Dead Silence

by Brenda Novak

  After waiting for a dial tone, he called his mother and asked her to come out right away to sit with the boys. Then he called Clay.

  The phone at the farm rang and rang and rang. When there was no answer, he tried McCormick on his cell.

  “Chief McCormick here.”

  “Dale, this is Kennedy.”

  “What’s up, Kennedy?”

  Kennedy began to pace. “Can you come over? I need to talk to you.”

  “I can’t right now. I’m on my way to the Montgomery farm.”

  “Joe doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about,” Kennedy said.

  There was an awkward silence. “Kennedy, he says he has proof. He also says you’ve been keeping a few secrets you should definitely have passed along.”

  “Grace and her family aren’t guilty of murder, Dale.”

  “Are you sleeping with her, Kennedy? Is that much true?”

  “Whether I’m sleeping with her has nothing to do with her guilt or innocence.”

  “It makes a difference to what you’re willing to believe about her, my friend. I sympathize with you. But I have to do my job. If Joe’s got proof, I have to act on it.”

  Shit! Kennedy’s growing fear and agitation spurred him to move faster. “Act how?”

  “I’ve got Hendricks over at the judge’s house, trying to get a search warrant.”

  “But you already searched the farm! You found nothing.”

  “We found plenty, but nothing conclusive enough to build a solid case. A body would change that. And Joe’s convinced he knows where to look.”

  Kennedy stopped in the middle of the floor. “Dale, listen to me, Joe’s doing this out of spite. He’s a vengeful son of a bitch, that’s all.”

  “If we don’t find anything, I’ll shut him down, Kennedy. I promise. I know what Joe’s like. But first I have to determine if there’s any validity to what he’s telling me.”

  Kennedy descended the stairs two at a time, dashing to the kitchen for his keys. “Grace was just a girl when the reverend went missing.”

  “I’ve heard of stranger things. Anyway, someone’s responsible for his disappearance. And it’s my job to figure out what happened, who did it. I’ll do my best to be fair. You know that.”

  His words offered Kennedy little comfort. He kept hearing Grace say, It was my fault…but I didn’t mean for it to happen. It was an accident.

  An accident…Would the proof support that? Probably not. If so, the Montgomerys would’ve contacted the police when it happened, right? In any case, after eighteen years it would be difficult to establish the details, and the details were everything. It would be far easier for McCormick to let public opinion—and the Vincellis—pressure him into charging Grace or someone else in her family with murder.

  “The facts aren’t always what they seem,” he said.

  “The facts are still the facts, Kennedy, and I have to be true to them. I’ll be in touch.”

  Kennedy cursed as McCormick hung up. Now what? He tried Judge Reynolds, only to receive a similar answer. If there was new evidence, they had to act on it.

  By the time Kennedy’s mother arrived, he was down to contacting Irene Montgomery, anything to bring Grace some support. He had to call information for the number, but Irene was listed.

  “Hello?” she said, answering on the second ring and sounding as groggy as he’d expected.

  “Irene, this is Kennedy Archer.”

  “Kennedy?” she repeated as though she’d never heard the name.

  He dared not take the time to explain. “Meet me at the farm as soon as possible. Grace is there, along with Joe Vincelli. The police are on their way.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “They’re getting another warrant,” he said and slammed the phone down on the counter.

  Camille grabbed his arm as he hurried past her toward the garage. “Do you want me to have your father place a few calls?”

  “I’ve already called everyone I can think of. Just stay with the boys. I’ll let you know what’s going on as soon as I can,” he said and ran out the door.

  21

  “That was your boyfriend. He’s a little worried about you,” Joe said. He still hadn’t found her, but he was so close Grace was afraid to breathe. He’d turned on a flashlight and searched the work shed and the trees. Now he was looking inside the cab of the truck.

  “I betcha he’s coming over here,” he went on. “Which is fine. He might as well be around when the police arrive. Seeing his face when you’re arrested for murder will be almost as good as what I had planned. Almost, but not quite,” he said with a laugh.

