Читать книгу Dead Giveaway - Brenda Novak - Страница 11

That evening, after Clay stepped out of the shower and finished toweling his hair, he called his stepsister, Madeline, on the cordless phone he’d taken into the bathroom. He loved Maddy, talked to her often. Irene, Grace and Molly did, too.After her father “went missing,” she’d chosen to stay with them instead of going to live with Barker’s extended relatives and was as much a part of the family as any one of them. They shared everything with her—except the secret destined to make her hate them if she ever found out.

“Hey, I ran into Beth Ann when I was getting gas today,” she said the moment she heard his voice.

He hung the towel on the rack behind him. “Am I supposed to be excited about that?”

“I thought you might want to know that I already heard what happened at the farm night before last.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” he said, leaving the steamy bathroom and heading into his bedroom.

“Well, maybe this will. The version she gave me is quite different from the rumors going around town.”

He twisted in front of the mirror to see how the scratches on his back were healing. “Is this good or bad news?”

“Good news.”

The scratches were almost gone. That was good news, too. “Then she didn’t tell you I tried to kill her?”

“She just said you broke up with her.”

“Even that isn’t true,” he muttered as he delved into his underwear drawer.

“How’s that?”

“There wasn’t any commitment between us to begin with.”

“She was hoping for one. She feels terrible about calling the cops on you, by the way. She claims she’s in love with you.”

He pulled on his boxer briefs. “Don’t worry. She’ll be in love with someone else next week.”

“You’re so cynical,” she said, laughing. “But maybe you’re right. She had John Keller in the car while she was crying over you, and he seemed more than willing to comfort her.”

“John Keller?” he repeated, not immediately recognizing the name.

“The guy who manages Stillwater Sand and Gravel for Joe Vincelli’s parents. Why? Jealous?”

“No.” He selected a pair of jeans. “I thought Joe managed the gravel pit.”

“He has the title. But he doesn’t do much other than chase women and drink beer. At least since he divorced Cindy. John’s the one who keeps the business afloat.”

If Madeline said it, it was probably true. No one knew Stillwater and the people living in it better than she did. It was her job to know. She owned the Stillwater Independent, a weekly paper she’d bought two years ago from the old couple who’d published it before.

“Good old Joe,” he said, putting on his pants.

“I know. Not your favorite person.”

“An understatement if I’ve ever heard one.” Joe had instigated the last search of the farm.And Joe had mistreated Grace. Clay knew he didn’t have the whole story and doubted Grace would ever tell him, but he’d gathered enough to suspect that the hatred between his sister and Joe stemmed from high school. Clay also guessed the contact between them had been sexual in nature. But after what his sister had been through, he didn’t judge her. Barker had nearly destroyed her.After what had happened when she was only thirteen, she’d acted out in various ways, no doubt hoping to finish the job—and Joe had been there, ready and eager to take advantage, to inflict even more damage.

Clay had done what he could, but Grace had thwarted his attempts to protect her, and he couldn’t help her if she wouldn’t confide in him. So, he’d watch helplessly as she searched for the attention she needed, the love and support she’d rejected from her family.

Until recently. Somehow, she’d managed to survive even her own self-loathing and Joe’s opportunistic abuse. And now she was happy, and Clay was going to make damn sure she stayed that way, if he had to sit at the farm and guard whatever forensic evidence remained until he rotted right along with Barker.

Which reminded him of the purpose behind his call.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked, holding the phone with his shoulder so he could button his fly.

“Kirk said he’d like to shoot some pool. Why? Want to come?”

Kirk Vantassel, a roofing contractor, was Madeline’s longtime boyfriend. Clay kept expecting them to marry but, so far, they weren’t even engaged. In some ways, they acted more like brother and sister than boyfriend and girlfriend.

“I know you don’t like crowds, and Good Times is busy on Friday night,” she said. “But it’d be fun for you to get out. You don’t do it often enough.”

“I’ll meet you over there.” He held the phone out as he pulled on a T-shirt. “Any chance you could convince Allie McCormick to come?” he asked when he had his head through.

“You mean with us? You want me to set you up with Allie?”

“Nothing like that,” he replied. “I was just hoping to get to know her a little.”

“I see,” she said, drawing the word out as though she saw far more than he intended.

“Stop it.” He shrugged into a button-down shirt and splashed on some cologne. “She’s investigating Dad’s case, isn’t she? I figure I might as well talk to her, see if there’s anything I can do to help.” Clay hated making such statements, hated being the hypocrite he was when it came to Maddy but, once again, past actions propelled current ones.

“Considering how you feel about the police, that’s generous of you. I’ll call her,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to, anyway. She left a message on my answering machine, asking about Dad’s Bible.”

