Dead Giveaway

by Brenda Novak

  “This isn’t about loyalty. At least not entirely. I need the job,” Allie said.

  “If you weren’t being so stubborn, you could go back to work for your father.”

  Working for the police department would give her a lot more stability. She’d have a long-term income and benefits, which she wasn’t going to get helping Grace. And she had Whitney to think of. Her responsibility to her daughter and the emotional pressure she faced from everyone else would make it infinitely easier to fall in line with her parents.

  Except that no one seemed to care about actually solving the case. They wanted someone to punish for Barker’s disappearance so that the Vincellis would finally be satisfied and everyone could go on with their lives. And, unlike his mother and sisters, Clay was defiant, angry. In fact, the depth of the anger running through him was a little frightening at times. That made it easy for some people to believe he was capable of such a crime. But Allie cared about the truth.

  Or maybe she just cared about Clay.

  “I can’t,” she said.

  “Not even for Whitney’s sake?” Evelyn asked.

  Allie hugged her extra pillow to her chest. “I’ll make sure she gets everything she needs.”

  “But she loves us. Putting a rift between you and us will hurt her.”

  “Mom, we don’t even know what happened to Barker. Clay deserves a fair trial, don’t you think?”

  Her mother’s voice rose. “He’ll have his sister to defend him. She’s never lost a case.”

  “She’s never had so much at stake before, or been up against odds like this!”

  “Let her deal with it! She’ll be fine without you.”

  “I have to do what I think is right,” Allie insisted.

  There was a long silence, then her mother said, “Are you sure it’s your conscience you’re trying to satisfy?” And this time it was Evelyn who hung up.

  “Mom-my?” Whitney wailed, losing patience. “Why won’t you answer me?”

  Allie wanted to throw her phone across the room but set it gently on the nightstand instead. “I’m sorry, honey,” she called back. “You can’t stay with Boppo tonight. She forgot that she already has other plans.”

  “But she just asked me! We were going to bake cookies!”

  “Why don’t I see if your friend Emily can spend the night with us?”

  “What about Boppo?” Whitney asked.

  “Maybe you can go there next week,” Allie said. “But it’s not looking good,” she muttered to herself. Then she turned her thoughts to what her mother had said about her gun. Cindy thought she’d seen it at Joe’s house? Considering that Joe had the strongest motivation to shoot Clay, and he had no alibi, she thought the police could establish probable cause for a search warrant. But the situation being what it was, she knew she’d never convince her father to try. He wouldn’t act against the Vincellis right now. No one would.

  And that meant she had to do something herself, and she had to do it fast—before Joe got rid of the evidence.

  “Whitney?” she called.

  “What, Mommy?”

  “We’ll make arrangements for you to stay with Emily, instead. Okay?”

  Dale stood in the shed where he kept his tools and glanced at his watch. He’d just finished edging the lawn. It was part of his Saturday-morning routine, a routine that usually relaxed him. But he was growing anxious. Irene should’ve received the flowers by now. Typically, she responded right away when he gave her something; he was hoping that was still the case. He had to see her. If they could be together, even if it was just one more time, it’d be easier to deal with everything else going on in his life. His estrangement from Allie. The mayor and the Vincellis interfering with his job. The shooting at the cabin.

  Wiping his hands on a paper towel that he promptly tossed in the trash can by the door, he reached into his pocket for his cell phone and dialed the voice-mail account he’d set up for her use.

  Sure enough, he had a message.

  Feeling a tremor of hope, he pressed “one” to hear it.

  But his wife’s voice intruded, coming from behind him. “Dale, what’s taking you so long out here?”

  He turned to find Evelyn standing in the doorway. He was tempted to close the phone and shove it in his pocket, but Evelyn trusted him so much she wasn’t particularly nosy. And Irene was beginning to mention the “beautiful roses.”

  He motioned for Evelyn to be quiet. “I’m checking my voice-mail to see if anyone needs me at the station,” he lied, his heart thumping with more than its usual share of guilt.

  Evelyn was always very respectful of his wishes, but today she ignored his plea for silence. Wringing her hands, she scowled and said, “I’ve got to see Reverend Portenski. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Obviously, she was unhappy. He would’ve asked her what was wrong. But Irene was telling him how much she loved him, how much she longed to be with him—and how she planned to remove the skimpy lingerie he’d bought her the next time they were together.

  Instead of stopping Evelyn, Dale breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled out of the driveway and then dialed Irene.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me,” he said.

  “How come you’re calling me now? You’re usually home on a Saturday morning.”

  “Evelyn’s out.”

  “Thank you for the flowers,” she said. “And the note. I needed the note more than anything.”

  “I want to make love to you,” he said.

  “Now?”

  If they had time, he would. But the cabin was too far, and after what had happened there, he didn’t dare take her back, anyway. Their favorite little hotel in Corinth wasn’t much closer, not close enough for a quick rendezvous. “Soon. It’ll give me something to look forward to.”

  “I don’t want to wait,” she said, her voice pleading. “I need you now.”