  Grace stared at the glimmers of light that seeped through the spots where rust had eaten away the floor of the truck. Joe’s feet were only a few inches from her. She had to come up with some way to stop the inevitable. And she had to do it fast. It was a matter of seconds before he found her. There weren’t that many places to hide.

  Searching the ground, she found a small rock as he closed the door of the truck. She imagined he was about to bend, to look underneath. And that left her with only one chance.

  Hoping to make Joe believe she was dashing off in the opposite direction, she tossed the rock toward the other side of the work shed. It skittered, then hit something with a solid clunk. But Joe wasn’t fooled. Dropping to the ground, he pointed the flashlight right in her face.

  “My, my, look what we have here.”

  Grace screamed and tried to scoot out the other side. But it was no use. He simply ran around the truck and dragged her the rest of the way by her hair.

  “Where’s the shovel, Grace?” he said as he slammed her up against the wheel-well. “What were you going to do with it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you do.” He held her in place with his lower body, grinding his hips into hers. “The police’ll be looking. You know that, don’t you? You’re going to prison.”

  “And you’re going to hell,” she said.

  “Hey, be nice and I might give you one for the road.” He licked her neck, laughing when she flinched. “You can’t tell me you’re looking forward to being locked up with a bunch of women.” He rubbed against her again. “You’ve had a lot of men. Won’t you miss the ride?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it a bit if all men were like you.”

  Even in the dark she could see the malicious glint in his eyes. “If the police weren’t already on their way, I might be tempted to show you how much I’ve changed.”

  “Are you trying to make me sick?”

  Clenching one hand in her hair, he jerked her head back and bit her breast where it swelled above her shirt. But Grace barely felt the pain. She’d been waiting for an opportunity to break away from him. If she could reach her car, she could leave Stillwater behind forever, as she should’ve done in the first place. Then she wouldn’t have to face Madeline when they unearthed her father’s bones, wouldn’t have to drag Kennedy and his boys through everything to come.

  She jerked her knee up, trying to hit Joe in the groin.

  He sensed it coming and moved at the last second, but it changed his focus just enough that she managed to wrench away from him. She started to run, and thought she was actually going to escape, when he caught her and smacked her across the face.

  The force of the blow threw Grace’s head back and left her cheek stinging and numb. But she wasn’t about to give up. She hit Joe on the bandage that covered his nose, which elicited a violent curse—and another blow to her face.

  Lights flashed behind Grace’s eyes, but she still gave the fight everything she had, biting, kicking and slugging for all she was worth. She broke away once more and was at the edge of the clearing before Joe hauled her back by yanking on her hair.

  He looked like he’d hit her again, and take great pleasure in doing so—but a deafening shot exploded through the air.

  Clay! With a mixture of guilt and relief, Grace realized her brother had jo
ined them.

  “You have about three seconds to let go of my sister and get off my land.”

  Grace’s ears rang. But she heard the hardness in her brother’s tone, knew he meant business.

  Joe hesitated—but ultimately decided to gamble. “No way. Put down the gun, Clay. You can’t help her. You’re in over your head already.”

  Grace stared at her brother, trying to make out the expression on his face. It was too dark to pick up on nuances, especially from ten feet away. But the absolute conviction in Clay’s stance was hard to miss.

  Would he really shoot? Would they have another body to bury beside the last one?

  Grace couldn’t stomach the thought of it. “Clay, don’t. Please. He’s not worth it.”

  Clay ignored her. “You’re assaulting my sister. I’d shoot a man for less.”

  “Clay—”

  He didn’t let her finish. “I said let go of her—now!”

  Joe jerked Grace in front of him, using her to shield what he could of his body. “You’re wasting your time threatening me. The police are on their way. It’s all over.”

  Clay raised the gun a fraction of an inch higher, clearly aiming for Joe’s head. “Nothing’s over.”

