I sat up and turned in my seat to face her. “Could they have arrested the wrong person?”
“Sadly, no. There’s a surveillance video that shows her parkin’ her car in the Palmer’s Insurance parking lot and then leaving less than twenty seconds later, the gun still in her hand.”
“And they’re sure it was her?”
“I recognized the green shirt,” Sandy said, her voice breaking. “It’s her favorite.”
We sat in silence for a moment. “It just seems so random,” I finally said. “Was he even her insurance agent? One of the rumors goin’ round is that Jim Palmer was her agent when her youngest son got a DUI.”
“No, she’s had Travis Keeling since Ashlynn started driving. Their insurance went up, and Travis got her a better deal.”
“Could she have switched from Jim to Travis?”
“I don’t think so,” she said with a frown, “but I don’t remember. We didn’t make a habit of discussing our insurance.”
So that theory was out.
If there was no direct connection between them, it suggested Bart had been involved, but a new angle occurred to me. What if Jim had represented the driver of the car Thad had hit? But Sandy looked like she was getting suspicious of all my questions, and I doubted she’d be able to clear up that particular issue.
I sat back in the chair, shaking my head again. “Sorry for the twenty questions. I just have this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.” I put my hand on my abdomen and pressed hard. “It’s literally all I can think about.”
Sandy’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t know you were so close to Pam.”
“I’m not,” I admitted. “That’s why I don’t understand why I’m so upset.”
She was quiet for a moment. “It’s a tragic thing that Pam has done, and I think we all have questions. I’m just not sure we’ll find the answers we’re lookin’ for. Pam has been dealing with depression. Maybe one of her meds made her do it.”
“How long has she been depressed?”
She let out a defeated sigh. “I’d like to say ever since Thad’s accident, but I think it goes back farther then that. That’s just when she started taking medication.” Reaching over, she patted my hand resting on the arm of the chair. “The best thing you can do is support her family.”
“I was planning on taking a casserole to Ashlynn.”
Sandy nodded. “That’s a good idea. Ashlynn’s not much of a cook, and those boys barely know how to turn on a microwave, but don’t tell Diane that you’re messing with her schedule.”
Oh, crap. How had I forgotten? I gave her a wry look. “Then would you like a chicken and rice casserole for dinner? I don’t want to upset Diane.”
Sandy laughed. “I know for a fact that Diane penciled in Nora Burgess for today. She could burn boiled water. Trust me. Those kids’ll thank you.”
“Then that settles it,” I said. “I’ll drop it off after I leave here.”
She gave me a warm smile, but I saw the worry in her eyes.
I leaned forward. “Do you know if Pam’s family has enough money to pay for her legal fees?”
Her upper lip curled. “They don’t have two pennies to rub together. She’s using a public defender. Some guy just out of law school.”
Which meant he was inexperienced and overworked.
“Should we try to raise some money to help her find a better one?” I asked.
“What’s the point?” Sandy sank back into her chair and sounded defeated. “She confessed. She did it.”
“A good attorney could mean the difference between getting twenty years or life in prison.”
Sandy gave me a pointed look. “What difference does it make, Carly? Her life is over either way.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat and blinked back tears. “Yeah, I guess.”
Her expression softened. “You have a good heart, but Pam’s a lost cause.”
I didn’t respond, because while I knew it was true, logically speaking, my heart wasn’t willing to accept it. Sure, I was looking into the murder because I wanted ammunition to bring down Bart, but I realized part of me was also hoping to find a way to get Pam out of this. Still, Marco was right: no matter what her reasoning, she’d killed a man. She’d stolen him from all the people who loved and cared about him. There was no fixing that. Maybe she deserved to spend the rest of her life in prison while his family lived in the prison she’d created.
Pam patted my hand again. “When you live in Drum long enough, you’ll realize it’s the way of things.”
“What’s that mean?” I asked.
Withdrawing her hand, she shifted in her seat and seemed to think over her words. “Drum’s like a whole other world, almost like we’re stuck in time. Sure, some things change, but the sorrows of this place remain the same. It doesn’t make it right, but we’ve become accustomed to it.”
I wasn’t accustomed to it, and I didn’t want to be.
“If you hear of anything I can do to help in any way, be sure to let me know, okay?” I said.
A warm smile lit up her eyes. “I will. And thanks for the brownies.”
I got in the car and took off.
The Crimshaws lived on a side road off the highway to Ewing, which meant it was on the way to the nursing home where Thelma lived. It also meant I had to drive through Drum. As I approached downtown, I decided to make a stop that was bound to make me uncomfortable. I’d spent the better part of the drive from Sandy’s house thinking about Hank’s definition of true love—that you would be willing to give up something of yourself to make the other person happy—and I realized he didn’t just feel that way about romantic love.
I turned off into the Drummond Garage and pulled into a space in the front parking lot. One of the garage bay doors was open and an older pickup truck was parked inside, its hood up. I headed toward the door to the waiting room, but Wyatt walked around the side of the truck toward me.
I stopped in the entrance to the garage, suddenly nervous, although I had no idea why. I knew he wouldn’t refuse me. Maybe that was why I felt so on edge. In a way, I was using him.
“Carly, is everything okay?” he asked, squinting. The sun was at my back.
“Yeah,” I said with a weak smile. I almost asked him if he could say the same. Something had driven him into the tavern to talk to Max, whether it was related to one of their father’s favors or not, but I decided to hold that card for later. “I’m here about Hank.”
He held his hand up to his forehead to shield his eyes. Still, I could see the concern blooming there. “Is he okay?”
“Yes and no.”
Why was this so hard? Probably because I hated asking him for anything, even if it wasn’t for myself. I gestured toward the garage beyond the pickup. “Do you want to go inside for this conversation?”
“Yeah.” He stepped to the side to allow me to walk past him, and he followed several feet behind until we stood in front of the vehicle, out of view from people driving past. I glanced over at the other two bays, surprised to see them empty.
“Do you want to go into my office?” he asked, still looking worried.