“I know,” I said, “and maybe you won’t have to. You didn’t intentionally hurt her, and you tried to get her help.”
“But I stole the drugs, and I didn’t tell Paul she was in the car when he pulled me over.”
“I don’t know how the authorities will handle any of that,” I said. “And I know you’re scared, but aren’t you tired of keeping this secret?”
She nodded. “Yes.” Tears fell down her cheeks. “I am.”
“Then let me help you figure out a way to do the right thing. Maybe you should talk to an attorney first and they can negotiate terms for your statement.”
She nodded again.
“Okay. That’s good,” I said. “You stay in here, and I’ll go see if I can get Marco to drop by.”
I left her in the office and went back out to the dining room, heading straight for Max and handing him his phone. “I got a confession of sorts. Be sure to save the recording.”
He took the phone and tapped the screen. “While you were back there, a sheriff’s deputy dropped by and said to give this to you.”
He pointed to a sealed envelope on the counter. I opened it and read the message, not surprised to see a typed note.
If you want to see Wyatt Drummond again, bring Abby out to Wyatt’s hiding place. We’ll both be waiting. And don’t bring anyone else.
You have until ten, and then I start making Wyatt into a pincushion.
“What did the deputy look like?” I asked as I lowered the paper.
“I don’t know. Medium height. Sandy-brown hair with a bit of a receding hairline.”
Paul.
“How long ago did he drop it by?”
“Right after you went into the back.”
Which meant he’d followed Abby.
“And you haven’t heard from Marco?” I asked.
“No. What’s goin’ on?” He snatched the letter from my hand and quickly scanned it. “What the fuck?” His face lifted, his eyes wild. “He has Wyatt? Why does he want Abby?”
“She knows things, and he wants to clean up his mess. He wants to get rid of me and Abby along with Wyatt.” But why hadn’t he asked for Marco? Had our show at the supermarket been that convincing? Or did Paul know something I didn’t? Had someone hurt Marco?
My heart hammering, I checked the time on the wall clock. Nine thirty. We didn’t have much time, especially since I didn’t have the first idea where Wyatt was.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I need to find Wyatt. Call Lula. Now.”
Guilt washed over his face.
“You already know,” I said in a dry voice. The Drummond siblings and their damn secrets. And the answer suddenly occurred to me too. “He’s out at Lula’s shack, isn’t he?”
He looked surprised.
“I figured he wasn’t out at Bingham’s place, so Lula’s shack seemed like a logical next choice. Especially since hardly anyone knows about your newfound familial status. Do you know where David Binion lives?”
“Out toward Lula’s place.”
“I need to find him. Can you give me directions?”
“I want to go with you when you get Wyatt.”
“Then meet us there,” I said. “But make sure to ask Tiny to guard Abby.”
“I’m not lettin’ you go off by yourself!” he protested.
“I’m not going alone. I’m finding Marco.”
“Why does the sheriff’s deputy want Abby?”
“She knows how Heather died.”
His mouth dropped open. “Is she willin’ to testify to that?”
“I think so, but she wants an attorney to work out a plea bargain in case they want to charge her with something. We can’t let anything happen to her.”
“Tiny will protect her and make sure she stays put.”
I nodded. “After I find Marco, we’ll meet you at the entrance to Lula’s property.”
“Don’t go in there alone, Carly.”
“I won’t. All I have is pepper spray. I’m not stupid enough to think I can take him on. We need Marco.”
And I also needed to know he was okay. Mitzi had said Paul was out for blood. Oh, God. What if he’d hurt Marco? I tried to quell my rising anxiety. Letting my imagination take over wouldn’t help anything. I needed to be calm and logical.
Max nodded as though reassuring himself. “Okay.”
I convinced Abby to stay with Tiny, telling her that Max, Marco, and I were going to take care of Paul. Then I headed out to my car, once again cursing the lack of cell phone reception out here. When this was all said and done, I was getting us both long-range walkie-talkies.
Following Max’s directions, I headed to David Binion’s house, but Marco’s cruiser wasn’t out front and I hadn’t passed a deputy sheriff on the road. Where was he?
I parked and walked up to the house. The front door opened before I could get to the porch.
“What do you want?” bellowed a man holding a shotgun.
I held my hands up. “I’m looking for Marco Roland.”
“He ain’t here. He left about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Do you have any idea where he went?”
“Do I look like his daddy?” the man shouted, then slammed the door shut.
I could only imagine how well their interview had gone.
But now I had no idea what to do. I had no way of locating Marco, and it was now 9:50. I’d told Max to meet us outside of Lula’s property so I headed in that direction.
I was on the county road that led to Lula’s shack when I saw flashing red lights in my rearview mirror.
Adrenaline rushed through my blood, making me light-headed, and I struggled with what to do. Stop? Keep going? This was a pretty deserted stretch of road. Other than Max, no one would be coming along to help me anytime soon, not that anyone was liable to stop to help a woman who’d been stopped by a sheriff’s deputy.
I pulled over, hoping and praying it wasn’t Paul, but I wasn’t surprised when I saw him approaching the rear of my car.
“Come out with your hands up,” he called out.
I grabbed the pepper spray out of my purse and shoved it into my front jeans pocket before I got out and
