by Brenda Novak
Allie found that very interesting. Especially when she realized that there was one particular page in the senior portrait section that had a packaged condom as a bookmark. It was the page with Grace Montgomery’s photograph. Her picture was a simple snapshot, not a fancy portrait from one of the expensive studios like most of the others. But it wouldn’t have stood out all that much if someone, presumably Joe, hadn’t written across her face: “Fucking bitch, you’ll get yours.”
Was this a recent addition? The condom didn’t look that old. Allie got the impression the writing wasn’t, either.
That Joe blamed Grace for taking his best friend away from him was no secret. He and Kennedy had hung out together all through high school and beyond, until Grace had returned to town last year and Kennedy had fallen in love with her. But the emotion behind the sentiment Joe had expressed toward Grace in the yearbook seemed more malevolent than resentful.
Then Allie heard a creak on the stairs.
She cocked her head, listening to be sure. The footsteps came closer. Turning off her flashlight, she threw the book back in the drawer and closed it, jammed her bag under Joe’s bed and wiggled in behind it. The dust made it difficult to breathe, but she was too scared to breathe, anyway. She wasn’t sure she was far enough under the bed to avoid being seen. Joe had so much junk under there, including what felt like a couple of dishes, she couldn’t move any farther.
The light went on. With her cheek pressed to the carpet, Allie could see Joe’s feet as he entered the room and prayed he wouldn’t notice that she’d turned off the fan.
He didn’t seem to. The springs above her creaked as he sat down to remove his boots.
Thank God. He was going to bed. Once he fell asleep, she’d slip out and search the rest of the house.
But he didn’t disrobe. He put on a pair of tennis shoes and called someone.
“You ready?…Hell, no, it’ll take longer than that…I’m beginning to believe he’s buried in that damn barn…. So? Maybe Jed was in on it. They must’ve buried him somewhere close by. They wouldn’t have had time to do anything else…Where did you see her?…Doesn’t matter. She won’t be at the farm. She’ll be with Grace or her mother…Right. Just don’t let anyone see you pull in. If Clay finds out we were there, he’ll bury us right next to my uncle…You should’ve seen what he did to Tim Fox when he caught him messing around with Grace…. I don’t care how long ago it was, I know him better than you do…. Yeah…. Doesn’t matter. Kennedy will post as much as it takes…. We could always finish up tomorrow or the next night, if we have to…. That’s good…Okay…Don’t forget to bring a shovel.”
He hung up, grabbed something off his dresser and walked out.
Allie started to scramble out from under the bed. She was choking on dust and shocked by what she’d just heard. But Joe returned a second later to turn off the light.
Reverend Portenski paced back and forth in his study. Evelyn McCormick had left hours earlier but, hard as he’d tried to forget her visit, he couldn’t. She was a good woman and so worried about her daughter. She’d come to him looking for peace, advice, support.
Should he do what was best for him? Or for her? And what about everyone else?
He had to come forward, didn’t he? He’d been able to justify his silence this long only because he couldn’t have saved the girls the Reverend Barker had abused. He didn’t even recognize them; Portenski hadn’t moved to town until he’d heard about the opening at the church. Those Polaroids had been old when he’d found them, the children in them all grown up. And except for Grace, he doubted the victims were still living in the area, because no one had ever filed any complaints.
What was done was done, right? Keeping his mouth shut protected Madeline from a very harsh reality, the church from a terrible shame, and the Vincellis, who were a proud family, from the worst possible humiliation. They wouldn’t want these pictures to come out, even if it meant Clay would go to jail for the rest of his life. This town had long touted Barker as a saint.
The Montgomerys wouldn’t be eager to see them made public, either. Grace was a sensitive soul who’d barely survived what had happened to her. Portenski didn’t want to bring her any more unhappiness. She’d asked him to help her brother, and he wanted to do that. Maybe he was uncomfortable around Clay, but a part of him admired the younger man’s strength. Another part sympathized with the tough decisions he’d made.
