Georgia hadn’t mentioned her brother’s head injury, if it was true. Gossip could have distorted the story.
“So Hank gave him a job?”
“Happened after Walter was let go from the lumber mill for not meetin’ some quota. Walter came to see Hank and begged for work. Now, Hank couldn’t stand Louise, but he took Walter on anyway—both to piss Bart off, since Bart had just fired Walter, and because of that little girl.”
“If Hank felt that strongly about Louise, it’s surprising Mary hired her to work around the house.”
“I heard they had a real row about it, but she wouldn’t back down.” She scooped a bite of pie and waved her spoon. “You know, some people claim Hank went to Louise’s cabin to kill her that day. They say Walter tried to protect her and got shot instead.”
I’d heard a different version of that story, one that had cast Hank as the man who’d attempted to drown Lula, but I didn’t believe it for a moment. Even if Louise had lied about Bart being the assailant.
“If he’d gone to shoot Louise, then why just stop with Walter?”
“Dunno,” she said, finally sticking the spoon in her mouth.
That story didn’t make any sense to me. I was relieved that Louise’s and Lula’s recollections about Bart were a better fit.
The waitress appeared next to the table and slid a small plate with a piece of pie in front of me. “Can I get you ladies anything else?”
“I’m good,” I said as Michelle said, “I’ll take a scoop of ice cream to go with the rest of my cobbler.”
“Good choice,” the waitress said, still as cheerful as could be, and took off for the back.
“What did Bruce do after Hank sold his business to Bingham? Did he go with the business?” While I knew what had happened to him, I needed to hear her version.
Anger filled her eyes again, but she shut it down just as quickly as it had appeared. “Bruce died a year before Hank sold his business.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, placing my hand on my chest. “What happened?”
“An unfortunate accident.”
I understood why she didn’t want to tell me he’d hanged himself. It felt wrong to push her, but the more information I got, the closer I’d be to bringing Bart to justice. “There seem to be a lot of car accidents around here. It must be the curvy mountain roads.”
“It wasn’t a car accident,” she said, glancing down at her pie. “Bruce died in the county jail.”
I gasped. “Michelle, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
But I had, of course, and I felt lower than slug slime.
She peered out the window as she said, “It’s common knowledge around here, so it’s not like you wouldn’t hear about it from someone else.” She turned back to face me. “Bruce hanged himself in his cell.”
“I’m so sorry,” I repeated.
“It happened thirteen years ago,” she said with a sigh. “Water under the bridge.”
“Time doesn’t heal all wounds,” I said softly. “Sometimes grief stays with us forever.”
She gave me an inquisitive look.
“My mother died when I was younger. We were very close. Honestly, I’ve never truly gotten over it.” I took a risk telling her that. Carly Moore’s mother was supposed to be alive and well in Michigan, but I never talked about my fake mother. I hadn’t even created a story about her. It would have felt like a betrayal to my actual mother.
She started to say something, then stopped and leaned forward. “What are you after? What’s your endgame?”
Her question caught me by surprise. “What?”
“Ricky said you wanted to talk about Barb, but you’ve hardly asked me anything about her.”
Shit. She was right. I’d screwed this up, so I might as well go with the truth. Or at least part of it. “I think Hank’s in some kind of trouble, and I want to help him.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and studied me for several long seconds. “I believe that, but there’s more to it. It goes deeper.”
Understanding lit up her eyes. “I get it now. You’re one of those kind.”
“What kind?”
“Do-gooder kind,” she sneered. “You know. The kind of folk who pick up stray puppies and give money to homeless people.”
“Why do you make that sound like a negative character trait?”
“Because it makes you a Pollyanna. People like you look at the world through an unrealistic lens. That’s why you’re always the victim.” She tilted her head and gave me a sly look. “I bet all kinds of people have taken advantage of you.”
My ex-fiancé, Jake, instantly popped into my head, and Michelle laughed. “Told you.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know more than you think. I know you’re from Georgia but you don’t have a Georgia accent. I know that you work at Max’s Tavern, and I already knew you live with Hank.” She paused, and then her tone turned heavier, uglier. “I know you’re sleepin’ with a deputy sheriff.”
She’d been spying on me. Why? Was she working for Bart Drummond? I suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable.
“You think I’m here to find out information about Hank and turn it over to the sheriff’s department?” I asked with a snort. I reached for my wallet in my purse. If she thought I was a snitch or informant, she was never going to talk, and trying to convince her otherwise would only make me look guiltier. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.” I pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and put it on the table. “You have a nice day.”
I got up and left, half hoping she’d call me back, but she didn’t. I got all the way out to my car and had pulled out of the parking spot before I let myself dwell on just how badly I’d messed up. Then again, I suspected she’d only met with me because she’d wanted to fish for information too.
I pulled up to a stop sign and grabbed my cell phone out of my purse. Marco had called and left a text message. I’m free. Call me if you haven’t left Ewing yet.
I placed the call and put him on speaker before setting the phone in my lap.
“Hey,” he said in an eager tone. “How’s your afternoon goin’?”
“I’m one for two so far. How about you?”
“Kept a kid out of juvie and instead landed him in foster care. I’m not sure which option’s better.” The defeat in his voice made me frown.
“You don’t mean that,” I said softly. “Foster care has to be better than juvie.”
“Yeah, it is,” he admitted with a sigh. “But I may have just blown any trust I’d built with the kid.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too,” he said, then perked up. “One for two. Does that mean you got Georgia to talk at least a little?”
“Georgia was very forthcoming about Louise, Walter, and Hank. Michelle, not so much. She didn’t trust me.”
“You called her, huh?”
“Actually, I ran into Ricky at the church, and he set up the meeting. I got a bit of information from her, but then it went to hell. Turns out she knows a lot about me. Like that I live with Hank, work at the tavern, and am sleeping with you. Either she spied on me or talked to someone who did. Like Bart.”