Dead Silence (26 page)

Tasting bile at the back of her throat, Grace grabbed her purse. She did pretty well as long as she remained
at Evonne’s, or in town. But being at the farm was too difficult.

She turned to go but hesitated when she saw her brother’s head hanging down. She wanted to comfort him. Why should they both suffer? His age at the time, his innocence, had to count for something, didn’t it?

Forcing herself to drop her purse, she reached deep, beyond her own pain, and knelt in front of him. “That wasn’t the first time, Clay,” she admitted when their eyes met. “What Barker did…” She struggled for breath because, even now, if felt as though her stepfather had his hand on her throat. “It got worse with each encounter. He—he would’ve killed me eventually. I honestly believe that. He couldn’t have kept what he was doing hidden for much longer. It was too…s-sick.”

The sympathy and regret in her brother’s face expanded the ache in her chest. She wanted to let Clay’s love wash over her, heal her. Intellectually, she knew she wasn’t to blame for what Barker had done. But her emotions contradicted what her brain told her. She felt she must have done
something
to cause what had happened to her. After all, the reverend had never hurt Molly or Madeline.

“Why?” Clay’s voice was barely audible. “Why would anyone want to hurt you? You were always so sweet, so beautiful. You were only a child, for God’s sake!”

“He hated me….” She struggled to drag the words out of the dark place inside her where the memories remained. “I think it was because he desired me, because he knew it made him the lowest of God’s creatures to crave what he did.” Sweat ran between her breasts and down her back, but she swallowed hard and
forced herself to endure her body’s reaction. For Clay’s sake, she needed to talk about the abuse she’d suffered. “He blamed me for his…perversions.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Clay asked. “Mom would’ve helped you.
I
would’ve helped you.”

This was the question she dreaded most, because there was no easy answer. Clay, Irene and Molly didn’t understand what it was like to feel so powerless, so utterly defeated. “I couldn’t,” she said. “He…he threatened t-to use the knife the way he used so many other objects, to c-carve me up from the inside out.”

“God, Grace.”

A tear slipped down Clay’s cheek. Grace steeled herself against the sight of it. She was feeling far too vulnerable, couldn’t bear any more pain. But the torment in his expression meant she had to keep trying. Clay was big, strong, confident. He could fight almost any kind of foe with little fear of losing. He’d fought for her in the past. His problem was that he couldn’t beat this.

Reaching up, she touched his cheek—and saw his jaw tense and his shoulders shake as he tried to contain his emotion.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”

He searched her face, and she managed to give him a watery smile. After eighteen years, she wanted to achieve forgiveness for them both. She knew it might take more time to forgive herself, but she could forgive Clay, couldn’t she?

He must’ve recognized the difference in her because his arms went around her, gathering her to him as if she was still a little girl. “I’d give anything to go back,” he said, and she finally felt the barrier she’d built between them crack and begin to give way.

She rested her head on his broad shoulders, soaking in the security he offered. He loved her. He’d tried. “I know.”

When he released her, he scrubbed his jaw, wincing as if the fact that he’d broken down somehow embarrassed him.

“Let’s go pack up that damn office,” he said gruffly.

She stood and stared at him. “But you said…What about Madeline?”

“We’ll make it up to her somehow.” He started for the back door. “What you feel has to take precedence at some point, doesn’t it? And I, for one, think you’ve waited long enough.”

T
he office was stifling, with hot, static air that smelled of mildew. Cobwebs hung from the corners, and a leak in the roof had ruined some of the ceiling tiles as well as part of one wall. The damage reminded Grace of Barker’s evil—slowly advancing from some unseen source, rotting everything in its path.

While Grace stood in the doorway, summoning the nerve to cross the threshold, Clay went over to lift the blind on the room’s only window. Then he used an old rag to wipe the dirty panes.

When he finished, sunlight filtered into the dark place where Lee Barker had written his sermons and tortured his stepdaughter.

