by Brenda Novak
Whitney hugged Evelyn’s leg. “Will I still get to see Boppo?”
Seeing the panic in her daughter’s face, Allie knelt in front of her. “Of course. Boppo can visit us whenever she likes.”
“Visit you?” Evelyn echoed. “I won’t be watching Whitney while you work?”
“Not until I get a job.”
“You quit the force?”
Allie dumped the rest of her shoes on top of the quilt that had been a wedding gift. “No, Dad fired me. But…he was probably right to do so.” Otherwise, she would’ve caused even more trouble for him. And, hurt and angry though she was over what he’d said, she didn’t want to do that.
“What’s wrong with him?” Evelyn muttered, obviously confused.
Remembering the photograph stuck between her mattress and box spring, Allie retrieved it and slipped it into her pocket. “He doesn’t like the company I’m keeping,” she said. Then she started dragging the first of her boxes down the hall.
Clay was cleaning up the dishes from his supper when he finally gave up trying to ignore his ringing phone.
“I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Where have you been?” his mother asked without any of the customary greetings.
Clay hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone until he’d decided how he was going to handle the situation with Allie and her father. He couldn’t leave it as it was. She’d lost her job because of him. “I’ve been busy.”
“I came by earlier. No one was there.”
“I was out running errands.” He’d had Grace drive him to Jed’s shop, where he’d purchased two tires before she took him to the cabin to get his truck. Then he’d paid Joe a visit. Joe claimed he was in bed asleep when Clay was shot. But there wasn’t anyone to corroborate his whereabouts. So it wasn’t easy to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Word has it you were shot last night,” Irene said.
“That would be true.” He was wearing a makeshift bandage he’d put on himself. But he didn’t plan to keep it on for long. The tape bothered him, and the wound was already beginning to heal.
“You didn’t think your mother might be worried about you?”
He slipped the pan he’d used to fry grits into the soapy water. “Who told you? Grace?”
“No. I haven’t been able to get hold of her, either. Madeline overheard it at the grocery store. Can you imagine what that must’ve been like? To hear from a stranger that her brother had been shot? We’ve both been worried sick.”
“I’m sorry.” He’d had too much on his mind, hadn’t expected word to get out quite this fast. “Anyway, it’s nothing.” It was making love with Allie afterward that had made a serious impact.
“What happened?”
“Someone took a shot at me from the trees.”
She gasped. “Who?”
“I don’t know. But I’m fine. The bullet passed through the flesh of my arm, that’s all.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
He used a pot scrubber to get his pan clean. “There’s no need.”
“You were shot and you didn’t even go to the doctor?”
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“Where were you when this happened? At the farm?”
“At Chief McCormick’s cabin.”
She said nothing.
He paused in his work. “You’ve been there, haven’t you?”
“What do you think?”
He went back to scrubbing. “I think you should be glad you broke things off with McCormick when you did.”
“Why?”
“Allie went there searching for proof that her father’s having an affair.”
“You told her?”
“Of course not. She’s beginning to suspect.”
“Why?”
“Did you give him a teddy bear mug?” he asked, rinsing the pan and setting it in the drainer.
There was an uncomfortable silence. “Yes…”
Clay let the water drain out of the sink. “There you go.”
“Did she find what she was looking for?”
If there’d been any doubt in Clay’s mind, the fear in his mother’s voice would’ve confirmed that she’d spent plenty of time at the cabin. “No. But make sure you never go back.”
“We broke up, remember?”
“Doesn’t hurt to give you a little warning.”
“Who would want to harm you?” she asked.
He ran some clear water through his rag, wrung it out and started wiping the counters. “The list isn’t as short as we might hope.”
“But…why now?”
“Allie thinks someone’s afraid I’m not going to get what’s coming to me.”
“It has to be Joe,” she said. “That man’s awful. Just awful.”
Joe had been particularly hateful since Grace’s return nine months ago. Something about her triggered the worst in him. He wanted her and hated her at the same time. And now that Allie was back, and she wasn’t siding with the Vincellis the way Joe thought she should, he was angrier than ever.
Joe…Clay shook his head. He didn’t have an alibi for last night. But why would he write Allie a note, telling her to leave the past alone? Joe wanted her to investigate.
“I’m not convinced it was Joe.” Which was the only reason Joe was still walking around in perfect health.
“Who else could it be?”
“I don’t know, but I need to talk to Chief McCormick. Face-to-face. Can you tell him to pay me a visit? Tonight?”
“What?” she said.
“You heard me.”
“What do you want with him?”
Clay grabbed a towel to dry his dishes. “A trade.”
“What kind of trade?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
“Does it have to do with Allie?” she asked.
“Maybe.”
“I heard you’re sleeping with her. Is that true?”
“The chief tell you that?”
“Of course not. We’re not talking. Anyway, he’s too protective of his daughter to tell anyone. Madeline heard it.”
