Dead Right (25 page)

The wind was picking up. Madeline wrapped the baby’s blanket more tightly around her, and Hunter turned up the col ar of his coat. “Do you recal the reverend ever talking col ar of his coat. “Do you recal the reverend ever talking about either of these girls, Grace?”

She stepped out to wipe some drool from her baby’s chin. With Grace only inches away, Madeline could see, even in the dim porch light, the dark smudges under her eyes. Grace didn’t look as if she was getting enough sleep

—and this after positively glowing with happiness since her marriage. Was the baby suddenly fussy at night and keeping her up?

Or was it because of the panties she’d seen at the police station? The past resurrected, like the old Cadil ac…

“No,” Grace said indifferently. “Any reason you’re asking?”

He shrugged. “I’m not a big fan of coincidences.”

If they weren’t coincidences, what were they? Madeline wondered. But confronting that question made her heart beat so hard she was afraid she might drop the baby. So she sat on the nearby wicker loveseat and pretended to be engrossed in playing with her niece.

Please let this end soon. Let Grace give all the right
answers….

“I’m not sure I see any alarming coincidences,” Grace said.

Hunter moved away from the pil ar. “The girls were both helping Madeline’s father. Both names show up in his wife’s journal. They were both living with Ray Harper. They were only a year apart in age. And they died within six months of each other, just a year before Madeline’s mother.

Three deaths within an eighteen-month period. That’s a lot of tragedies in so short a time, wouldn’t you say?

Especial y for a place like this?”

“Accidents happen,” she countered. “We lost a teenage girl out at the quarry just last weekend.”

“How many others have you lost in the past twenty years?” he asked.

Grace didn’t answer. But Madeline knew that from Rose Lee to Rachel, they hadn’t had any other unusual deaths.

“There’s nothing to connect their deaths,” Madeline said, speaking up in spite of herself.

“Isn’t there?” Hunter asked. “Did the police ever catch the driver of the vehicle that struck Katie?”

His words raised goose bumps on Madeline’s arms.

“No.”

Grace suddenly glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go. Kennedy’s got a late meeting, and I promised the boys I’d pick them up from their Grandma Archer’s by eight.”

Hunter held his finger up to Isabel e, who grabbed hold of it. “Sure. We won’t keep you.”

Madeline blinked, taken aback by his response. He’d asked about Rose Lee and Katie, which had nothing to do with anything, as far as she knew. And he
hadn’t
asked about the night her father went missing or the panties that were found in his trunk.

Grace smiled politely. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“Thanks for giving us a few minutes of your time,” Hunter said.

Madeline kissed Isabel e, handed her to Grace and pivoted to head back to the car—only to bump into her private detective, who was standing on the walkway, gazing up at the house. “You have a lovely home, Mrs. Archer.”

“We like it,” she said. Then she waved and disappeared inside the house.

Hunter remained where he was, studying the grounds.

But Madeline got in the car. By the time he joined her, Grace emerged from the detached garage behind the house and began backing down her long drive.

“Nice Lexus,” Hunter said.

Madeline fastened her seat belt. “Why didn’t you ask her about the night my father went missing?” she asked. She knew it hadn’t been an oversight. Hunter was too good for that.

“Two reasons.”

She started the engine. “The first?”

“I’m sure she was prepared for that. She must’ve answered similar questions a hundred times.”

“And the second reason?” Madeline pul ed away from the curb.
Please don’t tell me she’s hiding something, too.

“Haven’t you ever played with a potato bug?” he asked.

Madeline shot him a look that said he was making no sense. “A what?”

“A potato bug. If you poke them, they curl into a protective bal .”

“You’re saying that’s what Grace would do.”

“Exactly. And what do we have to gain from that?”

Madeline drove in silence until they reached the outskirts of town and saw the lighted Vacancy sign at the Blue Ribbon Motel. Then she asked the biggest question of al .

“So…does she know more than she’s saying?”

“Yes.”

Foreboding curled through Madeline’s whole body. “How could the conversation you just had tel you that?”

“It didn’t,” he said.

She looked over at him.

“I’m sorry, Maddy. But the odds aren’t in her favor.”

Grace’s hand shook as she cal ed Clay on her cel phone from inside her car.

