Dead Giveaway

by Brenda Novak

  God, that man gave her the creeps…. His truck had been parked in the driveway for hours, yet his place had been dark since nightfall. What did he do after he came home from work? Eat and go straight to bed? Light candles in the back instead of turning on a few lights?

  Forcing herself to think of something else, Allie left Whitney sleeping in her bag and wandered listlessly through the small two-bedroom rental. She was making note of all the cleaning and organizing yet to be done. Fortunately, her mother was bringing some furniture from the guesthouse in the morning. But she wasn’t sure when she’d be able to put her house together. She wanted to revisit the cabin tomorrow. She hadn’t been able to go back there today because someone from the sheriff’s department was already investigating. He’d called to get a statement from her and indicated that he was going to contact Clay, as well. He also said he’d found the shell casing and the slug.

  The deputy she’d spoken to seemed competent enough. But for Allie, the incident was far too personal to leave the resolution to someone else.

  A thump brought her back to the window. It was probably a cat or a raccoon jumping onto the roof—but her overactive imagination suggested it could be Jed’s car door.

  Was he up?

  She squinted, trying to decide whether she saw movement behind his dark windows. But the sound of an engine caught her attention, and it didn’t belong to Jed. Her father’s squad car was coming down the street.

  “Great,” she muttered. She didn’t relish another confrontation. But now that she was living across the street from Jed and it was growing so late, she couldn’t help feeling slightly relieved to have company, even if it was her father.

  She waited until he reached the front step. Then she opened the door so he wouldn’t ring the bell and wake Whitney.

  “Did Clay already call you?” he asked in apparent surprise.

  Clay hadn’t called. She’d heard from Madeline, several times, though. Tomorrow Clay’s stepsister was bringing a twin bed for Whitney she had in her garage, since Evelyn had only one bed to lend her. But Allie hadn’t heard from Clay since her father had brought them to town. She knew they’d both been a little overwhelmed by what had happened before, and after, her father arrived. But she still missed him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Was he supposed to call me?” she said, pretending it didn’t bother her that he hadn’t.

  “Er…no.” He brushed some dirt from his pant leg. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

  “Why aren’t you asleep?” She folded her arms and leaned against the doorjamb. Maybe her new neighbor made her uneasy, but she wasn’t about to let her father know that her situation was less than perfect. The way he’d spoken to her at the cabin had been unforgivable. A bitch in heat?

  “I’ve been doing damage control,” he said.

  He clearly blamed her as the reason, and Allie felt she had to accept some of the responsibility. She shouldn’t have gotten so involved with Clay. The fair, unbiased friendship she’d intended to offer had quickly spun out of control. But when he was hurt and bleeding, nothing seemed to matter except the relief of knowing he was still alive.

  “What do you want?” she asked briskly. What had happened had happened. There was no going back now. Allie didn’t think she’d go back, even if she could. She’d never had another night like that one.

  Her father fiddled with his police belt, giving her the impression that what he had to say wasn’t easy to get out. She would’ve guessed he was trying to extend her an apology—except he wasn’t the type to apologize. He meant well but struggled when it came to expressing emotion.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” he said with a scowl. “You can work at the station. But only as my personal assistant,” he added.

  Allie’s jaw dropped. “What?”

  “You heard me. You want work, those are the terms. And be glad of them. I’ve never hired anyone else back.”

  “I don’t remember you firing anyone.” She thought of Hendricks. “Even officers who deserve it.”

  “This is Stillwater.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “How well I remember.”

  “So?” he said. “Take it or leave it.”

  “No.” She closed the door, then stood amid the boxes filling her new living room, feeling frustrated with herself, her father, the whole situation.

  Whitney coughed and stirred in her sleep, trying to kick off the cover of her sleeping bag. Afraid that her daughter was coming down with bronchitis, like last year, Allie crossed the room and turned up the heat. It was poor timing if Whitney was getting sick, but they’d manage without Dale’s job offer. Even in Stillwater.