  “It will be when they find my uncle’s body,” Joe said, but his voice rose while he was speaking, revealing his fear.

  “This is your last warning,” Clay said quietly. “If you don’t let go of her right now, the only body they’ll find will be yours.”

  “Let go.” Grace believed it was the panic in her voice that finally convinced Joe. He shoved her away from him with such force that she nearly landed face-first in the dirt.

  Clay didn’t move to help her. He was still staring down the barrel of his rifle. “I should shoot you anyway. You’re not worth a damn. Just like your uncle.”

  “I knew you hated him,” Joe whispered vehemently. “Finally, you’ve admitted it, after all the lies….”

  “I could tell you a thing or two about pretenses,” Clay said. “About men like you who care for no one but themselves and the dark impulses that drive them. You’re a waste of space, you know that, Joe?”

  Joe lifted his hands in a defensive posture while backing away. “You—you’re the one who’s going to jail.”

  “Then I have nothing to lose, right?” Clay raised his gun another inch or two.

  Grace could sense her brother’s rage mounting, knew the past eighteen years had scarred him, too. The frustration, fear, turmoil and anger he’d endured seemed to be coming to a head. He’d been caught up in a situation he was too young to handle, one he’d never asked for or sought. He’d been through so much that now he cared more about vengeance than self-preservation.

  Grace felt helpless to stop what was happening, but knew she had to try. She couldn’t let the police arrive to find Joe dead and Clay holding the gun that killed him. It was bad enough that they were going to find Barker.

  “Clay!” she said.

  “Stay out of it, Grace.”

  Grace thought she saw his trigger finger tighten and hurried toward him. She paused as she reached him, dared not touch him for fear he’d pull the trigger. “Clay, put the gun down,” she said, lowering her voice to a soft plea. “For me. You’re not the kind of man to do this.”

  “I think most people in Stillwater would disagree with you,” he said.

  “They don’t know you like I do,” she said. “Don’t become what they’ve made us out to be. Don’t prove them right.”

  His eyes flicked her way, but he seemed determined not to let her change his mind. He repositioned the rifle as if he’d fire anyway. But something she’d said must have gotten through to him. After several long seconds, he pointed the barrel at the ground.

  Grace shut her eyes in relief. She would’ve put her arms around him, but the sirens that had begun to wail in the distance came closer and several police cars tore down the drive.

  Chief McCormick rushed out of the lead vehicle. He had someone with him, someone Grace couldn’t see because of the glare of flashlights. “Put the gun on the ground and step away from it, Clay,” he said.

  Clay looked at Grace. She got the impression he was considering opening fire and going down in a hail of bullets.

  She put out a hand to stop him, just in case. But then his lips curved into a mysterious grin and he stepped away from the rifle, exactly as McCormick had directed.

  They were going to dig. After so many years of fearing this moment, Grace could hardly believe she was now facing the very thing she’d dreaded for so long. She stood watching as Chief McCormick and Officers Hendricks and Dormer had Clay use the tractor to pull the Chevy out of the way. Stood without moving when they set up perimeter lights. Stood, a numb observer, as they found the shovel and flashlight she’d left lying on the ground and cast her a knowing glance. She didn’t even blink as they brought a few of their own shovels from their cars and started to scoop up the dirt.

  Joe followed them around as they worked, begging for a backhoe and nagging them to be as thorough as possible. McCormick agreed to the backhoe, provided they didn’t find anything in the next couple of hours—but Grace knew they wouldn’t need to go to the trouble. The reverend was buried right where they were digging. It wouldn’t take more than a few minutes to find him.

  Kennedy had shown up soon after the police. He held Grace’s hand, his shoulder brushing Clay’s as the others swarmed around them. Grace had tried to push Kennedy away from her, to convince him to leave her alone and go back home to his boys. She didn’t want him to be associated with her now that the end was in sight, didn’t want him to witness what the police were about to unearth. She preferred to remember their time together as it was—perfect, beautiful, priceless…and unspoiled by all this.

