Franklin came out of the building and stomped toward the car. He got inside and slammed the door shut, then sped off, kicking up gravel behind him.
I thought Marco would get up and run through the woods back to his car, but he stayed in place, lifting his binoculars again. A light still glowed in the building, and it slowly began to dim.
“The guy he was meetin’ is leavin’,” Marco said, still watching. “He’s going to the other side of the building. Stay here.” Before I could answer, he shot up and darted across the parking lot and into the dark shadows of the building.
Crickets began to chirp around me, and I waited for what seemed like forever, my nerves so tightly wound they felt like rubber bands on the verge of snapping. I was about to go into the building to make sure Marco was okay when he came out, limping. He wasn’t trying to hide, so I stood and walked out to greet him.
“I lost him,” he said quietly.
“Was it Bart?”
“I don’t know,” he said as he reached me. “Whoever he was, he headed out toward Bart’s property. I followed him for a bit, but my leg slowed me down.” He rubbed his outer thigh.
“So it was probably Bart.”
He made a face, hesitating. “If I had to bet, I’d say yes, but I couldn’t swear to it.”
My stomach churned. “What’s Franklin doing meeting with Bart Drummond?”
“I don’t know, Care. I wish I did.”
I wish I knew too, but one thing was certain—I couldn’t trust Ruth. Not until I knew what Franklin was up to.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
We walked back to Marco’s Explorer. Marco was in too much pain to run this time.
“Let’s get you home and into the shower,” I said, worried about him. “We’ll warm up your leg, and then I’ll massage it.”
“We need to find Franklin. Watch him to see what he does next.”
“He’s long gone, Marco. We’re both tired, so let’s go home.”
He wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “You called my house home.”
I glanced up at him, remembering the revelation I’d had earlier, when we were in Tiffany’s stark, monochrome office. “I suppose it is.”
He leaned over and kissed me. “I love you, Carly.”
“I love you too.”
When we reached his car, his leg was spasming, so I drove, shooting him worried looks.
“I’m fine,” he said, sounding exasperated. “It’s just a cramp. It’s like I said earlier. It’s probably just because I sat so long in the car today.”
I didn’t answer, but I was worried. Given the mess of trouble we were in, odds were good we’d find ourselves running or chasing someone in the not-too-distant future. Would Marco be able to keep up?
I had him take a muscle relaxer and a long, warm shower, then massaged his thigh in bed. But he rolled me over before long and said he had something else in mind to help him relax.
The next morning we woke up and decided the first thing that needed to happen was for me to talk to Hank. I was dreading the conversation, but we both agreed it would be best if I spoke to him by myself. Still, Marco didn’t want to leave me alone, so he planned to drive and wait outside or in his car.
Hank wasn’t on the porch like usual when Marco pulled onto his property. Worry burrowed in my gut as I hopped out and rushed through the door, calling out, “Hank?”
“In here,” he answered, and seconds later he appeared in the kitchen doorway with a shotgun in his hand. “What’s wrong?”
I placed my hand on my chest. “Oh, my God. You scared me half to death.”
“You’re the one bustin’ in shoutin’ my name,” he grumbled. “Why do you sound so terrified?”
“You weren’t on the porch. I thought something had happened to you.”
He snorted. “I’m makin’ my breakfast.”
“With a shotgun?” I said. “And you usually eat earlier than this.”
“Since when did you become the breakfast police?” he grumped, then headed back into the kitchen.
“Am I safe in assuming you greeted me with a shotgun because Louise Baker is back in town?” I asked sarcastically, following him.
The kittens were under the table, playing with a cat toy. Letty looked up when I walked in, and I thought she might come to me, but she decided her toy was more interesting.
Hank stood at the stove, flipping sausage links. I couldn’t help smiling because they were the chicken sausages I’d bought for him rather than the pork ones he preferred. He’d practically refused to eat them in the beginning, but he’d grudgingly said they were okay. Now he was cooking them on his own.
My grin must have irritated him because he said, “Yeah, so I’m eatin’ that stupid sausage, and how do you know Louise Baker’s back in town?”
“Because she’s paid me a couple of visits.”
His eyebrows shot up his forehead. “What did that witch want?”
“She wants me to help her find something. She claims she has proof that Bart had Jerry killed.”
“She’s lyin’,” he snarled, turning his back to me as he tended to the skillet. “She’s tryin’ to get to me through you.” He pointed a spatula at me. “You stay far away from that woman.”
“She told me she stole your fortune, Hank. Is that true?”
He froze for a couple of seconds, then said softly, “Just the other day, you told me you didn’t give a shit about my money.”
“I don’t. Your money is your money, but if she took it, then I have no qualms trying to find it and return it to you.”
“She’s usin’ you, girlie,” he said, sounding exhausted. “You need to stay away from that woman.”
“Did she take your money, Hank?”
He dumped his sausage on a plate with scrambled eggs that were a pale yellow. He’d thrown some of the egg yolks out, just like I always did.
Hopping, he carried the plate to the table, then motioned for me to take a seat.
“You eat yet?” he asked, sitting down.
“Marco fed me.”
He kept his attention on his plate as he picked up a fork and sawed into a sausage link. “He’s a good man, that Marco Roland. You can’t do much better than him.”
“I know, but we’re talking about you right now. Did Louise take your money?”
“No,” he said, then lifted his eyes to mine, looking older than I’d ever seen him.
“She stole my gold.”
“What?”
He turned his gaze back to his plate. “I didn’t keep cash. Too risky. And I couldn’t put it in the bank, so I bought gold.”
“She stole your gold?”
“She had help. A guy named Abernathy helped her. He worked for me, and the two of ’em must have plotted it together. The damn pile weighed a few hundred pounds.”
I stared at him in shock. I couldn’t believe he’d had that much gold, let alone that he was admitting to it. “How much was it worth?”
“In today’s money? About twenty mill.”