“Are you okay?” Clay asked.

She nodded.

He moved closer, obviously concerned. “Are you sure? You’re pale as a ghost.”

“
I’m
not the ghost,” she said softly.

“Do you think he’s watching now?”

“I hope so.” She wanted Lee Barker to see that
she
was the one still living and breathing, that
she
could change her environment. She had the power now.

“I think he’s burning in hell,” Clay said.

Finally entering the room, she went to the file
drawer the reverend had kept under lock and key. She had no idea what he’d done with all the Polaroids he’d taken of her, but she knew he’d hidden some of them here. He used to whisper about them at night, when everyone else was sleeping. He’d told her that if she didn’t let him touch her, he’d show them to her mother. The fear of seeing the disappointment in her mother’s eyes—the same disappointment she felt for somehow bringing this on herself—kept her as pliant as modeling clay. She didn’t want to be blamed for breaking up what was supposed to be an ideal match, for taking the food from their table, for causing Madeline to be ripped away from them. By the time the reverend became bold enough to invade her room, in addition to the occasional forced visits to his office, she was so ashamed and mortified by the thought of someone seeing those pictures that he no longer had to threaten her. She would’ve done almost anything to avoid the humiliation.
You don’t want your momma to know what we do together, do you? She’d leave us both, leave you to me….

Grace knew that her mother probably wouldn’t leave her. But she didn’t believe anyone could love her after finding out something like that. And her father had left, hadn’t he? He’d
said
he cared about them, but not enough to stick around. He’d left and never come back, and although Irene had tried to locate him, it was as if he’d just disappeared.

Putting a hand to the wall to steady herself, Grace lowered her head and took several deep breaths so she wouldn’t pass out.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Clay said at her elbow. “You could watch as I pack everything.”

“No, that’s not enough,” she said. Somehow she had
to summon the strength to dismantle this place herself. Maybe it was because she thought she should’ve put up more of a fight against the reverend. She’d always wondered…if she’d been less obedient and more assertive, like her sisters, would she have escaped as they did? What was it about her that tempted Barker to do what he did?

There’s my pretty baby. Hold still and it’ll feel good this time, I promise.

“Grace?”

It was as if it had happened yesterday. She could even smell her stepfather’s breath….

Clay repeated her name, finally dispelling the reverend’s soft, grating voice. Wiping her upper lip with her forearm, she turned to her brother. “What?”

“Where do you want to start?”

“Here,” she said but felt as though someone had given her a tranquilizer when she tried to open the filing cabinet. Her arm was heavy, uncooperative.

Eventually, she managed the button that released the catch and gazed into the top drawer. She knew it wouldn’t be locked. Clay and her mother had thrown away the key the night they buried the reverend—right after they’d destroyed the pictures.

Grace knew there’d been a lot more than the ones they’d found. The photos were Barker’s way of reliving his fun. But he must’ve destroyed the rest for fear of being caught with them, because even the police, when they went through his things, hadn’t discovered any. They’d bagged several items as evidence—a terse note from Irene threatening to leave Barker if he didn’t start treating her better; a picture Grace had drawn of a man who looked suspiciously like Barker hanging from a tree; a bank statement that showed Irene had
bounced several checks on her account while Barker had plenty of money in his; and the life insurance policy that named Irene beneficiary of a $10,000 policy she never even tried to collect. Except for the insurance policy and bank statements, they were things Irene and Clay had missed in their hurry to get rid of the body, clean up the blood and drive the reverend’s car into the rock quarry.

The evidence gathered by the police had been enough to raise suspicions but, fortunately, not enough to make a case.

Now, the small wooden box in which Barker had kept the pictures held only the silver dollars he’d collected, a tie clasp in the shape of a cross and a driving award he’d received as a young man. Grace’s hand shook as she poked through the contents, marveling that, except for Madeline, the sum total of the reverend’s existence had come down to twenty bucks in silver dollars, a few worthless trinkets and an intense hatred from the only people who really knew him.

