Dead Silence (9 page)

His secretary buzzed, but Kennedy didn’t respond. After the call he’d just had from the police chief, he knew it would be Joe. Besides the fact that he didn’t want to talk to his friend, he had an off-site meeting and needed to leave so he wouldn’t be late. But something about his grandfather’s portrait held him fast. Although the town wasn’t as sophisticated as a lot of other places, Kennedy loved Stillwater. He thought he’d make a good mayor. He’d certainly been groomed for the job, was comfortable with the path that lay ahead. But he wasn’t ready to see his father’s memorial picture hang
ing next to his grandfather’s. It was too soon after Raelynn’s death to say goodbye to another member of his family.

“I told her your car was still in the lot.”

Kennedy turned as Joe Vincelli barged into his office. “What a surprise to see you.”

Joe didn’t pick up on the sarcasm in his voice. “Why didn’t you answer when Lilly buzzed?”

“I was preoccupied.”

Joe’s eyebrows shot up; apparently he considered that a pretty lame excuse. But then, no one else knew about the cancer slowly destroying Otis’s body. Neither Kennedy nor his parents wanted word to get out. The bank’s stock would plummet once investors realized that the chairman of the board probably wouldn’t live through Christmas. And Kennedy wasn’t sure he could take the pity he’d receive.

He wasn’t sure how they’d keep his father’s condition a secret, when Otis started chemotherapy next month. But for the good of the bank and its employees—and for the sake of preserving the privacy he and his mother both prized—he knew they’d try.

“What’s up?” he asked as though he hadn’t already heard.

“I want McCormick to reopen my uncle’s case.”

Kennedy looked at his friend, wondering why, after so many years of letting the case grow cold, Joe was so keen on another investigation. Sure, Barker was a member of his family. But Joe had been thirteen when the reverend went missing. And he’d never pressed particularly hard for a resolution before. “Chief McCormick called me a few minutes ago to say you’d been in,” he admitted.

“He told me he couldn’t reopen the case without a
reason,” Joe said, slouching into a seat. “But I know if you’ll put a little pressure on him, he’ll do it.”

“What good would it do to reopen the case?” Kennedy asked.

“Maybe we’d find something this time.”

“And maybe we wouldn’t.”

“Come on, Kennedy. We all know Clay or Irene killed my uncle. It’s time to prove it. And think what a great running platform it would make for you. Vicki Nibley wouldn’t have a prayer if you were responsible for figuring out what went on at the farm that night.”

Kennedy moved back to his desk and sat on the corner. When they were twelve and Joe’s father had taken them camping, Kennedy had slipped on a slick rock and fallen into the Yocona River. It was barely dawn. Joe’s father was still sleeping, and there was no time to get him. It was Joe who’d jumped in to save Kennedy from the brutal current that had swept him under the ledge of a second massive rock. He’d nearly forfeited his own life in the process.

Kennedy owed Joe a lot, but this wasn’t right. “I’m not worried about the mayoral seat,” he said. “If I lose, I have enough work here at the bank to keep me busy.”

“What are you talking about? You’ve dreamed of filling your father’s shoes for years.”

“It won’t destroy my life if I don’t take public office.”

“Don’t you want to know what happened to my uncle?”

Kennedy was curious. Everyone was. Grace’s sudden return had started tongues wagging all over again. Some people said they saw the reverend’s car pull into
his own drive that night so long ago; others said they saw him heading out of town the opposite way. According to Kennedy’s conversation with McCormick a few minutes earlier, one woman had even come forward to say she’d seen the reverend in a mall in Jackson only a few months ago. Most people, however, pointed fingers at Irene or Clay. Some claimed Grace had killed him, although she was just a young teenager at the time. Only Madeline, who was gone the night everything happened, was free from accusation.

Kennedy had a few suspicions of his own—but, like everyone else, he had no proof. And he felt the gossip was getting out of hand. He was more intrigued by the kind of person Grace had become than what’d happened to the reverend. There was something tragic about her, something fragile and vulnerable despite the tough exterior she tried to show the world. The contrast between her beauty and the darkness of her past fascinated him.

