My chest tightened. Someone took it? “When was the last time you saw it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a couple of months ago?”
So it had been taken recently. “Could you tell what might be inside it?”
She shook her head. “Not tools, that’s for certain. It was too light. Something clanked around inside it, but whatever it was didn’t weigh much.”
“Thank you, Lula.”
“Just be careful, Carly. Okay?”
I nodded, then got in my car, but I couldn’t help thinking I was long past careful.
Chapter Sixteen
I arrived at the tavern a few minutes late, and to my surprise, Max met me at the back door. He had a strange expression, and for a moment, I wondered if he intended to scold me. Instead, he wrung his hands and said, “My mother’s here, and she wants to see you.”
I swallowed hard. “Do you know what about?”
“No. She has a file box and says this is between you and her. She’s up in my apartment.” He gave me a worried look. “You can say no, Carly. You don’t have to go up there.”
I suspected she was here for a report on how my talk with Bingham went, and if so, she was in for a disappointment. I could have walked away, but I was curious what was in the box. “No. I’ll see her. Tell the kids I’ll be out in a minute.”
He gave me a grim nod, then walked back into the dining room.
My heart pounded like I’d just run a marathon as I climbed the stairs and opened the apartment door without knocking.
Emily Drummond was sitting on Max’s sofa, glared at me the moment she saw me. A cardboard file box sat on the coffee table.
“I thought you would take promptness more seriously,” she said.
“You and I didn’t have a meeting scheuled,” I said, closing the door behind me and then walking closer.
“No, but you do have your children’s tutoring group. I’m surprised you’re late to that.”
At first, I was shocked she knew about Tutoring Club, and I feared that she was watching my every move, but then I realized she may have simply asked Max when I usually came in. I was going with the latter on this one.
I stopped in front of the coffee table. “Max said you wanted to see me.”
“Yes.” She placed her hand on the file box. “I know you were close to Jerry Nelson. He had moved all of his things into his cabin, and well . . .” She made a face. “Bart would just as soon toss them into the garbage, but that didn’t feel right.” She gave me a soft smile. “From what I’ve heard, you’re probably the closest he had to a next of kin, so I packed up his personal effects and brought them to you.”
Surely that wasn’t true. Max had taken care of him for years, giving him free food, and I was sure he gave him a break on his lodging. So why was she giving his belongings to me?
Still, I was honored to receive them, and my hand flew up to my chest. “I don’t know what to say, Emily. Thank you.”
She could very well be playing a game, but I wanted to believe she had some humanity in her. She had raised Max, after all, and he’d turned out decent. The jury was still out on Wyatt.
“He still has some clothes that need packing up,” she said, “but honestly, most are pretty worn. He did have a newer-looking coat that you might want to donate to a charity.”
Tears stung my eyes. I’d bought him that coat.
I nodded. “Thanks.”
“I was really sorry to hear what happened to him,” she said, patting the box again.
That stirred my anger. “Do you know what happened to him?” I bit out.
“Did you speak to the third party I mentioned when we last spoke?”
“I tried. He refused to talk to me.”
She frowned, and I suddenly wondered if she was suggesting there was a connection.
“Did Bingham have something to do with Jerry’s murder?”
“Murder,” she scoffed, but it sounded forced. “He was run off the road. It was an accident.” Except the look in her eyes suggested she didn’t believe it. Why wouldn’t she just say so?
I pushed out a breath. I was tired of stupid games.
“Louise Baker came to see my husband,” Emily said in a flat tone. “Do you happen to know anything about that?”
“You mean since she got back from prison? No. Seems to me you’d be in a better position to have that information.”
She sniffed. “I was out when she showed up. My housekeeper told me. They had a ten-minute meeting, and then she left.”
I cocked my head. “Do you happen to know how she got there?”
“A vehicle of some sort,” she taunted.
“I know, but do you know what kind? Or if someone drove her? I’ve seen her in town, but I’ve never seen how she gets around.”
She wrinkled up her nose. “I never thought to ask.”
“Do you think your housekeeper might remember?”
“I can check.”
“Thank you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You and I both want the same thing, Caroline. We should work together.”
“Have you stopped to think that perhaps you’re the one standing in the way of that?”
Her mouth twisted and she held out a palm in concession. “Perhaps you have a point, but I have far more to lose than you do. I’m not sure I can trust you.”
“I could say the same about you.”
“Then perhaps we should try to find a way to close the gap in trust.”
I didn’t have an answer to that, so I didn’t offer one.
With a sigh, she got to her feet. “Well, perhaps another time.”
She smiled at me with a knowing look. “Men think they rule the world, but they have no idea what women orchestrate behind the scenes. I find I’m tired of staying in the background and quietly maneuvering events to go my way. I think it’s time things changed.”
She walked up to me and looked me in the eyes. “Are you tired of your father controlling your life? Don’t you want to be free?”
I gasped. It wasn’t surprising she knew who I was—she’d made that quite clear on our last meeting, but last time she hadn’t been so open about it.
“In case I’ve been too subtle, Caroline, I know who you are. I know your father has offered a reward for your safe return. And I know you’re hiding from him. I just can’t figure out why, and neither can Bart.” Her brow lifted. “It’s driving him crazy, you know. I can see a time when he’ll want to know more, but for now, his attention is focused much closer to home. It’s on Louise Baker, to be precise. Use that to your advantage.”
She took a few steps toward the door before stopping and glancing over her shoulder. “Oh, and let me know what you want to do with Jerry’s clothes.”
With that, she opened the door and walked out.
For a moment I just stared at the door, half expecting her to come back and laugh at me or throw more truth bombs at me or . . . God only knew.
Then I sat down in a chair, trying to process what had just happened.
She’d brought Jerry’s things.
I walked over to the box and lifted the lid, tears filling my eyes when I saw the contents. There were a couple of framed photos. An old photo of a little girl with blond hair who looked like a preschooler. Then another of the same girl with a man and woman. The man was young—in his early twenties—but I still recognized Jerry. He’d had a daughter? He’d never mentioned her, and given that I was apparently his closest living contact, I suspected she had passed.