Читать книгу Dead Right - Brenda Novak - Страница 12

Irene seemed to have taken the day’s events harder than anyone. Madeline helped her out to her car, then returned to the police station so she could talk with Chief Pontiff.

“I have a private investigator coming from California,” she told him. “He might be able to help you decide what to do with all this—” she waved toward the box where he’d put the sacks of evidence “—stuff.”

Pontiff hesitated, obviously not as pleased with this news as she’d expected him to be. “I can do my own job, Maddy,” he said. “I understand you’ve been disappointed in the past, but I’m already planning to do everything that can be done. There’s no need to bring in an outsider.”

“He might see something we’ve missed,” she argued.

“The only one missing anything is you,” Radcliffe piped up, sounding exasperated. He had plenty of filing left to do—evidenced by the tall stack teetering at his elbow—but he was more interested in eavesdropping. “Didn’t you see how Clay reacted? He nearly lost his composure.”

“Yes, I saw!” Madeline snapped, her patience wearing thin. “He was upset. But why wouldn’t he be? That was his sister’s underwear lying on the table.”

Pontiff sent Radcliffe a quelling glance and stepped between them. “Maddy, we’ve grown up together. I’ve seen your pain and frustration over the years, and I’ve felt plenty of my own when it comes to your father’s case. This whole town has. The police chiefs before me couldn’t get to the bottom of it, but I’m determined to be different. I plan to find the truth, okay?”

“Then what’ll it hurt to have some help?” she asked.

“I don’t want anyone getting in my way. This investigator is from…where did you say? California? He’ll have no idea how things are done in Mississppi.”

But maybe that was good, Madeline thought. Then he wouldn’t be influenced by the Vincellis, wouldn’t have to worry about making the folks around her angry. “An investigation is an investigation,” she said. “I hope you’ll do what you can to cooperate with him.”

Toby’s jaw tightened, which told her he wasn’t pleased with her answer. “What do you hope to achieve?”

“Resolution,” she said and left.

To Madeline, the rest of the week passed with agonizing slowness. After Rachel Simmons’s drowning, and the subsequent discovery of the Cadillac, it felt as if the whole town was holding its breath, waiting and watching to see what would happen next. Mothers who generally let their children run freely through Stillwater neighborhoods were keeping them closer to home. And, as she feared would be the case, Clay’s name was often associated with talk that there might be a sexual predator in their midst.

Madeline couldn’t believe anyone could suspect her stepbrother of being a pedophile. So what if the police had found a few dark hairs in the driver’s seat of the Cadillac? It’d been the family car, for crying out loud.

But it wasn’t just the hair, and she knew it. It was the fact that he didn’t give a damn what others thought of him and didn’t bother to hide it. They used his indifference as justification to blame him for anything they’d rather not see in someone else, even though he didn’t fit the profile of a pedophile. Pedophiles liked to be around children, sought them out, worked in situations that put them in contact with possible victims. Until Grace married Kennedy eighteen months ago and brought her two stepsons into the family, and Clay’s own marriage had gained him a six-year-old daughter, he was almost never around children. He’d lived on the farm alone and come to town once or twice a week for supplies or a game of pool at the billiards hall.

Besides, the things in that trunk had been put there twenty years ago, when Clay was only sixteen.

Fortunately, despite all the stress, Madeline had been able to get her paper out. And it had included the article she’d had such difficulty writing—the one on the discovery of her father’s car. Next week’s paper would feature an article on pedophiles and how they typically functioned. She was writing it with the hope that it would stifle all the talk about Clay. But she’d have to finish it later. Hunter Solozano would be arriving in Nashville in four hours. She had a long drive ahead of her and didn’t want to be late.

Shrugging on her wool coat, Madeline turned off her computer and let herself out, into the alley that led to the gravel lot where she’d parked her car. She’d just locked the door when someone tapped her on the shoulder. Someone whose approach she hadn’t heard.

Startled, she turned to see her father’s only sibling, Elaine Vincelli, standing right behind her.

Her thoughts had definitely been too macabre of late, if she could be frightened so easily. But she knew it wasn’t only her thoughts. Her dreams bothered her even more. Last night, Aunt Elaine had been chasing her around the farm with a knife, yelling, “How dare you be disloyal to your own father! How dare you side with those murderers!”