“Who from?”
“She didn’t say.”
Clay winced at the twinge of pain he felt lifting his dishes into the cupboard and switched hands. The person who’d spread that gossip was most likely the person who’d shot him. Who else, besides the chief, knew he and Allie had been together?
“It’s not true,” he said. He knew it’d be better for Allie if he simply denied it and hoped she’d do the same.
There was a long silence. “Now you’re lying to me?”
Hell. “We were together one night.”
“I see.”
“You’re the one who started the whole thing, so don’t give me any grief about it.”
“I never said you should sleep with her!”
“You didn’t act as if you’d be opposed to the idea. Anyway, it’s not worth arguing about. We’re not seeing each other anymore.”
“Well, I’m not seeing her father, either. So I can’t deliver your message.”
“Call him.” Clay closed the cupboard and chucked his towel toward the hook where he normally hung it. “You must have some way of getting in touch with him. Or I’ll call him myself.”
There was a long pause. “Clay, what’s going on?”
He started bagging up the garbage under his sink. “Is the chief aware that I know about the two of you?”
“Of course not.”
That explained why McCormick had felt free to disparage Allie. “Maybe it’s time he found out.”
“No! Clay, I’ve done what you wanted me to do, now leave him alone.”
Clay tied the bag shut and dropped it. Much as he was tempted to use McCormick’s own mistakes against him, he couldn’t. Threatening to divulge the chief’s extramarital affair would only make McCormick angrier. And it would be a bluff, anyway. Clay could never really tell because of the people it would hurt, including Allie and his own mother.
&nb
sp; In any event, he didn’t need to blackmail McCormick. He had something else the chief wanted, and he suspected McCormick wanted it badly enough to give Clay almost anything in return.
“Are you going to call him, or am I?” he asked his mother.
“Will you tell me what you’re doing?”
He kicked the garbage bag toward the back door. “I’m cleaning up my own mess.”
She sighed. “Fine. I’ll call him.”
“You have a private way of getting in touch?”
“I have a number that goes directly to a voice-mail account. He used to check it and call me back when he could. Now I don’t know what he’ll do.”
“He probably checks it more often than ever,” Clay said. “Just tell him I’ll be expecting him here at the house.”
14
Turning off his headlights, Chief McCormick sat at the side of the road and studied the farm where Clay Montgomery lived. He wasn’t convinced he was doing the right thing in coming here, especially this late. After what had happened at the cabin that morning, he feared a confrontation might turn violent. But the message that Clay wanted to see him had come through Irene, which worried McCormick more than a little. She rarely mentioned her son. Most of the time, Dale managed to pretend she had only a distant connection to that whole business with Lee Barker.
Did this late-night summons mean she’d told Clay about the two of them?
That thought alone made Dale’s pulse race. Current circumstances were bad enough; he didn’t need any more trouble. Although he was relieved not to be sneaking around anymore, he couldn’t quit thinking about Irene, couldn’t stop missing her. The mayor was breathing down his neck, threatening his job if he didn’t charge someone with the death of Reverend Barker. And, according to the call he’d received from his wife, Allie and Whitney had moved out.
But he’d had to take a stand. He would not allow her to get mixed up with Clay Montgomery. What kind of husband would Clay make? He was standoffish at best. And if he ever went to prison, justifiably or not, where would that leave Allie and Whitney? Besides, considering his own past relationship with Irene, he’d be a fool to bring the two families together. In such proximity, the truth was bound to emerge. And he couldn’t have that. He was taken with Irene, craved her, but he didn’t love her the way he loved his wife.
Putting the transmission in gear, Dale pulled slowly into the gravel driveway, wondering how he’d let his life come to this. He’d never planned on having an affair. He’d just grown so infatuated with Irene—and it had all stemmed from seeing her so often at Two Sisters, where they both ate lunch.
He remembered making eye contact, the tentative smiles they’d exchanged and how they’d begun to time their exit so they could walk out together. Even after she’d slipped him her number, it had taken him a full two weeks to get up the nerve to call her. Part of him—the decent part, he supposed—hadn’t wanted to break down. But in the end, he couldn’t resist, despite her alleged involvement in the Barker case.
That case hadn’t seemed so important back then. The investigation had stalled out years earlier, and Dale had never dreamed it would become such an issue again. Besides, the better he got to know Irene, the easier it was to ignore the whole Barker mess. The woman he knew would never purposely harm anyone.
But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t cover for Clay…. Maybe he’d shrugged off that possibility in the past, but he couldn’t anymore. The mayor was pressing him too hard.
His cell phone rang. He took it from the seat, hoping it was Irene. She wasn’t supposed to call him on his cell but whenever his phone rang he couldn’t help wishing….
The number on the screen indicated that it was his wife.
Should he answer it or not? He wasn’t cheating on her anymore, but he had a feeling something terrible was about to happen.