“Why? Does she want to look at it?”

“Yeah.”

Clay felt another trickle of unease. Would Allie see the demented man behind the notes the reverend had made in the front and back pages of that Bible? Or, like Madeline, would she see a pious man who loved his new family—and was particularly impressed with his oldest stepdaughter?

At times like this, Clay felt almost justified in keeping the truth from Madeline. Wondering where her father had gone was hard. Especially because she had to deal with the fear that he’d abandoned her. But learning that her father wasn’t fit to breathe the same air as other human beings would be much harder. Of course, that was assuming she’d believe the truth if she heard it. Certainly no one else would.

“I’m going to grab some dinner,” he said. “I’ll see you at Good Times.”

“Are you eating at home or in town?”

“I’m on my way to Two Sisters. Why? Would you like to join me?”

“I’m tempted, but I should finish the article I’m working on. Besides, Kirk’s still out, patching a leaky roof. I’ll eat with him, then catch up with you later.”

“What article are you writing?” he asked. Whatever it was, Clay hoped it wasn’t about him. One week, his stepsister had published a piece on the cars he restored in his barn and the fact that he’d recently sold a 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air for $52,000 and had a client waiting for his 1960 Jaguar XJ6 at a much higher price. Another week she’d written about the way he managed “a large, successful farm” all on his own, as if there’d never been a better farmer. But the worst was when she’d put him in her Singles section and referred to him as “appealing to women” and possessing an “elusive, mysterious allure.” Suspicions being what they were, he already drew enough attention when he walked into a room. He didn’t need her training the spotlight on him.

But, according to Madeline, she sold more papers when she included an article about him, so he didn’t complain. He figured it wouldn’t kill him to occasionally boost her circulation.

Still, he cringed at her next words.

“After the thing with Beth Ann, I’d like to do one on what causes a woman to make false claims against the man she loves.”

“When?”

“In a few weeks.”

Hoping she’d forget by then, he picked up his wallet and keys. “What are you working on now?”

“A series of articles on Allie.”

“Will they run in the Singles section?”

“No, this is front page stuff. I’m writing about some of the murders she solved while she was working in Chicago.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“It is. In one case, she found the guilty party because of the stitching on the bedsheet that was wrapped around the victim’s body.”

“The stitching?” he repeated.

“Yeah. I guess she could tell that the sheet wasn’t the type typically purchased for home use. So she contacted the big commercial cleaners who wash linens for hotel chains in the area and, sure enough, each hotel has different-colored stitching to designate which sheets belong where.”

“How did that lead her to the killer?” he asked.

“You can read the details when the article comes out. It was pretty darn smart of her. But, basically, she traced the sheet to a major downtown hotel and one of their employees.”

“Great,” Clay said. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to read the article. He was worried enough already.

“Allie?”

Her father’s voice intruded on the Disney movie she was watching with Whitney. Picking up the remote, she muted the sound so Dale wouldn’t have to yell quite as loudly. “What?” she called back.

“Telephone!”

Allie hadn’t heard it ring. She’d been dozing. She was off work for the weekend, which meant she could sleep through the night. But she was having trouble staying awake until bedtime. “Coming!”

She turned up the volume again, leaving Belle singing to the Beast as she walked into the adjoining room—her father’s den. It took a moment to find the phone amid the clutter on his desk. “Hello?”

“Allie?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Madeline.”

Allie sank into her father’s leather chair. She’d been expecting this call. “How are you?”

“Good. And you?”

“Hanging in there.”

“Glad to hear it. I have the Bible you were asking about. I’ve pored over every single word and I can’t find anything that could be called a clue. But I’d be happy to let you see it.”

“A fresh pair of eyes might help. I’m not making quick progress on your father’s case, but I am working on it. It takes a while to go through so much material, especially when I’m trying to note every detail.”

“I understand. I’m grateful you’re being so thorough. You’ll uncover the missing piece. I’m sure of it.”

Allie pitied the hope in Madeline’s voice. Maddy had waited nineteen years to find out what had happened to her father and was still waiting. Allie couldn’t imagine how difficult that must be. “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try.”

“If anyone can help me, you can.”

Allie prayed that Madeline’s confidence wasn’t misplaced. For every case she’d solved, there were at least five she’d been unable to break. That was the nature of the business. She’d mentioned those statistics when she’d granted Madeline the interview for the paper, had talked about evidence that was often too degraded to use and key witnesses who’d died or could no longer remember what they’d seen or heard. But Madeline had focused on Allie’s successes. Apparently Madeline’s five-part series would summarize some of her toughest cases, but only those that had a happy ending.

