Her grin spread, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I hear you’re lookin’ into the history of Drum. I can help you with that.”
How many people knew about my research? I’d never asked Carnita to keep it quiet, but I hadn’t thought she was telling everyone in town. If Bart Drummond heard I was researching Drum, would he realize what I was up to?
Of course, there was a good chance he already knew. Even though he’d had no involvement in Pam Crimshaw’s murder of Jim Palmer a couple of weeks ago, he’d had plenty of reason to think I might believe otherwise. And that man who’d broken into Marco’s house had warned me to stop poking around.
“But you won’t tell me what it is specifically you need from me until I bring you breakfast at the laundromat?” This was sounding more and more like a scam.
“You need to have more faith in me, Carly Moore,” she said, starting to get agitated. “You need to mind your elders.”
“It might be easier to mind you if I knew who you were.”
Her chin lifted, and arrogance washed over her face. “My name’s Louise Baker, and I know more about the history of this town than you’re gonna find on those damned computers in the library.” Her expression darkened. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I gaped at her like she was a space alien that had dropped out of a spaceship right in front of me.
She didn’t seem fazed. “I’d like a breakfast sandwich with sausage and a side order of hash browns or breakfast potatoes. And don’t forget the coffee.”
Then she turned around and headed toward the sidewalk next to the tavern.
I stared after her in shock as she walked away.
Louise Baker was Lula’s mother, and until recently, she’d been serving a prison sentence for second-degree murder over the shooting death of her husband, Walter. Rumor had it that Louise had found her husband drowning their eight-year-old daughter in the creek next to their house, and she’d killed him to save Lula. Apparently, a district attorney had disagreed with that version of events.
And while I’d never seen Louise before today, I had spoken with her. She’d called the tavern looking for Lula last December, after Lula had gone missing. I’d gotten Louise talking about Walter’s murder, and she’d flat out admitted the public story was a crock. The truth was, Lula’s biological father had shown up and tried to drown her, and Walter had attempted to stop him. Lula had remembered another man was there that day, but she’d been slower after the attack, and Louise had manipulated her into believing it had been Walter.
Did Lula know her mother was back in town?
More importantly, did Bingham know?
Louise had tried her best to keep her daughter from having a relationship with the drug czar, although her concern wasn’t motherly worry about Lula being involved in criminal activity. She’d been guiding and manipulating Lula from behind bars, and it was at her direction that Lula had become involved with the rival drug start-up headed by Carson Purdy and Pete Mobley, a funeral home director who’d been using his coffins to smuggle in drugs from Atlanta. Her mother had even encouraged her to strike up a personal relationship with Mobley, a much older man. She’d been so desperate to push Lula at him that she’d lied and told her that Todd Bingham was her father.
I’d heard lots of rumors about Louise Baker, but one thing was certain—Bart Drummond was Lula’s biological father. Her newly discovered brothers had a DNA test done to prove it after Lula discovered the truth last December. She’d come to Max for protection, worrying that Bart planned to kill her, and both of her brothers had stepped up to help her. As it turned out, the threat to her life had come from a different source—the surviving remnants of Mobley’s drug enterprise—but the siblings were happy to have found each other.
I doubted Louise would much like it.
I realized I was still standing in the parking lot after she was long gone, so I got in my car and headed toward Marco’s. As I drove, my mind kept drifting to what I knew about Louise. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to think she might actually have useful information.
According to Emily Drummond, Louise had come to see Bart the afternoon of Walter’s murder. I wasn’t sure why she’d come to him, but given that she’d had his baby, there’d clearly been some sort of prior contact between them. Knowing Bart, I had no idea if it was consensual. Had Louise shown up at Bart’s house to confront him about Lula’s parentage? That seemed eight years too late.
There was another factor that made me break into a sweat. I knew that Walter and/or Louise had worked for Hank. My friend Thelma Tureen, who lived at Greener Pastures nursing home in Ewing, had suggested it was Walter, but when I’d asked Hank, he’d said that Walter had been dumber than a shoelace. I’d since realized that he hadn’t actually denied the possibility. He also hadn’t denied that Louise had worked for him. There was no telling what either of them would have done for Hank, but it was a safe bet it was something illegal. And according to Thelma, Walter had gotten himself fired the day before his death.
It occurred to me that Hank getting his old buddies together for a poker night when he hadn’t had one the entire time I’d been living with him wasn’t a coincidence.
He knew Louise was back, and he was circling his wagons.
A shiver ran down my back and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Marco had asked me what line in the sand would test my loyalty to the man who had given me acceptance, shelter, and protection. A man who had been more of a father to me over the past seven months than my father had been since my mother’s death. I’d said I wasn’t sure, but something told me I might have to give it serious thought sooner than I would like.
That said, it occurred to me that this poker night was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. Hank hadn’t told me to stay away, just informed me that he was hosting a game. I could drop by under the guise of picking up my dirty laundry to wash at Marco’s—not entirely untrue—and check out who was there and maybe catch a hint of their conversation. The last part was doubtful, but a girl could hope.
I passed the turnoff to Marco’s place and continued on toward Hank’s property. When I pulled into the driveway, I saw Hank’s old car, plus an assortment of five different cars and trucks parked out front, and the house was lit up brighter than usual.
I pulled up behind an older Honda and got out of the car, smiling at the sound of the men’s chatter. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, and I knew they’d probably been his literal partners in crime before he got out of the drug-selling game, but there was no denying he was lonely. I was happy he had some friends, and since Bingham was the drug king now, with his own crew of men, maybe Hank’s friends had gotten out of the drug business too.
I opened the door and smiled when I saw that the living room furniture had been moved against the walls and the kitchen table and chairs had been arranged in the center of the room. Six men, including Hank, sat around the table, a couple in folding chairs since we only had four kitchen chairs. I realized some of them were the men he’d been talking to at the street party behind Max’s Tavern last week, making me rethink the notion that Hank may have contacted them for a less than innocent reason. Cards were spread out on the table, and they held some in their hands. They all had drinks or bottles of beer, and there were bowls of chips and nuts on both ends. They slowly stopped talking and turned their attention to me. I’d been slightly worried Hank would be upset that I’d intruded, but he smiled from ear to ear.