Dead Right (7 page)

It did make sense; it was just that his discovery was so
revolting.

“That’l be too upsetting for her,” Irene said. “I’l do it.”

Madeline put up a hand. “No, of course I’l come, too. We both wil .”

“Good.”

Madeline caught his elbow. “You know what this confirms, don’t you?”

He didn’t seem to know at al . “What?”

“The Vincel is and everyone who’s supported them are wrong.” A lump rose in her throat as she spoke, surprising even her. “It wasn’t Clay.”

“Maddy—” he started, but she refused to let him interrupt her.

“My stepbrother might seem dark and remote to you, to lots of people, but he’d sacrifice his own life before he’d ever hurt a child.”

Sympathy softened Pontiff’s features. “Folks aren’t always what they seem, Maddy.”

Madeline wouldn’t let it go. “I’d bet my
own
life that he’d never touch a child in an inappropriate manner,” she said fiercely. “He’s angry and he’s determined and he’s—” she searched for the right word to describe her stepbrother “—

tough. But he’s
not
sick.”

“He had a hard childhood,” Pontiff said gently. “That can scar a person.”

It was the first time she’d heard Toby speak with any compassion for Clay. Clay was too capable, too strong to evoke sympathy from most people, despite his background.

“He has his scars,” she said. “But he’s always protected those who are smal er, weaker and more vulnerable than himself. Surely you’ve seen how much his stepdaughter adores him.”

Pontiff put his hand over hers. “The fact that he has a stepdaughter means I can’t take your word for what Clay is or isn’t, Maddy. I have to look at the facts. You understand.”

What she understood was that it was time to exonerate Clay and expose the real kil er. Maybe the facts hadn’t stood in his favor before. But she was more certain than ever that now they would. And if the police weren’t capable of solving the case, she’d make sure Hunter Solozano did the job for them.

Madeline sat in the police station with her stepmother, waiting for Grace to arrive. The rain had final y stopped, but the cloud-darkened sky threatened more bad weather.

The heater rattled as it pumped out hot air. Officer Radcliffe, who stood at the filing cabinet in the corner, bore a sheen of sweat on his forehead—proof that the heater was working. But Madeline couldn’t get warm. Not since she’d seen what the police had found in her father’s trunk.

“Are you sure, Maddy?” Irene whispered.

Her tongue felt thick and unwieldy, but she forced it to work. “I’m sure.”

“But
I
don’t remember them. And lots of young girls wore bikini underwear.”

It wasn’t the fact that they were bikinis that made them identifiable; it was the picture of an island with a monkey climbing a palm tree on the back. Madeline suspected Irene recognized them, too. Her stepmother didn’t want to face what it might mean, preferred to think they were dealing with some kind of coincidence or mistake. “I’m
positive.
”

She’d meant to speak gently, but she couldn’t conceal her impatience. Irene was getting older and didn’t have the coping skil s she’d once possessed. But Madeline was so exhausted and confused, she lacked the reserves to shelter her right now.

Why were Grace’s first pair of bikini underwear—the ones Madeline had bought her for Christmas—in a strange suitcase with some rope and a dildo? Grace was only thirteen when that car went missing.

“If you’re sure about the…the panties, there’s no need to have Grace come down here,” Irene said.

“Mom, please,” Madeline snapped.

Chief Pontiff looked up from his desk and met Madeline’s eyes. When she scowled and turned away, he bent over his work again, and she was grateful to him for giving her some space instead of getting up to offer her a drink or something. She knew he’d seen the instant recognition on her face as he’d careful y arranged each item for her view.

It wasn’t just the panties that upset her. The dildo had been there, too, grotesque in its size.

She dropped her head in her hands. The possibility that a sexual predator had had any contact with Grace at the age she’d been when she was wearing those panties sickened Madeline.

“God help us,” she whispered and began to rub her temples. Her head hurt, but not as badly as her heart. She knew Grace had problems as a teenager. Had they started because she’d been molested—or worse, raped—by some demented creep?

No. She would’ve said something….

But deep down Madeline knew that wasn’t true. Girls who’d been molested were often too ashamed afterwards to reveal their terrible secret.

