“You put him in the position to be killed,” I said, my anger rising. “This is your fault.”

“I caught him spyin’ on me. I had a choice—tell him what he wanted to know or let him go and lose face. Third option was beatin’ the shit out of him.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Most people would find this hard to believe, but I don’t cotton to beatin’ up teenage boys who are set on avengin’ their mother’s death.”

“Well, aren’t you the nice guy.”

His attitude shifted, from defensive to sly as he narrowed his eyes. “Let’s back up to something else. You said they were searchin’ rooms. What makes you say that?”

Oh. Shit.

“Why else would they be busting down doors?” I asked, thinking quickly. “Cecil showed up at Hank’s looking for the stash. Stands to reason that’s what they were doing at the motel.”

“So you’re just speculatin’?” he asked.

“Of course. Isn’t that what most people do when they only have a few pieces of information? They take what they know and try to make it fit.”

He scanned me up and down, although his perusal felt more calculating than it did lustful. “Yeah,” he finally said. “That’s exactly what they do.” He paused. “You keep usin’ they when you talk about the people who did this. As in more than one,” he said. “I find that peculiar.”

“Why? It’s like Hank said, Cecil talked about looking for the stash for his buddies. Stands to reason there are more of them.”

“Cecil could have done this on his own. Just because his buddies wanted a piece of the stash doesn’t mean they were involved in the murder.” He tilted his head toward me. “Got anything else to volunteer?” When I didn’t say anything, he asked, “Which hand did you hold while the boy was dyin’?”

“Does it matter?”

“It seems to matter to you since you’re not willin’ to tell me. Shouldn’t be too hard to figure out.”

I knew where he was headed with this question, and I had no idea how to thwart his agenda other than to play dumb. “Well, when you put it that way, I guess I was on his left side.”

“So you held his left hand?”

“Yes.”

He gave me a long look. “You didn’t notice anything on his hand?” he pressed.

My pulse escalated. He knew about the numbers. Did he also know what they meant?

I shook my head, hoping my directness would sell my story. “Should I have?”

He frowned. “You promised me a piece of information that you claimed the sheriff’s office didn’t have.”

“All in good time,” I said. “This is supposed to be a question and answer session, not an interrogation.”

A smirk lit up his eyes. “I prefer the word interview.”

“Call it what you like, it’s still the same thing.” I narrowed my eyes. Then in a risky and perhaps foolish move, I decided to goad him. “I’ve heard that Bart Drummond runs this town.”

A fire flashed in his eyes and then quickly faded to indifference. So he was a man who could control his temper. “The Drummonds are history in this town. They may have run it in the past, but I’m in charge now.”

“Does Bart Drummond know that?”

The left corner of his mouth lifted and a playfulness danced in his eyes. “Where’d you come from, girl?”

“I’m not a girl. I’m a woman who happened to be passing through and got stuck in a nightmare. I intend on finding my way out, so answer my question. Does Bart know you’re running it?”

“He’s deluded himself into thinking he’s in charge,” he smirked.

“So you’re in charge?”

His grin spread. “That’s right.”

“And someone’s trying to take over your turf.” I paused, then added, “Or take it back.”

He chuckled. “You think Bart Drummond’s trying to take over my drug business?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But if he wants the town back and you’re in charge, then it stands to reason he needs to knock you off your throne.”

He studied me again, more intensely than before. “So you have a theory?”

“No,” I said. “Just tryin’ to make the pieces fit.”

Uncrossing his legs, he leaned forward. “Bart Drummond is as crooked as it gets, but he’d never lower himself into the gutter of drugs.”

I shrugged. “You know this town better than me, but it’s obvious that you have dissension in your ranks. Cecil Abrams was one of your own.”

He was silent for a moment, then leaned back again, his face inscrutable. “And what about Dwight Henderson?”

Had he heard about my run-in with Dwight? “I don’t follow.”

His brow lifted. “Do you think he was one of the murderers?”

“And how would I know that?”

“We’ve established there was more than one,” he said, crossing his arms. “And we know one of my men was involved. We’ve deduced that someone is trying to horn in on my business. What do you know about Dwight?”

“I know he worked at Mobley’s funeral home until he was fired yesterday.”

“Wonder why he was so pissed to have lost his job?” Bingham asked with a sly grin.

“No,” I said slowly, “but I have a feeling you do.”

“Guess where Mobley gets his caskets?”

Dread pooled in my gut. “Atlanta.”

He sat up and pointed a finger at me. “I knew you were a smart woman.”

“So the drugs didn’t come into Drum at all?”

“The drugs didn’t come on Monday night. The dealer got scared off.” The pleased look on his face clued me in on who’d run them off. “But the plan was to send the drug shipments with the caskets. The motel meeting was supposed to confirm the details…and according to my source, bring a few samples.”

My heart sank. “Seth was there waiting for his proof to bring back to you. He died for nothing.”

“He didn’t die for nothin’. He flushed out two of the interlopers, and a traitor to boot.”

There were multiple things wrong with his statement, the greatest of which was his acceptance of Seth’s death as collateral damage. But very high up on that list was the fact that I would have recognized Dwight’s voice if he’d been in that parking lot. Could he have been the driver?

“Do you have any idea how many people are involved in this project?” I asked.

He laughed. “Project? I like that.” He shook his head in amusement, but his smile quickly faded. “No, but I suspect you can help fill in some of the blanks.”

I tried to keep my breath even and my body still so I didn’t give away my fear. “Hypothetically speaking,” I said slowly, “let’s say I do know more than I’ve been lettin’ on. What guarantee do I have that it’s enough to placate you?”

“I guess you don’t,” he said. “It’s a high-risk game for all of us.”

“So let’s say I did see more, why wouldn’t I have told the sheriff?”