  She was about to lie down again and try to get some sleep. But her father didn’t drive off, as she’d expected. He knocked.

  Grumbling a curse, Allie went back to the door. “Yes?”

  He muttered something she couldn’t make out.

  “I can’t hear you,” she said.

  “Stop being a stubborn fool.”

  “Now I’m a stubborn fool? I thought I was a bitch in heat.”

  He looked slightly ashamed. “I got a little carried away this morning.”

  “You don’t say.”

  His scowl returned. “You had no business sleeping with Clay. Word about the two of you is spreading all over town. You think that’s going to help him, for folks to believe you’re partial to him? When everyone expected you to finally come up with the truth?”

  She knew it wouldn’t help anyone. That was why she felt so bad. “You’re right. And I’m sorry for that. But I’m out of the spotlight now. I shouldn’t cause you any more trouble.”

  “Dammit, Allie.” A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Okay, you win. You can have your regular job back. Just stay away from Clay Montgomery.”

  She needed to stop seeing Clay, at least until things settled down. Since he hadn’t called her, she assumed he’d come to the same conclusion. But that didn’t mean she was going back to work for her father. She’d already crossed too many lines; she couldn’t be impartial in the investigation the mayor was insisting they launch. “I can’t, Dad. I wouldn’t be any good to you,” she said. “I think it’s best if I sit this one out.”

  His thick eyebrows rumpled. “It’s a job. What about Whitney? How will you put food on the table?”

  “I’ll manage.”

  “She’s my granddaughter.”

  “She’ll be fine.”

  They stood staring at each other. Allie was so caught up in the moment that at first she didn’t realize Jed Fowler had poked his head out of the house across the street. Even when she sensed him watching, she couldn’t be completely sure she wasn’t imagining it. The streetlight was too far away to reveal what he was looking at.

  “I’ve got to get some sleep,” she said, wanting to go back inside and lock the door against both men.

  “That’s it? You won’t come back?” her father asked.

  “I won’t come back.”

  He drew himself up straight. “Suit yourself,” he said and stalked to his cruiser.

  Reverend Portenski tried not to show the depth of his concern as he listened to Evelyn McCormick. He usually enjoyed her visits. They shared books, debated the nature of God, planned various outreach efforts on behalf of the church.

  But this was the first time she’d ever come to him in tears.

  “I don’t know what to do, Reverend,” she said. “Dale can be harsh, but he’s always been a good father.”

  “There’s no doubt about that,” he concurred.

  “So I’m not complaining.”

  “Of course not.” Portenski could tell Evelyn didn’t want to malign her husband’s character—and yet she was angry with him.

  “It’s just that I’m afraid what he’s done will only tempt Allie to get more involved with Clay. I mean, without our influence, what’s to stop her?”

  Nodding, Portenski conjured up an expression of understanding and commiseration, but his mind had turned to the P
olaroid pictures he’d put back in the hole beneath the floorboards. Those pictures constituted a pretty powerful motive for murder. Allie, as a police officer, would know that instantly. If she ever saw them…

  Did she realize who she was flirting with? That she was ruining her relationship with her parents for a man who could soon be dragged off to prison? The Vincellis were pressing hard for just that.

  “She’s always been a good girl,” Evelyn went on. “Dale’s pushed her too far, that’s all.”

  “How does Dale feel about the situation?”

  “He admits saying some things he’s not proud of.”

  “I see.”

  “If only he’d waited until later, when we could’ve spoken calmly with her, the situation might’ve turned out differently. I mean, she would’ve had to listen to reason. We all know what Clay’s done.”

  Portenski didn’t respond to that comment. “Women seem to like Clay.”

  “Well, he’s a handsome man, but considering his past…”

  “Has he broken off his relationship with Beth Ann?” Portenski asked.

  “That’s what I’m hearing.”

