Dead Right (5 page)

“We were meant for each other,” she said.

He closed his eyes, enjoying her ministrations despite the anxiety humming through him.

“What wil you do?” she asked.

He’d been considering that ever since he’d heard the news. “I’m not sure there’s anything I can do.”

“You could cal Maddy, talk her out of it.”

“That might hold her off for a while, but her desire to know is too strong, especial y since they found the Cadil ac.

She’d break down and hire him next month or the month after, even if I talk her out of doing it right now.”

“I don’t think so,” Al ie said. “She listens to you. You’re the big brother whose shoes no one else can fil .”

If his stepsister knew the truth, she wouldn’t admire him half as much. As a matter of fact, she’d never be able to forgive him. It was al so complicated. If Madeline ever learned what
really
happened, she’d lose more than her relationship with him, his mother, Grace, even their youngest sister, Mol y, who lived in New York City.

“She sounds as if she’s finished with Kirk,” he mused, changing the subject.

“And you’re disappointed.”

He twisted to look up at her. “You’re not?”

She gave him a wry smile. “I like Kirk, too. But we need to stay out of it. Madeline has to do what she thinks is best.”

“How do you know Kirk’s not what she needs? He’s a good man, a hard worker.”

“Just because
you
like him doesn’t mean she should marry him. There’s no spark there or they would’ve married long ago. They act more like buddies than lovers.”

But Kirk had been around for so many years, he’d already found his place in the family and was unlikely to disturb the delicate equilibrium of relationships. “She needs to do something. She’s thirty-six years old.”

Al ie chuckled. “So are you. That’s hardly ancient.”

“She’s stil talking about having a large family.”

“She’l find the right man.”

“Kirk’s the right man,” he insisted. “She should marry him, have a family and forget the past.” His mood darkened as he folded his arms. “Instead, she’s spending good money on a P.I.—a P.I. who could ruin her life.”

“Guilt, responsibility and curiosity are al powerful motivators,” Al ie said. “You, of al people, should understand that.”

“We’re not talking about me,” he grumbled.

Her smile was back. “If you only knew what a good man you are.”

He shoved the hair out of his eyes. It was getting long; he could use a cut. “It’s enough for me that
you
think I’m good.”

“Maybe if Maddy stil had her mother, the situation would be different,” she said.

“Of course it would. Then my mother wouldn’t have married Lee Barker. He had nothing nice to say about his first wife, but you know he never would’ve divorced her.

That wouldn’t have reflected wel on him.” He heard the bitter note in his own voice. “He was al about appearances.”

She bent over to kiss his cheek. “You’ve done your best with what you were given, done your best by Maddy. You love her just as much as your other sisters.”

“But it’s probably not the same for her,” he said. “She belongs, and yet she’s the only one who doesn’t real y belong. That’s got to be hard.”

“Not as hard as it could be if she ever finds out the truth.”

Al ie walked over to get the phone. “So cal her.”

“And say what? Hey, Maddy, take it from me—you don’t want to know what you think you want to know?”

She tugged playful y on his hair. “
No.
Tel her the case is too old, that this P.I. won’t uncover anything new, that it’l cost her a lot of money for nothing. And if that doesn’t work, just let her know you don’t approve.”

“I can’t come on too strong,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a miracle folks around here haven’t poisoned her against me.”

“She’d never turn on you.”

“She could if this P.I. comes to town.”

“Which is why you have to convince her not to bring him here,” she pointed out.

“I doubt that anything I say wil change her mind.”

“It’s worth a try,” Al ie insisted and handed him the phone.

The phone in Madeline’s office had been ringing al morning. It seemed as if everyone in Stil water had something to say about the discovery at the quarry, which came as no surprise to her. People in this town had been talking about her father’s disappearance for years, and the knowledge that his car had been found renewed public interest.

Fortunately, most were wel -intentioned cal s, friends and acquaintances who, after hearing the latest, wanted to give Madeline a kind word or a little encouragement. But there were a few who used this latest development to try to undermine her faith in the Montgomerys.