He’d lain awake last night marveling at what she’d been able to accomplish after leaving Stillwater with only a high school diploma—and remembering what he’d seen in the window.

“Of course I’d like to know,” he said. “But not badly enough to make the Montgomerys miserable unless we have more to go on.”

Joe stretched out his long legs. “Then do it for me.”

Kennedy had feared this was coming. Although Joe had never before held the incident at the Yocona River over his head—which was one thing Kennedy had always admired about him—Kennedy couldn’t help feeling obligated to Joe in ways he wasn’t obligated to anyone else.

But the thought of what it would do to Grace still made him pause. “I can’t. I don’t have that authority.”

Joe grimaced. “We both know your father owns this town. Lately he’s been turning everything over to you. Talk to McCormick. Make him do something.”

Joe had his better moments. He was a funny drunk and would do almost anything for his friends. But he had a mean streak the others didn’t possess and a less-than-impressive track record. He’d been divorced from the same woman twice and, if not for his parents, probably wouldn’t have a job. His folks owned Stillwater Road & Gravel just north of town. They let Joe pretend to manage it for them, but he spent most of his time hanging out, having lunch with the gang, chasing women or bugging Kennedy to lend him more money.

“Why?”
Kennedy asked.

“Because a crime’s been committed!”

“We don’t know that.” Kennedy suspected Grace had already paid a heavy price for that night, whether whatever had happened was her fault or not. And even though he had to admit that Joe might be right about her family, he felt strangely reluctant to pursue it.

“Why not make sure?” Joe pressed. “Fix it so I can take a backhoe to the farm and dig around. If there’s a body there, I’ll find it.”

“The police searched the farm. They found nothing to warrant the use of a backhoe.”

“Come on! That was before old man Jenkins retired, and you know as well as I do that Jenkins couldn’t find his own ass without a guide. We had the equivalent of Barney Fife running the investigation.”

“Regardless, McCormick would need another warrant, which wouldn’t be easy to obtain. Not when the police have already been given one shot. This may come as news to you, but judges don’t take invading people’s
privacy lightly,” Kennedy said. “And Clay’s like a junkyard dog. You know that. He isn’t going to give his permission.”

“Judge Reynolds would listen to you.”

Kennedy recalled how Joe had acted at the pizza parlor. “This is not about obtaining justice for your uncle, is it?”

“No,” he said with a scowl.

“Seems to me you’re more concerned with hurting Grace than anything else.”

“You mean
Grinding Gracie?
” Joe chuckled as though she wasn’t worthy of so much attention. “That’s bullshit. Why would I want to hurt her?”

“I don’t know. But if that’s what you’re after—” Kennedy toyed with the glass paperweight that had been a gift from his staff at Christmas “—what you did in high school was enough.”

“Screw you,” Joe said, jumping to his feet. “I didn’t do anything to Grace in high school!”

The telephone rang. Kennedy raised a hand to indicate he’d be a minute and took the call, hoping the interruption would ease the tension in the room. But Joe simply cursed and started for the door.

“Some friend you are,” he muttered. Kennedy waited for him to add, “You wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me.” But he didn’t. He disappeared down the hall.

Kennedy wanted to go after him. He wanted to tell him to forget the past and get on with his life—and let Grace do the same. But Camille was on the other end of the line, saying, “Hello? Kennedy? Are you there?”

Dropping his head in one hand, he massaged his temples. He could sense from the edge in his mother’s voice that something was wrong. “I’m here,” he said. “What is it?”

“You need to talk to your son.”

He immediately knew she didn’t mean Heath. “What’s Teddy done this time?”

“He went over to Grace Montgomery’s just before noon.”

“We already talked about this. I gave my permission for him to mow her lawn.”

“But I told him to be back an hour ago.”

Kennedy checked his watch. “Maybe he lost track of the time.”

“That’s no excuse. How can I let him leave the house if he can’t obey a simple rule like ‘be back by two’?”

His mother had a point. Teddy needed to be trustworthy. “Right,” Kennedy said. “I’ll talk to him tonight, okay? See what’s going on.”

“No, you should go over there right now. It’s been
three
hours, Kennedy. I don’t like it. Grace is not a nice person.”

