by Brenda Novak
Coming back to Stillwater would change her life. She’d known that all along, intuitively. It frightened her. And yet she couldn’t bring herself to leave again. Not yet. For the past thirteen years she’d been pretending she was someone other than she was. But she refused to live like that anymore. She wanted to be able to forgive herself, to move on emotionally.
She just wasn’t sure how to do that, or if it was even possible. And she definitely wasn’t convinced that breaking into Jed’s automotive shop would help anyone.
“Why are you so quiet this morning?” her mother asked, pouring syrup on the pancakes Grace had put in front of her.
Grace carried a pitcher of orange juice to the table. Irene had been pretty quiet herself. She’d shown up late and more than a little flustered, still insisting that she’d spent the morning alone.
“Just thinking,” Grace said.
“About what?”
Returning to the counter, Grace added some bacon to her own plate before sitting down across from Irene. “Madeline.”
“She does a really nice job with the paper.”
Grace could tell from her mother’s deflecting comment that she didn’t want to talk about anything too deep. She’d always preferred to ignore the potentially upsetting.
Grace wished she could go on pretending that the veneer her mother valued so much was real. But she couldn’t. That was why she worked tirelessly to protect the vulnerable and bring those who victimized others to justice. Why she’d ultimately had to come back to Stillwater. “She thinks she knows who killed her father,” she said.
Irene made a face. “That Mike Metzger is a devil, isn’t he?”
Mike wasn’t a good man. But he hadn’t killed Lee Barker, and Irene knew it.
“She’s written some nice articles about you,” Irene said. “She’s very proud.”
Grace knew Madeline had heard the rumors about her and the boys at school, but she’d resolutely ignored them. Or maybe she’d just refused to believe them, as she refused to believe the suspicion and accusations surrounding the Montgomerys.
“She’s always stood by us,” Grace said.
Her mother took a sip of juice. “I didn’t give birth to that girl, but she’s every bit one of my own. And I know she feels the same way.”
Grace gaped at Irene. She knew she shouldn’t say it. But she couldn’t help herself. It drove her crazy that Irene seemed to take no responsibility for the past. “Provided she never finds out, right?”
A pained expression appeared on Irene’s face. “She won’t.”
More denial.
“She could.”
No answer.
“I think we should move the body,” Grace blurted.
Irene blinked in surprise. Even Grace couldn’t believe what had come out of her mouth. Going to such great lengths to continue the cover-up might only make things worse. And yet…what else could she do? Let the people she loved suffer for something that wasn’t their fault to begin with?
Her mother blanched. “Grace, please. I don’t want to talk about…any of that.”
Grace lowered her voice. Now that she’d actually stated the thought she’d squelched so many times before, she grew very convinced that they needed to act on it. “Mom, I realize this is difficult. I’m not trying to upset you. I just…I’m telling you we have to move the body.”
“Stop it,” Irene whispered harshly, glancing around as though someone might be in the house with them, listening. “We’ll do nothing of the sort.”
“Last night Joe Vincelli came over, threatening to take a backhoe to the farm.”
“Why would he do that? After eighteen years?”
“Because he feels we’re hiding something.”
“But Lee went missing so long ago. His family won’t speak to me when we pass on the street, of course. But Joe’s never caused us any trouble. Why would he start now?”
Grace rubbed the condensation from her glass. “Because he’s not thirteen anymore. And because he’s a vengeful son of a bitch.”
Irene smoothed several nonexistent wrinkles on her skirt. “The police searched the farm, and they didn’t find anything. Joe won’t, either.”
“But he’s not the only threat. Madeline’s just as determined to look for answers. If she prints possible leads in the paper again, it’ll never end. Folks around town are already dredging up all the old tales about who saw what when. Maybe in some other place, a bigger place, the scandal would’ve been forgotten by now. But not here, especially with Joe’s family in town, believing we got away with murder. And not with Madeline running the newspaper and keeping her father’s disappearance constantly in the public eye.”
“It’s only natural she’d want to know.”