“Whoever it was better not have touched her,” she muttered.

Her stepmother jumped to her feet. “I want to cal Clay.”

Startled, Madeline blinked. “You want him to see
this?
”

She waved at the panties on the table. The giant dildo sat front and center. Not that Madeline could look at it.

“I—I need him,” Irene said.

Her slightly hysterical tone made Madeline feel guilty for being so impatient a moment before. She owed her stepmother more sensitivity than she’d just shown her. Irene was the one who’d provided the love and attention Madeline had needed as a young teen. Madeline couldn’t imagine what life would’ve been like without her.

“We’re okay,” she whispered, hoping to comfort her.

“We can take care of this ourselves, right?”

“No.” Irene shook her head adamantly.

“But you know Clay. He’l go nuts if he sees this. And we wouldn’t want to humiliate Grace any more than necessary.

Obviously, if something terrible happened, she chose not to share it with us. It won’t be easy for her to walk in here, especial y with an audience, and admit it now.”

“Let’s not make her come,” Irene said, gripping Madeline’s arm.

Chief Pontiff glanced up again, and Madeline knew, without his having to say a word that he’d insist on it. He required Grace to confirm what Madeline had, after several shocked minutes, told him. “I’m afraid it’s important.”

“Then I need Clay,” her stepmother said. “Grace wil need him, too.”

“I’d rather save him this,” Madeline argued, but it was too late. Irene had hurried over to one of the empty desks and helped herself to a phone.

Madeline considered asking her to hang up but was actual y relieved that Clay would be joining them. At the very least, maybe he’d take care of Irene until Madeline could come to grips with al of this.

The door opened and Grace’s husband, Kennedy Archer, walked in, holding her hand. He had on one of the tailored suits he wore to work, while Grace was dressed more casual y in jeans, Ugg boots and an attractive sweater. A pair of sunglasses hid her eyes despite the season and the inclement weather.

She’s marshalling her defenses. She knows
something’s up.
Suddenly, Madeline was very reluctant to see what would happen next.

Kennedy said a brief hel o, although his cautious manner with Grace revealed his concern. Grace nodded in their direction but said nothing.

“Kennedy, Grace. Thanks for coming down.” Pontiff had walked over the second he saw them and was now shaking hands with Kennedy. He offered Grace his hand as wel , but she’d caught sight of the articles on the paper-lined table and didn’t respond.

“What’s the problem?” Kennedy asked, his voice low and guarded.

Pontiff explained that these items had been found in the Cadil ac as he motioned them closer. Grace al owed her husband to lead her, but her skin looked taut across her elegant bones.

After a moment, she swayed as if she might pass out, and Madeline stepped up to take her hand. Irene remained near the door, muttering something about Clay.

“Do you recognize any of these objects?” Chief Pontiff asked.

Kennedy went rigid. “Grace?” he murmured, and there was a world of intimacy and love in the way he said her name.

She shook her head as Pontiff pointed at the suitcase.

She did the same when he indicated the dildo, the rope and the panties. But when he reached the ones with the monkey, she final y spoke. “Those were mine.”

Panic crowded so close Grace could hardly breathe.

She’d known this would be agonizing. But she’d had no idea how much worse it’d be with Madeline looking on.

Chief Pontiff watched, too, his expression shuttered. Even Officer Radcliffe, who stood off to the side pretending to file, was taking careful note.

Their future depended on the next few minutes—and her ability to be convincing even though she was drowning in a sea of painful memories.

“Do you know how your panties came to be in the trunk of the Cadil ac?” Pontiff asked.

“No.” She wished she had the strength to remove her sunglasses and meet his gaze directly. She’d coached enough witnesses to know how to enhance credibility. But she couldn’t do it. Kennedy’s hand, holding hers tightly, reminded her that what she saw on the table was her life
then,
and he and their children were her life
now.
It was the only thing that kept her from fal ing apart. He was determined to get her through this. She could feel him wil ing her to endure and to triumph. For everyone’s sake.

Don’t let your stepfather win. Don’t let him.
He said that whenever the past began to encroach on her happiness.

And, so far, it had worked.