Madeline shivered as a few residual screeches echoed through her head. Reminding herself that it was just a dream, she offered her aunt a polite smile. “Hello.”

“Do you have a minute?” Elaine asked.

Clenching the keys in her hand, Madeline sighed. Temperatures were dropping fast as another storm approached, bringing with it an early dark—which was why she hadn’t noticed Elaine. She’d been too intent on getting off before the rain started. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No, of course not.” Her aunt positioned herself as if she expected to be invited in. And since a light drizzle had begun, Madeline felt she should oblige.

Stifling her impatience, she reopened the office. “Would you like to sit down?” she asked, waving Elaine in ahead of her.

“No, thank you.”

Her aunt had seemed tense, even a bit nervous in the alley but appeared more relaxed once the door closed behind them.

“What can I do for you?” Madeline forced a polite smile but hadn’t felt quite so uncomfortable in ages. She and her aunt had never been close. Madeline remembered her real mother saying that Elaine was a difficult person to get to know—probably the worst comment her mother ever made about anyone. Madeline suspected the real truth was that Elaine hadn’t liked Eliza any more than she liked Irene and Eliza knew it. Madeline’s mother had been too humble and sweet, too accepting of everyone, to appeal to a “keep up or get lost” personality like Elaine’s.

Madeline recalled overhearing a conversation between her father and Elaine, in which Elaine had called Eliza “pathetic” and demanded she be put in an institution where she could get professional help for her chronic depression.

Remembering her aunt’s unsympathetic attitude, Madeline figured it was little wonder she’d chosen to stay with Irene after her father went missing. She didn’t really know her maternal grandparents, who’d moved twice in the past year and now lived in Oklahoma. Her paternal grandparents were dead, and Irene had given her more love in the three years she’d been part of Madeline’s life at that point than her aunt ever had. Even in the dark days after Eliza’s death, Elaine hadn’t reached out to the ten-year-old girl her sister-in-law had left behind.

So why was Elaine here now?

“Chief Pontiff came by the house last night,” her aunt said.

“Did he have any news?” Madeline asked eagerly. She believed Toby would’ve contacted her, but she couldn’t imagine any other reason for her aunt’s visit.

“No, not yet. He told me you’ve hired a private detective.” She folded her arms across her broad, solid body. The white streaks of hair at her temples contrasted sharply with the black of the rest, and the way she’d combed it back off her face reminded Madeline of Ursula, the Sea Witch in Disney’s The Little Mermaid. “Is that true?”

Where was she going with this? “Yes. I’ve found someone who’s supposed to be exceptionally good. Why?”

“That’s my question to you,” she said. “Why? Why bother? Chief Pontiff’s looking into it again. Isn’t that enough?”

“Police involvement hasn’t been enough in the past,” Madeline pointed out. “I know Toby’s not happy about me bringing in an outsider. He told me as much. But as objective as he’s trying to be, he’ll most likely go down the same road as everyone else.” He’d already refused to let Allie search the car, hadn’t he? But Madeline didn’t mention that because her aunt was probably behind it. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the black hairs he removed from the driver’s side of the Cadillac.”

“Is that why you’re hiring a P.I.?” Elaine asked. “Because of the Montgomerys?”

“That’s part of the reason.”

“I don’t think this will help. All the circumstantial evidence points at them. Any investigator worth his salt would see that.” She lowered her voice. “And maybe next time Clay won’t get off.”

Was she warning Madeline? For Clay’s sake? That didn’t make sense. For years, Elaine and her family had been dying to see the Montgomerys in jail, especially Clay. “At the very least, an investigator from somewhere else should have a more open mind,” Madeline said.

“It doesn’t matter how open his mind is, the proof is the proof.”

Madeline transferred her purse to her other shoulder. “There is no proof. Not so far. You said yourself that it’s all circumstantial.”

Her aunt began to toy with the perpetual-motion skier on Madeline’s desk. It was a Christmas gift Kirk had used to invite Madeline skiing. But he’d been angry when she wouldn’t leave Stillwater to take the seven-day trip. Instead of heading off together, they’d broken up.

Ironically, had they gone, she would’ve been out of town when the rescue workers found her father’s car. Which was precisely why she wouldn’t leave. She couldn’t risk missing something that would finally unravel the mystery.

