“How about I look at it tomorrow? In the meantime, I’ll do some research on fitting cars for amputees.”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling unsettled, although I couldn’t figure out why. Was it because Wyatt had made me begin to doubt whether Hank’s feelings for me were genuine or meant for a ghost, or because Wyatt had gone to new lengths to try win me back?

Probably both.

Chapter Eleven

I left Wyatt and headed toward Ewing, glancing over the instructions Greta had given me. I wasn’t surprised she still remembered where Ashlynn lived. It was only four miles down the road from her sister’s mobile home, which looked even trashier than it had a few months ago now that Greta had moved out.

The Crimshaws lived in a one-story house set about thirty feet back from the road. An old, metal mobile home sat about fifty feet to the side of the house. A small rusted hatchback was parked in the driveway to the house, and a pickup truck sat in front of the trailer. The house needed to be painted, but it looked like Pam had tried to make it inviting. Or at least she’d tried at some point. There were beds of flowers on either side of the front door, but the yard was full of weeds.

I parked my car behind the hatchback, weighing my options. I’d planned to bring the casserole to Ashlynn, but that was before I knew she lived next door to her family. While I still wanted to talk to Ashlynn, now I also had an opportunity to talk to Pam’s sons or possibly her husband.

I approached the house and had started to climb the concrete steps, taking note of the loose wrought iron handrail, when the front door opened and a teenage boy stepped out. A hard look filled his eyes.

“What do you want?”

Was this Ricky or Thad? Whoever he was, he was rude, but then again, his mother was semi-famous for murdering a man. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d had reporters knocking on their door. “Hi,” I said with what I hoped was a friendly smile. “I’m Carly, and I work at Max’s Tavern. I know your mother.”

“She ain’t here,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “She’s in jail for offin’ a guy.”

I tried not to wince at his bluntness. “That’s why I’m here. I thought maybe y’all could use a home-cooked meal.”

“Diane send you?” he asked, lifting his gaze and taking in the road behind me as though she might be lurking out there.

“No, Sandy sent me. I know Diane made a schedule for people to bring you food, but Sandy said she was sure it would be okay.”

“What is it?” the teen asked with a slight toss of his head.

“Chicken and rice casserole.”

“Cream of chicken or cream of mushroom soup?” a male voice shouted from inside.

“Uh…cream of chicken,” I called out.

“Tell her to bring it in,” the voice shouted.

The kid stepped out of the way, letting me walk inside.

The living room was dark, but I could see another boy sitting on the worn brown microsuede sofa, his fingers furiously clicking on the controller in his hands as he played a video game on the TV screen. Dirty plates and open cans of pop littered the coffee and end tables, along with several open bags of chips.

“Put it on the table.” He gave me a cursory glance and started to turn toward the screen again, but his gaze jerked back to me. “Hey, I’ve seen you before.”

“She works at the bar in town,” the first boy said.

“The tavern,” I said. “It’s actually different from a bar.”

“No kidding,” said the kid playing the video game. “How so?”

“A tavern serves food.” I lifted my brow. “And lets underaged kids inside.”

He laughed. “How do you know I’m underage?”

“Please,” I said in a drawl as I carried the casserole dish into the kitchen. If the living room looked bad, the kitchen was worse. The limited counter space was covered in dirty dishes and pots.

He laughed again, returning his attention to the game. “You know my mom?”

“I know her from the tavern. She comes in with her friends for lunch.”

“The old bitches’ club,” he said with a derisive laugh.

I tamped down my irritation. Neither one of them seemed concerned about their mother, but it wouldn’t do me favors to say so. “Have you seen or talked to your mom since she was arrested?”

The kid on the couch made a face. “Nah. We can’t see her.”

“What about your dad?”

The kid who’d answered the door laughed. “He ain’t gonna waste his time.”

“Why not?” I asked, trying to hide my shock.

Disgust covered his face. “She’s never gettin’ out, so why would he bother?”

I stared at him in disbelief. “Because he loves her?”

The guy on the sofa slapped his thigh and barked, “That’s a good one.”

“Don’t you guys care that your mother is in jail?” I hadn’t intended to say it so bluntly, but it burst out of me.

The kid on the sofa looked up at me, and I saw momentary pain flicker over his face, but he quickly covered it up with a look of manufactured contempt. “I’m gonna be movin’ to Knoxville in another year. So I wouldn’t be seein’ much of her then anyway.”

So this was Ricky. It was obvious this was hurting him a lot more than he was letting on. “You planning to go to college at UT?”

He snort-laughed. “That’s a good one.”

I couldn’t help myself from asking, “Do you have a career plan?”

“Now you sound like my teachers,” he said with a sneer.

“Yeah, well…” Old habits died hard.

“Thanks for the casserole,” Ricky said, returning to his video game. “We’ll be sure to eat it later.”

So I’d been dismissed. Not that I was surprised. “Yeah, sure.” I headed to the door, feeling like I’d screwed up, not because I’d failed to get useful information, but because Pam’s kid was hurting and he clearly didn’t know how to express it. Or feel like he could.

I started to walk out the front door, but I couldn’t bring myself to just leave like that. Turning around, I asked, “Hey, did you know Seth Chalmers?”

“What?” His gaze shot up to mine.

“Seth Chalmers. The boy who was killed last November. I think he was about your age.”

His expression sobered. “Yeah, I knew him.” His eyes widened. “Hey, you’re the woman who saw him killed, ain’t ya?”

“Yeah.”

His forehead furrowed. “Why’re you asking about him?”

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully, but to be honest, Seth was never far from my thoughts. I was sleeping in his bed. Living with his grandfather. I’d been the one to pack up his things. I’d held his hand while he died. The only people I knew who’d been close to Seth were Hank and Wyatt, but I suspected his friends had seen a different side. Still, I hadn’t even thought to ask about him until I was leaving, thinking about Ricky’s potentially wasted future. Maybe the reason I’d hesitated to leave Ricky like this was because I couldn’t help Seth, but Ricky still had a chance to make something of himself. “Were you two friends?”