Dead Right (19 page)

Hunter doubted Clay trusted anyone, except maybe his wife.

“Is there anything you’d like to tel me about your stepfather?” Hunter asked.

“Nope.”

“Clay’s been through this so many times,” Madeline said and seemed relieved when Al ie reappeared.

Clay gave his wife a slight nod. She walked between them and unlocked the pastor’s office with one key for the door and a different one for the dead bolt. When she swung the door wide, the room’s musty scent hit them ful force.

Hunter tried to ignore it. “When did you put the dead bolt on here?”

“I didn’t,” Clay replied.

“My father kept his office locked at al times,” Madeline put in.

“Why?” Hunter couldn’t imagine that Lee Barker had stored anything of value in this old barn. From what he understood, Barker didn’t actual y
have
a whole lot of real value.

“As a pastor, he was privy to some of his parishioners’

darkest thoughts and deeds,” she said. “This was where he kept his notes. I’m sure he didn’t want that kind of information to get out.”

A pastor should be discreet, especial y in such a smal town, where gossip could ruin someone’s life. But a simple lock wasn’t enough? Who did he think was going to break in?

Hunter examined the heavy-duty bolt as Al ie and Madeline entered the empty room ahead of him.

“Looks like Madeline’s father was a very cautious man,”

he said to Clay, who hadn’t moved. Again, he received no response.

“There isn’t much to see in here,” Al ie was saying. “Clay dismantled the place a year or two ago. After eighteen years—” she turned to Madeline and her voice softened apologetical y “—he figured it was time to give Maddy her father’s things.”

Hunter didn’t make any effort to study the room. Anything that was here when Madeline’s father was around had long since been removed, even the carpet. Instead, he crossed to the window and gazed out, trying to see the farm as Barker would’ve seen it.

From where he stood, he had a good view of the gravel drive, the chicken coop off to the right and the back porch.

This place would’ve been a functional home office, if not a fancy one. Because of its location, Barker would know when someone arrived, and he’d be able to keep an eye on the kids if they were out playing or doing chores.

Above him, Hunter noticed some holes in the wal that indicated there’d been blinds at one time. For privacy. Like the dead bolt.

“That was Grace’s room,” Madeline said, coming up behind him.

“Which one?” Hunter asked.

She pointed at the farmhouse, to the window above the porch. “The corner, near that lattice.”

“She had her own room?”

“Yes, but she wasn’t alone very often. I was supposed to be sharing a room with Mol y. Mol y was the youngest and it was my job to look after her. But Grace had two twin beds and she was always begging me to stay with her.” She smiled nostalgical y. “I’ve never known anyone more afraid of the dark. If she was up late doing homework and needed to shower for the next day, she’d wake me and ask me to go into the bathroom with her. I’d sit on the counter waiting for her.”

“I was scared when I was young, too,” Al ie said. “But I blame my older brother. He and his friends loved to bang on the house or scratch on the wal , anything to frighten me.

He thought it was hilarious.”

“I was never frightened,” Madeline said. “At least not of the boogeyman.”

Clay hadn’t entered the room, but he hadn’t gone back to work, either. He leaned against the doorjamb, watching them. Hunter saw that he scowled when Madeline said what she did, as if her pain hurt him, too. Clay was angry, embittered, a loner. And yet he loved his stepsister, regardless of what might’ve happened to her father.

“What were you afraid of?” Hunter asked.

Madeline’s chest rose, as if she’d just taken a deep breath and she met his gaze. “Becoming as unhappy as my mother.”

Having a parent so miserable that she didn’t want to go on would scare any child. “What about now?” Hunter asked quietly. “Are you stil afraid?”

The question had nothing to do with his investigation. It was real y none of his business. But there was something so achingly lonely about Madeline Barker that he couldn’t help wanting to banish the haunted look that sometimes appeared in her eyes.

“No,” she said. But he was fairly sure it was a lie.