“Fraud!” she cried and threw the box against the wall. It left a dent before splintering on the floor.

Clay looked up at her sudden outburst. But he didn’t stop her when she ripped out every file, overturned the reverend’s neatly arranged desk, smashed the pictures he’d hung on the wall, destroyed the small air-conditioning unit that used to rattle and hum over her head while she was pinned to the floor, and threw his radio at the window.

After cracking one of the panes it squawked on the floor, like a wounded chicken, as the fight drained out of her. Then she stood, panting, in the middle of the room.

“You had enough?” Clay asked, his voice low, his eyes watchful.

She stared down at the nicks and gouges on her hands. “He used to play Big Band music to cover any noise I might make. He was such a cautious man. So mindful of appearances.”

“He got his due, Grace.”

“No, he didn’t,” she whispered. “I can only hope you’re right about hell.”

Moving closer, Clay took hold of her shoulders. “Don’t let him ruin the rest of your life. Please.”

That was the idea. Whether or not she’d succeed remained to be seen.

Nodding, she straightened and took a deep breath. She’d go to her garden. She’d rake and hoe and weed until the pain receded.

But then she saw the room through her stepsister’s eyes and realized what she’d done. “What are we going to say happened here?” she asked.

Clay pushed her gently into a chair. “That someone broke in searching for clues and trashed the place.”

“Will Madeline believe it?”

He wiped the blood oozing from a cut on her hand. “The way this town feels toward us? I’m sure she will.”

Dropping her head, Grace covered her face. “Poor Maddy. He was her father. I shouldn’t have done it. Maybe, if not for me, the reverend would’ve been a different man.”

“That’s not true. Don’t even think it,” Clay said.

But the reverend had certainly told her that, time and time again. At thirty-one, her mind rejected it. Her heart, however, was more easily convinced.

When she didn’t answer him, Clay tilted her chin so that she had to meet his eyes. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You had every right.”

She held his hand to her cheek. Clay tried to carry the burden for all of them. But even his shoulders weren’t broad enough for what the reverend had set in motion.

That night, Kennedy went to the pool hall as usual. He wasn’t particularly interested in playing this week. But there was no better place to catch up on town gossip, and he wanted to know who stood with him and who had, at the Vincellis’ urging, defected to the Nibley camp.

Joe, Buzz, Tim and a friend he hadn’t seen for a while, Russ Welton, were there by the time Kennedy arrived. They hollered a greeting as soon as he walked through the door and called him over to their favorite corner. Kennedy had spoken to Joe on the telephone a couple of times since he’d seen the Nibley flyer. Joe claimed he was staying out of the fight, but Kennedy suspected something or someone was fueling the rift between the Archers and Elaine, Marcus and Roger Vincelli. The news that Kennedy had taken Grace camping might’ve made them angry. It might’ve made them phone him and ask what the hell he thought he was doing. But they’d taken immediate action, without so much as contacting him.

Joe had to be the instigator. Maybe he was pretending to be an innocent bystander because he didn’t want Kennedy to tell his parents about the gambling debts. Kennedy wasn’t sure of his motivation. But he became even more convinced that Joe wasn’t acting like himself when Kennedy beat him at pool and he didn’t complain. Casual acceptance of defeat wasn’t his style.

“You were
on
tonight,” Joe praised, taking a swig of his beer.

Kennedy put his cue stick in the rack and shrugged. He didn’t really care whether he beat Joe or not, so he saw no point in provoking him. “I got lucky this week.”

“In more ways than one?” Joe asked with a grin.

Kennedy felt the other men’s attention settle on him. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re still seeing Grace, aren’t you?”

“We’re friends,” he replied.

“She’s turned out to be a real beauty,” Buzz said, obviously trying to keep the peace.

Joe toyed with the eight ball. “Only friends?”

Kennedy picked up his own beer. “Why are you asking? You preparing a report for your family?”