Grace grabbed her mother’s arm. “Mom, the sharks in this town have been circling for years, biding their time, waiting. Something could give us away. We need to get rid of the reverend’s remains while we still have the chance. Bury them deep in the woods.”
Her mother raised her juice but her hand was shaking too badly to manage another drink. Returning the glass to the table, she covered her mouth. “No. I—I can’t face it.”
“We have to make some changes,” Grace insisted. “Clay can’t live on that farm forever. He deserves some freedom, to marry, to move on. If we get rid of the remains, there’ll be nothing to tie us to the reverend’s disappearance. But if anyone ever finds that body where it is…”
“Heaven help us,” Irene finished with a whimper.
“Exactly.”
Her mother began to wring her hands. “But it’s been so long. That—that night…” She stared at her plate, obviously replaying scenes in her mind that she’d rather not see. Eventually she shook her head. “No, we should sit tight. If we change…the place, we could make a mistake, miss something, leave evidence—and then Lee will win in the end. He’ll destroy me, us, even Madeline.”
Irene was getting too worked up.
Suddenly, Grace saw how fragile her mother had become, and let go of her arm. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the food around on her plate as it grew cold. Irene no longer had the strength or the presence of mind she’d once possessed; they couldn’t rely on her for the kind of decisions she’d made, with Clay’s help, in the past. Maybe Clay had figured that out first. Maybe that was why he shielded her so well.
“I’m sorry,” Grace said. “Don’t—don’t worry about it, okay? I was wrong. We’re fine.”
Irene’s eyes darted around the kitchen. “You really think so?”
“I know so.” Grace patted her forearm. “I let Joe spook me and I…overreacted, that’s all.”
“You’re sure?”
Grace assumed a calm she didn’t feel. “Positive.”
Her mother nodded. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. I—Everything’s going so well for us now. Finally. It—it wouldn’t be fair if—”
“I know.” Grace motioned to her mother’s plate. “Are you finished?”
“Yes.”
“Let me take this.”
Standing, she carried the dishes to the sink, wondering what she was going to do now that her mother couldn’t cope with the past. “Do you like your job at Amelia’s Dress Boutique?” she asked, to provide a refuge in the conversation.
“I get a twenty percent discount there,” Irene said, eagerly following her lead.
“You have good taste. You always look so nice.” Grace smiled encouragingly. “Here, I’ll walk you to the car. I don’t want to make you late,” she said. And for the first time since her return, she realized how important it was that she’d come home. Not only did she need her family, her family needed her.
Teddy Archer stood on the doorstep of Evonne’s house, and wondered whether or not he should knock. His father had dropped him off at his grandmother’s place a while ago, but he’d known it was far too early to visit anyone. He’d forced himself to wait as long as he could—and hoped it was long enough. But now that he’d reached the porch, he could
see a couple of Vicki Nibley For Mayor signs leaning against the house and guessed his new friend was “in the enemy camp,” as his grandmother put it.
Grandma hated anyone who liked Mrs. Nibley. She called Mrs. Nibley a “bleeding heart liberal” and said she and her friends would ruin the town. But Grace didn’t seem so bad to Teddy. She’d given him that extra dollar when he pulled weeds for her, hadn’t she? It was probably still okay if he collected his cookies.
Making his decision, he knocked and straightened the bill of his ball cap while waiting for Grace to come to the door.
Once she appeared, he immediately felt better because she seemed genuinely happy to see him. “Hello,” she said.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he jerked his head toward the deep ruts he’d noticed in the lawn just before he’d seen the campaign signs. “Someone gave you a lawn job last night.”
She followed the direction of his gaze. “I know.”
“You do? Who was it?”
She frowned. “A man named Joe.”
Teddy recognized that name. “Vincelli?”
“That’s him. You know him?”
“Yeah, he’s funny.”
“Maybe some people think so. But I’m not too impressed.”
