Dead Giveaway

by Brenda Novak

  “Will you come over for dinner tomorrow night?”

  There was something different in his voice, something that said the invitation wasn’t as simple as it seemed. “Sure,” she said cautiously.

  “And bring Whitney?” he asked.

  Whitney? Allie swallowed hard. As long as she kept Whitney separate from Clay, her daughter’s life would remain relatively untouched, no matter what happened. But if Allie brought Whitney to the farm and let her meet him…

  She opened her mouth to say she’d think about it. But she knew he was testing her, to see if she’d meant the promises she’d made, and the flicker of hope in his eyes was too much for her. She couldn’t bear to extinguish it. “Of course,” she said.

  “I’ll be good to her,” he promised solemnly. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “I know that.”

  “Good night.” He gave her a quick peck and waited for her to get behind the wheel before closing her door.

  Allie backed out of the driveway and headed toward town, but once she knew her taillights could no longer be seen from the farm, she pulled off onto the shoulder and sat staring into the darkness all around her. Clay was starting to open up, to grab hold of the relationship.

  Had she been reckless in making the reassurances and declarations she’d made, in giving him hope?

  She cringed at the thought. He’d lived his life in a certain way because that was how he could bear it. She had no business mixing things up, making him vulnerable.

  And yet, they deserved to fight for what they felt, didn’t they?

  Taking a deep breath, Allie started her car and continued home. She couldn’t change anything now. She cared too much about him to even try.

  Once she arrived, she crept into her room and into bed. Whitney occasionally spent the night in Evelyn’s room, but tonight she slept in Allie’s bed.

  Allie was glad to have her there. She needed to hold her daughter close. Gathering Whitney’s small body into the curve of hers, Allie kissed her temple.

  “I love you,” she whispered and prayed she was making the right decision about including Whitney in her relationship with Clay.

  21

  Allie could hear her father’s voice in the kitchen.

  “No. Please, tell me he’s not here!” She groaned and rolled onto her stomach to bury her head beneath the pillow. But she could still hear the argument between her parents and knew she had to get up and play referee or there was no telling what kind of scene her daughter might witness. Whitney had to be out there. She wasn’t in bed.

  Allie put on her robe and marched into the kitchen. Her mother stood against the counter in her own robe, arms folded stubbornly across her chest. Her father faced her mother, wearing his police uniform. According to Grace, the town had given Dale his termination papers, so he wouldn’t be wearing the uniform much longer.

  Allie wondered what he was going to do then and almost felt sorry for him. Some people can’t avoid a brick wall even when they see it coming…. She agreed, and yet she found it difficult to forgive Dale. Maybe it was because he’d always set himself up as an example, so when he made a mistake it was more shocking than if someone else had. Especially a mistake of this magnitude.

  “Is there any chance I could persuade the two of you to take a drive together?” she asked, nodding meaningfully toward Whitney, who was sitting at the kitchen table downing a bowl of cold cereal while staring up at them with wide eyes.

  “Don’t leave,” Whitney said. “I want to hear.”

  Allie raised her eyebrows at her mother.

  “There’s no need,” Evelyn said. “Your father was on his way out.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” he retorted. “I just got here.”

  Evelyn stiffened. “I want you to go.”

  Dale sighed heavily. “You have to talk to me sometime, Evelyn. Whether you like it or not, you’re still my wife.”

  “Not for long.”

  He looked crestfallen at the vehemence of her response. “Please…I—I know I deserve the way you feel about me, but at least hear me out.”

  Allie hated to see her father, who’d always been so confident, humbled to such a degree. But he’d brought it on himself. There was nothing she could do to help him. Right now she didn’t even want to help him. Or maybe she did. It was all so confusing.

  “What’s there to say?” Evelyn asked.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to tell you that since—” he glanced nervously at Whitney “—since you found out. But you wouldn’t let me.”

  “You think that’s enough?” Evelyn marveled. “I’m sorry?”

  For the first time, the expression on her face revealed how truly devastated she was. “We had forty years together, Dale. Forty years you threw away for—”

  “Mom!” Allie interrupted, afraid of the word she might choose to finish that sentence. “Can’t you at least step outside? If nothing else, you can talk about the division of property.”

  “I’ll get half of everything,” her mother said. “I’ve been a loyal wife since the day I married him.”

  “I made a mistake,” he said miserably.

  Evelyn clamped her shaking hands together. “Are you telling me—” she hesitated “—you saw her only once?”

  Dale didn’t respond.

  “No, of course not.” The emotional strain was taking its toll, and Evelyn was beginning to break down. While Allie thought that was probably good—her mother needed to deal with her grief instead of denying it—Allie really didn’t want this happening in front of her daughter. It could make an indelible—and damaging—impression.

  “Never mind, Whitney and I will go for a drive,” she said.

  Evelyn held up a hand to stop her. “No, your father’s the one who has to go.”

  “But Grandpa’s sorry,” Whitney said. “Can’t he stay, Boppo? Can’t you make him breakfast like before?”

