Dead Giveaway (Stillwater Trilogy #2)(26)
Author: Brenda Novak

"I’ll get you dirty," he warned.

"I don’t care." She seemed so peaceful and content as she closed her eyes and let him swing her that he began to feel guilty about the dissatisfaction he felt with his own life. At least his sister was happy. How many years had she suffered because he hadn’t looked out for her the way he should have? "I didn’t know Kennedy had a pager," he said.

"He didn’t until last week. He went out and bought one because he doesn’t trust his cell phone. I’m supposed to call both the minute I go into labor."

Clay chuckled and continued to move the swing. "You’ll remember to call me as soon as Junior arrives, won’t you?"

"Of course."

"Have you decided on a name?"

"If it’s a girl, she’ll be Lauren Elizabeth."

"Nice. But I’m predicting a boy."

Her smile grew shy as she sat up. "Then he’ll be Isaiah Clayton."

He studied her in surprise. "After me?"

She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. "If you don’t mind."

"Why?"

"Because you’re such a good brother."

A lump swelled in his throat, making it difficult to talk.

They rocked in silence for a moment. Then she nudged him. "I hear Allie McCormick is searching for Dad."

He nodded.

"What a relief he doesn’t know anything that can hurt us."

Clay glanced at her but kept his mouth shut. Irene hadn’t told Grace? Considering Grace’s situation, he was glad. She didn’t need the worry. She’d been through enough, and none of it had been her fault. "Yeah, what a relief," he echoed.

"Do you think she’ll find him?"

He stared at his greasy hands. "She already has."

She put her feet down to stop the swaying motion. "Where is he?"

"Alaska."

"What’s he doing all the way up there?"

"He’s remarried."

The expression on her face momentarily revealed the old fragility. The mention of Lucas had obviously brought back bad memories.

Reaching out, Clay squeezed her hand despite the grease on his own. "He’s not worth the pain," he said softly.

Her smile appeared forced, but she nodded. "Has Allie come snooping around here yet?"

"She’s been by, but not because of Barker."

"You’re talking about what happened with Beth Ann."

He scowled. "God, is there anyone who hasn’t heard?"

She laughed and, relieved to see her smile again, he relaxed in the seat.

"She’s telling everyone you want a baby, you know," she said, wiping the grease he’d transferred to her on his dirty T-shirt.

"I didn’t know. But that’s crazy."

She angled her head to size him up. "Is it?"

"Of course. I’m not even married."

"You’ve been almost as interested in this baby as Kennedy."

"Why wouldn’t I be? I’m the kid’s uncle."

"Maybe it’s time you started thinking about settling down and having some children of your own."

They both knew a man didn’t get more settled than he was. Unless he wanted to wind up in prison, he couldn’t go anywhere. And he’d be stupid to marry. But he knew it hurt Grace to acknowledge the limitations of his situation, so he played along. "I’m sure I’ll know when I meet the right woman."

"Don’t let what happened stop you," she said, suddenly fierce.

How could he not let it stop him? He couldn’t pretend he didn’t have the remains of his stepfather buried in the cellar. "Don’t worry," he said. "I’m fine as I am."

She stared off into space, toward the barn. He’d torn down the horse stalls to make room for his car shop, but he knew that, for Grace, the barn held the worst memories of all. At one end was the reverend’s office, where Barker used to prepare his sermons. It was also where he’d tie Grace up and–

Clay winced, unable to think about it. They’d left that office completely intact for nineteen years, as if they believed he might one day return, until last summer when Grace had finally snapped and torn the place apart. Clay had since boxed up the reverend’s belongings and passed them on to Madeline, but that two-hundred square feet of space still felt evil. Clay never went in there.

"What is it?" he asked. Once the memories crowded this close, Grace never lingered–unless she had a good reason.

When she reached for his hand, her fingers were cold, despite the warmth of the sun. "I ran into Reverend Portenski at the drugstore."

"I didn’t realize you knew Reverend Portenski." Grace never went to church anymore. Of Irene’s three children, she’d once been the most receptive to spiritual guidance. But that was before Barker.

"We’ve seen each other around town, of course. Usually he won’t even look at me, and I ignore him. I guess he hasn’t seen my soul as worth saving. Or he knew he’d be wasting his breath, even if he tried. But this last encounter…"

"What?" Clay prompted.

"He approached me with the oddest expression on his face."

"What kind of expression?"

"Sort of pained or filled with regret or…I’m not sure."

"What’d he say?"

"That God knows all things and that his wrath will destroy the wicked."

Clay felt instantly defensive. He was always defensive of Grace. But judging by his own experience with Portenski, what she’d just told him didn’t make any sense. "That doesn’t sound like him," he said. "When I first started going back to church several months ago, he made sure everyone knew he was fine with having me there. I think some people, like Joe, were trying to convince him I shouldn’t be allowed to participate, because he delivered a rather passionate sermon saying it wasn’t his place to judge. ‘God is the only one who knows the thoughts and intents of each man’s heart and reserves judgment for himself,’ he said."

"But I didn’t get the impression that he was blaming me, Clay. It was almost as if he was trying to tell me that Barker will be punished for his sins."

Clay’s muscles tensed. "Do you think he knows?"

"I do."

"But how could he? We searched the entire church and personally boxed up everything in Barker’s private rooms. The pictures weren’t there. What we burned must’ve been all of them."

"No." They’d had this discussion before. Although it was difficult for Grace to talk about, she always maintained that there had to be more. Barker’s fetish included the camera. She claimed he’d taken hundreds of Polaroids.

"Then, where did he hide them?"

"I don’t know. But I believe Portenski’s found them."