by Brenda Novak
“A little.” Just reading all the reports and statements in the boxes that were stacked in the small locked storage room at the station had been a chore. Allie had one more box to go; she hadn’t had time to wade through its contents yet. Her father kept giving her other assignments. And she was the only one really working the night shift. It wasn’t as if Hendricks was any help.
“From what I’ve seen so far, there’re a lot of contradictions,” she said. “Deirdre Hunt claims she saw Reverend Barker heading out of town at eight-thirty. Bonnie Ray Simpson says she saw him pull into the farm at about the same time. And you know Jed Fowler was there that night, fixing the tractor in the barn. He says he never heard or saw anything.”
“He also confessed to murder when he thought your father had found the reverend’s remains.”
“Those remains turned out to be a dog.”
“So? The point is, Jed tried to protect the Montgomerys, which means he might know more than he’s saying.”
“True. Rachelle Cook and Nora Young’s statements certainly suggest he’s lying. They claim Reverend Barker was going home when they said goodbye to him in the church parking lot just before he disappeared.”
Allie knew her mother had heard all of this before. Everyone in Stillwater had. She would’ve been more familiar with it herself, had she not moved away as soon as she graduated from high school. After that, she had college, marriage and her own work to keep her busy. She’d thought about the missing reverend only when her father mentioned some facet of the case.
“You have to decide who’s got a reason to lie,” her mother said.
The way her mother loved mysteries and true-crime books, it was too bad she hadn’t gone into law enforcement. Especially since she was surrounded by a family of cops. Besides her husband being chief of police, and her daughter serving on the same force, her oldest child, Daniel, was a sheriff in Arizona. When Allie’s brother called to discuss his various cases, it was often Evelyn who offered the best advice.
“Is Dad over at the station?” Allie asked.
“If he’s not out on a call. Or at the doughnut shop,” she added wryly. A year ago, the doctor had warned Dale that his cholesterol was too high. So Evelyn had put him on a diet. But they both knew he thwarted her attempts to curtail his calorie consumption. He’d sneak off to Two Sisters, a local café, for homemade pie, the Piggly Wiggly for chips and soda, or Lula Jane’s Coffee and Cake, for a gigantic apple fritter.
“He’s not very cooperative,” Allie mused.
Evelyn shook her head. “He never has been. Not when it comes to food.”
Only five-ten and nearly two hundred and fifty pounds, Dale could stand to lose some weight. But he’d always been stocky. Allie hated to see him denied what he loved most. “Maybe you should ease up on the diet restrictions.”
Her mother shook her head adamantly. “I can’t. The doctor said he could have a heart attack. Or a stroke.”
“It’s a good thing he’s got you,” Allie said.
“We could lose him if we’re not careful.” Evelyn reached out to tuck Allie’s hair behind one ear, the way she used to when Allie was little. “Your dad and I have been together forty years. Hard to believe, isn’t it? Where has all the time gone?”
Allie pressed her cheek into her mother’s palm. “Thanks for letting me come home.”
Evelyn lowered her voice because they could hear Whitney skipping down the hall, singing. “You should’ve told us what you were dealing with a lot sooner.”
“I thought the medication would help his mood swings. And it did, to some extent. I could’ve lived with his ups and downs if only he’d cared about Whitney.”
“He was just too—” Whitney entered the room, and Evelyn finished with a simple “—selfish.”
Allie’s daughter had chocolate smeared on her face and was grinning from ear to ear. “Boppo makes the best cookies. I’m glad we live here!”
Whitney didn’t seem to miss her father. Considering the way Sam had treated her, Allie wasn’t particularly surprised. “I’m glad, too, honey.”
“That makes three of us.” Evelyn collected Allie’s empty plate. “Come on, Whitney. We’ll let your mother grab a quick nap.”
Whitney didn’t answer. She was too busy searching the bed and the floor. “Where is it?” she asked in obvious disappointment. “Where did it go?”