But how could he protect the Montgomerys, the Vincellis and the McCormicks?
Portenski tugged at his bottom lip. What should he do?
With a sigh, he knelt down and began to pray.
“Father, enlighten my mind. Instruct thy servant that I might be fair to all involved.”
He paused, searching, waiting for the answer. There was nothing in his mind except silence. Then, at last, a thought crystallized.
“Truth is the secret of eloquence and of virtue, the basis of moral authority; it is the highest summit of art and of life.”
Henri Frederic Amiel, a nineteenth-century Swiss philosopher had written those words. Portenski knew they hadn’t come directly from God’s mouth. But why should he remember them now, unless they were intended as his answer?
Amiel had written something else that merited consideration. “The man who insists upon seeing with perfect clearness before he decides, never decides. Accept life and you must accept regret.”
It was a sign, Portenski decided. A sign that the time had come to act; whether he would later regret it or not.
Allie froze halfway out from under the bed, terrified that Joe had spotted her. But he didn’t do anything to indicate he had. He flipped off the light, then jogged down the stairs, slammed the door and started his truck. He was too focused on what he was about to do—which, as far as she could tell, was search Clay’s farm.
Let him search. He won’t find anything. The police had already searched twice. Clay was innocent.
Getting up, she began going through the rest of Joe’s drawers. She’d use the time to look for her gun….
But she stopped only a second later. Clay was innocent of cold-blooded murder. In her heart, she knew that had to be true and refused to believe her emotions were clouding her judgment. But he harbored more than his share of secrets. She was frightened of what those secrets might be, and how they might be interpreted if they got out. He must have some reason for protecting the farm as vigilantly as he did.
What would Joe and whoever he was meeting find?
She wasn’t sure. But she couldn’t take the chance that they’d come up with something they could use against Clay.
Abandoning her own search, she rushed downstairs, let herself out the back door and ran for her car. She had to stop them before it was too late.
Allie was pretty sure she’d arrived in time. She’d tried contacting Grace and Madeline while she was on the road, to ask them to meet her at the farm. But Grace’s line was busy, and she hadn’t been able to reach Madeline. As a last-ditch effort, she’d called Madeline’s boyfriend, Kirk. He’d said Molly had come to town and they were all at Grace’s. Since she couldn’t reach anyone, he’d promised to meet her himself, but she’d obviously arrived before everyone else—including Vincelli. The farm looked deserted.
Parking in front, she hurried to the house. The door was locked. She went around back, choosing the soft earth rather than the wraparound porch so the boards wouldn’t creak, and scaled the steps. The back door was locked, too.
Standing by the chicken coop, she gazed up at the second story and thought she saw a glimmer of light in some distant room—a bathroom, maybe? It winked out so fast, she decided it had to be the moon reflecting off a window.
Or was she imagining things?
She was uneasy enough to conjure up almost any sight or sound. She knew Joe had a mean streak. Providing Cindy was right about her gun, it was Joe who’d nearly killed Clay. If he found Allie here, maybe she’d become his next target.
Shot with her own gun. Not a nice thought. But
she had to admit it was possible. Joe hated the Montgomerys, and hate was a very powerful motivator.
She tried to call her father for backup. He seemed to believe Clay was the only person in Stillwater capable of violence, despite the theft and shooting at the cabin. But she knew Dale would come, anyway. If she could get hold of him.
On the third ring, her call transferred to voice-mail.
“Damn,” she muttered, but Kirk would be here shortly.
While she waited, she decided to check for cars. The farm was far enough from town that Joe and whoever was with him would’ve had to drive. And if they were smart, they wouldn’t park too far away, in case they needed to leave in a hurry. Their best parking options would be the dirt road along the back of the property, the open area where Clay kept his heavy equipment, behind the barn or down by the creek.