Silently, she promised she wouldn’t disappoint him and ignored the terrible stabbing sensation she remembered so clearly, along with the stench of her stepfather’s breath, his eager grunts and groans, the flash of the camera when she was in the most vulnerable positions a girl could be in.

Pontiff spoke again. “No one ever used the rope or, um, the—any of these items to hurt you in any way?”

A bead of sweat rol ed between her shoulder blades.

Madeline squeezed her arm as if to say it didn’t matter, that nothing would change if she answered in the affirmative. But Grace knew that wasn’t true. Summoning more strength—from where, she had no idea—she managed to add a scoffing tone to her voice. “Of course not.”

“No one…touched you inappropriately when you were a girl?” Pontiff repeated.

She lifted her chin. “Who would do such a thing?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” he replied.

Suddenly, the door burst open and Clay charged in, his thick black hair standing up in front as if he’d shoved his hand through it so many times it would no longer lie flat.

Grace was mortified to think her brother would see what was on the table. He knew, of course, but knowing and actual y seeing some of the implements of Barker’s torture were two completely different things. Clay already felt guilty for the fact that he hadn’t realized sooner, hadn’t protected her. This would make his guilt even more intense.

He looked at each person. Then, when his gaze landed on the items arranged on the table, his jaw tightened and his blue eyes glittered with dark emotion. “What’s going on?”

While Kennedy explained, Grace was afraid that Clay wouldn’t be able to control his reaction. The graying pal or of his skin told her how tortured he was by the mere thought of what she’d been through, and worry for him somehow made it easier for her to cope with her own pain.

“Someone must’ve stolen my underwear,” she said when Kennedy was through. “But I have no idea when or how. Or who might’ve owned these other pairs.” That last part was true. As far as she knew, she’d been her stepfather’s only victim. So what did this underwear signify? That there were more?

The possibility of others having suffered as she’d suffered sent a chil down her spine. But she steeled herself against it. She’d think about that later. She couldn’t add anything else to what she was feeling right now.

“I used to hang al our laundry on the clothesline,” her mother volunteered from the periphery. Considering Irene’s present state of mind, it was a worthy attempt at an explanation. They’d been so poor they hadn’t had a dryer.

But worthy or not, her mother seemed dangerously close to losing her composure. Grace feared that if Clay didn’t give them away, Irene would.

Throwing back her shoulders, she pul ed off her sunglasses. “Right. Which meant they were available to just about anyone. I’m guessing whoever col ected these—” she motioned toward the table and fought to assume her professional persona, hoping no one could tel how badly she was quaking inside “—was in the fantasy stage.”

“That was twenty years ago,” Pontiff said. “So, if he’s stil around, he might not be in the fantasy stage anymore.”

Grace focused on his neatly clipped mustache. “Have you had any complaints, Chief?”

“No, but…sometimes this type of thing goes unreported.”

“That’s true,” she murmured as if she had as much objectivity as he did.

“Whoever it was kil ed Lee and ran off,” Irene said.

Pontiff wore his skepticism as proudly as his badge.

“But no one else has gone missing.”

Irene crowded closer. “It was a drifter. It had to be a drifter. Why won’t anyone believe me?”

Clay put an arm around their mother and told her to calm down while Madeline tugged Grace from the table. “Mike Metzger lived within walking distance,” she said. “Do you think he might’ve col ected these?”

Mike had long been Madeline’s suspect of choice. A week before her father went missing, the reverend had caught nineteen-year-old Mike smoking pot in the bathroom of the church and turned him in to the authorities. Mike had spouted off a few threats but the circumstantial evidence pointing his way had never been solid enough for police to press charges. Now Mike was in prison for manufacturing crystal meth in his basement, and Madeline was stil harassing him with regular letters.

Grace drew enough breath to speak. Before she could say anything, however, Chief Pontiff interrupted. “We can ask him. He gets home in a few days.”

“A few days?” Irene echoed. “But he stil has two years.”

“Not anymore. He’s been granted parole.”

Grace felt almost sorry for Mike. He had his problems, but he wasn’t a murderer. After a stint in prison, he’d be coming home to another maelstrom of questions about Barker.