Maybe Madeline needed to tell those stories to bolster her faith that she’d eventually find the resolution she sought.

“I’ll do my best,” she said again.

“I know you will. Anyway, I have another question for you.”

Allie rolled closer to her father’s desk and glanced idly through his Rolodex. “What’s up?”

“Are you working tonight?”

“No, why?” She stopped at the number for a Corinth florist written in her father’s hand. She’d never known him to order flowers. He was too practical. Had someone died? No one close to them. And if it was a professional acquaintance, her father would’ve handled it at the station…

“I was hoping you might be interested in going out dancing or playing pool tonight.”

As she considered Madeline’s invitation, Allie continued to flip through the small cards. She liked Madeline a lot and ordinarily would’ve jumped at the chance to go out with her. They’d sometimes hung out when they were kids. And although her two best friends from high school had married and moved away shortly after she did, there were other people she remembered and wanted to see. So far, though, she’d been too busy moving, getting Whitney started in a new school and becoming familiar with her job.

But she was so tired. “I would if I could keep my eyes open,” she said, covering a yawn. “I’m still getting used to working graveyard.”

“Really?” Madeline seemed genuinely disappointed. “Clay was hoping you could make it.”

“Clay?” she repeated, nearly choking on the name.

“He called me a few minutes ago and asked me to invite you.”

Allie’s jaw dropped as she immediately conjured up an image of Clay—the image in the picture beneath her mattress. “Why would your brother want me there?”

“He said he’d like to get to know you, and maybe talk about Dad.”

Dad…Madeline had said that as if Clay called Barker “Dad,” but he didn’t. At least not in front of Allie. Did he play it differently when he was with Madeline?

It’d be interesting to watch the two of them together, Allie thought, when they were relaxed and didn’t feel they were under scrutiny. The way they interacted might tell her something about the case, certainly more than Clay intended to divulge.

“If he’s ready to share, I guess I’d better not miss out,” she said, reversing her earlier decision. “He’s not usually so open.”

“Not to police officers in general, but that’s because they’re almost always prejudiced against him,” Madeline said, a defensive note creeping into her voice. “He’s not the one responsible for whatever happened to my father.”

“You’ve told me that before. But I can’t rule him out, Maddy.” Especially since Joe Vincelli and others claimed exactly the opposite. “I can’t rule anybody out. I have to keep an open mind. Otherwise, I won’t be any good to you.”

Madeline seemed to struggle between loyalty and common sense.

“Tell me this,” Allie said softly.

“What?”

“If it was Clay—”

“It’s not,” she insisted. “Don’t listen to what people around here say. They don’t know him the way I do.”

“I’m just asking—if it was—would you want to know?” To Allie, justice was justice. The case needed to be solved, regardless. But did Madeline really understand what she was asking? She craved answers, but what if those answers only caused her fresh pain?

“I don’t have to worry,” Madeline said. “It’s not him.”

For Madeline’s sake—and Clay’s, too, because he was so young when it’d all happened—Allie hoped not. “I’ll take your word for it,” she said. “For now. But I definitely don’t want to miss out on the opportunity to talk to Clay while he’s willing to speak with me.”

“There’ll be other chances.”

Allie wasn’t willing to risk it. “No, I’ll tank up on coffee and go out with you. Just let me get Whitney to bed.”

“Okay. But don’t press my brother too hard. He doesn’t socialize much, and I want him to have a nice time tonight.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Allie said. But she couldn’t imagine anyone pressing Clay further than he wanted to go.

Clay spotted Allie the moment she opened the door of the crowded pool hall. She was wearing a black miniskirt and a hot-pink, long-sleeved stretchy top. The skirt could’ve been a lot shorter, but it was short enough to be surprising on someone so conservative. And while the top wasn’t low-cut, it clung to her in all the right places. Maybe she wasn’t soft and voluptuous, but she looked…trim, fit and well proportioned, especially for her size. She’d also put some gel in her hair and styled it in a shaggy, fashionable way. The short length emphasized her eyes—and her slightly oversize mouth. That mouth had been sexy even when she wore that off-putting uniform.

Clay saw more than a few male heads turn as Allie spotted him, Madeline and Kirk and began to stride toward their table in the back corner. Evidently, he wasn’t the only man in the place impressed with her transformation.

“Hi,” she said, giving Clay a no-holds-barred smile as she slid into the one empty chair, which happened to be right next to him.

He refused to let his gaze linger on her mouth. “Hello,” he responded. Then he drained his beer. He had a feeling that it was going to be a long night. He didn’t like what he was doing or why he was doing it. But that didn’t matter. He had to do what he could. It always came down to necessity.

“You look great,” Madeline said. “I hope you’ve found your second wind.”