Allie moved automatically toward the barn, since Joe had mentioned it and it was closest. But she hadn’t yet reached the building when she noticed that the large sliding door Clay had installed so he could drive his cars in and out with ease wasn’t closed all the way.
Clay wouldn’t go anywhere with that door open. He was far too private and too cautious.
“Damn Joe,” she whispered. He’d beaten her here, after all. Were they already digging? He’d said something about starting in the barn. But there was no light peeking through the door. Surely they wouldn’t dig in the dark.
The house…
She turned back, now confident that the glimmer of light she’d seen earlier had been more than the moon’s reflection. But at the last second, she decided to do Joe and his friend the same favor they’d done Clay at the cabin, and flatten their tires. Even if Joe wasn’t the one who’d shot Clay, he deserved a little payback. And that way, if they heard her coming, they couldn’t escape quickly and lie about the fact that they were here.
Taking the flashlight and knife from her bag, she ducked into the pitch-black of the barn.
Something small darted past her. The fact that it might’ve been a mouse nearly made her scream.
“It’s okay,” she muttered, managing to reel in her reaction. “Calm down.”
Snapping on her flashlight, she turned to face the cars parked close to Clay’s classic Jaguar. But what she saw stunned her, and it took several seconds to make sense of it. Joe’s truck wasn’t anywhere to be seen. It was Irene Montgomery’s blue Honda that sat in front of her, which wouldn’t have been such a terrible surprise—except that her father’s cruiser was parked beside it. She could see the decorated baby-food lid Whitney had made him in school hanging from the rearview mirror.
Why? Why would they both be here? If they were meeting for some legitimate reason, they wouldn’t feel the need to hide their vehicles….
Allie pictured the fear that had entered Irene’s face at Grace’s, when she was asked if Jed had ever seen her with another man, and a sick feeling began in the pit of her stomach. “No,” she whispered. “No.”
She listened to her heartbeat for several seconds before she could get her feet to move. She didn’t want to go to the house. She was afraid of what she might see. She knew now where that bright red lipstick she’d found in her father’s car had come from. It was exactly the same shade Irene wore almost every day.
But she had to do something. Joe was on his way. If finding her car in the driveway wasn’t enough to stop them from snooping around—
“Oh, God,” she groaned, hurrying cautiously out of the barn. She had to get her father and Irene away from the farm. If they were caught, her father would be ruined, her mother devastated as well as publicly humiliated. And the vengeance this town would exact from the Montgomerys would send Clay to prison in spite of the most brilliant defense they could muster.
How could her father do this? she asked herself over and over.
Despite the lump rising in her throat, Allie searched the area between the chicken coop and the shed, listening for voices or movement. She heard nothing. So she locked the barn door behind her, to slow Joe down, and approached the house.
Irene…and her father.
Shaking her head as if she could rid her mind of that painful thought, Allie moved as quietly as possible. If she wasn’t careful, she could draw Joe’s attention to the house when she’d rather leave him trying to jimmy the lock on the barn. But that meant she’d have to find her own way in, warn Dale and Irene and help them sneak out. She could simply tell them to hide, but if Kirk didn’t arrive soon, Joe would break the lock on the barn, discover the cars and instigate a search for the living instead of the dead.
Slipping the crowbar she’d brought out of her bag, she wedged it between the back door and the frame, cast a final, wary glance over her shoulder, and tried to force it open.
The resulting noise made her cringe. It sounded so loud she thought Joe and her father would both come running and meet her right there on the porch.
If her father heard anything, however, he was too afraid to give his presence away. And she saw no sign of Joe.
“Good news,” she mumbled. It might’ve been good news, if only she’d been able to get in. But the door held.
After another silent curse, Allie tried the crowbar again and, despite the noise, finally met with success.
So much for stealth. And so much for Clay’s privacy. Three different parties would likely be tramping through his house tonight. She could only imagine how much he’d like that.