Madeline would rather have skipped every one of those cal s in favor of some peace and quiet. It was difficult enough writing about her father without so many interruptions. But she was anxious to hear from Chief Pontiff, to learn if he or any of his deputies had managed to glean some evidence during their more thorough search of the Cadil ac. She knew they must be finished by now, couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t contacted her. So when a cal came in just as she’d settled down to work, she grabbed the receiver, despite the blinking curser on her computer screen that seemed to mock her lack of progress.

“Hel o?”

“Madeline?”

Madeline paused, confused by the
M. Ziegler
that had appeared on her cal er ID. It wasn’t Chief Pontiff, cal ing her from some remote location. If she’d guessed correctly, it was Ray Harper. Before the fal ing out that had left him and her father estranged, he’d been Lee’s best friend. When Madeline was little, Ray had even worked for them, doing odd jobs around the farm.

“Hel o, Ray. How are you?”

“Good as ever. And you?”

“Hanging in there.”

“I heard about the Cadil ac.”

Word traveled fast in Stil water. “Can you believe it was right there al these years?”

“Who put it there?”

“I have no idea.”

“That’s got to bother you.”

It did. But she preferred some development to nothing at al . Besides, she and Ray had both experienced a deeper kind of pain—she’d lost her mother and, a few years later, he’d lost his sixteen-year-old daughter, both to suicide. “I’m okay.”

“Did they find anything—any answers?” he asked.

“No, not yet.”

“That’s too bad.”

“I’m not giving up hope.” He didn’t say anything more, so she fil ed the silence. “I don’t see you around town much anymore, Ray. What’ve you been up to?”

“I’ve been spending half my time in Iuka. My mother fel and broke her hip and she can’t live alone anymore. I’m with her now, moving her to my sister’s place.”

That explained the strange name on her cal er ID. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother,” she said.

“She’l be okay now that she’s with Patti. Anyway, I should be home later in the week. Let me know if anything changes, okay? Your father and I weren’t on the best of terms when he disappeared. But I think about him often.”

“I appreciate that.” Her telephone indicated that she had another cal coming in. “Good luck with your mom,” she said and switched over. But this cal er wasn’t Pontiff, either.

According to cal er ID, it was Clay. “What’s up, big brother?”

“Nothing new,” he replied. “Just checking in.”

She final y pushed away from her computer and swiveled her chair to look glumly out the large front window of her office, which revealed an entire block of Stil water’s most prominent businesses—L & B Hardware, Town & Country Furniture, Cutshal ’s Funeral Home, Lambert’s Auction Service and Let The Good Times Rol Bil iards and Bar. A corner of the police station was visible, too. Her eyes zeroed in on it as if she could see through brick and mortar.

“I’m fine, just tired of the rain.”
And growing more
impatient by the minute, waiting for Pontiff to call.

“You took yesterday pretty hard, Mad.”

“He’s not coming back,” she said distantly. “I thought it’d be easier for me to know if he was…gone for good. But it isn’t. It makes me angry. And it makes me feel guilty, as if I haven’t done enough for him.”

“You’ve published every possible lead, posted rewards to encourage people to come forward with information, fol owed up whenever and wherever you could. You’ve hung on, and you haven’t let anyone forget. You’ve done your best.”

She knew her dogged persistence had created problems for Clay and his sisters and mother. They’d had to constantly defend themselves, suffer two police searches of the farm, endure the distrust of almost everyone in town and tolerate whispering behind their backs. But what else could she have done? What else could she do now but pursue whoever was responsible? Lee Barker was her
father,
the only parent who’d planned on sticking with her.

Besides, if she could get to the truth, wouldn’t the Montgomerys ultimately be better off?

“I should’ve hired a P.I. a long time ago,” she said.

“Maybe it would’ve brought me some peace—and saved you from what happened last summer.”

He didn’t comment on the murder charges that’d been brought against him. Clay never made a big deal of his own difficulties. “Al ie feels bad,” he said. “I hope you don’t think she let you down with her investigation.”

“No. I’m the one who let the two of you down. I can’t believe I…” She toyed with her paper-clip holder. She tended to avoid any reference to what had occurred at Al ie’s dad’s fishing cabin the night she hired Hendricks.

