“Did anyone verify his story? Make sure he didn’t kill her?”

“Not that I know of,” he said. “When Rodney disappeared, the sheriff’s department poked around a bit, but what could they do? The boy was gone. Todd backed up his daddy’s claim that the kid had gone to live with his mother. No one ever could find her to ask. Max and me and the other kids were sure Floyd had gotten carried away with one of his infamous beatin’s and killed the poor kid, but we had no way to prove it and the sheriff’s department wanted to wipe their hands of the whole thing. I’m pretty sure they saw him as one less future hoodlum to deal with, especially since his older brother was already givin’ them a run for their money.”

I was so horrified by the thought that Bingham’s father had likely killed his son and both of his wives and gotten away with it that it took a moment before Marco’s last statement sank in. “I looked Todd Bingham up on the internet and there was no mention of any arrests. Did I miss something?”

“You didn’t miss a thing. He might not have been on the internet, but he’s definitely been on our radar. He’s got a juvie record, and while he kept stirring up shit after he hit eighteen, he was smart enough to make sure it was never linked back to him.” Marco turned to me. “Bingham’s wicked smart, Carly. And with his father’s history, he’s damn dangerous. Do not underestimate him.”

I nodded. He was only confirming what I’d already suspected. “How old were you when Rodney disappeared?”

“Third grade. I think he was eight.”

I did a quick mental calculation in my head. “So Todd Bingham was twenty-three.”

“That sounds about right.”

I had so many other questions, but a multiple building complex came into view, so I limited myself to the most pressing one. “What happened to their father? Is he still alive?”

“Nope. He died about six months later. Tripped into a woodchipper. I hear it was grisly.”

“Fell into a woodchipper?” I asked in surprise. “Did anyone really believe that?”

“I doubt it, but I don’t think anyone was too sorry to see him go, so they took the word of the lone eyewitness.”

“And who was that?” I asked.

“Todd Bingham himself,” he said, giving me a sideways glance as he pulled up in front of a house that was at the front of the property. A large metal building was about fifty feet to the right of the house, surrounded by too many old cars to count on either side. Several more of them were parked behind it, going back as far as I could see. Another smaller building sat a bit farther back. I couldn’t tell if it was a shed or an old barn.

“What did Floyd do for a living?” I asked, an idea formulating in my head.

“Ran that junkyard you’re lookin’ at. Todd took it over and made it into a chop shop. The paperwork claims he’s doin’ it on cars he owns or was hired to work on, but we know he’s stealin’ ’em too. We just haven’t caught him yet.”

More like they were turning the other cheek.

“Have you figured out how you’re gonna approach him yet?” Marco asked.

“I’m gonna ask him to buy my car.” I got out, heading up to the front porch of the bungalow-style house that had probably seen its glory days back in the Prohibition era. With the faded and peeling paint, it was obvious Bingham wasn’t going for curb appeal.

I knocked on the door and waited, peering around for any sign of Lula. Nothing popped out, not that I’d really expected it to be so easy. Bingham might feel safe and secluded out here, but he wasn’t stupid enough to chain her to his front porch.

The door opened and Bingham filled the doorway. I’d somehow forgotten how big he was, or maybe he only seemed bigger because I wasn’t in a safe zone.

He held a beer can in his hand and wore a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that read, The South Lives.

“Well, well, well,” he smirked. “This is quite the surprise. What brings you to darken my doorstep, Ms. Moore?” He said my name in a snide tone.

“I want to scrap my old car, and I want to know how much you’ll give me for it.”

He nodded to Marco’s SUV, which was parked perpendicular to the house. “You needed a sheriff deputy escort for that?”

So he’d recognized Marco. I’d been counting on it. “Marco and I were takin’ a nice drive so he could get out of the house, and when he mentioned you lived down this way, I suggested we stop.”

He laughed. “Is that so?” Leaning his shoulder into the doorframe, he said, “I already offered to buy your car, but your boyfriend said no.”

“What?” This was the first I’d heard of it—the first I’d even heard of Wyatt talking to Bingham—and I couldn’t hide my shock.

His brows shot up. “He didn’t tell you, huh? I’m surprised—not about his refusal to sell it to me. He’s never sold me nothin’ since he bought that business. But I am surprised he didn’t tell you that I’d offered. I took it that you two had a more modern relationship.”

The last thing I intended to do was discuss my relationship—or lack thereof—with Wyatt. “Wyatt Drummond doesn’t run my life or the fate of my car. I’m ready to be done with it, so I want to work out an arrangement.” I peered past him into his living room, which was full of faded, vintage-style furniture. “You gonna invite me in to discuss it?”

His eyes narrowed. “You know, this has the look and feel of entrapment all over it. Have you become a deputy sheriff, Carly Moore?”

I puffed out my chest and lifted my chin as I propped my hands on my hips. “Got something to hide, Todd Bingham?”

He started laughing. “I never know what’s gonna come out of that smart mouth of yours.” The laughter faded, and his mouth settled into a harsh line. “But the answer is no. I never conduct business in my house. We can do this out here because it will be short and sweet. I can offer you a thousand dollars.”

I shook my head. “Nope. Not enough. I need a new car, so I need more money than that.”

“Sounds like a personal problem, sweetheart. Not mine. Take it or leave it.”

“Fine,” I said, dropping my arms. “I’ll leave it.”

I turned to walk toward the steps, but he called out good-naturedly, “Well now, hold on there.”

I paused and half-turned back to him. “You ready to stop insultin’ me?”

He chuckled. “I’ve got a business to run here. Can’t blame a man for lowballin’. Name a price.”

The problem was I hadn’t looked up the value of my car because I’d trusted Wyatt to handle it. Whenever I’d brought up my car, he’d told me there was no hurry and he was looking into finding a buyer. Why hadn’t he told me that Bingham had made an offer? It might be a wreck on wheels, but I was the one who got to decide what to do with it, not him. His silence on the matter only reinforced the fact that I could rely on only one person—me.

I decided to shoot high and negotiate to the middle. “Six thousand.”

With a sly grin, he shook his head. “I never took you for a dreamer, Ms. Moore.”

I was surprised he was following the rules of etiquette I’d set up the night before. But Marco was right—Todd Bingham was wicked smart, and I knew he was playing some long game…but what was his prize?