Allie had slumped back onto the pillows. She planned to get up and help her daughter with homework. But she craved fifteen more minutes before she had to roll out of bed. “Where did what go?” she asked, her mind having shifted to the poster board Whitney needed for a project at school.
“The picture,” Whitney replied.
“What picture?” Evelyn asked.
“Of the naked man. The one Mommy took at work.”
Allie could feel her mother’s gaze, but pretended not to be paying attention.
“Allie?” her mother said.
“Give me a few minutes,” Allie mumbled, feigning sleep.
“Mommy,” Whitney started but, much to Allie’s relief, Evelyn managed to coax her from the room with the promise of calling Uncle Daniel in Arizona to say hello.
“Will Aunt Jamie be there, too?” Whitney asked.
“Maybe,” Evelyn said. “We’ll see.”
As soon as they were gone, Allie pulled Clay’s photograph from under her mattress, intending to return it to the file. She had no reason to feel embarrassed that she had it. It was work, that was all. And yet his fathomless blue eyes held her spellbound.
Was he a murderer? An accomplice? Or a convenient target?
At this point, she had no idea. She only knew he was the handsomest man she’d ever met.
With a curse, she shoved the photograph back between the mattresses—she didn’t want her mother and Whitney to catch her leaving the room with it—and forced herself to get up.
It rained again that night, and steam rose from the warm earth. Clay stood at his bedroom window, watching it, listening to the wind whip the trees against the house. The ferocity of the storm made him feel more isolated than usual, and yet it reminded him that seasons changed and life went on—even though he felt like he was trapped in the past.
The phone rang. After a long day of plowing, he’d replaced the roof on one of the sheds behind the barn. His back ached from hauling the heavy roofing material up the ladder and from bending over to attach each shingle. He wanted to go to bed. But, tired as he was, he strode to the nightstand and reached for the handset. It had to be Beth Ann. He’d tried calling her twice earlier.
“Hello?”
“Clay?”
It was her, all right. Stretching out on the bed, he gazed up at the ceiling, wondering why he wasn’t angry. She’d done her best to land him in prison, which was still a possibility. But he blamed himself more than he blamed her. At least she was willing to make a commitment. He couldn’t even offer her friendship.
“What’s up?” he said.
There was a moment’s hesitation, during which he felt her surprise at receiving his typical greeting. “You’re not mad?” she asked.
“That depends on what you mean by mad.”
Her voice dropped. “I’m sorry, if that helps.”
She sounded contrite, which made it even more difficult to hold what she’d done against her. Maybe she wasn’t the finest person in the world. But she wasn’t the worst, either. And Clay didn’t think he’d be nominated for sainthood anytime in the near future. “It happened. It’s over. I think we should both forget it and move on.”
“I agree,” she said eagerly.
Did that mean they could move on? He squeezed his forehead, anxious about what he might learn in the next few minutes. It was unlikely that Beth Ann was pregnant—but unlikely wasn’t impossible. “Just tell me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
Thunder boomed in the distance and rolled across the sky, loud enough to rattle the windows. “Is it true, what you said?”
/> He thought she’d immediately know what he meant. But he realized that wasn’t the case when she answered.
“No. Whatever Allie told you, she must’ve made it up. I was upset and I mouthed off. But she’s the one who wouldn’t let me go until I’d signed that silly statement.”
At this point, the damage from last night had already been done. All that mattered to Clay was whether or not there was a baby. But Beth Ann’s words were so unexpected they managed to distract him. “Are you trying to tell me it was Allie’s fault you said I confessed to murder?”
“Yes! She took advantage of me. Maybe you haven’t heard, but she’s planning to solve your stepfather’s case. I guess she wants to show all us country bumpkins what a detective from the big city can do.”
