by Brenda Novak
Clay wanted to be angry with Irene, but if Lucas had called him, he might’ve been tempted to reveal just as much. Lucas could win anyone’s confidence. His problem was that he couldn’t live up to the promises he made.
And that might prove true once again.
“Good night,” Clay said as Allie opened the door to climb out.
Her lips curved in a sympathetic smile. “It’s his loss, Clay.”
“Don’t.”
Her eyes widened. “Don’t what?”
“Pity me.” He turned to look at her. “Love me or hate me. But don’t pity me.”
She rubbed her arms. She hadn’t brought a coat. “Interesting choice,” she said and shut the door.
“How’d it go last night?”
Allie’s mother sat beside her father at the breakfast table, drinking a cup of coffee. Evelyn was wearing a bathrobe and slippers, but Dale was dressed in the clothes he wore to mow the lawn. His reading glasses were perched on the end of his nose and he was skimming the newspaper while doing his best to ignore Whitney, who kept yelling, “Jump in!” and tossing her Barbies into the kitchen sink.
“Aren’t you going to answer your mother?” he asked when Allie didn’t say anything.
“It was fine,” she said. She hoped to minimize the fact that she’d even gone out. She’d asked her mother to babysit so she could do some investigative work. Instead, she’d let loose and simply had fun. She’d rather not analyze why, but she knew it had a lot to do with how she felt when she was around Clay.
“That’s it?” Evelyn said. “Just fine?”
Allie shrugged, feeling uncomfortable beneath the pointed stare of her father. “Pretty much.”
“Where’s your car?” he asked solemnly, angling his head to see her more clearly over his glasses.
Her parents had always watched her closely. It came with being the daughter of a cop. But she hadn’t expected her father to resume the old watch now that she was thirty-three. “I see you’re still on your toes,” she said wryly.
“I had some caulking to do in the shed earlier.”
“Right.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “What time did I get in?”
“Two.”
“Two what?”
“Two-thirteen.”
She chuckled. “Some things never change.”
“But I don’t want to go swimming,” Whitney said in a high-pitched voice, posing a Barbie on the edge of the sink.
Dale leaned forward. “Where’s your car?”
“It’s at the pool hall,” she said as indifferently as possible.
“What’s it doing there?”
She lowered her voice. “I didn’t want to drive.”
This explanation met with a moment’s silence, enough to tell Allie her parents didn’t approve.
“You weren’t drunk!” her mother whispered, sounding horrified.
“Buzzed would be a better word. But before you start to panic, let me assure you that one night does not constitute a problem.”
Evelyn’s forehead wrinkled in concern. “I don’t understand why you’d drink so much. Ever.”
“I was tired so I took some No-Doz to help me stay awake. It didn’t mix well with beer. That’s all.”
“And you thought it would?” she asked as if such a flimsy excuse made it even worse.
“At least I didn’t try to drive,” Allie said, hoping they’d see that as something positive. But they weren’t so easy to console.
“Who were you drinking with?” her father asked.
They’d finally arrived at the inevitable question. Allie took a deep breath, because she knew her parents wouldn’t like this answer any more than they had the others. “Madeline Barker. Kirk Vantassel. And Clay.”
“Montgomery?” her father bellowed.
Whitney dropped her Barbies and turned to watch the drama unfolding at the table. Allie wanted to tell Dale to calm down, but she had her mouth full and couldn’t speak. She’d taken a big spoonful of cereal in an attempt to act nonchalant, as if she expected Evelyn and Dale to react no differently to Clay’s name than to the others. But her ploy hadn’t worked.
“Tell me it’s not true,” her mother said.
Allie managed to swallow “It’s true.”
“I’ve never known you to be a drinker.”
“I’m not.”
“Yet the first time you go out with Clay, you come home after two in the morning, drunk.”
“Stop it! You—it’s not how you’re making it sound. I was tired, but Madeline said Clay would be at the pool hall, and I wanted to ask him a few questions about Barker’s disappearance. That’s why I took the No-Doz.”
“And then you drank on top of it.”
“I didn’t think a few beers would make any difference. And then…” She stopped because she couldn’t explain, at least to their satisfaction, how her interview intentions had so easily turned into pool and dancing. Especially dancing. When she closed her eyes, she could still smell the scent of Clay’s cologne and feel the strength of his arms around her, guiding her body in perfect rhythm with his.
Dale set the newspaper aside. “And then?” he encouraged when her words dwindled away.
She figured the less she said, the better. “When I needed a ride home, Clay was kind enough to offer.”
“You think he was being nice?” Dale said.
“Yes.”
“Shows how naive you are!”
“How do you know he wasn’t simply being nice?” she challenged, irritated by the whole Inquisition routine.
“Because I’m familiar with his reputation.”
“So am I. Most people in Stillwater keep a list of every mistake he’s ever made!”
“Yet you got into his car, knowing he could be dangerous.”
Clenching her jaw, Allie began to tap her spoon against the side of her bowl. “If you think he’s dangerous, why won’t you support me in my investigation? Officially reopen the case? Don’t you want to know if he’s really the one who murdered Lee Barker?”