The eight ball clacked against several other balls as Joe sent it rolling across the table. “I already told you. I’m staying out of the problems between you and my folks. But I will say that you can’t blame them for being unhappy that you’d choose Grace over us. Our families have been friends for a long time. The Vincellis have always supported the Archers.”

“Your parents can vote for whomever they like,” Kennedy said. “I don’t have a problem with that.”

“You might have a problem with it if you lose the election.”

“I’m not going to lose the election.”

Joe smiled slyly. “I’m just saying that it’d be a shame if you did. Especially when you had all the support you needed—until you got involved with Grace.”

“I’ll see whoever I want,” Kennedy said with a scowl.

“Of course. I’m not trying to tell you any different.”

Kennedy didn’t believe it. But before he could say anything else, someone touched his arm. When he
turned, he saw Janice Michaelson, a woman about four years older who was currently living with a female friend she’d met on the Internet. Because she’d never married—or apparently even dated—rumor had it that she and her friend were lovers. With her boyish haircut, lack of makeup and choice of wardrobe, Janice certainly fit the stereotype, but if she was a lesbian, she’d never admitted it. Kennedy didn’t blame her for keeping quiet. Being gay wasn’t easy in a town like Stillwater.

“Wanna dance?” she said.

Joe made some wisecrack about which of them would lead, and Tim and Randy started to laugh. Buzz pretended he hadn’t heard.

“Sure.” Kennedy put his hand on the small of Janice’s back, hoping to steer her away before Joe could insult her again. But she stood her ground and leveled Joe with a look.

“At least the women I know like me,” she said. “That’s more than I can say for you.”

Joe flushed as Tim said, “Oh, she burned you, baby. She burned you bad.” Even Buzz laughed.

“You think that’s funny, you fat ugly dyke?” Joe said. “At least I’m not suffering from penis envy.”

Her gaze fell pointedly to his crotch. “With the size of your dick, you
should
be.”

The muscles bunched in Joe’s arms as he shoved off the edge of the table. He opened his mouth to make a retort, but Kennedy recognized the gleam in his eyes and yanked Janice onto the dance floor.

“Joe’s an idiot,” he said as he led her through the crush of bodies into the very middle.

“If you’re just figuring that out, you’re a little slow on the uptake,” she murmured.

“He saved my life.”

“He probably pushed you in to begin with.”

Kennedy had never danced with Janice before. Typically, she and her friend—or partner, if the rumors were true—hung out at the bar or played pool. Sometimes they sat in back, watching football on the big screen and eating chips and salsa.

“Where’s Constance tonight?” he asked.

“She went to visit her father in Nashville.”

“Is that where she’s from?”

“That’s where her father’s from. She was raised in Michigan by her mother.”

He was already running out of small talk. “So you’re on your own tonight?”

“I’m not staying long. Actually, I was on my way home until I saw you come in.”

“Me?”
he responded in surprise.

“Yes. This is probably really stupid of me, but—” she glanced to either side and lowered her voice “—I need to tell you something.”

Now he was really befuddled. What could Janice have to say to him? “About what?”

“I’ve heard you’re seeing Grace Montgomery.”

“Don’t tell me I’ve lost your vote, too,” he said with a grimace.

“Whether or not you date Grace won’t affect my support. But there’s a lot more at stake here than an election. That’s why I feel I need to say something.”

“If you’re waiting for my full attention, you’ve got it.”

She bit her lip, looking uncertain.

“Well?”

“I hope I don’t live to regret this,” she said with a small groan, and gestured him closer.

Kennedy could see Joe straining to get a peek at them and turned Janice the other way. “What is it?”

“I saw Clay driving Reverend Barker’s car the night he disappeared.”

“What time was that?”

“Late. Very late.”

Kennedy missed a step and nearly crashed into her. Instead of trying to continue dancing, he pulled her off to the far side, well away from Joe and the others. “Want to repeat that?”