The front door opened, and a group of people walked in. To my surprise, it was Bingham and four of his crew, but Lula wasn’t with him. I hadn’t seen him since the night of Jerry’s murder. I’d called him, telling him I needed to talk to him ASAP, and he’d shown up, pissed that I’d summoned him. Then he tried to reset our power dynamic by insisting I meet him in the parking lot to discuss. Instead, I’d rushed off to find Marco, clipping the bumper of Bingham’s truck in the process. His parting words hadn’t exactly been full of sugar.
They sat at a table in my section, so I gave Cassie an apologetic smile. “Sorry, but I need to get back to work.”
She openly stared at the group, then whispered, “Is that Todd Bingham?”
“One and the same.”
Her eyes rounded. “You don’t think someone heard me talkin’ about him and told him?”
I couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Don’t worry. He’s a regular here, but I do need to take care of his group.”
“You ain’t scared?” she asked in terror.
“Nah. They look plenty scary, but they’re just men.”
“They ain’t just men,” she said. “They’re dangerous.” Then she started to slide out of the booth.
“Can you leave me your number?” I asked, pulling my order pad from my apron pocket and handing it over. “In case I have any more questions about Barb.”
She hesitated, then scribbled down her name and number. “I work as a cook at Jack’s Wing Shack in Ewing most afternoons and evenings, but I usually have mornings off.”
If I’d wanted to ask a parting question, I didn’t get the chance. She practically bolted out the front door.
I couldn’t help thinking she was a whole lot smarter than me.
I cast a glance at Max behind the bar, and he looked as baffled as I felt. But there was no time to talk to Max now, so I picked up my notebook, stuffed it into my apron along with the order pad, and headed to Bingham’s table.
“Ms. Moore,” he said in a mocking tone, “I’m glad you finally found time in your schedule to drop by and take our orders.”
“What can I get you and your gentlemen?”
He leaned closer and looked dagger at me. “I’ve come to discuss a few things.”
That didn’t sound good.
“And you needed all these men to protect you from little old me?” I teased, my nerves strained. It couldn’t be coincidence that he’d come by mere hours after I’d dropped in to see Lula.
He didn’t look amused. “First,” he said, slipping a folded paper out of his back jeans pocket and placing it on the table. He slid it toward me. “This here’s the bill for the damages to my truck.”
I picked up the paper and opened it, ready to work out some kind of agreement until I saw the total on the page.
“Twenty-five hundred dollars?” I asked in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? Lula said you changed out the bumper with one you had on the lot.” I was getting screwed.
He gave me a deadpan look. “Do I look like I’m kiddin’ you?”
No. He most certainly did not.
“I don’t have twenty-five hundred dollars.” Even if I did, I wouldn’t want to give it to him. I needed it for my Get Out of Drum fund. Not for a smashed bumper.
A slow smile spread across his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Then I’m sure we can work out some kind of arrangement.”
An arrangement I doubted would be to my advantage. He’d never planned for me to accept his invoice. He’d been playing me, and I’d fallen right into his trap.
Chapter Eighteen
I propped a hand on my hip. “And what might that be?”
“Perhaps we should go to our customary office.” He nodded toward the booth I’d just vacated with Cassie. The closest customer was several tables away, so there was little chance of being overheard.
I wanted to talk to him, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to do it when he was in such a foul mood. Plus, I was still miffed that he’d given me an ultimatum the night of Jerry’s death—talk to him then and there or not at all. Instead of working with me to make Bart pay for his crimes, he was playing useless power games. “I just got off break, and I’m sure your boys are thirsty.”
He looked over at his men, then barked, “Y’all head over to the bar for your drinks. Ms. Moore is indisposed.”
“You’re messing with my tips,” I said in exasperation.
“You ain’t missin’ out on nothin’,” Bingham said as he got to his feet. “They wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t come in for a chat.”
There was no way out of this, so I walked over to the booth and slid into my seat. He sat down across from me and rested his forearms on the table.
“You’ve been a busy girl,” he grunted.
I sat back in the seat and crossed my arms. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
The right corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “I heard about your meeting with Louise this mornin’.”
While I’d told Lula I’d met with her mother, I hadn’t given her specifics about the meeting. “Do you have spies watching me?”
He snorted. “Don’t be so damn full of yourself. I have someone posted on her.”
That was reassuring and made a whole lot more sense.
He leaned his face closer, lowering his voice. “Why didn’t you bring this to my attention?”
My brow shot up. “Why would I?” I asked sarcastically. “The last time I tried to bring something to your attention, you turned your back on me, all because I wouldn’t play your game.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. “You’ve gotten away with sass before, and that’s on me for lettin’ it happen. And sure, you bein’ one of Bea’s godmothers has kept you safe up until now, but you should bear in mind that my generosity only stretches so thin.”
I tried to swallow my fear. “What are you going to do to me, Bingham? Kill me? If something happened to me, you’d be a primary suspect, and don’t think it would get swept under the rug. My boyfriend is a bulldog of a deputy sheriff, and he wouldn’t rest until he made you pay.”
He gave me a dry look. “There are plenty of ways to put people in their place that don’t involve murder. And there are plenty of ways to make a person disappear. If you don’t show up for work one day, who’s to say you didn’t just decide to take off? After all, you showed up in town out of nowhere last year. Who’s to say you don’t decide to leave the same way?”
He sat back and stretched his arms across the back of the seat. “Bear in mind I’m a creative man.”
I had no desire to investigate that creativity, but I wasn’t going to grovel either.
“I’m never going to kowtow to you, Bingham,” I said, sounding more courageous than I felt. “So this is all a waste of time and breath.” I held his gaze. “As I already pointed out, the last time I saw you, you made it very clear that you didn’t want to talk to me again. The night Jerry died.” My voice cracked from the burst of pain.