Dead Right (Stillwater Trilogy #3)(65)
Author: Brenda Novak

She felt embarrassed to have had these men tramping through her private neurosis. Embarrassed and exposed. It was a bit like having a car accident in holey underwear. Such an exposure was a minor consideration; she realized that. But still, it wasn’t a pleasant experience. “I know exactly what was where. Hunter and I were just down there yesterday morning. There was a heavy box filled with stuff from my father’s office.”

“You haven’t had a chance to search everything carefully,” Pontiff argued. “If his stuff is shoved off to the side somewhere, maybe buried under something else, we’d be connecting this break-in to your father’s case when it might be completely unrelated.”

“Finding the Cadillac’s probably made you nervous, Maddy,” Radcliffe added. “Maybe you’re jumping at shadows.”

Frowning, Hunter turned and folded his arms across his chest. “Shadows don’t drip blood on the floor.”

Both policemen looked up, obviously not pleased that he—the hotshot from out of town—would presume to contradict them. “I’m not talking to you,” Radcliffe snapped, clearly irritated.

“I don’t care,” Hunter said. “Like Maddy just told you, I was down there with her yesterday morning. I saw the box she’s talking about.”

“Other than Maddy, who would see any value in her father’s personal artifacts?” Pontiff challenged, getting quickly to his feet.

“Someone who was afraid I might go through them?” Hunter said.

Pontiff exchanged a glance with Radcliffe. “If there was anything incriminating in those boxes, why haven’t they gone missing before?”

“Maybe whoever’s responsible for Madeline’s father’s murder wasn’t concerned until now.”

“And you’re the one who has them running scared?”

Hunter ignored Pontiff’s verbal jab. “Things have changed,” he said. “Beginning with the discovery of the Cadillac and what was in it. This case is heating up again and it’s making someone very nervous.”

“That someone has got to be Clay,” Radcliffe said.

“My stepbrother’s the one who gave me those boxes in the first place,” Madeline retorted. “Why would he steal them back?”

“Maybe he’s just remembered there was something in one of ‘em.”

“Not likely,” Hunter said.

“Don’t you think it’s odd that this ‘intruder’ knew right where to go?” Radcliffe asked.

That detail bothered Madeline, too. She didn’t show her basement to very many people. Only Hunter, Kirk, her family and Ray Harper, whom she’d hired to build some shelves a few months ago, had been down there.

“It’s not Clay,” Hunter insisted. “If there was something potentially incriminating in those boxes, he would’ve removed it long ago. Besides, he was with me last night.”

Madeline glanced up at him. Had she heard right? “What’d you say?”

“We met for a drink,” he explained, his attention still on Pontiff. “The waitress at Let the Good Times Roll can vouch for us.”

“What time did you leave?” Toby asked.

“Just before I came here.”

“And Clay?” he persisted.

Madeline sensed that Hunter wasn’t particularly eager to answer this question. “About an hour and a half before me.”

“That would put him in town and out on the streets alone right around the time of the burglary,” Pontiff said smugly.

Hunter circled the small table separating them. “I’m telling you, it wasn’t Clay.”

Dislike and impatience made deep grooves on Radcliffe’s forehead. “Maybe whatever was in there was only incriminating together with the evidence from the Cadillac—evidence he thought we’d never find.”

“No.” Hunter shook his head.

“How can you be so sure?” Radcliffe asked.

“Because Clay would have easier ways of getting to those boxes than breaking Madeline’s window in the middle of the night.”

“How do you know so much?” Pontiff asked. “You’ve been here, what, two days?”

“A lot can happen in two days.” Hunter’s light eyes flicked Madeline’s way, and she knew he was referring to what had already occurred between them.

“Besides,” Hunter added, “Clay wouldn’t risk scaring Maddy—or getting caught.”

“To my mind, that would depend on how much he wanted that box,” Radcliffe said. “Like most criminals, he cares more about himself than anyone else.”

“You’re that sure he’s guilty?” Hunter asked.

Radcliffe glared at him. “The whole town knows he’s guilty.”

A muscle twitched in Hunter’s cheek. “Is that why the police tried to beat him into a confession?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pontiff said.

“Read the reports,” Hunter responded.

“I’ve read them. There’s nothing to indicate he was struck even once.”

“Then you’re not reading very closely. You should pay special attention to the deleted parts.”

Pontiff’s face grew mottled. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he shouted. “You can’t come down here, slinging around accusations designed to make my force look bad. Not without proof—and I’m guessing you don’t have any.”

“We could always ask Clay,” Hunter said.

“As if we could trust him.” Radcliffe jammed a finger in Hunter’s chest. “Without proof, you haven’t got anything!”

Hunter knocked the other man’s hand away and immediately blocked the fist he threw.

“Radcliffe!” Pontiff barked.

Madeline nearly spilled her tea trying to set it down so she could move between them.

“That’s enough,” she said. “Why fight about it here? Why not go see if Clay’s been cut? If he has, come back and let us know. If not, quit making allegations against him until you have some proof!”

Pontiff gripped her elbow. “Listen to me, Maddy. You’re paying this guy a lot of money to have him tell you what you want to hear. You love Clay, so he says it’s not Clay. But that doesn’t make him right. You’re paying for nothing,” he spat out.

“Kiss my ass!” Hunter said, finally goaded into losing his temper. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”