  But he wouldn’t listen. His expression grim, he held his injured hand close to his body as the police began to pile dirt at the edge of the clearing. He didn’t have much to say, but he seemed as resolute in his support of her as Clay was. Menace filled his eyes every time he looked at Joe.

  “What’re you staring at?” Joe finally asked. “You should be gettin’ ready to kiss Gracie goodbye because she won’t be putting out for you anymore, buddy.”

  A muscle flexed in Kennedy’s jaw, which inspired Grace to cling to him even more tightly. She was afraid he might start another fight. For a mayoral candidate, he’d surprised her more than once. But he didn’t make any threatening moves. “I was wrong to believe you were my friend,” he said.

  “What would you call me, if not a friend?” Joe snapped. “I saved your freakin’ life. Or have you forgotten about that?”

  “You have a few redeeming qualities. Too bad you don’t have more,” he responded.

  “You’re the one who turned on me, Kennedy. You’re the one.” He motioned to get the attention of the others. “Look at him! He supports her even though her shovel’s right here. And he thinks he should be mayor!”

  McCormick shot Joe a look that said the vendetta between him and Kennedy wasn’t helping. “We haven’t found anything yet,” he said.

  “You will,” Joe told him.

  The police chief went back to supervising the digging as Irene came up the drive.

  When Grace saw her mother, she felt even worse about what she’d caused. As angry as she’d been, as much as she’d blamed Clay and Irene simply because she had no better target for her disappointment and disillusionment, she knew what her mother and Clay had faced and, in a way, admired their strength. The situation eighteen years ago had spiraled so quickly out of control. After the reverend had fallen and they’d realized he was dead, they’d done what they had to do to keep the family together.

  If only McCormick would accept the truth for what it was!

  But she sincerely doubted he could. Even now. The community wouldn’t allow it. Not when everyone believed so completely in Barker’s goodness. They’d championed their preacher; learning what he really was would make those who thought they knew h
im feel like fools. And, as Kennedy had said, it would humiliate and embarrass the Vincellis.

  “Grace,” her mother said, walking toward her.

  Irene’s ashen face revealed the extent of her fear and concern. Grace didn’t think she’d ever seen her mother looking so old or so fragile.

  “I’m sorry, Momma,” she said, but as she gave her mother a hug she saw Jed Fowler near the barn. She was about to ask why he was there, who’d called him, but when he reached them, he looked at Irene in such a way that Grace’s mouth dropped open. She’d never seen him so unguarded, so openly sympathetic. Was he the man her mother had been seeing?

  It couldn’t be. Not Jed. Her mother was at least ten years younger and far more attractive.

  “Hello,” Grace said to him.

  He nodded in acknowledgement but remained silent, his eyes on the work being performed by the police.

  Grace edged closer to her mother and lowered her voice. “You could’ve told us you were seeing Jed. There’s nothing wrong with that. Why make it such a secret?”

  “What?” Irene followed Grace’s gaze and seemed startled to see him standing there. “I’m not seeing Jed,” she whispered a moment later.

  “Then how’d he know—”

  “I called him,” Kennedy said. “I figured he might be able to persuade Chief McCormick that you couldn’t have buried the reverend out here, at least not while he was in the barn.”

  “That was a nice thought, Kennedy,” Irene said. “And it’s kind of you to be here.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can,” he promised.

  The polite smile she offered him wilted as Officer Hendricks dragged up a piece of the quilt Grace had been looking for earlier. “I think I’ve found something, Chief.”

  Seeing that scrap of fabric nearly buckled Grace’s knees. She might have crumbled to the ground if not for Kennedy. Sensing her panic, he moved behind her and slipped his arms around her waist.

  McCormick shot Irene a subtle glance before responding. “What is it?” he asked, striding over.

  “Beats me,” Hendricks said. “Fabric of some kind.”