used the same exact tone half a dozen other times when he’d hedged and equivocated and circled around the truth, and I wasn’t having it. I got up and hopped over the creek, then started down the path.
“Carly!” he called after me.
I kept walking, pissed at myself for wasting my time. He expected me to clear his name for nothing? I told myself that’s what a good friend would do. And yet, we weren’t good friends, hadn’t been for months. Where did that leave us?
“Carly!” He grabbed my arm, pulling me to a halt, and turned me back to face him. “Fine. I’ll tell you some things.”
“Some things…”
“You’re playing with fire by messing with my father,” he said with a tight voice.
“I’m well aware of the danger your father presents to me.” I shot him an icy glare.
His body twitched. “What does that mean?”
“You want all my secrets now?” I asked with a bitter laugh. “No. That’s a two-way street, Wyatt, and you don’t seem interested in walking it.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. I was about to tell him to go take a flying leap, but my gut still told me that Bart had his hand in this. That looking into Heather’s death might help me finally get a foothold, or at least a toehold, on Bart’s neck. “I’ll do it. But you need to answer my questions about Heather, or you’re on your own.”
He gave me an assessing look. “I can do that.”
I fought hard to keep from rolling my eyes. “That’s mighty big of you.”
He looked like he was biting his tongue before he said, “Where do you want to do this? I’d prefer keepin’ Hank out of it.”
Keeping Hank out of it was likely for the best, and I thought about suggesting we head back to the creek, but I wanted to take notes.
“How about we go to my place?” he said. “It’s quiet.”
I had never been to Wyatt’s place before, which was odd given we’d dated for several weeks, but I’d been working nonstop and taking care of Hank, who had been newly released from the hospital, so it hadn’t seemed strange at the time.
But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it over the last four months.
“Okay.” I was about to get answers, and probably more than Wyatt bargained for.
Chapter Eight
Hank usually let me go about my business without much commentary, but he had plenty to say when I announced I was