Allie’s image appeared in Clay’s mind. She wasn’t a beauty like Beth Ann, but she had a unique face. Short dark hair framed large brown eyes, a handful of freckles dotted her small nose, and her chin was, perhaps, too sharp. Because of her diminutive size, the freckles made her look almost childlike. But she had a beauty mark on her right cheek that added a degree of sophistication. And there was nothing childlike about her mouth. Full and soft-looking, it seemed a little misplaced juxtaposed against that nose and those freckles, but it was a very womanly feature and somehow pulled all the disparate parts of her face together.
“Stop blaming Allie,” he said, growing irritated. Allie was honest. He could tell. But that didn’t make him trust her. Because it was the truth that posed the biggest threat to him.
“It was her.”
“Bullshit. Allie’s not that kind of person.”
“Since when do you know her so well?”
He could read the jealousy in Beth Ann’s voice. But he had no patience for that, either. “You don’t have to know her. All you have to do is meet her. She takes that badge seriously.”
“She’s a chip off the old block, Clay. And the police have been out to get you for a long time.”
“Allie’s not out to get me, Beth Ann.” At least not yet. But that could change once she discovered that her father was having an affair with his mother. Or when she dug a bit deeper into the disappearance of Lee Barker.
“I wouldn’t have signed that statement without her, Clay. I promise.”
Beth Ann obviously thought it’d make a difference if she passed the blame. Clay understood that, but he couldn’t admire it. “I don’t care about the statement you gave Allie. If that was enough to put me in prison, I’d be there already. I just want to know about…”
“What?”
“The baby.”
“What baby?”
“You told her you were pregnant, remember?”
“Oh, well—” she laughed uncomfortably “—like I told you, I was upset and said some things I shouldn’t have. But I retracted them right away.”
Closing his eyes, he let his breath seep slowly between his lips. “So it’s not true?” he asked. He needed to be sure.
“No, but—” her voice fell to a hopeful whisper “—would you have married me if it was?”
Although he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, the answer to that question had been lurking in his heart and mind for twenty-four hours—ever since he’d first learned of the possibility. Which was why he’d been so frightened. After what he’d experienced growing up, he wanted to raise any child of his on a full-time basis and, if he could, he’d ensure that child received the support of both mother and father. Even if it meant marrying a woman he didn’t love. “Probably,” he admitted.
When his answer met with complete silence, he knew he’d shocked her.
“I’ll let you go,” he said.
“Wait…Clay, if it’s a baby you want, I’ll give you one. We could make it work.”
He imagined hearing a little girl’s laughter in the house, or taking his son out on the farm. Since Grace’s marriage, he had two nephews. Teddy and Heath belonged to Kennedy, her husband, but Clay loved them as much as if they were blood relatives. He wanted a couple of boys just like them, or maybe a little girl like Grace. Strained though their relationship had been since Barker, they were getting along much better these days. She’d always been his favorite, not only because they were closer in age, but because she was so fragile and lovely.
Thinking of his nephews made Beth Ann’s suggestion more tempting than he’d ever imagined it would be—almost worth the trade-off. He was thirty-four years old. Had his situation been different, he would’ve been married by now.
But what kind of life could he offer a wife and child when he was harboring such a dark secret? What if Allie McCormick, or someone else, managed to reveal the truth?
He’d have to take full responsibility. And then he’d go to prison.
Beth Ann didn’t realize it, but he was doing her a favor. “No,” he said, “it’s over.”
“Don’t say that,” she cried. “Let me see you again.”
She didn’t know when to back off. “I’m tired, Beth Ann.”
“This weekend, then. Or next weekend. One last night together. For old times’ sake.”
“Don’t,” he said and hung up.
When Allie went to work, she found her father sitting at his desk with a stack of paperwork. He usually kept regular office hours, but he hadn’t been home since leaving for the station at eight that morning. He hadn’t even joined them for dinner. Evelyn had mentioned that he’d called to say he was busy, but Allie was surprised that he hadn’t asked to talk to her. Surely by now he’d heard about the call she’d handled at the Montgomery farm—from Hendricks or someone he’d told, from the rumors Beth Ann had probably started, from the dispatcher. From someone.