Maybe because of that disastrous scene with Allie…
He hit the Talk button. “Hello?”
“Dale?”
“What?”
“It’s getting late. Where are you? Why haven’t you called?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Doing what?”
“Paperwork.”
“You usually let me know if you can’t make it for dinner.”
“I’m sorry. I was…distracted.” Since Irene had broken off the relationship, he’d let down his guard, mostly because he felt fatalistic about the whole affair. If he put Clay in jail for Barker’s murder, what would stop Irene from telling whoever she wanted? At that point, she’d have nothing to lose and would probably retaliate. Maybe in the past they’d purposely avoided mention of their respective families. But he knew how much Irene loved her son.
“I just called the station,” Evelyn said. “They told me you left twenty minutes ago. I thought you’d be home by now.”
“I’m out on patrol. I’ll be there shortly.”
“You said you were doing paperwork.”
“I was.”
There was a slight pause. “Have you tried calling Allie?”
“No.”
“Are you going to?”
He rubbed his temples, hoping to relieve the tension headache building behind his eyes. He felt terrible about what had happened. But he was doing Allie a favor. He didn’t want to see his daughter hurt, and Clay was too dangerous for her—on many levels. “No.”
“Why not?”
“She knows why.”
“Dale—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” If Allie could walk out on them that easily, for the likes of Clay Montgomery, she didn’t deserve the help they’d offered her.
Evelyn hesitated, then backed off. He knew she’d bring it up later. No one could get around him like Evelyn. But he was grateful for the reprieve. “You sound tired,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” he told her. But he wasn’t fine at all. Besides being angry at Allie, he was disappointed in himself and lovesick for Irene. How had he let his obsession with another woman cloud his judgment so completely?
“Dinner’s waiting,” Evelyn said. “Hurry home, okay?”
He pictured the handful of peas and the miniature piece of fish he’d find on his plate and missed the candlelight steak dinners he’d once enjoyed, in a town several miles away, with Irene. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Hanging up, he got out of the car and approached the dark farmhouse as if it might spring to life and attack him. The shiny windows acted like mirrors beneath the moonlight. He couldn’t see inside, but he imagined Clay looking out at him and shivered. Maybe Irene wasn’t capable of intentionally harming anyone. But her son was. In Dale’s opinion, Clay was capable of almost anything.
The door swung open before Dale could even reach it, and Irene’s son appeared, his large form silhouetted in the light spilling from the hallway. The sound of a television resonated from some other room.
“Come in,” Clay said.
“We’ll talk here,” Dale muttered. “What do you want?”
As Clay watched him, Dale tried to cover the fact that he was a little spooked. Clay had a way of putting people on edge. Maybe that was why most folks kept their distance. Most folks except the women who frequented his place—which now included Dale’s own daughter.
“I want to make a deal,” Clay said.
“I don’t make deals.”
“You’ll be interested in this one.”
“Why?”
Clay shoved his hands in his pockets. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, so Dale couldn’t see his injury. The way he moved didn’t suggest he was in pain, but Clay was one tough son of a bitch. Dale could feel the younger man studying him, drawing conclusions Dale couldn’t even guess at. “It has to do with Allie,” he said at last.
The hair on Dale’s arms stood up. He hated the thought of this man, who seemed so dark and mysterious, so dangerous, being intimately involved with his bright, attractive daughter. He hadn’t invited Allie back to Stillwater
for that. “What about her?” he said, his words clipped.
“Hire her back—”
Dale narrowed his eyes. “You think you can tell me what to do?”
“—and you’ll have my word that I won’t pursue the relationship.”
Dale let his eyebrows slide up. Why would Clay offer to walk away for so little? He hadn’t even mentioned the Barker case. “Anything else?” he asked.
“That’s it,” Clay replied. “No punishment, no bullshit. Patch up your relationship and move on as if she’d never met me, and you won’t have to worry about me touching her again.”
“Fine,” Dale said immediately.
Clay’s half smile turned even more cynical than usual. “I thought we might be able to come to some sort of agreement. Thanks for stopping by,” he said and shut the door.
Dale stood on the porch in stunned silence. Clay hadn’t said anything about Irene. Did that mean he didn’t know?
Of course he didn’t know. Or surely a man like Clay would’ve used that information to improve his own position. He wouldn’t have given Dale exactly what he wanted and asked for nothing in return.
Feeling the tension in his shoulders ease, Dale walked to his car and whistled the entire ride home. Maybe he’d survive the next few weeks after all.
Allie didn’t feel quite at home in her new house. She hadn’t had a chance to unpack much of anything, couldn’t get comfortable lying on the hard floor in a sleeping bag, even though she was right next to Whitney. Her mother kept calling, begging her to reconsider and move home again. When that failed, her brother had phoned her from Arizona to see if he could help her and Dale settle their differences. And, on top of that, every time she heard the slightest sound, she jumped up to stare at Jed Fowler’s house.