“Hel o?” He’d answered on the first ring.

“We’ve got problems,” she said. “It’s Madeline’s private investigator.”

“What about him?”

“He’s even better than we thought.”

15

H
unter’s luggage had finaly arrived. He sat on the cheap, rickety bed at the Blue Ribbon, staring at his black suitcase while strumming thoughtful y on his guitar. He needed to get some sleep so he could hit the Barker case early in the morning. But something was bothering him. He wasn’t sure what it was. Most likely, it was more than one thing. That message on Madeline’s answering machine. Their encounter with Mike.

The fact that he wanted to be in bed with her now…

He was tempted to cal her—and if not her, Maria. He wanted to go back home as soon as he finished this job and fight for custody of his daughter even if she wouldn’t speak to him. But he knew that would make her life miserable, that she’d hate him more because of it.

Antoinette wasn’t the best mother in the world, but she wasn’t the worst, either. He couldn’t real y justify such a fight. He could enforce the visitation agreement, but Maria didn’t want that. Not right now, anyway. Having no good options made him long for a drink.

The pool hal was only a block away. He could walk there.

He imagined the music, the crowd, the dim lighting. If it was like most bars, a man could hang around the dark edges of the room and be almost anonymous. Even in Stil water.

Focus on something else. Work.

He’d piled the police files Madeline had provided on the floor. He frowned at the sheer volume of reading material—

one entire box with another two behind it—and figured he’d better get started. There was Madeline’s childhood diary to read, too.

Setting his guitar aside, he hung up the damp towel he’d just used for his shower, flung his wet hair out of his eyes and pul ed out a statement by Bonnie Ray Simpson—the neighbor across from the farm—that said she was “fairly certain” she saw the “headlights” of Barker’s car turn into his drive the night he disappeared.

Unfortunately, “fairly certain” didn’t help him. Neither did

“headlights,” considering every car had a pair.

He put Bonnie Ray’s statement back in the file and moved on to a document signed by Nora Young and Rachel Cook.

After we finished planning the Children for Christ Youth Group Day, we said goodbye to Reverend Barker in the parking lot of the church around 8:15

p.m. We assumed he was going home. He didn’t mention another destination, and he didn’t appear to have any luggage with him. He turned left, and that was the last we saw of him.

“Not much there, either,” he muttered. Flipping through pages and skimming headings, he found a document with Clay’s name at the top. It was the transcript of a police interview taken, according to the date, three days after Reverend Barker had gone missing.

Officer Grimsman: Did you see your stepfather the night of October 4th?

Montgomery: No.

Officer Grimsman: He wasn’t there when you came home from school?

Montgomery: No.

Officer Grimsman: Was he usual y there when you arrived in the afternoon?

Montgomery: Sometimes. Not always.

Officer Grimsman: What did he do when he was home? Work on the farm?

Montgomery: He gave me chores and watched at the window to make sure I got started on them right away.

Officer Grimsman: Did he give the girls chores?

Montgomery: Here and there.

Officer Grimsman: Not as many as he gave you?

Montgomery: What does that have to do with anything?

Chief Grimsman: Just answer the question.

Montgomery: No, but it didn’t bother me.

Officer Grimsman: Right. You’re different from most other kids, then.

Montgomery: Who knows? Maybe I am. Like I said, it didn’t bother me.

Officer Grimsman: Did you find it odd that your father wasn’t home last Thursday?

Montgomery: You mean my stepfather? No. He’d left a list for me. And my mother said he was at the church. Why would that send me into a panic?

Officer Grimsman: I suggest you quit being smart with me, boy.

Montgomery: It was a normal day, okay?

Officer Grimsman: Did your mother tel you she had plans to go out?

Montgomery: Go out?

Officer Grimsman: Didn’t she leave before you did?

Montgomery: Yes, but you’re making it sound as if she went dancing or…or drinking.

Officer Grimsman: Why don’t you tel me what she was real y doing?

Montgomery: She left dinner in the oven for Barker

—

Officer Grimsman:
Barker?

Montgomery: Reverend Barker.

