Dead Giveaway (Stillwater Trilogy #2)(20)
Author: Brenda Novak

"Telephone!"

Allie hadn’t heard it ring. She’d been dozing. She was off work for the weekend, which meant she could sleep through the night. But she was having trouble staying awake until bedtime.

"Coming!"

She turned up the volume again, leaving Belle singing to the Beast as she walked into the adjoining room–her father’s den. It took a moment to find the phone amid the clutter on his desk.

"Hello?"

"Allie?"

"Yes?"

"It’s Madeline."

Allie sank into her father’s leather chair. She’d been expecting this call. "How are you?"

"Good. And you?"

"Hanging in there."

"Glad to hear it. I have the Bible you were asking about. I’ve pored over every single word and I can’t find anything that could be called a clue. But I’d be happy to let you see it."

"A fresh pair of eyes might help. I’m not making quick progress on your father’s case, but I am working on it. It takes a while to go through so much material, especially when I’m trying to note every detail."

"I understand. I’m grateful you’re being so thorough. You’ll uncover the missing piece. I’m sure of it."

Allie pitied the hope in Madeline’s voice. Maddy had waited nineteen years to find out what had happened to her father and was still waiting. Allie couldn’t imagine how difficult that must be. "I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try."

"If anyone can help me, you can."

Allie prayed that Madeline’s confidence wasn’t misplaced. For every case she’d solved, there were at least five she’d been unable to break. That was the nature of the business. She’d mentioned those statistics when she’d granted Madeline the interview for the paper, had talked about evidence that was often too degraded to use and key witnesses who’d died or could no longer remember what they’d seen or heard. But Madeline had focused on Allie’s successes. Apparently Madeline’s five-part series would summarize some of her toughest cases, but only those that had a happy ending.

Maybe Madeline needed to tell those stories to bolster her faith that she’d eventually find the resolution she sought.

"I’ll do my best," she said again.

"I know you will. Anyway, I have another question for you."

Allie rolled closer to her father’s desk and glanced idly through his Rolodex. "What’s up?"

"Are you working tonight?"

"No, why?" She stopped at the number for a Corinth florist written in her father’s hand.

She’d never known him to order flowers. He was too practical. Had someone died? No one close to them. And if it was a professional acquaintance, her father would’ve handled it at the station….

"I was hoping you might be interested in going out dancing or playing pool tonight."

As she considered Madeline’s invitation, Allie continued to flip through the small cards.

She liked Madeline a lot and ordinarily would’ve jumped at the chance to go out with her. They’d sometimes hung out when they were kids. And although her two best friends from high school had married and moved away shortly after she did, there were other people she remembered and wanted to see. So far, though, she’d been too busy moving, getting Whitney started in a new school and becoming familiar with her job.

But she was so tired. "I would if I could keep my eyes open," she said, covering a yawn.

"I’m still getting used to working graveyard."

"Really?" Madeline seemed genuinely disappointed. "Clay was hoping you could make it."

"Clay?" she repeated, nearly choking on the name.

"He called me a few minutes ago and asked me to invite you."

Allie’s jaw dropped as she immediately conjured up an image of Clay–the image in the picture beneath her mattress. "Why would your brother want me there?"

"He said he’d like to get to know you, and maybe talk about Dad."

Dad… Madeline had said that as if Clay called Barker "Dad," but he didn’t. At least not in front of Allie. Did he play it differently when he was with Madeline?

It’d be interesting to watch the two of them together, Allie thought, when they were relaxed and didn’t feel they were under scrutiny. The way they interacted might tell her something about the case, certainly more than Clay intended to divulge.

"If he’s ready to share, I guess I’d better not miss out," she said, reversing her earlier decision. "He’s not usually so open."

"Not to police officers in general, but that’s because they’re almost always prejudiced against him," Madeline said, a defensive note creeping into her voice. "He’s not the one responsible for whatever happened to my father."

"You’ve told me that before. But I can’t rule him out, Maddy." Especially since Joe Vincelli and others claimed exactly the opposite. "I can’t rule anybody out. I have to keep an open mind.

Otherwise, I won’t be any good to you."

Madeline seemed to struggle between loyalty and common sense.

"Tell me this," Allie said softly.

"What?"

"If it was Clay–"

"It’s not, " she insisted. "Don’t listen to what people around here say. They don’t know him the way I do."

"I’m just asking– if it was–would you want to know?" To Allie, justice was justice. The case needed to be solved, regardless. But did Madeline really understand what she was asking? She craved answers, but what if those answers only caused her fresh pain?

"I don’t have to worry," Madeline said. "It’s not him."

For Madeline’s sake–and Clay’s, too, because he was so young when it’d all happened–Allie hoped not. "I’ll take your word for it," she said. "For now. But I definitely don’t want to miss out on the opportunity to talk to Clay while he’s willing to speak with me."

"There’ll be other chances."

Allie wasn’t willing to risk it. "No, I’ll tank up on coffee and go out with you. Just let me get Whitney to bed."

"Okay. But don’t press my brother too hard. He doesn’t socialize much, and I want him to have a nice time tonight."

"I’ll be on my best behavior," Allie said. But she couldn’t imagine anyone pressing Clay further than he wanted to go.

Clay spotted Allie the moment she opened the door of the crowded pool hall. She was wearing a black miniskirt and a hot-pink, long-sleeved stretchy top. The skirt could’ve been a lot shorter, but it was short enough to be surprising on someone so conservative. And while the top wasn’t low-cut, it clung to her in all the right places. Maybe she wasn’t soft and voluptuous, but she looked…trim, fit and well proportioned, especially for her size. She’d also put some gel in her hair and styled it in a shaggy, fashionable way. The short length emphasized her eyes–and her slightly oversize mouth. That mouth had been sexy even when she wore that off-putting uniform.