Not everyone liked Joe. Teddy had once heard a friend of his grandmother’s say she felt sorry for Joe’s parents, that their son was a “no account” boy. He wasn’t sure what that meant exactly. But he knew it wasn’t good. And he knew there were some things he wasn’t supposed to repeat, so he didn’t mention it. Instead, he pointed toward the signs. “You’re voting for Mrs. Nibley?”
“I am.”
“How come?” he asked, squinting up at her.
“I’m not a big fan of Kennedy Archer.”
“Oh.” She didn’t like his father, either? He wasn’t sure what to make of that.
“What about you?” she asked. “If you were old enough to vote, who would you choose?”
“Not Vicki Nibley,” he admitted.
“So you’re an Archer man?”
He nodded.
“Do you know him?”
He nodded again. He thought he should probably tell her that Kennedy was his dad, but he was afraid she’d hate him, too, if he did. “He’s nice,” he said, hoping to win her over.
“If you say so.” She was still smiling, but something in her voice told Teddy he hadn’t convinced her. “Are you ready for your cookies?”
They’d finally arrived at the cookies. He grinned. “Yeah.”
“Great. I baked a big batch for you last night. Should I get the phone so we can call your mother? Let’s ask if you can come in and have a few cookies with a glass of milk.”
Teddy tilted his head to look past her and into the house. He could smell the yummy aroma he remembered so clearly from his mother’s kitchen; he wanted to go in and pretend his house would smell like that again someday.
But his father had told him he couldn’t go in her house. Staring at the porch floor, he scuffed one sneaker against the other. “Um…my mom’s not home.”
“Who’s watching you, then?”
“My grandmother,” he said. “She already knows I’m here.”
“You’re sure.”
He nodded, but she still seemed hesitant.
“In that case, why don’t we spread a blanket under the trees and eat out on the back lawn?”
Even if she didn’t like his father, she seemed really nice. And eating on the back lawn was probably okay. It was still outside, wasn’t it? “That’d be good,” he said in relief. “And when we’re done, maybe I could work for you again today. If you need me.”
The smile that beamed down on him felt like sunshine.
“I was about to unlock the toolshed and visit the root cellar, which is always an adventure.”
“Why is it an adventure?” he asked.
“Have you ever been there before?”
“Once, with Evonne. I helped her bring up some beets.”
“Don’t you think it’s spooky, with all those spider-webs?”
“I’m not afraid of spiders.” He stood taller so she’d believe him, even though the root cellar was a little scary. “But why do you want to go into the cellar?”
“To count what’s left of the bottled peaches and tomatoes. I’m going to reopen Evonne’s Homestyle Fixin’s.”
“Her stand?” Excitement buzzed through him like a horde of bees. When he’d started spending his days at his grandmother’s last summer, Evonne had let him come over a lot. Somehow being at her place made him feel happy inside. “I can count really good.”
“I’ll bet you can,” she said with a laugh. “In any case, I’m glad to have your company.” She held the door a little wider. “Would you like to help me carry everything outside? After our snack, we’ll get busy.”
Teddy hesitated for only a second. He wouldn’t be inside long, so it wasn’t as if he was really disobeying his father. Besides, his dad would expect him to help. Helping was always the right thing to do. Even Grandma said that.
“Okay.” He followed her inside and, a moment later, the familiarity of the house seemed to enfold him in a warm embrace.
Kennedy stood in his office at the bank and studied the large painting of Raymond Milton that hung on his wall. As a child, Kennedy’s father, Otis Archer, had lived in the neighboring town of Iuka in a home with a dirt floor. He’d had a widowed mother and ten siblings. He hadn’t graduated from high school because he’d had to run the cotton farm on which his family lived—and he’d had to work at the gas station in town when he wasn’t on the farm. With no money for college, the prospects for improving his situation were few. Yet he’d managed to convince Raymond Milton, who’d made a fortune in trucking when Iuka was the most important shipping point on the Mobile and Ohio Railroads, that he had the capacity to make it big. Milton lent him a little seed money and, when he was only twenty-five, Otis had started Stillwater Trust Bank and Loan.
