Dead Giveaway (Stillwater Trilogy #2)(30)
Author: Brenda Novak

Beth Ann’s words came back to her. He’ll hurt you, too, she’d said. But Allie wasn’t concerned. She had no expectations of a serious relationship. He might’ve asked her out to dinner, but she knew better than to assume he had more than a passing interest in her. A woman didn’t have to know him very well to understand that he wasn’t big on commitment. Of all the rumors that circulated about him, the one that said he was hard to get–which Allie translated as impossible–was the one she most believed.

Her cell phone rang. She rooted around for it while she drove, trying to find where it had fallen, hoping it was her brother. She’d called him earlier to complain about their father. Moving home was a mixed blessing. She appreciated her parents’ support, knew it was good for Whitney to have them around, but it was so hard giving up the autonomy she’d enjoyed as a married adult.

Maybe living with her father and working for him had started out okay, but after only six weeks it was putting a strain on their relationship. Danny had tried to warn her….

Where was her phone? As it rang again, she leaned forward to feel under the seat, wondering if she should move into the guesthouse. Her parents wouldn’t like it, but it would give her more privacy. And Whitney could still stay at her parents’ on the nights Allie worked.

Eventually her fingers closed around her phone and she managed to pull it out from under the passenger seat. But after one glance at the caller ID, Allie tossed it aside. It wasn’t her brother, it was her father–and they’d only get into a yelling match if she answered.

Since Whitney was probably asleep, Allie wasn’t in any hurry to return home. She decided to use the next two hours to interview some of the witnesses whose testimony she’d read in the Barker files. It was Sunday, so most of them should be available.

She planned to begin with Jed Fowler. He’d been at the farm the night Barker disappeared; he’d also attempted to confess to Barker’s murder nine months ago, during the last police search.

And yet, apart from the three minutes it took to brush off enough dirt to determine that they’d dug up the skull of a dog and not a human, he’d never really been a suspect. Maybe he was strange, but he had no motive, nothing to gain from Barker’s death.

Chances were much greater that he’d witnessed something and was keeping silent about it.

But if that was true, why would he confess to murder instead of pointing a finger at the real culprit?

From what she’d read in the files, Allie thought she could venture a guess.

Clay remained near the doors of the church, grappling with his anger over Chief McCormick’s parting words. He considered walking out–and never coming back. He wasn’t sure why he’d returned in the first place. He didn’t need Allie, her father or anyone else. But he wanted to speak to Portenski before he left–if the man would ever acknowledge his presence. For the last few minutes, the reverend had been moving around the pews, putting away hymnbooks and tidying up as if he didn’t know Clay was still in the room.

When Clay cleared his throat, the preacher finally looked up and glanced around, apparently shocked to find them alone.

"Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Montgomery?" he asked. He had a mild voice and manner, which was fitting for a man in his position. And yet, as nice as Portenski was, Clay got the distinct impression that the reverend was reluctant to talk to him. Prior to what Grace had told him, Clay had simply assumed Portenski’s reserve had to do with the fact that he believed what most people believed–that Clay or his mother was responsible for Barker’s disappearance. Or if he wasn’t certain, at least he wondered. But now Clay suspected there might be more to it.

"My sister mentioned to me that you spoke to her the other day."

A quick darting of the tongue wet Portenski’s lips. "Yes, I–I wanted to make sure she felt welcome here. If she ever decides to join us again."

Clay took note of the color rising high on his cheeks. "You told her that God’s wrath would destroy the wicked. Isn’t that right?"

The reverend smoothed down the white tufts of hair growing over his ears. "I–um–yes, I did. It’s true, after all, is it not?"

"Were you referring to my sister’s destruction when you made that comment?"

The reverend’s eyes widened. "Is that how she interpreted it?"

"Considering what most people in this town have accused us of, what else would she think?"

He flapped a hand in front of him. "That wasn’t it at all! I was just trying to tell her that God knows all things and will set them right eventually. We must have faith."

"That’s an interesting comment to make to someone you believe was involved in a murder."

The reverend muttered something, but Clay couldn’t make out all the words.

"What was that?" he asked.

"I said I’ve never indicated that I believe Grace is guilty of any crime."

The inflection was too noticeable to be accidental.

Clay lowered his voice. "So you know." He wanted to add, "That Reverend Barker was a predator," but he had to be careful. He didn’t need to reveal a stronger motive for murder than the greed they’d already attributed to him, especially on the heels of his supposed "confession" to Beth Ann.

Portenski’s lips pursed. He seemed reluctant to respond–but he showed no curiosity or surprise.

"Reverend?"

The preacher remained stiff, uncomfortable. "I’m confident only of what I told her."

Clay stared at him for several seconds. "That God knows all things."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I told you, it’s true."

"That’s it?"

"Of course."

Whatever the reverend was thinking, he wasn’t going to tell. And, judging by his attitude, pressing him wouldn’t loosen his tongue. Portenski had the determined look of a man who’d dug in for a storm.

Clay refused to waste the effort asking for answers he wouldn’t get. But he had other questions, questions that were, in their own way, every bit as important. Questions he’d wanted to ask someone like Portenski for years. "And do you find God particularly forgiving?"

There was a slight delay in the reverend’s response, as if Clay’s change in tactics had caught him off guard. "According to the Bible–"

"Don’t quote me the Bible, Reverend. I’m asking what you think."

"I’m just a man."

"A man who’s read libraries of books on theology, philosophy and sociology." Portenski was known for always having a book in his hand, and often quoted from a variety of works during his sermons. "If you’re not qualified to form an opinion, who is? We’re all just men."