Her father rattled his paper as if he had a lot to say but was deliberately holding back.
“Dad?”
“I told you, we have more important issues to worry about,” he snapped. “You should spend your time on something that matters.”
“Why don’t we ask Madeline if this matters?”
“You have no business with Clay Montgomery.” His face turned even redder than when he’d caught her necking on the porch after her junior prom. “You’ve chosen poorly once. I’m not going to stand by while you do it again.”
“Dale,” her mother warned, but it was too late. Allie shoved her cereal bowl aside and got up.
“How dare you!”
Gripping the table, he pulled himself to his feet and loomed over her. “I dare because I’m your father!”
Allie refused to let him intimidate her the way he used to. “You wouldn’t be treating Danny like this.”
“He’s a man.”
“So? We’re all adults, and you’re being ridiculous.” She glanced between her parents. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”
“Just stay away from Clay, from all the Montgomerys,” he said.
“Mommy? Are you in trouble?” Whitney asked, her eyes round.
Allie glared at her parents. “No. I’m old enough to make my own decisions,” she said and stalked out of the room.
7
Clay reserved most weekends and weeknights for working on the vintage cars he restored in his barn. It was a solitary occupation, but most of his activities were. He didn’t mind being alone. He took his time with each car and generally enjoyed the change of pace.
Today, however, he hadn’t been himself. He felt listless, bored, preoccupied. Again and again, his thoughts drifted to Allie. At first, he tried to convince himself that he was merely searching for the best way to neutralize the threat she posed. Holding his enemy close and all that. But by midafternoon he was ready to admit t
hat his desires didn’t stem from a motivation nearly that subversive. He wasn’t strategizing about how to protect himself or his family. For once in his life, he wasn’t even thinking about the past.
He wanted to take her to dinner. To go out as though he wasn’t harboring any dark secrets, as though he was just like any other man.
After wiping his greasy hands on a towel, he began putting away his tools. There was no point in working on the Jag today; he wasn’t making any real progress. He kept staring off into space, remembering the expressions that had flitted across Allie’s face the night before, and repeating the same thing: Forget it. Why would she ever go out with you?
He could think of one very obvious reason: she still wanted to talk about Barker. She’d go if she believed he’d provide her with some detail she didn’t already know. But he was reluctant to entice her with such an irresistible hook. He wanted her to go because she wanted to be with him. It was that simple—and that complicated.
“Clay? Where are you?”
Recognizing his sister’s voice, he poked his head out of the barn to find Grace standing on the steps of his back porch, her extended stomach clearly defined by her dress. New life. He was fascinated by her pregnancy, loved hearing her talk with so much enthusiasm about the coming baby. Her husband’s gaze trailed after her wherever she moved; Heath and Teddy cuddled up to her at every opportunity.
A yearning for the things that really mattered in life grew so strong in Clay that it momentarily stole his breath, and he halted in mid-stride. In the glare of the afternoon sun, which was unseasonably hot for mid-May, he could easily imagine another woman standing where Grace stood now. A woman waiting for him, big with his child.
“What’s wrong?” she called.
Shaking his head to clear away the silly daydream, he started forward again. He couldn’t bring a woman—a wife—to the farm and expect her to fight the same negative sentiments he did, couldn’t claim her heart and then leave her husbandless if the truth ever came out.
“Nothing.” He shaded his eyes with his hand as he approached. “How’s the baby?”
“Fine. Getting big, as you can see. I feel like a moose.”
“Don’t,” he said. “You’ve never been prettier.”
She smiled when he reached her. “You’re sincere about that?”
“Would I lie to you?” He offered her a lopsided grin. “Besides, how can I not think you’re beautiful? You look just like me.”
She gave him a playful slug, then settled into the porch swing.
“Would you like a cold drink?” he asked.
She’d pulled her thick black hair into a ponytail, but several strands fell loose around her face, framing eyes the same blue as his own. “No, thanks. I had a late lunch.”
He needed to wash up, but ridding himself of the grease on his hands required heavy-duty soap, a stiff-bristled brush and ten full minutes of scrubbing. Because Grace never stayed at the farm very long, he decided he’d get to see more of her if he waited until she left to start that routine.
He sat next to her. “Where’re the boys?”
“Fishing with their father one last time before the baby gets here.”
“What if you go into labor while they’re gone?”
“They’re not far, just down at the old Hatfield pond. And Kennedy’s got his pager with him.” Kicking off her sandals, Grace tucked her feet beneath her and leaned her head on his shoulder.
“I’ll get you dirty,” he warned.
“I don’t care.” She seemed so peaceful and content as she closed her eyes and let him swing her that he began to feel guilty about the dissatisfaction he felt with his own life. At least his sister was happy. How many years had she suffered because he hadn’t looked out for her the way he should have? “I didn’t know Kennedy had a pager,” he said.
“He didn’t until last week. He went out and bought one because he doesn’t trust his cell phone. I’m supposed to call both the minute I go into labor.”
