“Want me to bring your breakfast out here or would you rather eat it later?”
“Didn’t have a fight, eh?” he asked with a smirk.
I rolled my eyes. “So you want to come in and eat with us? I can set you a place at the table.”
“No,” he grumped. “I’ll stay out here.”
Marco’s SUV came to a stop and he got out. He was wearing his uniform and his hair was still damp, and the image of him in the shower flashed through my head. I sucked in a sharp inhale, and Hank shot me a grin that suggested he knew he was right about me having an itch.
Marco gave me a tentative smile. When I smiled back, relief flashed through his eyes, and he lifted a hand to Hank. “Good morning, sir.”
“I heard you were droppin’ in for breakfast,” Hank said as he stroked the back of Smoky’s head.
Marco nodded as he approached the house. “That and Carly’s good company.”
Hank shot me a mischievous grin and started to say something, but I smacked his arm, making the coffee slosh in his cup.
“Come inside and I’ll start the pancakes,” I said.
“Don’t let her feed you that turkey bacon shit,” Hank said as Marco climbed the steps. “I may be stuck eatin’ it, but that don’t mean you have to.”
“Trust me,” Marco said with a chuckle. “She’s tried to trick me into eatin’ that stuff before. I know better than to fall for it.”
“You two are terrible,” I grumbled, then turned on my heels and went back into the house. “Don’t let Letty out. She’ll scare Hank’s birds away,” I called over my shoulder. “Or on second thought, go ahead.”
Hank let out a burst of laughter and Marco joined him.
I headed to my room to get my notebook, then found Marco in the kitchen grabbing a mug out of the cabinet. Letty was rubbing herself against his leg and releasing a soft purr.
The thought of Marco’s hands making me purr flashed into my head, catching me off guard. If I was avoiding a relationship with him to keep from being distracted, I was epically failing.
“How’d it go last night with Max?” I asked as I leaned against the door jamb.
“You look exhausted,” he said, shooting me a glance before he poured himself some coffee. “I feel bad that I made you get up early.”
“I was the one who invited you, so quit stalling. It must not have gone well since you’re changing the subject.”
“Long story short, I didn’t get anything of use.”
“What’s the long version?” I asked, walking past him to turn the stove burner on.
“I showed up a little before closing and told him I felt like hanging out…like old times. So after he closed, we sat at a table and talked for a while. The conversation worked its way to Jerry.”
“Did you bring it up or did he?”
“Me, but it happened organically. He told me that Jerry was moving out, and I asked why. He told me about the job, and I said I didn’t trust his father. He admitted he didn’t either, but he doesn’t know what to do about it.”
“He won’t try to talk Jerry out of it?”
“No. We discussed whether he should, and in the end we both agreed we needed to let Jerry be the one to make this call.”
I started to protest, then reluctantly decided he was right. Jerry was a grown man. I’d shared my reservations about the whole thing. He might be insulted if I continued trying to dissuade him. “I don’t want to see him get hurt. And I’m not just talking about his feelings, Marco.”
“I know, but for now, we’re stuck.”
I nodded, even if it didn’t feel right.
“Can I help with breakfast?”
“No,” I said, handing him the notebook. “Why don’t you look over my notes? We can talk through them while I cook.” I’d already come to a few conclusions, but I wanted his opinion before I mentioned them.
He sat down at the table, and as I cooked the pancakes, we discussed the cases I’d identified as possible Bart favors (all based on supposition and reading between the lines—he was good enough not to be obvious). This wasn’t the first time he’d heard about the majority of them, but this was the first time we’d looked at them together with a critical eye, trying to determine which leads were most promising.
“Hey,” Marco said, sitting up. “This one’s new.”
I glanced over my shoulder. “Which one?”
“The Drummond lumber yard employee whose house exploded from a gas leak twelve years ago.” His gaze lifted. “It looks like it was considered an accident.”
“It was,” I said as I cracked several eggs into the skillet. “But a family of five died in the explosion.”
“You don’t think it was an accident?”
“I wasn’t sure at first, but then I discovered that about a week after the funeral, a man crashed his car into a tree on Highway 107.”
His eyes widened slightly. “Go on.”
“The article says that there were no signs of skid marks. There were no other cars. No alcohol or drugs involved. He just hit a tree.”
“Are you suggesting it was attempted suicide?”
“I’d bet money on it,” I said, turning around to face him. “He tried three more times over the years in various other ways. If you flip forward several pages, you’ll see them all. His name is Ted Butcher.”
“Was he ever successful?”
“I didn’t find an obituary on him. His last two attempts were drug overdoses, and I suspect they only made the paper because he was found in public locations. The Ewing city park and the grocery store parking lot. The last one happened two years ago.”
He cocked his head, studying me. “Why isn’t it next to the explosion?”
“Because I didn’t connect him to it until last night. After I came home from your place, I started looking them over.”
“I thought we were going to work on it together.”
“We are,” I said, flipping the eggs. “But my notes were in my purse, just begging to be looked over again. Ted Butcher and the explosion weren’t even on my most promising list before last night.” I took a deep breath. “Look. I don’t know that all of these cases have anything to do with Bart. I don’t know that any of them do. I just searched out weird, unexplained accidents and deaths. Ted caught my attention because he tried to kill himself so many times, in different ways. It wasn’t until I put together the timeline that I realized his first attempt was two weeks after the family died.” I pointed to the book. “The timeline’s at the back.”
He started flipping pages, then stopped on a page and began to read. After a few seconds, his gaze lifted. “I think you might be on to something, Carly.”
“So I need to talk to Ted Butcher.”
He made a face. “If his last two dances with death were drug overdoses, it sounds like he’s a habitual user.” When I gave him a blank look, he added, “He loses credibility.”
“So you’re saying if I can get Ted Butcher to confess to doing Bart Drummond’s bidding, it might not help me one bit.”