  “And now he has his eye on Allie.”

  “Apparently.”

  “Chances are, the affair will be brief,” he said, hoping to convince himself of that, as well. He didn’t like holding the missing piece of the puzzle, didn’t like the responsibility it placed on his shoulders. He was damned if he revealed the pictures, and damned if he didn’t.

  “But a lot can happen, even in a brief relationship,” Evelyn argued. “It’ll destroy what’s left of her reputation, make her an enemy to most of our friends.” She lowered her voice. “And what if she were to get pregnant?”

  Portenski shuddered at the thought. He’d always been partial to young Allie. “Allie’s very levelheaded. Surely she understands the dangers.”

  “Normally, I’d agree with you. But her divorce was hard. She’s on the rebound and…vulnerable in a way she’s never been vulnerable before.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you think I should send Dale over to her house again?” Evelyn asked.

  “Will he go? Is there any chance the two of them could work this out on their own?”

  She twisted the tissue he’d given her. “I’d have more confidence in that if they weren’t so darn alike. Now that they’re at a standoff, this could go on forever.”

  “Why not talk to Allie yourself?”

  “I’ve tried, Reverend. I’ve asked her to move home, for Whitney’s sake, for my sake, for her sake. Danny’s called her, too. And I’m worried about Whitney—she’s had a terrible cold all week. But Allie won’t hear of it.”

  “How’s Allie getting by financially?”

  “Her savings, I guess. I helped furnish the house, but she won’t even let me buy groceries for her.”

  “Will she let you see Whitney?”

  “Yes, and I’ll babysit once Allie finds work, of course, but I had to insist on that much.”

  “Where does she plan to work?”

  “She’s trying to get on with the Iuka police force.”

  “Will she be able to? Without a recommendation from Dale?”

  “I’m sure she’ll use her track record at her old department in Chicago.”

  Portenski rubbed his chin, trying to decide the best way to proceed. “Are you sure she’s still seeing Clay?”

  “It was less than a week ago that Dale found them at the cabin together. And it’s true, you know, the rumors that they were…intimate.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Maybe her falling out with the two of you has opened her eyes.”

  Evelyn chuckled bitterly as she dabbed at her face. “No. If anything, it’s made her more determined to go her own way. Dale has all but thrown her into that Montgomery boy’s arms.”

  Portenski got out of his chair and rounded his desk, pausing at the corner. “Evelyn…”

  “Yes?”

  “Will you let me know if the relationship continues?”

  She hesitated. “What are you going to do?”

  He’d given away too much. Averting his gaze, he fixed a peaceful smile on his face. “I’m going to pray for her.” For all of us.

  Evelyn nodded and stood up to leave. “Right. Of course. Thank you, Reverend.”

  Portenski patted her shoulder as they said goodbye at the door, then slowly returned to his desk. He couldn’t stand by and allow any member of his flock to get hurt by what had happened in the past—not while he had the power to stop it. Could he?

  Sinking into his chair, he pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyes. He knew what those Polaroids would do, to Grace, to Clay, to Irene, to Madeline and, especially, to his beloved church. Barker’s deception and perversions would try the faith of the whole congregation.

  But Allie was the daughter of a good friend, a good woman.

  Maybe this was God’s way of finally making his will known.

  Allie parked and got out of her car. This was her fifth trip to her father’s fishing hideaway in as many days, but the sight of that cabin still evoked memories of Clay and the time they’d spent there. Not that she needed much of a trigger to recall those hours. She’d hardly been able to think of anything else. Especially when the house grew quiet at night…But she hadn’t heard from him since.

  “It’s for the best,” she told herself and tried to focus on what she’d come up here to do—finish her search of the crime scene. But, just in case, she paused long enough to check the messages on her new cell phone. Although she’d had the window of her car fixed, her purse, phone and keys hadn’t turned up yet. Unfortunately, neither had her gun.

  She had three messages. The first was from her mother.