“It’s been a long day for you,” she said, setting the sack lunch she’d packed for later on her own small desk in the corner. “What’s going on?”
He grunted in annoyance but kept typing on his computer, using only his index fingers. Her father didn’t welcome technical advancements with any enthusiasm. He preferred to work the old-fashioned way. “Everyone’s up in arms about Clay Montgomery’s confession,” he muttered.
So he did know. Allie slid her report in front of him, then scooted a chair closer to his desk. “Word’s out already, huh?”
“Thanks largely to your fellow officer.”
“Hendricks?”
“Who else? He’s done everything but call the damn paper, claiming we finally have our man.”
She expected Dale to pick up her report, glance through it for the real story. But he didn’t. “What do you think?” she asked.
“Hendricks is an idiot.”
She checked the window for headlights, knowing Hendricks could arrive at any moment. “I agree. But his father is on the board of supervisors. And I was talking about the case. From what you’ve heard, do you think Beth Ann’s statement will have any impact?”
“It could.”
Allie had anticipated a different answer, a confirmation of her own opinion. “What about my report?”
“What about it?”
“Aren’t you going to read it?”
“I don’t need to.”
“What?”
He didn’t answer.
“Dad, if you’re not going to read the report, I’ll tell you. We don’t have much more than we had yesterday. Beth Ann is merely claiming Clay told her something he swears he didn’t. That’s not physical evidence.”
“It all adds up,” he said indifferently.
“Last I heard, we needed more than ‘he said, she said’ to charge someone with murder. At the very least, a body would be nice.”
“Try telling that to all the people who’ve been calling here, demanding Clay’s arrest,” he snapped. “I swear they’d lynch him if they could, without proof that he’s guilty of anything—except, perhaps, refusing to kiss the right asses.”
Allie had never heard her father be so supportive of Clay. “You once told me you thought he was guilty, and that his mother and sisters were covering for him,�
� she said. “Have you changed your mind?”
His two fingers continued to pluck at the keys. “What I think doesn’t matter.” He angled his head toward her report. “What you think doesn’t matter, either. Only what we can prove.”
“But we can’t prove he killed Barker. So how can the D.A. run with this?”
“He can and he might. It’s a political hornet’s nest right now.”
“That’s crazy,” she said. “We need to find the real culprit.”
“You don’t think it’s Clay?” He looked up at her.
“It could be him or one of several other people,” she hedged.
He went back to typing. “Don’t waste any effort on Barker’s disappearance.”
Allie sat straighter. Her father had acted as if the Barker case wasn’t a high priority to him, but this was the first time he’d actually stated it. “What did you say?”
“Whatever physical evidence there once was is long gone.”
“Not necessarily,” she argued. “The files themselves could contain the key to the whole mystery.”
“Maybe, but what’s to be gained for all the hours you’d have to spend doing the research and interviewing everyone who ever gave a statement? The offender’s never acted again. It’s not an issue of public safety.”
“It can stop the D.A. from going after the wrong guy. Although I doubt they’d get a conviction against Clay, even if they tried him.”
“They could if they tried him around here.”
Allie didn’t like that answer. “It’s a matter of justice,” she said. “Of giving Reverend Barker’s relatives the answers they crave. A man has gone missing, Dad. As far as I’m concerned, it’s our job to find out what happened to him.”
“He went missing a long time ago,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, we’ve got more pressing problems.”
Allie gaped at him. “Why the change of heart?”
“Solving a cold case takes months and months of hard work. You’ve told me that yourself.”
“It does, but—”
“I don’t see any point in chasing this one,” he interrupted. “On or off the job. I need you to take care of the problems that are cropping up today, not two decades ago. And you’re a single mom, Allie. You don’t want to be spending all your off-hours working on Barker’s disappearance.”