Madeline hated having to bring Hunter to the farm. She knew Clay didn’t like it. Her stepbrother was a man who took his privacy seriously. Yet here she was parading a private investigator around his home. The police had searched the property twice—but only after they’d produced a warrant. Even then, Clay had held them strictly to the specified areas, al owing them no extra leeway. He didn’t trust the police.

She could tel he didn’t trust Hunter, either—and she hated the fact that she was taking advantage of their relationship by bringing a detective here. But Hunter had to have free access to everything in order to do his job.

She stood in the center of the room, watching as he looked around. “So your father used this office to meet with people from his congregation?”

“Occasional y. He had a study at the church, but it was easier to maintain the farm if he worked out here.”

“He was home a lot, then.”

“Quite a bit. But he was always busy.”

“Can you remember any of the people who came out here to visit him in the days immediately prior to his disappearance?”

“There’s a list in the police files.”

He nodded. “Good. Any chance you can show me where that guy was working on the tractor?”

“Of course.”

He headed toward the entrance, but Clay blocked the doorway.

“Clay,” Al ie said. Hunter spoke at the same time.

“Do you have a problem with me being here, Mr.

Montgomery?” he asked.

“Clay’s put up with a lot,” Madeline said, but Clay raised a hand.

“You don’t have to make excuses for me, Maddy.”

“I just want him to understand. So he doesn’t jump to the wrong conclusion.”

“And what conclusion would that be?” Hunter asked.

Madeline curled her nails into her palms. Hunter wasn’t as intimidated by Clay as most men. Maybe he was shorter and had a smal er build, but he had a wil that was every bit as strong. She hadn’t expected to find that beneath his Hol ywood smile and beach bum manner.

“My stepbrother’s easily misunderstood,” she said so he wouldn’t automatical y assume that Clay was guilty of any greater sin than being guarded.

Hunter thrust out his chin. It was a slight movement, but Madeline noticed it and grew more worried. “I think he’s making himself pretty clear,” Hunter muttered.

Al ie had stepped over to the door and, as usual, tried to act as a peacemaker and go-between for Clay. Gently maneuvering Clay out of Hunter’s way, she chuckled. “The testosterone levels are running a bit too high, guys. This is a friendly meeting, remember?”

Hunter ignored her. “You’re not interested in helping me find out what happened to your stepfather,” he said as he moved into the larger part of the barn.

“Not particularly,” Clay admitted.

Hunter’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I’d be interested to hear why.”

Clay glanced at Madeline, and she sent him a pleading look. “It’s not going to change the fact that he’s gone. Far as I’m concerned, you’re just more trouble.”

“It’d bring Madeline some peace if she knew,” Hunter said.

“Says you,” Clay retorted. “But you don’t know her or care about her the way we do, so don’t talk to me about what would or wouldn’t be good for my sister.”

“She’s the one who brought me.”

“That’s the only reason you’re stil standing here.”

Hunter didn’t back down. He stood his ground, returning Clay’s glare. And despite herself, Madeline was impressed. Clay was so intense that, at times, he made even those who were close to him a little nervous.

“Where did the police search when they came?” Hunter asked. He was stil addressing Clay, refusing to give in, as most other men would’ve done. But it was Al ie who answered. Madeline guessed she was just as eager to defuse the tension between the two men as Madeline was.

“The first time, they searched the house and the barn.”

“They searched more than once?” This final y pul ed Hunter’s attention away from Clay.

Al ie nodded. “Eighteen months ago, they took a backhoe to the yard. They didn’t find anything, of course.”

“Why would they do that after so long?” he asked.

“Because of Joe Vincel i,” Madeline explained. “He fol owed Grace over here one night, decided she was about to exhume my father’s body and move it to a better hiding place.”

“Did she have a shovel?”

“Yes.”

“What was she doing?”

“She’d come here to dig, like he said, but only to prove that al the rumors were false,” Madeline told him.

Hunter seemed skeptical. “Then why not do it during the day?”

“Because she knew I’d never let her,” Clay responded, chiming in for the first time since the standoff between them.

“Why not?” Hunter asked.

Clay smiled humorlessly. “Because I’m not stupid.”