  Allie, please. I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn. You should at least move into the guesthouse. Think of how much easier it’d be for—

  She cut Evelyn off in midsentence. She wasn’t moving home under any circumstances.

  Feeling a nervous flutter in her stomach, she went on to the second message, hoping, in spite of herself, that it was from Clay. As far as she knew, he didn’t have her new number, but he could get it from one of his sisters easily enough.

  It wasn’t from Clay. It was from Madeline. She’d been adding various pieces of furniture to Allie’s motley collection. But this wasn’t about furniture. Although her brother was okay, she was still very upset about the shooting. Do you know who did it yet, Allie?

  The last message wasn’t from Clay, either. Hendricks was responding to a call she’d made to him earlier. Allie found it a bit ironic that Hendricks, a man she’d never admired and didn’t really like, was now nicer to her than any of the other men with whom she’d worked. He seemed more intrigued than offended by the fact that she’d turned traitor to those who ran Stillwater.

  No one’s brought in your purse. Sorry about that, he said. I hope you canceled your credit cards and changed your locks. And, according to what I hear, the sheriff doesn’t have any leads on whoever shot your good buddy.

  The emphasis he placed on good buddy made Allie cringe. If she’d had any illusions that they were actually friends, his words would have shown her the reality. He wasn’t on her side. No one was. Now that she’d aligned herself with Clay, she could scarcely walk down the street without receiving a dirty look from someone. She’d expected it, of course—and yet it stung.

  “Welcome to life as the Montgomerys know it,” she muttered to herself.

  Your father wouldn’t want me to share this with you, of course, Hendricks continued. But since you asked, I’ve been up at the cabin with a deputy from the sheriff’s department a coupla times. The casing and slug they found came from a .9mm Glock, so it was probably your gun. No big shock there. But that shooter must’ve known what he was doing ’cause he didn’t leave us a scrap of evidence that would tell us anything we don’t already know.

  Allie wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t found any prints on the note, either. Whoe
ver had pulled it from whatever printer it’d come from had worn gloves.

  Let me know if there’s anything else you need. It’s not the same here without you.

  She frowned at his deceptively friendly tone. He wasn’t sincere, but it really wasn’t the same for Allie, either. She loved police work and hadn’t received a response to the résumé she’d submitted in Iuka. But it was too late to go back to her old job. Besides, she still couldn’t tolerate the politics behind what was happening at the station in Stillwater.

  Double-checking to make sure those were the only messages she had, she hung up. Was she just another idiot in a long string of idiots to lose her heart to the darkly mysterious Clay Montgomery?

  Not wanting to face the probable answer to that question, she dropped her phone inside her purse, then set her camera bag on the ground and retrieved her most expensive lens. Over the past four days, she’d spent the hours Whitney was in school examining the crime scene, going over it inch by painstaking inch. But, like the sheriff’s department, she’d come up empty-handed. There was no blood where the perp had broken her car window, no recognizable tire tracks in the woods, no sign of her gun, no fibers caught on a tree branch, no footprints, nothing.

  Hiking both bags onto her shoulder, she scoured the clearing once again. Then she climbed up the hill behind the cabin to look down on the scene as a whole. Some areas along the river were so overgrown she couldn’t pass through them. But if the perpetrator had thrown some object into the river—like her gun—it might’ve snagged on a rock or a root on its way downstream.

  If she could find a place from which to take a few pictures, a perch with enough visibility, she could use her powerful telephoto lens to capture parts of the river that were up to a quarter of a mile away. Then she could load the photos onto her computer and study them up close.

  There was only a slight chance, she decided as she struggled to find the right view. But she wasn’t about to give up. Whoever had stolen her gun and attempted to kill Clay had no respect for her training and background.

  She planned to change that. For the sake of her wounded pride. But mostly because of what had been done to Clay. As much as she told herself she was stupid to care about him, the memory of hearing that gunshot made her blood run cold.