Stepping inside, she replaced the crowbar in her bag and used a kitchen chair to hold the door shut behind her. She didn’t want Joe to see it hanging open. Then, careful to keep the beam pointed at the floor, she turned on her flashlight and hurried through the kitchen to the stairs. She was tempted to call out a warning, but refrained. She didn’t dare. She wasn’t sure who might hear her.
Allie had never gone so far into Clay’s house. It bothered her that he wasn’t here. But she didn’t have time to dwell on the sense of loss that made her heart feel even heavier. Instead, she ran up the stairs as quietly as she could.
The rooms off the second-story hallway were all open. Except two.
She’d find her father behind one of them with a woman who wasn’t her mother. Shit…
Taking a deep breath, she opened the first door. It was Clay’s room, and it was empty. The subtle masculine scent that lingered brought him back to her, made her remember that night at the cabin when he’d held her naked against him. She longed to be with him again. Even now. But he was in jail, and might be going to prison for good. Meanwhile, her father was having an affair. And Joe was pressing his advantage.
The world had gone crazy. Everything was wrong. But Allie couldn’t let panic and pain defeat her. She had to find her father and Irene. The rest she could deal with later.
Moving to the other door, she tried to open it but found it locked. They had to be there.
She knocked softly. No response.
“Dad, it’s me, Allie. Open up.”
Nothing.
“Dad, listen. Joe’s on his way here,” she murmured as close to the panel as she could get. “He’s planning to search for his uncle’s remains. If he finds your cars, he’ll start looking for a lot more than that. You’ve got to come downstairs with me and pretend we had a meeting here.”
She heard movement. Had they received her message? Were they scrambling to get dressed? She couldn’t be sure. “Dad? Did you hear me? I locked the barn, which is where he plans to start, but I doubt that’ll detain him for long.” She hesitated. “Hello? Answer me! Joe is—”
“Not as stupid as you think,” someone interrupted from behind her.
Allie’s heart lodged in her throat as she turned to see the man she’d been hoping to avoid step out of a third room and flip on the light.
“How’d you know I was coming here tonight?” he asked.
Allie did her best to bluff. “Clay’s behind bars, isn’t he? I figured you’d take advantage of his absence.”
He didn’t seem completely convi
nced she was telling the truth, but he was too excited about having the upper hand to dwell on the mystery. “It’s a good thing I’m here,” he said. “This explains so much, doesn’t it? Now I understand why your father never wanted to investigate the people who murdered my uncle. He was too busy getting down and dirty with Clay’s mother and her big tits.” Joe shook his head. “Tsk, tsk. Poor Evelyn. How’s that going to look? A churchgoing man like Dale. The chief of police, no less. Nope, can’t be good.”
Allie glared at him. “You’re trespassing. You have no right to be here.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And you do?”
“More right than you’ve got. At least Clay likes me.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, we’ve all heard how much.”
“How’d you get in?” she asked. There were no sounds coming from the bedroom, so she was trying to stall for time, hoping her father and Irene had managed to climb out and were right now scurrying away.
“It was easier to break a window in the basement than to bother with the door, I’ll tell you that much.”
“Who’s here with you?”
“What makes you think I’m not alone?”
What she’d overheard. But she couldn’t say that. “Joe, listen—”
Kirk pounded on the door downstairs. “Allie? Allie, are you in there?”
“That’s enough,” Joe said. Painfully gripping her arm, he dragged her against him as he banged the flashlight he carried in one hand on the door. “Hey, McCormick. I’ve got your little girl out here.”
Allie tried to wriggle free, to let Kirk in, but Joe held her fast. “Are you the one who shot Clay?” she asked Joe.
Laughing, he shook his head. “Are you kidding? Assault with a deadly weapon is a crime.”
“Cindy saw my gun at your house.”
“Cindy’s a stupid bitch. She didn’t see anything.”
She could hear Kirk coming in through the back. “You hate Clay enough to do just about anything.”
“I won’t cry when he goes to prison for life,” he muttered and hit the door again. “McCormick! I know you’re in there.”