  He was afraid she’d change her mind about seeing him if he didn’t arrange something in the next few days. “I’d say we could get together tonight, but I’m not sure where we could go that would be safe, darling.”

  “You have that guesthouse.”

  He was desperate, but not crazy. “Not there.”

  “Come on. No one’ll see us.”

  “It’s right next to my house, for crying out loud.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s down by the pond. You can’t even see it from your house. You’ve told me often enough that you’d like to move me there.”

  That was wishful thinking, and she knew it. But she could be so childlike. He tried a different line of reasoning. “That wouldn’t be any fun. I’d have a heart attack from the stress.”

  She started crying. “If I’m that bad for you, forget it. Forget everything—”

  “Irene, stop,” he begged. “I want to touch you so badly I can’t think of anything else. It’s just—” Suddenly he had an idea. “Wait. What about the farm?”

  “The farm?” she echoed, sniffling.

  “It’s empty now, isn’t it? And it’s private. I could go the back way and hide my car in the barn.”

  “No. Molly will be in town this afternoon. She flew in early because of Clay. She’s renting a car in Nashville right now.”

  “She’ll be staying at the farm?”

  “She could. She usually stays with Clay.”

  “But Clay’s not there this weekend. She won’t stay at the farm alone.”

  “That’s true,” she admitted. “And she’ll be excited to see Grace’s new baby. I’m sure she’ll stay with Grace. But they’ll expect me to be with them this evening.”

  “You can get away. Say you’ve got a headache, that you’re going home to bed and leave a bit early.”

  “But someone’s bound to see the lights in the farmhouse,” she said.

  “Then we won’t turn on any lights. You can hide your car in the barn, too.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “It’s perfect, honey,” he pleaded. “It’s c
lose and it’s private. Where else is there?”

  “But Clay’s in jail—”

  “Not for long. Grace will get him out.” He knew Irene would assume he meant for good, when he was only talking about making bail. But he didn’t want to get specific; she was too worried about her son.

  “He won’t like it,” she said.

  “How will it hurt him?”

  Silence.

  “He doesn’t know about us, right?”

  “Of course not,” she said immediately.

  “Good. Then meet me there tonight.”

  “What will you tell your wife?”

  “I’ll say that one of my men called in sick and I’ve got to fill in.”

  “What time?”

  “Ten.”

  He heard a soft sigh. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It’s what I want. And bring that nightie you were talking about in the message,” he added.

  The lumps in the cheap mattress dug into Clay’s back as he stared at the bunk above his. Fortunately, the county lockup was mostly empty, so he didn’t have a cellmate. He could imagine how much worse his stay would be with two or three other guys sharing the same small space—the lack of privacy, the smell, the noise. Of course, he had all that to look forward to, and more, if he went to prison. But for now, he could take comfort in the fact that there was no one besides the jailer who delivered his meals to interrupt his thoughts.

  He kicked at a piece of lint on the ground. Actually, having twenty-four hours a day strictly to himself might not be so good. Because he couldn’t stop thinking about Allie. And her little girl. They’d be better off if Allie didn’t try to help him. The fact that she was willing to take a stand against everyone she knew and loved, for his sake, made Clay yearn for things he couldn’t have. And he hated the thought of her being mistreated, which would surely happen if she continued to take his side.

  Rotating the shoulder of his hurt arm, he pinched the site of his bullet wound to stop the unmerciful itching that had started this morning. It was healing well, but the situation could’ve been very different. There were those who hated him and everyone associated with him. His sisters and mother couldn’t change their affiliation, of course. But Allie could. If he was locked up, he’d be unable to protect her. She probably understood that, but he doubted she understood how important it was to him to keep her safe. He didn’t want to drag her down with him.

  That was the worst part of jail, he decided. It wasn’t the luxuries and comforts he was missing. It was being so damn helpless. He could do nothing to insure the happiness of those he loved, and after so long he didn’t know how to live for anything else.

  “Grace had better do as I told her,” he muttered, rolling off the bed to walk around his cell. He’d instructed his sister to tell Allie to get a real job, that Clay didn’t want anything to do with her. He knew he was being harsh, but he had to be harsh. Otherwise, Allie wouldn’t listen. And the momentary sting those words might cause would be infinitely kinder than screwing up her life. Let her make up with her folks, go back to the force, find a suitable father for Whitney. A man who could give her everything Clay couldn’t.

  For a moment, Clay let himself imagine being that man. Coming in from the farm to sleep with her at night. Helping raise her little girl. Making Allie pregnant with his own child.

  With a faint smile, he remembered the red-faced bundle that was Grace’s baby, Lauren, and the way Lauren had turned her tiny mouth toward him when he’d touched her cheek. Holding that baby had shown him, more clearly than ever, exactly what was important in life. Most men took their ability, their right, to have a family for granted. They had no idea how badly they’d want that if they couldn’t have it.

  Regardless of his future, Clay wanted a good life for Allie. But he had a feeling Grace wouldn’t deliver his message. His sister was stronger now than she’d ever been, more confident in her own decisions. For some reason, she thought Allie’s participation might make a difference.

  Grace was going to give his defense everything she had—and that included Allie, whether he liked it or not.