“They’ve been hoping to pin this on Clay for a long time,”

Al ie said. “He couldn’t take the chance that they might stumble upon something they could misinterpret, something that might appear to give him more of a motive or whatever.

People see what they want to see, you know? I was a police officer for ten years, spent five of those as a cold case detective. I’ve watched it happen before.”

“So you approve of your husband’s refusal to cooperate?” he asked.

Her smile disappeared and she stepped closer to Clay.

“Completely.”

Hunter nodded at Madeline. “I’m finished here.”

“You don’t want to see where Jed was working on the tractor?” she asked, surprised by his abrupt change.

Hunter had already started moving. “You can show me when we leave.”

But he barely looked when she pointed out the back part of the barn. And he didn’t speak until they reached the car.

Then he got in, slammed the door and said, “Your stepbrother’s hiding something.”

12

M
adeline refused to look over at Hunter while she drove, for fear he’d see the uncertainty she worked so hard to deny, the uncertainty she often concealed in vociferous protestations of Clay’s innocence.

“You’re making the same mistake as everyone else,”

she said flatly.

When he didn’t respond, she final y glanced over and found him staring sadly at her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But if the truth’s going to be too hard for you to take, then we need to quit right now.”

“Stop it.” She waved an impatient hand. “Clay doesn’t make the best first impression, that’s al . He’s the kind of man you have to get to know.”

“And you know him.”

“Of course.”

“He doesn’t let anyone know him.”

She shook her head. Maybe Clay had his secrets. But those secrets didn’t include murder. “If you knew what life used to be like for him, you’d have a better understanding of who he is.”

“Tel me about him,” he said.

She pictured the proud, long-legged boy Clay had been at sixteen, the boy who’d proven himself as tough as any man. She’d already mentioned that it was her stepbrother who’d kept the family together, but it was the smal er details that real y defined his character. “He wore the same clothes to school over and over so Grace and Mol y and me could have an occasional new dress. He gave up his friends, because he no longer had time to play. He went from being one of the most popular kids in school to being an absolute loner, a boy too old for his years. He skipped lunch more days than he ate so we could eat, and he pretended he wasn’t hungry, so we wouldn’t have to feel guilty about it. He worked like a dog at sixteen, seventeen, eighteen years old, long hours for low pay, to keep a roof over our heads.

And he was wil ing to come to blows with anyone who threatened or mistreated us.” She glanced away from the road long enough to peer into Hunter’s face, to be sure she’d made her point. “I don’t know of another person who could’ve done what he did at such a young age. My whole family owes him.
I
owe him. He was our protector—our
father,
in a way, although he was my own age.”

The passion in her voice must’ve convinced him, because Hunter’s expression grew more thoughtful. “What about Irene?”

“As time went by, even she leaned on him as if he were the parent and she the child. He did what needed to be done regardless of the sacrifice involved. And he never complained about the price he paid.”

“No wonder you admire him,” he said softly.

“He’s earned it.”

He seemed to weigh her answer, to mul it over and examine every angle. “I appreciate what he’s done for you, Maddy.”

It was the first time he’d used her nickname. She liked the sound of it on his lips, and that worried her. But she shrugged it off. After the breakup of her closest relationship, she was looking for the warmth and security she’d lost. Hunter was confident almost to the point of being cocky, coolheaded, always in control. She found everything about him attractive. It’d be almost too easy to want to get involved.

Easy for now but dangerous for later. He couldn’t stay forever. She didn’t even know what kind of life he led in California….

“I appreciate what he’s done for Grace and Mol y and your mother, too,” he was saying.

As sincere as he seemed, he was holding something back. She could tel . “But it stil doesn’t change your mind about Clay.”

His light eyes bored into her as if he could see right through her. “It tel s me you have a decision to make.”

She knew what he was about to say. She’d faced the same decision for nineteen years. Did she question certain events, conversations—pursue the truth despite her loyalty to the Montgomerys? Or did she play it safe and cling to what her heart told her
had
to be true? So far she’d done a little of both, but she didn’t know how long she could go on doing that.

“They’re my family,” she said. “The only family I have left.”