By thirty, Otis had made his first million and won the heart of Milton’s youngest daughter, Camille, who’d married him shortly after. At forty, Kennedy’s father had become mayor of Stillwater and, when Grandpa Milton died the year Kennedy was born, Otis inherited another million.
Otis Archer had gone from being a poor, uneducated boy to the most important man in Stillwater. He’d built quite a legacy.
His secretary buzzed, but Kennedy didn’t respond. After the call he’d just had from the police chief, he knew it would be Joe. Besides the fact that he didn’t want to talk to his friend, he had an off-site meeting and needed to leave so he wouldn’t be late. But something about his grandfather’s portrait held him fast. Although the town wasn’t as sophisticated as a lot of other places, Kennedy loved Stillwater. He thought he’d make a good mayor. He’d certainly been groomed for the job, was comfortable with the path that lay ahead. But he wasn’t ready to see his father’s memorial picture hanging next to his grandfather’s. It was too soon after Raelynn’s death to say goodbye to another member of his family.
“I told her your car was still in the lot.”
Kennedy turned as Joe Vincelli barged into his office. “What a surprise to see you.”
Joe didn’t pick up on the sarcasm in his voice. “Why didn’t you answer when Lilly buzzed?”
“I was preoccupied.”
Joe’s eyebrows shot up; apparently he considered that a pretty lame excuse. But then, no one else knew about the cancer slowly destroying Otis’s body. Neither Kennedy nor his parents wanted word to get out. The bank’s stock would plummet once investors realized that the chairman of the board probably wouldn’t live through Christmas. And Kennedy wasn’t sure he could take the pity he’d receive.
He wasn’t sure how they’d keep his father’s condition a secret, when Otis started chemotherapy next month. But for the good of the bank and its employees—and for the sake of preserving the privacy he and his mother both prized—he knew they’d try.
“What’s up?�
� he asked as though he hadn’t already heard.
“I want McCormick to reopen my uncle’s case.”
Kennedy looked at his friend, wondering why, after so many years of letting the case grow cold, Joe was so keen on another investigation. Sure, Barker was a member of his family. But Joe had been thirteen when the reverend went missing. And he’d never pressed particularly hard for a resolution before. “Chief McCormick called me a few minutes ago to say you’d been in,” he admitted.
“He told me he couldn’t reopen the case without a reason,” Joe said, slouching into a seat. “But I know if you’ll put a little pressure on him, he’ll do it.”
“What good would it do to reopen the case?” Kennedy asked.
“Maybe we’d find something this time.”
“And maybe we wouldn’t.”
“Come on, Kennedy. We all know Clay or Irene killed my uncle. It’s time to prove it. And think what a great running platform it would make for you. Vicki Nibley wouldn’t have a prayer if you were responsible for figuring out what went on at the farm that night.”
Kennedy moved back to his desk and sat on the corner. When they were twelve and Joe’s father had taken them camping, Kennedy had slipped on a slick rock and fallen into the Yocona River. It was barely dawn. Joe’s father was still sleeping, and there was no time to get him. It was Joe who’d jumped in to save Kennedy from the brutal current that had swept him under the ledge of a second massive rock. He’d nearly forfeited his own life in the process.
Kennedy owed Joe a lot, but this wasn’t right. “I’m not worried about the mayoral seat,” he said. “If I lose, I have enough work here at the bank to keep me busy.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve dreamed of filling your father’s shoes for years.”
“It won’t destroy my life if I don’t take public office.”
“Don’t you want to know what happened to my uncle?”
Kennedy was curious. Everyone was. Grace’s sudden return had started tongues wagging all over again. Some people said they saw the reverend’s car pull into his own drive that night so long ago; others said they saw him heading out of town the opposite way. According to Kennedy’s conversation with McCormick a few minutes earlier, one woman had even come forward to say she’d seen the reverend in a mall in Jackson only a few months ago. Most people, however, pointed fingers at Irene or Clay. Some claimed Grace had killed him, although she was just a young teenager at the time. Only Madeline, who was gone the night everything happened, was free from accusation.