  18

  Joe usually spent Saturday evenings drinking with his buddies. According to his ex-wife, he drank too much. But tonight, Allie was grateful for his rather reliable interest in heading to the pool hall. As she stood with her back to the fence behind Stillwater Sand and Gravel and gazed through the trees, she could see that the house his parents provided for him was completely dark.

  Leaving her car, which she’d hidden among the giant piles of sand and rock crowding the machinery, Allie moved closer. She didn’t feel particularly good about breaking and entering. But she didn’t see that she had any better choice. Before coming over here, she’d called Hendricks and tried the sheriff’s department, and they’d simply referred her back to her father.

  Wearing tennis shoes, jeans and a dark shirt, Allie slipped through the tall white ash and silver maple trees that lined the back of Joe’s yard and approached the screened-in porch. She had a flashlight, but she didn’t want to use it until she was inside. Fortunately, the moon was nearly full, so she could make out most objects in her path. She just hoped Joe didn’t have a dog.

  Reaching the back of the house, Allie stood by the screen and listened carefully for any noises from inside.

  The night was as quiet as it was still.

  He’s gone. She tried to open the screen door.

  It was locked.

  Cursing under her breath, Allie began to dig through the large canvas bag she’d brought with her. She’d put a small knife in there, as well as her flashlight and some other tools. She could slice a hole in the screen, reach through and unlatch the old-fashioned catch. But she abandoned that plan almost as soon as she thought of it. If Joe spotted the hole later, he might become suspicious, and she didn’t see any reason to give her little search away, especially if she didn’t have to. Surely she could find an open window somewhere. Few people in Stillwater bothered with tight security. And the month of June was already upon them, with its oppressive heat and humidity.

  Wiping the nervous perspiration from her top lip, she began to circle the house. She didn’t find anything very hopeful on the first floor, but a second-story window stood open. She guessed it was Joe’s bedroom. She could see the curtains flutter ever so slightly and assumed he’d left a fan running.

  The problem was getting up to that window without being seen from the street. It was at the front of the house, right above the porch and facing the highway; there were no trees to give her cover.

  She bit her lip, trying to decide what to do. Did she cut the screen or try to climb up to the second story?

  This time of night, there wasn’t much traffic….

  Seeing no cars in either direction, she pulled the strap of her bag over her head so she could wear it across her body and began to climb onto the porch railing. The trellis that continued up from there didn’t seem too sturdy, but she was fairly certain it’d bear her weight. Once she was on the roof, getting to the window would be—

  The sound of an engine reached Allie’s ears as she clung to the side of the house. She calculated how long it’d take her to get to the window and how long it’d take her to climb back down and decided she didn’t have time to do either. That engine was growing louder by the second.

  Forgetting her fear of falling, she scooted up the trellis, clambered onto the porch roof and lay flat. Cringing, she waited for the vehicle to pass.

  But it didn’t pass. It slowed and turned in at the driveway.

  Joe was home.

  Dammit! Allie held perfectly still as the engine died. Then the truck door opened and slammed, and footsteps approached the house. Keys jingled directly below her as Joe crossed the porch. She told herself to get the hell out of there as soon as he stepped inside the house. But that open window was only a few feet away. If he stayed downstairs for a few minutes, she could take a peek….

  Gathering her nerve, she craw
led over to the window and listened again, in case he had a dog. The sound of a television drifted up to her, but no barking, whining or thumping. No “hello pooch” from Joe.

  Quickly climbing over the ledge, she dropped silently into a room that contained a whirring fan, a rumpled bed, a chest of drawers and a desk scattered with papers. His closet stood open and had dirty laundry spilling out of it; another foot of discarded clothing covered the floor.

  Hurrying to the fan, Allie turned it off so she could hear if Joe came up the stairs. Then she pulled out her flashlight and used his desk chair to search the top shelves of the closet. She found a small bundle wrapped in a T-shirt that felt promising. But when she opened it, she discovered a bunch of sex toys, including a giant vibrator and some S&M paraphernalia.

  “Definitely not what I wanted to know about you,” she muttered. Shoving the bundle back where she’d found it, she turned her attention to Joe’s dresser. There was a recent issue of a girlie magazine tossed in with his underwear. Below that, she spotted an old high school yearbook. She almost pushed it aside, too. But she could still hear the television downstairs, so she slowed long enough to flip through it.

  It was from Joe’s senior year. In the front pages, some of his male friends had drawn crude pictures. Kennedy had told him to take it easy over the summer. And various girls had written the usual sentiments. “I can’t believe it’s over. Call me, okay?” There was a long love note from Cindy, Joe’s girlfriend at the time and the woman he ended up marrying and divorcing—twice.

  Why would Joe have his high school yearbook in his underwear drawer? she wondered. He and Cindy must have broken up and reunited half a dozen times since they were teens, which meant he’d been moving back and forth between the house they’d shared and this one. Allie would’ve expected something so old and inconsequential, at least at this point in their lives, to fall by the wayside. Or end up in the attic or garage. But Joe kept it with his personal items.