This was going to be a disaster.
There were cars in the lot when I pulled into the church drive, and the youth group was in the field next to the church picking up streamers and balloons from some event. I could see Ricky Crimshaw among them. His hair hung in his eyes as he leaned over, and he tossed his head to the side, presumably so he could see.
A pain stabbed my heart at the sight of him. His mother had killed the man who’d molested his brother, but that didn’t make those boys safe. The last I’d heard, he was still living with his abusive father.
He didn’t see me, which was just as well. I wasn’t sure how much he’d appreciate me talking to him with his friends around. They’d teased him the last time I’d spoken to him around his youth group.
I headed into the church through a side door surrounded by a cluster of signs strongly urging people to use that entrance. The hall lights had been turned off, and I let my eyes become accustomed in the dim hallway.
A woman who looked to be in her twenties walked out of a classroom and startled when she saw me.
“Can I help you?” she asked with a warm smile.
“That would be great,” I said, trying to look unassuming. “I’m looking for Georgia Carpenter.”
“Did I hear my name?” a woman called out from one of the rooms. An older woman with pale red hair emerged through the open door. She wore pink capri pants and a white blouse speckled with pink flowers. She had jewel-encrusted sandals, and her toenails were painted pink. “Hello?”
I walked toward her, extending my hand. “Hi, I’m Carly Moore.”
She did a double take. “As in Hank’s Carly?”
It was hard to tell if the fact that she knew about me was working in my favor. “Guilty as charged.”
A warm smile lit up her face. “I’m so pleased to meet you. I hear through the grapevine that you’ve been a godsend to Hank.”
“I don’t know about that.” I was sure Big Joe hadn’t told her that. “But I know I’m grateful he took in a stray.”
“Hank doesn’t take in strays,” she said.
Little did she know.
“I’m sure it’s not a coincidence you’re here the day after my husband was at one of Hank’s”—she looked around and lowered her voice—“poker games.”
That answered one of my many questions.
“It’s not.” I paused. “I was wondering if we could go somewhere for a chat. We can set up a time that’s convenient for you, since I realize I’m barging in while you’re in the middle of . . .” I let the sentence trail off since I wasn’t sure what they were doing.
“Cleaning up,” Georgia said. “You’d be amazed at the messes children can make. Why don’t you come help me?”
I was well aware of the messes children could make from my six years of teaching third grade, but that experience belonged to Caroline Blakely, not Carly Moore, so I kept it to myself. “Sure. I’d love to.”
I followed her into what looked like an art room. Abstract paintings dangling from strings hung around the periphery of the room, and the table was smeared with primary colors of paint.
“Oh dear,” I said before I could stop myself.
Georgia laughed. “My thoughts exactly. Penelope thought it would be a good idea to let the children fingerpaint their interpretation of the creation of the universe.” She swept her hand toward the table. “This is the result.”
“I guess chaos seems appropriate given the theme,” I said with a laugh. “I hope it’s water soluble.”
“Well,” Georgia hedged. “Penelope isn’t the most practical of women, so we’re about to find out.”
Being a self-starter, I walked over to the sink in the corner of the room to wet a couple of paper towels and then carried them over.
“Joe told me you weren’t happy that he was there last night,” Georgia said as she followed my lead with the paper towels.
I stood upright. “That wasn’t my intent. I’m thrilled that Hank’s friends are back in his life. Joe was the one who questioned why I’m living with Hank, and I’ll admit that it got my ire up. I countered that I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since I moved in last November.” I made a face. “In hindsight, I was more defensive than I needed to be.”
She chuckled. “Joe does lack tact.”
“I assured him that there were only two reasons I moved in: I needed a place to live, and Hank needed someone to help him after his amputation. What I didn’t tell him is that I’ve stayed because he’s like a father to me, and honestly, I think he’s been lonely.” I leaned over the table and began to wipe up paint, careful not to get my body too close to the edge. The paint came off, but it was dry enough that it took a little muscle.
Georgia nodded. “I know things have been hard for him. In fairness to Joe, Hank shut everyone out after Mary died.” She gave me a tight smile, starting to wipe down the other side of the table. “Mary and I were friends, you know. Best friends.”
I glanced up, my mouth parting in surprise.
Her eyes narrowed. “How much has Hank told you about his life before her death?”
“If you’re asking if I know he used to run a pot empire, I’m aware, but I’ll be honest and admit I don’t know much.” I threw the paper towels in the trash and grabbed two more, wetting them down.
She started to say something, then cut herself off. Pushing out a breath, she said, “Why are you here, Carly?”
I turned around to face her, the wet towels dripping on the floor. “I want to know more about Hank’s past.” I hesitated. “I feel like a threat from his past has returned, and I need to know how to protect him.”
She studied me for a long moment before walking over and shutting the door. “What threat?”
Should I tell her the truth? Word was bound to get out that Louise was back, and Georgia would probably be more forthcoming if I told her that much.
I walked over to the table and set the wet towels down in a heap. “Louise Baker is back in town, and I feel like she’s out to get Hank. I need to know why.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“You didn’t know she got out of prison?”
She shook her head. “No. The question is how you know.”
“She came to the tavern. I think she has it in for Max, the owner, too, but that’s another matter entirely.” I wasn’t sure who knew the truth about Lula’s parentage, and I wasn’t going to be the one to start tongues wagging.
“She usually has it out for multiple people,” Georgia said, walking back over to the table. “She’s great at multitasking.”
“I know she’s your sister-in-law.”
“She ceased being my sister-in-law the moment she killed my brother,” she said bitterly.
“I heard Louise was friends with your daughter, Cassie.”
She nodded. “Walter was a lot younger than me. He actually met Louise when she was at our house hanging out with Cassie.”
“How old were they?”
“Louise was seventeen. Walter was in his mid-twenties. He was taken in by her charm. He married her because she was pregnant, but he would have married her even if she hadn’t been. He loved her, and then she killed him.”