They al did. But she felt the need to address it today, to apologize once again. Clay could’ve died, and it would’ve been her fault. She shuddered at the thought. “I’m so sorry for what I did.”

“Don’t mention it. Hendricks was only supposed to rattle a doorknob or two. I know that.”

“But you wouldn’t have been hurt if I hadn’t sent him there in the first place.”

“You had no way of knowing he’d take it so far. Or that I’d even be around that night.”

It was true, but she’d never be able to forgive herself for resorting to the tactics she’d used. If she hadn’t al owed her hopes to soar so high when Al ie returned to Stil water and promised to look into her father’s disappearance—or felt so damn helpless when Al ie lost interest—maybe she would’ve been thinking more clearly. But her desperation and impatience had simply gotten the best of her. When she felt Al ie’s commitment and enthusiasm beginning to lag, she’d tried to shore it up by trying to convince her that someone out there was stil a threat.

It had seemed like an innocent enough plan. But it had cost Hendricks, who’d been a member of the Stil water Police force, his job, a year in prison and probation after that. His wife was struggling to support their family without him and, had Hendricks’s aim been more accurate, Clay could’ve paid an even higher price. Madeline had only escaped prosecution because she hadn’t intended any harm. Stealing Al ie’s gun—and using it—had been Hendricks’s idea.

She got up and paced the room. “Sometimes I think about it and—”

“
Don’t
think about it,” he said. “We al make mistakes, do things we regret.”

She managed a tired smile at his generosity. “You’re a good brother.”

He immediately moved forward with the conversation.

“Grace tel s me you’re hiring a private investigator.

Someone from California.”

“That’s right.”

“When’s he coming in?”

“This Thursday. I’m not sure what time.” She stopped at the window. Why hadn’t Chief Pontiff cal ed? If only he could come up with something that would
finally
solve this….

“That soon?” Clay said.

“Yeah.” She wandered back to her desk and sank into her seat. “Grace doesn’t seem to think it’l do any good.”

“The odds aren’t in your favor,” he responded.

She began doodling on a Post-it note. “So you don’t think I should do it, either.”

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, he surprised Madeline. She’d been expecting his customary, “You gotta do what you gotta do.” He said that whenever she asked his opinion on publishing a new lead or printing a story designed to inspire renewed interest in the mystery. Instead she got, “Some things are better left as they are, Maddy.”

Dropping her pen, she sat up straight. “What do you mean by that?”

“Maybe the answers wil haunt you more than the questions.”

She rocked back in her seat, suddenly uneasy. “What?

Clay, if…” Swal owing hard, she tried to calm the butterflies fluttering around in her stomach. “If you want to tel me anything, do it now.”

Could she have imagined the slight hesitation that fol owed? “That’s al ,” he said.

“I don’t understand. How could the answers be any worse than the questions?”

“Who knows? Maybe he was involved in something he shouldn’t have been.”

“That’s crazy! He was a humble servant of Christ,” she said, her voice rising. “You know what a good man he was.

You lived with him, heard his sermons. He took religion very seriously.”

Clay said nothing.

“Do you know something I don’t?” she asked, her disquiet turning to panic.

“Only what I was thinking when they pul ed the Cadil ac from the quarry.”

“Which was…”

“People don’t usual y murder a middle-aged man without a reason.”

“He could’ve been robbed! Maybe whoever attacked him stole the money from his wal et,” she said. “Or maybe there
was
no real motive, other than childish anger, lashing out, stupidity. There’re hundreds of reasons that have nothing to do with him.”

“You’re thinking of Mike Metzger.”

“Of course.”

“Mike might be a dope hound but he’s not a murderer.”

“You don’t know that. See? That’s the problem. We al have our suspicions, but no one real y knows. That’s why folks keep blaming you. If Mr. Solozano uncovers the real culprit, they’l have to stop, and I’l be damn glad of it.”

“It might be easier on you if you’d quit defending me,” he said. “You don’t have to, you know.”

“Yes, I do. When folks accuse you, it hurts me, too. I’m tired of it. And I’ve had it with al the people who’ve implied that I must be an idiot to miss the obvious.”