Dead Right (Stillwater Trilogy #3)(40)
Author: Brenda Novak

“A couple of hundred thousand.”

Hunter coughed. There was a vehicle worth that much money sitting inside an old barn in the hills of Mississippi? “How do you know?”

“Because it’s on eBay. The current bid is $160,000.”

“Wow.”

“He didn’t start out with cars this expensive,” she said. “He’s been working his way up.”

“Pretty soon the farm will be his hobby.”

“I doubt it,” she said.

“Why not?”

“He was born to work the land. He loves it.”

“How did he get started with cars? His father? Your father?”

“Neither. He’s just always loved them—and had the talent for doing whatever needed to be done. After my father disappeared and Clay came back from college and took over the farm, he ripped out the stalls and converted it into a garage.”

“So your father had animals in here?”

“The meanest son-of-a-bitch horse you’ve ever met,” a deep voice responded.

Hunter turned to find a man standing in the doorway. He had thick black hair falling across his forehead, blue eyes and a dark shadow of beard growth covering a very square jaw. He was tall, too. Probably three inches taller than Hunter and fifty pounds heavier.

Hunter might have felt a little intimidated, but he preferred to think of himself as light and fast—a skateboarder, surfer or skier as opposed to a football player, wrestler or one-man army.

“You must be Madeline’s stepbrother.”

He didn’t bother to smile. “And you must be the dick from California.”

Despite the situation, Hunter couldn’t restrain a laugh. Clay’s flat, emotionless voice suggested that he wasn’t necessarily referring to Hunter’s profession. “I can see you’re a man who says what he means.”

“Any other kind of man isn’t a man.”

“And if I prefer the term P.I.?”

“You’re in Mississippi, son,” he replied. “We don’t give a damn about being politically correct around here.”

Son…He was definitely pushing his advantage in age and weight. “Which makes me what?” Hunter asked. “A liberal?”

“You tell me.”

“I am what I am,” he said with a shrug. When he didn’t act threatened or upset, Hunter recognized a positive shift in Clay’s attitude. He would’ve relaxed—except that he suspected Allie had called Clay the second they’d stepped off the porch and that Clay didn’t like them snooping around. At least not on their own.

“How old are you?” Clay asked.

Hunter cast Madeline a sidelong glance. “Did you tell him to ask me that?”

“You look young,” she said with a shrug.

“I look like a certified badass,” he corrected, hoping to ease the tension, and was rewarded with the low rumble of a chuckle from Clay.

“So?” Madeline said to her stepbrother.

“So what?” he responded grumpily.

“If you’re finished putting Hunter on notice, we’ll move ahead with the tour.”

Clay held out a large hand, one that was nicked and gouged. “Be my guest. If he stays long enough, maybe we’ll see what kind of dick he really is.”

Hunter turned and cocked an eyebrow at Madeline’s stepbrother. “I’m a damn good one,” he said.

“Which means what?”

“Which means if you’re involved in this mess, you should be worried.”

If Clay was surprised that Hunter would stand his ground, he didn’t show it. There was a slight tightening around his eyes and mouth, that was all.

“Good thing he’s not involved.”

Allie had joined them. She came up behind Clay and put her hand on his back in an obvious effort to calm him. That simple action let Hunter know that Allie loved and supported her husband one hundred percent. The devotion in Clay’s eyes when he realized his wife was there said he felt the same way about her.

This case was going to be more difficult than Hunter had thought. The people here stood together, guarded their secrets well.

“Welcome to a small southern town,” he muttered. Evidently, stereotypes were stereotypes for a reason.

“He’s not involved,” Madeline said, repeating Allie’s comment.

Hunter pulled his instant camera from the pocket of his coat. “And what kind of dick would I be if I took everything I was told at face value?” he asked with a smile.

Madeline clasped her hands in front of her, so tightly he could see the veins stand out. “You’re here to prove Clay innocent.”

He wasn’t here for any such thing. He was here to find out who’d killed her father, and at this point everyone was suspect. But he didn’t say so. He wandered over to take a look at the office.

Clay’s voice stopped him just as his hand curled around the doorknob. “That’s locked.”

He glanced back. “Because…”

“I like it that way.”

“Stop it.” Allie nudged her husband meaningfully. “You have to forgive Clay, Mr. Solozano. When the police couldn’t figure out what happened to Madeline’s father, they blamed him. It was ridiculous, of course. Clay was only sixteen at the time. But Reverend Barker was a beloved pastor, and folks in Stillwater wanted someone to pay for their loss.”

“I understand,” he said.

“That room is locked because we never use it,” she went on. “There’s just the three of us—me, Clay and my daughter, Whitney. We have plenty of space, and it gets cold in the winter. There’s no heat in that room.”

“I see.”

“My father used to have a space heater,” Madeline volunteered. “And an air-conditioning unit that sat in the window.”

“It was so old Clay finally threw it away,” Allie said, still trying to compensate for her surly husband.

“Is there a key?” Hunter asked pointedly.

“Somewhere,” she said. “I’m not sure—”

Surprisingly, Clay interrupted. “It’s in the cupboard above the fridge.”

Allie hesitated long enough that Hunter knew she hadn’t planned to tell them. “I’ll get it,” she said at last.

Hunter and Clay stared at each other while they waited; Madeline kept up a stream of nervous chatter.

“The convertible’s looking good,” she said. “How’s the bidding going?”