As I suspected, Ruth was full of questions, and to my surprise, so were Tiny and Pickle. I put my fight with Marco behind me and tried to sound happy as I answered. Last night’s party—and probably Trixie’s presence—had put everyone in a good mood, and it was contagious. I told myself that Marco understood my fears and hesitations, that he would forgive me.
We opened at five for dinner, and Max made sure we were prepared for the crowd for the Braves game, especially since Wyatt wouldn’t be in to help. The customers were still talking about the night before, and we told everyone Max had plans for the Fourth. The dinner crowd cleared out, but some stuck around for the game, and more people poured in. We were busy enough that it kept my mind off of my fight with Marco, although I kept watching to see if he’d walk in the door like he usually did.
Bingham came in at around ten and took the booth closest to the door. Lula and his usual entourage weren’t with him.
Ruth shot me a questioning look, as if she knew he was there to see me.
I walked over and slid into the seat opposite him.
“I don’t like to be summoned,” he said with a dark look.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” I said. “You could have used a phone.”
He rested his hands on the table, linking his fingers. “I don’t trust the phone.”
Marco’s phone or any phone? But I kept the question to myself. “I was approached by someone last night who has an interesting proposition for both of us, but this isn’t the time or place to discuss it.”
He glanced over at the bar. “Not interested.”
That wasn’t the reaction I’d expected. “You don’t even know who made the proposition or what it’s about.”
“Still not interested,” he said, not looking at me.
I stared at him. Months ago, he’d told me he was interested in anything that had to do with Bart Drummond, and he had to know whatever I’d brought to him pertained to Bart. “Even if someone’s wife says she has something you want?”
He slowly turned to face me.
Did that mean he knew what this was about? Because I sure didn’t. “As I mentioned, I can’t discuss it here. But I’d like to make arrangements to discuss it soon.”
“We’ll discuss it tonight,” he said unclasping his hands and sitting back in his seat. “In fifteen minutes in the back parking lot.” He didn’t even wait for an answer—just slid out of the booth and headed for the door.
Well, so much for controlling that situation, but maybe it didn’t matter who was in control. I needed information; he had it.
Or did I? Whatever Bingham knew wouldn’t help Pam. She hadn’t killed Jim Palmer for Bart. She’d killed him for a mother’s vengeance. Why was Emily using me as a go-between?
Marco was right. She’d been setting me up for something. Maybe Bart and Emily were both playing me.
A pain stabbed my chest. Marco.
I headed over to the bar and stopped in front of Max. “Has Marco called?”
His forehead wrinkled. “No, and I have to say I’m surprised he hasn’t come in given the way he was glued to you last night.”
I frowned. “We had a fight before I came in, and now I’m worried.”
He studied me for a moment, then covered my hand with his. “Carly. That man loves you. One fight isn’t going to make him break up with you. He didn’t wait all this time to call it quits a couple of days in.”
He was right, so now I was even more worried, because the man who had broken into Marco’s house had been adamant that the people I cared about might have an accident if I didn’t let it go. Bart hadn’t been involved with Jim Palmer’s murder, but he had to know why I was so interested in it. I hadn’t thought bringing Thad to the jail was dangerous—by then, I knew the truth about the murder—but Bart may have considered it “interference.”
“I need to use the phone?” I said, trying to tamp down my panic.
“Yeah.” He motioned for me to come around the bar. “Use this one,” he said as he lifted the phone out from under the counter.
I called Marco’s home phone first and got his answering machine. “Marco. If you’re home, please pick up, even if you’re furious with me. Please.” I waited a second, giving him a moment to answer. “Marco!” When he still didn’t answer, I hung up and started to call his cell phone.
“Carly,” Max said, his voice tight. “Why are you so freaked out?”
“Someone threatened me this morning,” I said as I listened to his phone ring.
He leaned forward, getting in my face. “What do you mean someone threatened you?”
“They told me to leave something alone or someone I cared about would have an accident.”
Marco’s voicemail kicked in.
“Who threatened you?” Max demanded, sounding panicked. “Leave what alone?”
The message ended and the beep sounded.
“Marco. Call me,” I said insistently. “Please!”
I hung up and looked at Max. “What’s the number of the sheriff’s department?”
“I don’t know,” he said in confusion. “Why would I know that?”
I turned and grabbed the phone book, then found the non-emergency number for the sheriff’s department and dialed it. “May I speak to Deputy Roland, please?” I asked, trying to not sound hysterical.
“Let me check, ma’am,” a woman said. “If you can hold, please.”
I was about to respond, but she put me on hold before I got the chance.
She came back less than a minute later. “Deputy Roland has left for the evening. Can I take a message?”
I swallowed the lump of fear in my throat. “Do you know when he left?” Then, because I doubted they’d give that information to just anyone, I added, “This is his girlfriend, Carly.”
“Oh, Carly!” the woman exclaimed. “I’m Anita, and I’ve heard so much about you. I hope I get to meet you soon.”
How had she heard about me? Had Marco told her? Or had she heard about me after the shake-up in the department? It only mattered in that she was more likely to share information if Marco had spoken warmly of me.
“I’ll have to come in and tell everyone hello,” I said. “Do you know when Marco left?”
“Hold on. I’ll find out.” She was gone for about ten seconds, then said, “About an hour and a half ago.”
“Do you know if he was going anywhere for a case?”
“No,” she said, sounding worried. “Is he missin’?”
“I don’t know. I expected him to show up by now, but he’s probably fine.” Please God, let him be fine.
“Should we send someone to look for him?” she asked.
Should they? If I said yes, she’d want an explanation, wouldn’t she? I’d have to tell her about the intruder earlier, whose visit we had chosen not to report. It would lead to a cascade of questions that might shine a spotlight right on me. I hated that my issues were putting Marco’s life in danger, but I knew what he’d want me to say. “No, that’s okay. He’s probably somewhere out of cell range, but if you keep an eye out for him, I’d appreciate it.”