“I don’t think she’s half as bad as you imagine. She’s an assistant district attorney, Mom. And from what I hear, she’s a damn good one.”

“I don’t care if she is. You know she wasn’t exactly an exemplary citizen when she lived here before. Are you willing to risk something happening to Teddy?”

She’d hit him in his most vulnerable spot. After losing Raelynn, he wasn’t about to take anything for granted. “Of course not.” He swallowed a sigh. “I’ll go there right now.” Even if it made him late for his meeting.

“You do that. And tell Teddy to get home.”

Kennedy sidestepped making a commitment. “I’ll call you back.”

No one answered the door at Grace’s, so Kennedy peered in the windows. It looked as though she’d made herself at home. The living room had a circular rug with an overstuffed couch and chair, a magazine table, a coffee table and an old-fashioned secretary in the corner. He could see a mahogany table and chairs through an opening that led into the dining room, and leather sofas in the family room beyond that. The furniture seemed to be a mix of old and new—nothing terribly fancy—and yet she’d created a combination that suggested she had good taste.

“Anyone home?” he called, and knocked again.

There was no response, although her BMW was in the garage. He’d checked before coming to the door.

Feeling his first shiver of alarm, he circled the house, hoping he could get in through the back. But as soon as he opened the gate, he heard a woman’s voice—and stopped.

Was it Grace?

Standing behind the poplar trees, which shielded him from view, he peered through the branches.

It was her, all right. And Teddy was with her. But she wasn’t doing anything diabolical to him. They were sitting at a patio table, reading a book.

“Why do you think he’d go into such a dark cave?” she asked as they studied one of the illustrations.

“He’s curious, I guess,” Teddy said.

“You’d never go into a dark cave alone, would you?”

“No. I want him to do it, though. Don’t you?”

She laughed. “Spoken like a true boy. You already have a love of danger.”

“Do you think he’s going to get hurt?”

“Or lost,” she said. “Let’s see.” She turned the page and started reading again. She was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, but no shoes, and her shapely legs were crossed at the ankle beneath her chair.

Kennedy could hardly believe what he was seeing.

“He
is
getting into trouble,” Teddy breathed in obvious concern as the boy in the book slipped down a slope and fell through a hole into complete blackness. “Someone will come and help him, won’t they?”

“Maybe,” she said. “But you can’t expect others to save you. You have to save yourself. Always remember that.”

“Why won’t other people help you?”

She hesitated for a second. “Sometimes they can’t hear your cries.”

Kennedy got the funny feeling that she wasn’t talking about the story and experienced another twinge of guilt for all she’d suffered in high school. But he could tell that Teddy wasn’t in any danger. On the contrary, his son was getting a dose of the comfort and closeness he’d craved so badly since losing his mother.

Not wanting to interrupt, Kennedy backed out, closed the gate with a tiny click, and slipped away.

When he was in his car, he phoned his mother. “Teddy’s fine,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Is he coming home?”

He turned onto Main Street. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“He’s busy.”

“Is he still with
her?
”

Kennedy didn’t want to describe the tender scene he’d just witnessed. He was profoundly grateful that Grace could be so kind to Teddy, even though she didn’t like
him.
“He’s sweeping out her garage,” he
lied, because he thought his practical mother would accept that answer more readily.

But he’d underestimated her dislike of Grace.

“What’s she planning to do, work him all day, then pay him a buck or two? Are you going to let her take advantage of him that way?”

“She’s not taking advantage of him,” he snapped. “I’ve got it handled.”

A surprised silence followed this outburst, and he struggled to restrain his emotions. Maybe there were things about his mother that grated on him, but her intentions were loving. And she was dealing with a lot right now—too much. He’d often thought of getting another babysitter for the boys, but he knew none of them would be any happier. His children wanted what they’d had before, when their mother was alive; Camille would take his defection as a sign that he believed she wasn’t doing an adequate job.

“I’ve already looked into it,” he said, softening his voice. “Everything’s fine. He’ll get home when he gets home.”

“You should’ve told him to come right away, like I asked you to.”

“Because you want to read to him?”

“What?”