Clay chuckled and continued to move the swing. “You’ll remember to call me as soon as Junior arrives, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Have you decided on a name?”
“If it’s a girl, she’ll be Lauren Elizabeth.”
“Nice. But I’m predicting a boy.”
Her smile grew shy as she sat up. “Then he’ll be Isaiah Clayton.”
He studied her in surprise. “After me?”
She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “If you don’t mind.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re such a good brother.”
A lump swelled in his throat, making it difficult to talk.
They rocked in silence for a moment. Then she nudged him. “I hear Allie McCormick is searching for Dad.”
He nodded.
“What a relief he doesn’t know anything that can hurt us.”
Clay glanced at her but kept his mouth shut. Irene hadn’t told Grace? Considering Grace’s situation, he was glad. She didn’t need the worry. She’d been through enough, and none of it had been her fault. “Yeah, what a relief,” he echoed.
“Do you think she’ll find him?”
He stared at his greasy hands. “She already has.”
She put her feet down to stop the swaying motion. “Where is he?”
“Alaska.”
“What’s he doing all the way up there?”
“He’s remarried.”
The expression on her face momentarily revealed the old fragility. The mention of Lucas had obviously brought back bad memories.
Reaching out, Clay squeezed her hand despite the grease on his own. “He’s not worth the pain,” he said softly.
Her smile appeared forced, but she nodded. “Has Allie come snooping around here yet?”
“She’s been by, but not because of Barker.”
“You’re talking about what happened with Beth Ann.”
He scowled. “God, is there anyone who hasn’t heard?”
She laughed and, relieved to see her smile again, he relaxed in the seat.
“She’s telling everyone you want a baby, you know,” she said, wiping the grease he’d transferred to her on his dirty T-shirt.
“I didn’t know. But that’s crazy.”
She angled her head to size him up. “Is it?”
“Of course. I’m not even married.”
“You’ve been almost as interested in this baby as Kennedy.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I’m the kid’s uncle.”
“Maybe it’s time you started thinking about settling down and having some children of your own.”
They both knew a man didn’t get more settled than he was. Unless he wanted to wind up in prison, he couldn’t go anywhere. And he’d be stupid to marry. But he knew it hurt Grace to acknowledge the limitations of his situation, so he played along. “I’m sure I’ll know when I meet the right woman.”
“Don’t let what happened stop you,” she said, suddenly fierce.
How could he not let it stop him? He couldn’t pretend he didn’t have the remains of his stepfather buried in the cellar. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m fine as I am.”
She stared off into space, toward the barn. He’d torn down the horse stalls to make room for his car shop, but he knew that, for Grace, the barn held the worst memories of all. At one end was the reverend’s office, where Barker used to prepare his sermons. It was also where he’d tie Grace up and—
Clay winced, unable to think about it. They’d left that office completely intact for nineteen years, as if they believed he might one day return, until last summer when Grace had finally snapped and torn the place apart. Clay had since boxed up the reverend’s belongings and passed them on to Madeline, but that two-hundred square feet of space still felt evil. Clay never went in there.
“What is it?” he asked. Once the memories crowded this close, Grace never lingered—unless she had a good reason.
When she reache
d for his hand, her fingers were cold, despite the warmth of the sun. “I ran into Reverend Portenski at the drugstore.”
“I didn’t realize you knew Reverend Portenski.” Grace never went to church anymore. Of Irene’s three children, she’d once been the most receptive to spiritual guidance. But that was before Barker.
“We’ve seen each other around town, of course. Usually he won’t even look at me, and I ignore him. I guess he hasn’t seen my soul as worth saving. Or he knew he’d be wasting his breath, even if he tried. But this last encounter…”
“What?” Clay prompted.
“He approached me with the oddest expression on his face.”
“What kind of expression?”
“Sort of pained or filled with regret or…I’m not sure.”
“What’d he say?”
“That God knows all things and that his wrath will destroy the wicked.”
Clay felt instantly defensive. He was always defensive of Grace. But judging by his own experience with Portenski, what she’d just told him didn’t make any sense. “That doesn’t sound like him,” he said. “When I first started going back to church several months ago, he made sure everyone knew he was fine with having me there. I think some people, like Joe, were trying to convince him I shouldn’t be allowed to participate, because he delivered a rather passionate sermon saying it wasn’t his place to judge. ‘God is the only one who knows the thoughts and intents of each man’s heart and reserves judgment for himself,’ he said.”
“But I didn’t get the impression that he was blaming me, Clay. It was almost as if he was trying to tell me that Barker will be punished for his sins.”
Clay’s muscles tensed. “Do you think he knows?”
“I do.”
“But how could he? We searched the entire church and personally boxed up everything in Barker’s private rooms. The pictures weren’t there. What we burned must’ve been all of them.”
“No.” They’d had this discussion before. Although it was difficult for Grace to talk about, she always maintained that there had to be more. Barker’s fetish included the camera. She claimed he’d taken hundreds of Polaroids.
“Then, where did he hide them?”