“I took some No-Doz. It was quicker and easier than drinking a gallon of coffee,” she said.

Clay knew his stepsister was very attractive, with her long, thick auburn hair, dramatic cheekbones and large hazel eyes. But Allie didn’t look drab by comparison. It was her mouth…And that beauty mark. Heck, Clay was even beginning to like her freckles. She was different, unusual…and seemed unaware of the effect she was having on the men around her.

“Coffee makes me jittery if I drink too much,” Allie was saying. “It’s the curse that goes along with having a high metabolism. I’m usually hyper until I can’t go anymore, and then—” she snapped her fingers “—I’m out. So, if this affects me the same way and I go to sleep—” she smiled at Clay again “—wake me up.”

“We’ll take care of you,” he said.

Her eyes met his, and he read frank curiosity in them.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked.

“I’ll have a beer.”

At his wave, the waitress hurried over, and he ordered two beers. “Anyone else?”

“I’m all set,” Madeline said.

Kirk lifted his half-filled glass. “Me, too. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a game of pool.”

Kirk was as easygoing and affable as he looked. Until he was confronted by a threat to someone he loved. Then he was a force to be reckoned with. Clay liked him, thought he’d make Madeline a fine husband.

“A table’s opening up,” Madeline said, calling out to a friend to hold it for them. “We gonna bet on the game?”

“Hell, yeah,” Kirk replied. “I came to win big.” Shoving his dark hair out of his eyes, he turned to Allie. “Fifty bucks says Maddy and I can take you and Clay.”

“I’ll bet fifty, too,” Madeline said.

“You?” Clay asked, obviously taken aback.

“I’m expecting a sizable tax refund.”

“So what do you say?” Kirk’s focus was still on Allie.

Allie’s eyebrows slid up. “You two aren’t confident or anything, are you?”

“We might be confident, but are we any good? That’s what you have to ask yourself,” he replied with a teasing wink.

“That’s not the only factor in the equation.” Allie winked right back. “Maybe you two are good, but maybe Clay and I are better.”

Madeline made a taunting sound and spoke over Kirk. “Ooh, I love it. She’s not going to let you intimidate her.”

“We won’t know until we play,” he said.

Allie leaned closer to Clay, thoughtfully tugging on her bottom lip. “You’ve seen what these two can do. What do you think? Will I have to carry you?”

Clay coughed in surprise. Women generally assumed he’d be the better player.

“I might be a burden,” he replied dryly, “but I’ll try to hold my own.”

She studied him a little longer, then flashed him a grin. “Let’s do it.”

As Allie, Kirk and Madeline headed over to the pool table, Clay intercepted the waitress who was bringing their drinks and carried them into the back room, where Kirk was already racking balls.

Allie accepted her beer with a nod of thanks, took a sip, then set it on the edge of the table. “Who breaks?” she asked above the babble of voices around them.

“You can,” Kirk said, but Allie didn’t respond. She was too busy staring across the room.

Clay followed her gaze to see Joe Vincelli coming toward them, a smirk on his face.

“Out on the town tonight, Officer McCormick?” he asked.

Allie’s spine visibly straightened. “Something wrong with that, Mr. Vincelli?”

“No, of course not. It’s just that when you said you were going to find the man responsible for my uncle’s murder, I didn’t expect you to go out drinking with him. That’s a hell of a way to investigate.”

Instinctively, Clay stepped in front of her. He wouldn’t allow Joe to bully a woman in his presence. But, even at barely over five feet tall, Allie didn’t seem to feel she needed his protection. She put a hand on his arm and gently but firmly pushed him out of the way. “I’ll drink with whoever I want,” she stated flatly.

Joe’s jaw tightened as his eyes sought Clay, but Clay could sense that he was weighing his response. Obviously not wanting to get his ass kicked, Joe reined himself in, which came as a bit of a disappointment to Clay. He’d long been eager for the opportunity to rearrange Joe’s weasel-like features.

“What’s your problem?” Clay asked. “Why are you always harassing women? First Cindy, then Grace and now Allie. I’m right here, Joe. If you want a piece of me, let’s take it outside.”

He thought Allie might interfere—maybe assume her role as cop—but she didn’t. She stood where she was and didn’t speak, but he could feel the tension in her as Joe considered his options.

Finally, Joe backed away. “He’s a cold-blooded killer, Allie. Don’t let him fool you.”

“He doesn’t frighten me,” Allie said. “Nor will he or anyone else interfere with the integrity of my investigation.”

Joe risked throwing one more glance at Clay. “If that’s the truth, I wouldn’t go anywhere alone with him. Maybe if you learn too much, you’ll go missing next.”