  Evelyn didn’t answer. She was too busy staring at her husband. “You must care about her,” she whispered. “I can’t believe you’d do what you did to me unless you cared about her.”

  His gaze fell to the floor. “I do care. I won’t lie about that. But I care a lot more about you.”

  Silence filled the room as tears began to slip down Evelyn’s cheeks.

  Allie felt more torn and confused than ever, but she reached out to console her mother.

  Evelyn resisted her touch and managed to blink away her tears. “Then why?” she asked Dale. “Why did you do it?”

  He hung his head. “I—I’m getting old and falling apart. I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t want to diet and check my blood pressure and see myself in the mirror as I really am, to acknowledge that I’ve lost more hair and gained more weight. Irene made me forget all that. She fed me cheesecake and wine and…and I felt like a younger, stronger version of myself. I know that’s not much of an answer. It doesn’t really make sense to me, either. But it’s all I can come up with.”

  “You look good to me, Grandpa,” Whitney said.

  He smiled sadly at her.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Evelyn replied. “I don’t know how I feel or if we can get over this.”

  “Will you at least try?” he asked earnestly.

  Allie knew that, in a town the size of Stillwater, the embarrassment alone had to be overwhelming. And that was only one of the emotions her mother must be feeling.

  “I’ll think about it,” Evelyn said. “That’s all I can promise.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “Would you come home?”

  Evelyn shook her head, and he backed off right away. “Just think about it.”

  “She will,” Allie said. “And now you should go.”

  He started for the door. Allie followed to let him out. She wasn’t sure how she felt toward her father, but she knew there was love for him inside her somewhere. It was just mixed up with everything else.

  After he’d stepped outside, he turned back. “You should know something, Allie,
” he said.

  “What?” She expected him to tell her not to judge him too harshly, that everyone makes mistakes. Or that he’d appreciate her help in trying to talk to Evelyn. But nothing prepared her for what actually came out of his mouth.

  “I think it was Hendricks who shot Clay.”

  It took a moment for those words to register. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “No.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “Yesterday, I found your gun hidden in the evidence room, yet I’ve seen no report of its having been turned in.”

  The evidence room was usually locked, and all the officers had access to the key. “That means it could be anyone on the force,” she said.

  “No. Hendricks is the only one who works alone. I’d bet money it was him.”

  “But why would he want to kill Clay?”

  “Maybe he didn’t,” he said. “Maybe he wanted the money for a down payment on a new truck.”

  “He’s driving one?”

  “I saw it a few hours ago.”

  Allie waited impatiently for Madeline to pick up the phone.

  Clay’s stepsister answered on the fourth ring. “Stillwater Independent.”

  “Maddy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s Allie.”

  “What’s up, Allie?”

  “Has the reward you posted for information on the shooting turned up any leads?”

  “No.”

  “None?”

  “Not one. I would’ve called you right away. Why?”

  Allie swallowed a sigh. “Just checking.”

  There was a slight pause. “I’m sorry.”

  “We’re all sorry,” she said.

  The clutter and absolute filth of Hendricks’s house was appalling, and so was the stench. It was all Allie could do not to call after his wife, who’d answered the door and gone to get him, that she’d meet him in the front yard.

  A teenage boy and girl lounged on the worn orange couches in the family room to her left, playing video games. It was early afternoon, but they were still wearing T-shirts and pajama bottoms and hadn’t combed their hair. To her right, a toddler with a sagging diaper and no other clothes foraged in the kitchen cupboards, pulling out one cereal box after another and eating what he wanted.

  The stairs creaked. Trying not to gag when the toddler ate something off the floor, Allie looked up to see Hendricks’s wife, Colleen, returning. “He said he’ll call you later, when he wakes up. He’s exhausted. You know how it is when you work graveyard.”

  Allie hesitated. She was about to insist on speaking to him now. With everything that’d been going on, she was desperate for answers. But she figured it might be smart to get the tape first and see what was on it. She’d have a lot more leverage if Hendricks showed up clearly enough to be identified. “No problem,” she said. “Let me give you my new number.”

  It took a while, but after digging through several drawers in the kitchen and living room, Colleen finally came up with a pen and paper and wrote down Allie’s number.

  “How’s that cut on your husband’s hand?” Allie asked as they walked to the door.

  Colleen shook her head. “It’s healing, but it needed six stitches.”

  Allie caught her breath. She’d been bluffing, but the bluff had paid off. “That’s what I heard,” she said sympathetically. “How did it happen?”

  “At work.”

  “At the department or—”

  She must’ve sounded a little too eager, because Colleen’s simple, trusting smile faded and her expression grew guarded. “I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask him.”

  “I’ll do that.” Allie stepped out and waved toward the brand new Ford F–150 sitting in the weed-filled driveway. “Nice truck. Maybe I’ll be able save enough for one of those someday.”

  “It’s nice, but I’m a little worried about the payments.”

  “You financed it?” Allie asked.

  “Of course,” Colleen said, then the door closed with a decisive click.

  “Do you have it?” Clay asked.

