Dead Right (Stillwater Trilogy #3)(59)
Author: Brenda Novak

Montgomery: It was already so old and beat up, I was hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Officer Grimsman: You thought he might not notice the damage to your face, either?

Montgomery: I was leaving for school early the next morning.

Officer Grimsman: And if he saw you?

Montgomery: I’d tell him I got into a fight or something.

Officer Grimsman: So you’re admitting you’re a liar.

Montgomery: I’m telling you the accident didn’t do any major damage to the truck, and I didn’t want to get in more trouble than I already was.

So, according to Clay’s own words, his face had been banged up before he went into the police station. Whatever injuries he sustained there were in addition to the truck accident or, as the police implied, a fight with Barker.

Hunter pulled out a manila folder marked Photos. Inside, he found several pictures of Clay with dates written on back. One read October 5th, the day after the Reverend went missing but before the police interview. It showed him with a black eye, a swollen lip and a cut on his cheek.

A steering wheel could’ve done that damage. But it looked more like a fight…

Picking up the phone, Hunter called Madeline.

“Hello?” she said, sounding groggy.

“Were you asleep?”

“Not quite. What’s up?”

“Can you remember what Clay looked like after his police interview?”

“Not good. When he hit the table, he broke his nose.”

Hunter put the photos away and set the file aside so he could lean back on the bed. “Is Mrs. Lederman, the woman who typed the transcript, still around?”

“Yes. But she’s in assisted care. She’s got Alzheimer’s. Why do you ask?”

“I’m trying to piece everything together, wondering if I find the police version plausible.”

“Which incident do you doubt?”

“The table incident, for sure. Maybe even the truck wreck.”

“The police had a problem with the wreck, too,” she said. “My mother, when she was questioned separately, said Clay hurt his face when she accidentally elbowed him while reaching into a cupboard.”

“Why the discrepancy?”

“I think my mother didn’t know about the accident and was afraid the bruises on Clay’s face would make him look guilty.”

“You know what that proves, don’t you?”

“It proves they were scared and were afraid they’d get blamed for something they didn’t do,” she said, a little too quickly.

“It also proves she’d lie for him.”

Madeline didn’t respond. Hunter could understand why. This was one of those details she’d rather not acknowledge.

“Was there any damage to the vehicle?” he asked.

“A dent, right where it should be,” she said triumphantly, obviously much more awake.

He stared at the ceiling. “I don’t suppose that truck is still around.”

“No. It was old then. We sold it for scrap metal shortly after. We sold everything we didn’t need, so we could eat.”

“Did your father ever beat Clay?” he asked.

“Beat him? No. Not in the sense you mean it.”

“In any sense?”

“My dad believed in corporal punishment, Hunter. It was how he was brought up, how he’d been taught kids should be raised. ‘Spare the rod, spoil the child’ and all that. But he wasn’t excessive, and it happened only when we misbehaved.”

Hunter reached over and turned off the light to rest his eyes. “How often did Clay misbehave?”

“Once in a while. But it really wasn’t a problem.”

Or so she thought. Did she know everything? Clay was out on the farm quite a lot, out of their sight. And from what Hunter had gathered so far, he didn’t seem particularly eager to involve his sisters and mother in his problems. Clay’s first instinct, even then, was to protect them.

“I’ll let you get some sleep,” he said.

“What about you?”

“I can’t relax right now. Maybe in a couple of hours.”

“What’s wrong?”

He pressed a thumb and forefinger to his closed eyelids. “I keep picturing how you looked in that shirt and those boxers you had on this morning.”

Her voice lowered seductively. “You liked it?”

“God, yes,” he said and hung up.

Chapter Sixteen

After she’d spoken to Hunter for the second time, Madeline couldn’t go back to sleep. She got up and rambled around the house, trying to make sense of the inexplicable attraction between them. She’d never felt so sexually aware of a man and found herself creating fantasies the likes of which she’d never entertained before.

It was exciting, risky; it was also inconvenient and confusing.

Did she like him so much because he was different from the other men she’d known, with his west coast accent, athlete’s body and beautiful tan? Or was it some kind of hero-worship, because he seemed capable of giving her the answers nobody else could? Or maybe she was merely looking for a quick replacement for Kirk, so she wouldn’t have to feel the pain of separation.

She couldn’t name the specific reason with any certainty. She only knew it was all she could do not to drive over to the motel.

When she entered the kitchen, mumbling to herself that she had to be crazy to feel as strongly as she did, Sophie yawned and gazed up at her.

“You’re not concerned,” she said. “And I shouldn’t be, either. These things happen to people sometimes, right?”

But never to her. She’d known the same men her whole life…

The telephone rang. Thinking it was Hunter, she felt a tingle of anticipation as she crossed to the opposite counter to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Is he still there?”

Kirk. The arousal humming through her died instantly, followed by a heavy dose of guilt. “I thought you were going out of town,” she said.

“I am. In the morning.”

“When will you be back?”

“In a few weeks. Maybe.”

Maybe…She took a deep breath. “So this is it? This is where you move like you’ve been talking about for months?”

“This is it.”

She knew he was hoping she’d talk him out of it. She didn’t want him to go, and yet she felt a strange measure of relief at the idea of his absence. If he left, they wouldn’t wind up marrying each other someday by default and living without any real passion, the kind she now knew existed.