Officer Grimsman: (to Chief Jenkins) Now that’s gratitude and respect. A man takes in a woman and her three kids, puts food in their bel ies and—

Montgomery: (interrupting) Does this have anything to do with my stepfather’s disappearance?

Officer Grimsman: That’s what I’m trying to find out, smart-ass!

Montgomery: And this is leading there
how?

Officer Grimsman: Your attitude is a big part of this, buddy. Trust me.

Montgomery: I don’t trust you worth shit. You’re questioning me without an adult present. I figure there has to be a reason.

Chief Jenkins: I don’t want your mother to hear what you say,
that’s
the reason.

Officer Grimsman: If you can work, party, play pool and please the ladies like a man, you can sure as hel talk like one.

Montgomery: My reputation precedes me.

Officer Grimsman: You might not be so smug when this is al over.

Montgomery: If you have your way, I’l be in jail.

Officer Grimsman: Isn’t that where you belong?

Montgomery: Not unless it’s il egal to hang out with my friends. That’s al I did.

Chief Jenkins: (to Officer Grimsman) Get back to the point, Roger.

Officer Grimsman: Fine. Where did your mother go that night?

Montgomery: You already know where she went.

Chief Jenkins: State it for the record.

Montgomery: For the record, she went to choir practice. No secret there. It’s easy enough to check.

Chief Jenkins: But she didn’t normal y attend. That makes it an unusual day, doesn’t it?

Montgomery: If that’s al it takes to be unusual.

Barker cal ed and told her he wanted her there.

Chief Jenkins: Did that make her unhappy?

Montgomery: Why don’t you ask her?

Chief Jenkins: I’m asking
you.
Did his cal start a fight? Did they argue?

Montgomery: No.

Officer Grimsman: What kind of mood was your mother in after your stepfather asked her to go to choir practice?

Montgomery: How the hel should I know?

Chief Jenkins: I suggest you quit being such a pain in the ass and answer the question.

Montgomery: She seemed fine. She asked me to watch the girls for her and hurried out so she wouldn’t be late.

Officer Grimsman: Did your stepfather cal to make sure she went?

Montgomery. Not that I know of, but I wasn’t paying much attention.

Chief Jenkins: You never talked to him that evening?

Montgomery: No.

Officer Grimsman: According to Grace, you got a cal .

Montgomery: It was a friend.

Officer Grimsman: Who?

Montgomery: Jeremy Jordan.

Officer Grimsman: What did he want?

Montgomery: He wanted me to go with him to Corinne Rasmussen’s.

Officer Grimsman: And you agreed?

Montgomery: Yes.

Officer Grimsman: So you left your little sisters alone.

Montgomery: They’re eleven and thirteen. I thought they’d be fine.

Officer Grimsman: Were they?

Montgomery: (stares off into space)

Officer Grimsman: Mr. Montgomery, I asked you a question.

Montgomery: What time is it?

Officer Grimsman: 2:00 a.m.

Montgomery: (rubs hand over eyes)

Officer Grimsman: Tired, Mr. Montgomery?

Montgomery: I’m sixteen. I think you can cal me Clay. Or does
Mr. Montgomery
make you feel justified in gril ing me for hours without my mother in the room?

Chief Jenkins: The sooner you answer our questions, the sooner you can go home. Your mother has her own questions to answer.

Montgomery: You only want me to say what you want to hear. (growing more upset) Listen, my mother needs me. Her husband’s just gone missing.

Officer Grimsman: Your mother wil be fine. Irene Barker always lands on her feet, eh?

Montgomery: Screw you! (restrained by Chief Jenkins)

Chief Jenkins: Are we going to have to cuff you, boy?

There was some other writing, but it had been blacked out. From the flow of the conversation, Hunter almost wondered if the chief, or possibly Officer Grimsman had struck Clay, then had the incident removed from the records.

Officer Grimsman: You ready to talk now?

Montgomery: (hunched over)

Hunter read that line a second time. Hunched over?

Whoever had created this record was meticulous in noting every nuance. Hunter was wil ing to bet it wasn’t the same person who’d changed it.

Chief Jenkins: You need more convincing, huh, Clay?

Montgomery: (no answer)

Hunter frowned as he came across more lines that had been blacked out—and doubted those changes had anything to do with correcting a mistake.