  Allie transferred the phone to her other ear and glanced at the tape on the passenger seat of her car. “I do.”

  “What does it show?”

  She could hear the caution in his voice, the effort he was making not to expect too much. “The tape’s old and grainy,” she said. “But I can see a heavyset man buying Band-Aids. He’s acting fidgety and wearing a baseball cap.”

  “A red one?”

  “The tape’s black-and-white. But it’s not Jed’s hat, if that’s what you’re wondering. It has a different logo.”

  “Is there any way to tell who it is?”

  Allie slowed to navigate a particularly tight curve. “From the man’s build, it looks an awful lot like Hendricks.”

  “Who?”

  “Officer Hendricks,” she said and explained what her father had told her earlier.

  “But why would Hendricks steal your gun and leave you that note?” Clay asked.

  She turned down the music she had playing in the background. “I think he was trying to be clever, to make me believe it was you.”

  “So you’d finally fall in line with the Vincellis and everyone else?”

  “I guess. I was the lone holdout, and he was trying to convert me.”

  “Why? He doesn’t really have a vested interest in the situation. He’s not related to the Vincellis. He sees them at church and they’re sociable to him. But he’s married with kids. I’ve never even seen him with Joe or his brother.”

  “Money,” Allie explained. “The Vincellis or someone else paid him to do it.”

  There was a long silence, as if Clay was thinking it through.

  “If you hadn’t stopped at the same gas station, he probably wouldn’t have shot you,” she went on. “I don’t think you were actually supposed to be involved.”

  “He must’ve seen me when I pulled in and thought I saw him, too.”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “So he returned to the cabin to make sure I didn’t tell anyone.” He paused. “For a cop, he didn’t do a very good job of silencing me.”

  “It was so dark, and what he was doing probably scared the hell out of him. The next day, when he realized you weren’t dead, it was too late to be any more thorough. But I doubt he would’ve had the nerve to try again, anyway.”

  “By now, he must think he got away clean.”

  “Since the video isn’t clear enough to prove it was him beyond a reasonable doubt, maybe he will get away clean,” she said sadly.

  “Did you check the inside of your car before you had the window fixed? See if he left any blood behind?”

  The day was growing warm. Allie could feel her clothes sticking to her and adjusted the air-conditioning vents to hit her more directly. “I checked. There wasn’t anything. But—” An idea suddenly occurred to her. “What about the gas station?”

  “What about it?”

  “Hendricks didn’t do anything to clean up, right? He left that to the attendant.”

  “Who was already getting out his mop when I arrived.”

  “I admit it’s a long shot, but it’s possible he might’ve missed a spot or two, if not on the floor, then in the restroom. Maybe while I’m this close, I should go back and see.”

  “Will the owner let you snoop around like that?”

  “I think so. He’s fascinated by the fact that I’m investigating a shooting.” Slowing, Allie found a safe place to pull off the highway and turn around.

  “Do you have what you need to collect a sample if you find it?” Clay asked.

  “Of course. I carry my forensics bag in my trunk.”

  “Still?”

  “Always.”

  “But even if you find his DNA, what’s to stop Hendricks from saying he had a nosebleed there three months ago?” Clay asked. “You told me the station cycles its security tapes, so we wouldn’t be able to go back and prove he was lying�
��that he wasn’t there earlier.”

  “He doesn’t know that,” she said. “And his wife already admitted that he had a cut on his hand.”

  “She did?”

  “She clammed up right afterward, but I got that much. Anyway, I think this is how we play it—we tell Hendricks you saw him the night you were shot. If we’re lucky, he’ll panic and swear he’s never been to that particular gas station. Chances are, before that night, he hadn’t. He’s certainly never been invited to the cabin. He drives my father crazy.”

  “He drives everyone crazy.”

  “Then we introduce the tape,” she continued, “showing a man of Hendricks’s exact height and weight buying Band-Aids, together with a DNA profile that puts him right where he said he’s never been. Hopefully, that’ll persuade him to give us what we really want.”

  “The name of the person who paid him.”

  “That’s it,” Allie said, but her mind wasn’t on the conversation anymore. A truck had come right up on her bumper and was honking to get her attention.

  “Does Whitney like steak?” Clay asked, changing the subject.

  Allie twisted to look behind her, but the glare of the afternoon sun reflected off the windshield of the other vehicle, making it impossible to see the driver.

  “Allie?”

  “Someone wants me to pull over,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. But if you don’t hear from me in five minutes, call the police.”

  Clay called Allie back immediately after she’d disconnected. He wanted to know who was flagging her down. Now. But she wasn’t answering.

  Hello, this is Allie. Leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.

  Hanging up, he dialed again—and again got her recorded message. Finally, he pushed the phone across the table and stalked to the window above the sink, where he stared out, feeling pensive and uneasy.

  He didn’t have a cell phone so he couldn’t leave. Should he wait for her to call? Continue trying to reach her? Summon the cops, just in case?

  It had only been three or four minutes, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He was going to call the police, then head up there himself.

  But the phone rang just as he picked it up.