“I did know about that,” she said, taking a sip from her mug. “They’ve got paper charts and even set up some program on Bingham’s computer. They’ve also got some old maps of Drum from years ago. Lula was able to track down where her family used to live.”
“Why the sudden interest?”
“Good question. Bingham started diggin’ into it around the time Bea was born. Guess he wanted to do it for her.”
That made sense, but the timing was interesting. I also wondered if their research had anything to do with Louise. Lula knew from a DNA test that Bart Drummond was her father.
I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “What do you know about Lula’s mother?”
“Louise?” She inhaled deeply. “I already told you most of what I know last December, when you were lookin’ for Lula.”
“I know Louise had Lula under her thumb. Was she pissed when Lula broke free?”
Greta sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Lula refuses to discuss it, but I know she went cold turkey when she moved in with Bingham. Absolutely no contact with her mother. At. All.”
“Was that his choice or Lula’s?”
She was silent for a moment. “I guess I don’t know for certain. I just know that Lula said her mother was toxic and controlling and she’d cut off all contact.” She paused, her upper teeth scraping her bottom lip as she stared down the hallway behind me. Shifting her gaze to me, she added, “But if I had to venture a guess, I’d say it was Bingham’s decision and Lula just went along with it. I can’t see her finally gettin’ the gumption to do it herself after all those years.”
I nodded.
“But make no mistake,” she said further with a fierce look in her eyes. “It may have been Bingham’s decision, but I’d been tellin’ her to do the same for years. I mean, I didn’t even know the extent to which her mother was controlling her, but anyone could see it was unhealthy. Lula got upset every time her mother called her.” She shook her head. “That ain’t right.”
“Agreed.”
She pushed out a sigh when six women walked in through the door. “I better check on your order and get back to work.”
She took several gulps of the still-hot coffee before she got up and headed to the back.
I studied the women who were in the process of pulling two tables together in the center of the room. I recognized a few from lunches at the tavern. They were the prim and proper women of Drum, ones who weren’t rich but lived a comfortable life.
Greta came out of the back, holding the ticket and my order. “I take it this coffee’s for Marco?”
“Yeah,” I said, reaching for my wallet in my purse and pulling out some cash.
She took the bills from me. “Let me get you a to-go cup for you too.”
“Thanks. And keep the change.”
When she returned with the cup, I transferred my coffee into it, and she topped it off. Once I’d doctored it with more cream, I stood and said, “You know, Lula isn’t your only friend in town. If you need someone to hang out with, I’m available.”
Surprise filled her eyes. “But you’re with Marco.”
“Just because we’re seeing each other doesn’t mean he’s my entire world.”
“Yeah, after a while, anyway,” she said with a sly look. “But for now, it’s new and all-consuming.”
Consuming. I realized that was what was bothering me after my talk with Hank. What I felt for Marco was consuming, and it scared the crap out of me.
A worried look filled her eyes. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, then found myself adding, “I’m not used to being with someone as great as Marco, and I think I’m still getting used to the idea of letting him love me.”
A sweet smile lit up her face. “You definitely have one of the good ones, Carly, but don’t you doubt yourself. You deserve him.” Tears sprang to my eyes and she frowned. “Are things okay between you two?”
I nodded, feeling like a fool. “Yeah. It’s just that . . .” I wanted to tell her about Hank and my ex-fiancé, Jake, and my father and all of the dozens of reasons I was terrified to trust anyone, but I couldn’t. Not now. Maybe not ever. So I shook my head and said nothing.
“You’re not used to a man treatin’ you so well, right?” she asked knowingly. “It makes you question whether he has ulterior motives.”
“Yeah,” I said in shock. “I think that’s exactly right.”
“Girl, I have the same issues. I let a perfectly good man go because he treated me like a princess, and I didn’t trust his motives.”
Was she talking about Max?
Her lips pressed together. “Don’t make the same mistake I did. Let Marco love you. He’s good people. You can trust him.”
I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a huge hug. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”
She laughed as I released her. “You can pay me back by watchin’ Marriage Story or La La Land with me.”
“It’s a date.” I grimaced. “I work until closing the next couple of nights, but maybe next week. I’ll let you know what nights I have off.”
Her eyes lit up. “You’ve got a deal.”
“Are we ever gonna get service over here?” one of the women in the group called out in a disagreeable tone.
Greta rolled her eyes. “Duty calls.”
She started to walk away, but I grabbed her hand to stop her.
“You deserve love too, Greta.”
Her eyes swam with tears. “And you have no idea how much I needed to hear that today too.” Then she turned toward the table, calling out in a sweet tone, “Good morning, ladies! What can I get you started with? Coffee? OJ? Mimosas?”
A chorus of cheers rose up from the group.
“Just teasin’ about the mimosas,” she said, winking at me as I passed her table on the way to the door. “You’ll have to go to Max’s for those, but they won’t be open for another couple of hours, so for now you’re stuck with me.”
I headed out to the sidewalk, feeling more ready to face Louise. She was up to something, and she clearly saw me as a clueless pawn. For now, I’d let her.
Chapter Nine
I was a few minutes late, but I figured I had hot food and coffee. That had to count for something.
The only cars in the parking lot were mine and Marco’s, so I was worried Louise had either left already or stood me up. But when I walked in, she was tossing laundry into two washing machines.
A fluorescent light flickered overhead, casting a pallor over her face.
“About time you showed up,” she said in a raspy voice, resting her forearm on top of the open washing machine door. She was wearing jeans, a green and white plaid button-down shirt, and a bulky tan cardigan. Her tennis shoes looked worn and grass stained.
I held up her coffee and bag of food. “This took a few minutes longer than expected.”
“I see you got a coffee for yourself.”
I closed the distance between us and held her food and coffee out to her. “I wanted to be alert for our conversation. Late nights and early mornings don’t mix so well.”