“Someone shot him, Ruth,” I said. “Do you have any idea who would do that?”

Her hand paused for a fraction of a second before she looked up at me. “Everybody loved that boy. His momma raised him with manners before she got addicted and passed, and he never forgot ’em. He helped Hank around the house as best he could, but you can’t make a turnip bleed money, ya know? Still, he took care of the house and went shopping since Hank has mostly been housebound the last six months or so.” She sighed again. “This is gonna kill him.”

“I tried to save him,” I said, close to breaking down again. “I tried to stop the bleeding.”

“Honey,” she said, “ain’t nobody gonna blame you. You obviously tried to help him. Max said you heard him moaning and ran out to see if you could help. That’s courageous in anyone’s book.”

“But I didn’t save him.”

“That’s not on you. It’s on the person who did this to the poor boy.” She swiped at a tear rolling down her cheek with the back of her hand.

Throwing caution to the wind, I said, “Do you think any of the men in the bar last night could have done it?”

She went still, then looked up at me again, her eyes fierce. “We don’t hurt our own.”

We don’t hurt our own.

If that was true, had the killer decided Seth wasn’t one of their own? I definitely wasn’t one of theirs, which meant I needed to mind my own business until I could get the hell out of here.

Chapter Six

By the time Ruth had gotten me cleaned up and forced me to down the entire cup of coffee mixed with whiskey, my anxious edge had softened a bit. But my heartbeat picked back up when Max appeared in the kitchen doorway with a middle-aged man in a dress shirt and jeans behind him.

“Carly, this here’s Detective Daniels with the Hensen County Sheriff’s Department,” Max said, stepping into the room, which gave me a good look at the deputy. “He’s investigating Seth’s murder.”

He was shorter than Max by a couple of inches and definitely at least fifty pounds heavier. I guessed him to be ten to fifteen years older too. His jacket hung open and the buttons on his shirt stretched the cloth to help contain his abdomen. The dark circles under his eyes indicated he’d been in bed when he’d received the call. Hopefully that meant he wasn’t one of the “bad” deputies Seth had mentioned.

“Carly Moore?” he asked as he approached me.

Ruth was sitting next to me and reached over to squeeze my hand.

He didn’t look all that scary, but I needed to watch myself, especially if he’d found my gun. “That’s me.” Then I added so hopefully it wouldn’t be an issue later, “My real name’s Charlene Moore, but I go by Carly.”

“I understand you found the victim.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He slipped a small notebook and pen out of his coat pocket. “I know you’ve been through an ordeal, and it was obvious you tried to help Seth. That’s what I’m trying to do now. I know I can’t bring him back, but I can do the next best thing and find his killer. It will really help if you give me a brief statement telling me what happened.”

His spiel about helping Seth seemed odd, like he was trying to convince me to do the right thing. Did he suspect Seth had given me some secret to keep from the sheriff’s department? Or maybe he thought I’d accidentally shot Seth then tried to cover it up?

I glanced over at Max. He gave me a reassuring nod. Did that mean he’d taken care of my gun?

“Ruth,” Max said in his congenial tone. “Before they get started, why don’t we get Detective Daniels a cup of coffee to warm him up? He’s been outside for a bit and that wind is brutal tonight.”

She hopped off her stool and headed to the coffee brewer. “Do you take cream or sugar, Detective Daniels?”

His face lit up at the mention of coffee. “Black.”

“I suspect this interview might be easier if both of you are sittin’ down,” Max said, reaching for me. “I’ll take Carly out to the dining room and help get her settled.” Before the detective could respond, he started leading me out the door.

He leaned in close and whispered, “He never saw the gun. You’re covered.”

I nearly stumbled as I pushed out a sigh of relief. “Max, you shouldn’t have risked yourself like that.”

“Don’t you worry about it. Just get through your statement, then we’ll deal with the rest later.”

Deal with the rest? I started to ask him what he was talking about, but the detective was coming out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee in hand.

We settled at a four-person table—the detective and I sitting opposite each other. Max and Ruth took seats at the bar—still within earshot, I noticed, but it provided the illusion of privacy.

“Ms. Moore,” the detective said as he opened his notebook again. “How did you know the victim?”

I blinked in surprise. “I didn’t know him.”

“Had you ever seen him before?”

“No.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re certain?”

I shot a glance at Max and Ruth, but their expressions were stoic. Unreadable. “I’m very certain,” I said with a tight smile. “I just got into Drum yesterday and worked here at the tavern last night. Seth never entered the establishment. Not that I saw anyway.”

“Huh,” he said, writing something in his notebook. “Tell me what happened. Be sure to start at the beginnin’.”

I started with being woken up, then repeated the story of hearing a moan outside my room. Of running outside to check on Seth. I started to cry when I got to the part about trying to stop Seth’s bleeding and the earsplitting scream I’d let out when no one had heard my cries for help.

“But he died just as Max reached us,” I finished, not hiding my tears.

The deputy was writing in his pad, but he looked up when he asked, “And you didn’t see who shot him?”

I paused. The detective seemed like he genuinely wanted to solve Seth’s murder, and my silence could potentially let the murderer go free. Except Seth had warned me about trusting the sheriff’s department. No, I’d let Seth’s grandfather decide how to proceed, although it struck me that I could be in big trouble for giving the deputy false information. Something I was trying not to do. Withholding information was still a lie of omission, of course, but maybe I’d be in less trouble if I stuck close to the truth. “I didn’t see anyone when I went out to check on him.”

“No car driving away?” he asked. “You never heard a gunshot?”

“I woke up to his cry of distress,” I said. “And when I went out to check on him, he was alone. No other car or trucks in sight.” All technically true.

He jotted down a few lines and closed his notebook. “Max says you’re not from around here, but you’re sticking around for a few days.”

So he knew I was new to town but still seemed to think I might have met Seth. Did he suspect I’d murdered the boy? Did he think I’d beaten him too? But he was waiting for an answer, so I pulled myself together.