“You’re going to force me to say it, aren’t you?” Elaine murmured.

Madeline put the skier inside her drawer. Things were difficult enough these days without such a vivid reminder of Kirk and how much more comfortable her life had been with him in it. She’d thought she might get a call from him once he heard the news about her father’s car. Lord knows everyone else had called. But he was obviously as determined as she was to make the split permanent. “Say what?” she replied.

“That I think you might be right about the Montgomerys.”

Madeline forgot about Kirk and the skier. “In what way?”

“Maybe they aren’t to blame for…whatever happened.”

Last summer, when the district attorney had dropped the charges against Clay, the Vincellis hadn’t hollered as loudly as Madeline had expected them to, but this was a complete reversal. “Are you serious?”

“Would I joke about something like that?”

Definitely not. Elaine Vincelli didn’t joke about anything. “Joe and Roger still think Clay’s guilty,” Madeline said.

“Have they been causing trouble?”

The ominous note in her aunt’s voice suggested there’d be repercussions for Joe and Roger if they had—and Elaine could definitely make good on such a threat. Although both men were in their early thirties, Roger lived at home, and Joe, divorced twice from the same woman, lived in a house near Stillwater Sand & Gravel, the business owned by his parents. Joe and Roger worked for mom and pop, too. Madeline doubted anyone else would hire them. They spent too much time drinking, gambling, fighting and chasing women.

“They were pretty adamant at the quarry,” Madeline said.

“I’ll talk to them,” she promised. “But I, for one, hate to see you disrupt your life yet again with all this business about your father. I’m your aunt.” She waved imperiously. “You should allow me to advise you. And I think it’s time we all moved on.”

Now? When the Cadillac had just been found? This was the first break they’d had. “What about the things in his trunk?” Madeline asked. “We can’t shrug our shoulders and walk away.”

“Let it go!” Elaine nearly shook a finger in Madeline’s face.

“Why?” Madeline asked.

Her aunt wrapped her coat tighter around her and headed for the door. “Just listen to me, for a change.”

Let it go…

Madeline tried to throw off the foreboding caused by her aunt’s words as she stood at the airport in Nashville, waiting for Hunter Solozano. She was late but, fortunately, so was his plane. The storm had been responsible for a lot of delays. She was surrounded by crowds of people, many of whom shifted restlessly, shook off their wet umbrellas or held up signs designating the name of the person or party they’d come to meet.

She wished she’d taken the time to make a sign. She had no idea what Hunter looked like. From his grouchy voice, she imagined an overweight middle-aged man with a receding hairline, saggy jowls and thick, sausagelike fingers. But when Hunter’s plane finally arrived and the passengers streamed into the baggage claim area, the only person she saw who even remotely resembled that mental picture was immediately approached by someone else.

As the passengers found their baggage and drifted away, Madeline began to worry that Hunter had missed his flight.

It wasn’t a pleasant thought after driving three hours in the pouring rain.

She got her cell phone from her purse, checked her signal strength and punched in his number. Who needed a cardboard sign in this day and age? She’d simply call him. If he’d actually arrived, she’d tell him to meet her at the fifth carousel. And if he hadn’t—

For all her aunt’s dire warnings, she didn’t want to even think about the fact that he might not have come. She was counting on him to put an end to the doubt and conjecture.

“I’ve got to catch a break eventually,” she grumbled and put the phone to her ear. But then she spotted a man striding purposefully toward her from the lost luggage counter and hung up. She’d seen this guy walk past her before but…He couldn’t be her investigator, could he?

“Hunter Solozano?” she said tentatively.

His eyes swept over her, his expression revealing little except annoyance. “That’s me.”

He was carrying a guitar…A lot of country-star wannabes came through the Nashville airport, but he didn’t look anything like a cowboy. He was definitely West Coast.

“Is that all your luggage?” she asked. Other than the guitar, he had a small carry-on bag that appeared to contain a computer.

He raked his fingers through blond hair that was a bit too long and beginning to curl at the ends. “They lost the rest.”

“You’re kidding, right?” He had to be kidding—about more than his luggage. He looked like a…a surfer. About six feet tall, he had icy blue eyes, a lean, rugged face and a great tan. Worse, the hint of beard covering his jaw made him appear too lazy to be cunning or perceptive. And his rock-hard body indicated he spent more time swimming in the ocean than sitting behind a desk.

