My mouth parted in surprise. “I just like to help people, and now that Drum’s my home, I want to give back to my community.”
“Nobody gives back to their community in Drum.” She shook her head. “You’re up to something, I just don’t know what it is.”
Not only had I not gotten answers, I’d just made this woman suspicious of me—which was exactly what I’d set out not to do. “I don’t know what to tell you, Miss Selena. Hank needed someone to take care of him after Seth died, and I needed a place to stay. It worked out well for both of us. As for the children, I love kids. When I saw that little girl struggling, and I knew how to do the problem, it would have been wrong to stay silent. Helping made me feel like I was doing something good. Something important.”
“Are you a saint?”
I forced a short laugh. “No, I’m definitely not. But I don’t think caring about others is reserved for the religious. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be nearly as many charities.”
One of her eyebrows lifted. “And the Crimshaws?”
“It’s just like I told you. I’m worried about Pam and her family. Maybe I didn’t know Pam very well, but what she did shocked me to my core. If she could do something like this, then it feels like anyone could, you know?”
“So why get mixed up with her family?”
“Because if I’m shocked, they must feel like they’re living in the Twilight Zone. I only want to help them and, if I can, figure out a way to somehow help Pam. Maybe she had a psychotic break. Maybe what she really needs is a psych evaluation, not life in prison.”
Selena studied me for a long moment. “Pam’s mentioned you, you know.”
I jolted in surprise. “Oh?”
“She liked that you started tutoring kids. She said you were sweet. A lot sweeter than the other waitress. The loud one.”
I laughed. “Ruth. She’s not one to pussyfoot around.” I tilted my head to the side. “But she sure knows how to handle the men on game nights.”
Selena’s shoulders seemed to relax. “I told Pam that I thought you were up to something. Nobody’s that nice, but she insisted you were the real deal.” Her eyes narrowed. “Tell me why you’re really livin’ with Hank.”
It occurred to me what she was hinting at. “If you think I’m living with Hank to find his fortune, you’re dead wrong. There’s no fortune to be had. If he had money, it’s long gone. I suspect he spent it all on his wife’s medical care.”
“Hank used to make money hand over fist back in the day. He had a whole enterprise goin’ on. Hired almost as many people in this town as Bart Drummond did in his lumber business.”
While Marco had said he was the largest marijuana distributer in eastern Tennessee, and I knew he’d had employees, I’d had no idea his operation had been so big.
“Surely you knew he was a drug dealer,” she said in surprisingly kind tone.
“Yes, but he hasn’t been for years. Or so I’ve been told.”
“He turned away from it a good decade ago. Mary hated it all, and when she got ill, she asked him to give it up. Surprisingly, he did. For some reason, they’ve lived out in that rinky-dink house since they were first married, even when he was making big money. I asked Mary once why she didn’t force him to move her somewhere nicer, and she said they had a tie to the land, but I always suspected Hank was just bein’ tight-fisted.” She gave me a smug look. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a fortune buried on his land. Along with a few bodies.”
I wasn’t sure about the bodies, but I was about the fortune. “The man’s roof was leaking so badly we had to put a bucket underneath the ceiling until we could get a repairman out, and even then we piecemealed it. Hank’s flat broke, so if I were there for his money, I’d be wasting my time. And before you ask again, it’s just like I said—I needed a place to stay and he needed help. He let me live there rent free in exchange for cooking his meals and taking care of him. Now we’re friends, and I wouldn’t move somewhere else even if I could afford to.”
“Carnita says you’ve checked out diabetic cooking books.”
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Miss Selena.”
“Just tryin’ to figure out why you’re living with a man twice your age.”
Lots of people were curious, but few were bold enough to continue pressing the matter. “You’re getting a little personal.”
“And so are you with all your questions about Pan and her family.”
She had a point. “I promise you that I’m only trying to help, but I understand and appreciate your concerns.” I got to my feet. “I won’t take any more of your time.”
“Why are you really here?” she asked, turning to face me as I headed for the door.
“I already told you. I’m very concerned about Ashlynn. You know her better than I do, but I can’t shake the worry that she might be missing. If there’s a chance I was the last person to see her, I feel it’s my duty to do something about that. And two, I’m worried about Pam. You’re right, of course—nothing can justify what she did. Jim Palmer’s never coming back. But I don’t believe she’d just shoot a man in cold blood, not without a good reason. If Pam really did have some type of psychotic break, or if she knew Mr. Palmer and thought she was avenging some wrong, then it seems like that should be taken into consideration at her sentencing.”
Her face softened. “You really do care about her. Why?”
“I’ve heard the justice system isn’t always fair here, so if I can help Pam in any way, then I aim to do it.”
She pursed her lips for a moment, then grimaced and motioned for me to sit back down. “I may regret this, but I guess you’ve fooled me too.”
I stayed in place. “I’m not trying to fool anyone, Miss Selena.”
“Okay, poor choice of words,” she said. “I’m a math teacher, not an English professor. I deal with numbers and logic, not daydreams and fancy thinkin’.”
I gave her a long look, then sat down. “Sometimes daydreams become reality. Do you know anything that could help Pam? Sandy said she was taking medication for depression.”
“Not lately she wasn’t. Rob insisted that taking an antidepressant was a sign of weakness. He told her it was all in her head.”
I pulled my small notebook out of my purse and turned to the next available page. “When did she start taking them?” I asked, uncapping my pen.
“You’re takin’ notes?”
“We have to present a clear, accurate account. You bet I’m taking notes.”
The suspicion had returned to her eyes, but she continued. “Around the time of Thad’s accident. She’d been havin’ a rough time leading up to it. He was givin’ her and Rob fits with his bad behavior. Drinkin’ and sassin’. Gettin’ in trouble at school. Rob blamed her for it, of course. Said her coddlin’ was part of the problem and she needed to let him handle it, but his way of handlin’ it was with a belt and his hand. He beat that child badly enough that one of the teachers at the middle school turned them in to child protective services. The social worker made a home visit, but Rob convinced them he was exercising his parental rights and it didn’t cross the line into child abuse. It scared Pam something fierce, knowing she’d nearly lost him and Ricky too, and Thad rebelled even more. Then he and his friend got drunk and stole Pam’s minivan. They hit that poor man on Highway 25 out on the way to the overlook. If she was depressed before, she fell into a pit of grief after. Thad and his friend were hurt, but not as badly as that unlucky man in the other car. They were all in the same hospital in Greeneville, and Pam had to see the poor man’s family and deal with their anger. She couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. Her doctor put her on some type of medication, but she wouldn’t tell me what. She hid it from Rob, and I didn’t even know she was still takin’ the pills until she told me about three months ago that Rob had found out and belittled her. She quit cold turkey and was nearly suicidal, but it all worked out. Or so I thought until I heard about that poor insurance agent.”