“No joke,” he said. “But they told me they’d drive it to Stillwater as soon as they find it. Hopefully, it’ll get here sometime tomorrow.”

What have I done? She’d been expecting someone driven, maybe even ruthless. Someone capable of solving a mystery that had stumped Stillwater’s best and brightest for twenty years. Instead, she’d hired a beach bum with a guitar—for one thousand dollars a day!

“Right.” She barely managed to stifle a groan. He was wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt over another T-shirt, a pair of faded, holey jeans and…flip-flops.

Flip-flops! Frowning, she rubbed her forehead.

“I said they’d drive it out,” he repeated, watching her curiously.

“I heard you.”

He hiked up the computer bag he carried on one of his impressive shoulders. “So…what’s the problem?”

Dropping her hand, she decided to be honest with him. “Tell me your father or your older brother is here somewhere.”

One eyebrow, much darker than his sun-streaked hair, slid up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re too young,” she complained.

“Too young for what? I’m thirty-two. How old do I have to be?”

“Older than that. I’m thirty-six and I certainly don’t feel equipped to handle this…this mess. Besides, you’re too—” she motioned to his guitar “—God, you could pass for Keith Urban. I don’t need someone who’s drop-dead gorgeous. And I sure as hell don’t need someone who can sing. I need a P.I. who’ll take my problem seriously, who’s so dedicated and tenacious that he won’t give up, no matter what.”

His scowl darkened. “I liked the drop-dead gorgeous part, but I’m more offended than flattered by your other remarks.”

“I don’t care. This isn’t fun and games to me, Mr.—Hunter. See? Now that I’ve met you, I can’t even call you Mr. Solozano. Mr. Solozano would be your father.”

“I could go out and buy some wing-tip shoes, a magnifying glass and a trench coat. Would that help?” he asked sarcastically.

“So now you’re a comedian, too.”

“Should I have taken you seriously? How does my appearance preclude my ability to do my job?”

“Every available woman in Stillwater will be coming on to you, wasting your time—which is really my time, since I’ll be paying for it.” She couldn’t admit that she might be tempted to come on to him herself, that he’d be a distraction she didn’t need. Especially since she still wasn’t over Kirk.

“It doesn’t matter who comes on to me. I’m not interested.”

“On the phone you mentioned an ex-wife.”

“And now you know why.”

When she hesitated, he said, “So where do we go from here, Ms. Barker? Can you get past your attraction to me? Or do you want to sacrifice your retainer to compensate me for my trouble and send me home?”

Both questions were so shockingly blunt, Madeline didn’t know which to answer first. Money won out. “Sacrifice my retainer? Are you crazy?” she cried. “And I’m not attracted to you! I’m already involved.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

The fact that she’d just lied about being involved, of course. Not only was she flying solo at this point, she was beginning to miss the emotional and physical comforts a man could offer.

She swallowed hard. “You’re not attracted to me, are you?” If it was all one-sided—her side—she should be okay. She certainly wasn’t about to lose the five thousand dollars she’d given him.

It was his turn to hesitate. His gaze flicked over her a second time but quickly returned to her face. “I told you. I’m not interested in any woman.”

“Right. The ex.” She took a deep breath. “That’s good news.”

“I’m glad you’re happy.” He rubbed his hands. “So…are we on?”

“Let’s see how it goes this week,” she replied. “If you’re as good as you’re supposed to be, I should be able to tell fairly soon.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said dryly.

She started to lead him out, into the rain. “There’s one more thing.”

“I’m dying to hear it.”

Putting up her umbrella, she raised her voice against the rumbling motors and the security guard telling everyone to move along. “People where I live are very…conservative. If you alienate them, we won’t have a chance.”

“Why would I alienate them?”

“I’m just telling you that Stillwater isn’t California.”

He gave her a salute. “Consider me warned. Somehow I’ll keep my liberal self in check.”

A minute earlier, he’d said he wasn’t interested in her—or any other woman. But when she glanced back at him, she caught him checking out her behind. “I thought you weren’t interested,” she said.

He grinned. “Doesn’t hurt to look.”