Dead Right (Stillwater Trilogy #3)(69)
Author: Brenda Novak

“She was depressed.”

“She loved her daughter more than anything, was absolutely consumed with taking care of her. Why would she suddenly abandon her?”

Irene’s throat worked as she struggled to swallow. “It can’t be. There…there was a note. From what I heard, it was written in her own hand.”

Hunter realized he was probably going too far by suggesting what he had. Now that he’d said the words aloud, they’d spread. And he didn’t want this to get back to Madeline. But he’d never know more than he knew now if he didn’t follow his instincts. And the shocking question had definitely caused Irene to lower her defenses.

“Was it a note or was it another journal entry?” he asked.

“Good Lord.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she brought a quivering hand to her mouth.

“Irene?” He gently touched her arm.

She gazed up at him, her eyes filled with torment.

“Was he capable of murder? Were you afraid of him?”

She started to shake her head, but he tightened his grip. “Tell me the truth.”

“The truth?” she said bitterly. “I’m not sure I know what the truth is anymore.”

“Were you afraid of him?”

She stared into space.

“Were you frightened of him?” He’d spoken more loudly, more insistently, and this time she answered.

“Yes,” she said. “He was one of the most vile men I’ve ever known.”

Hunter’s heart tripped over itself at this admission. “Was he a pedophile?” he asked. “Did he molest Grace?”

Before she could respond, the sound of a motor intruded. They both turned to the window as a large, black truck whipped into the drive.

It was Clay. Irene must’ve called him the moment Hunter knocked. And he didn’t look happy.

“Get out,” he said as soon as he reached the doorway. “And don’t come back unless you’re with the police or you have a subpoena.”

Hunter didn’t argue. Clay was well within his rights. But as he got in Madeline’s car, he knew he’d never forget the tears running silently down Irene’s cheeks as she stood there shaking.

Clay answered the door to find Pontiff standing on his front porch. “What is it?” he asked, instantly concerned. There was a purposeful, determined air about the police chief that set off alarms in his head.

Pontiff rocked up on the balls of his feet, as if he was conscious of his height, which was a mere five-ten. “Did you do it?”

Narrowing his gaze, Clay stepped outside so that his wife wouldn’t hear the conversation. Fortunately, Whitney was upstairs playing with her Barbies, so he didn’t have to worry about her. His mother had told him that someone had broken into Madeline’s house. Until now, he’d chosen to think of it as some kind of prank, just as he’d told himself the “she” in that note could be anyone. Stop her or I will? Who would’ve written that about Madeline? Everyone in Stillwater loved her, except maybe Mike Metzger. She believed Mike killed her father and had pressed him a little too hard because of it. But no one knew better than Clay that wasn’t true. “Do what?”

“Steal that box?”

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

The door opened behind him and Allie stepped out. Clay immediately recognized the stubborn glint in her eye that told him she’d heard their voices and wasn’t about to be left out of this. But she didn’t speak. She slipped her hand inside his and turned her attention expectantly to Pontiff.

“Someone broke into Madeline’s house last night,” Pontiff explained.

“I know.” Allie’s grip tightened on his hand. “But that has nothing to do with my husband. He’s as upset by it as anyone.”

Pontiff didn’t respond. He was too busy glaring at Clay, looking as if this was the last straw, as if this was where he finally brought Clay down.

But it wasn’t Pontiff who scared Clay. It was Hunter Solozano. Hunter hadn’t taken his advice about leaving town. He’d shown up at Irene’s first thing this morning, asking if Barker might’ve been responsible for killing Eliza! That was something Clay had never considered—none of them had—but Clay wouldn’t put it past Barker.

Somehow Hunter already knew more about the bastard than anyone in Stillwater. To top it off, Irene had admitted that Madeline’s father was the vilest creature she’d ever known, which they’d all sworn never to do.

“That remains to be seen.” Pontiff finally deigned to speak. “Who else would care about that box?”

The wind smelled like snow. Clay noticed it, and noticed the feel of his wife’s slim fingers intertwined with his—because he didn’t know how long he’d be free to enjoy such simple pleasures. “I have no idea what box you’re talking about.”

“The reverend’s things. One of the boxes you packed up when you dismantled the office in your barn.”

Clay made a noise of impatience. “You’re not making a damn bit of sense, Toby. Why would I break into a house for which I have a key to take what I gave freely in the first place?”

At this a flicker of doubt passed over Pontiff’s face, but he spread his feet and propped his fists on his hips, near his gun. “Just show me your hands. And pull up your sleeves past your elbows.”

Clay nearly refused. This was bullshit. He’d die before he’d ever hurt or threaten Madeline. But Allie squeezed his hand again, silently pleading with him to make it easy for a change.

“I’ll do you one better,” he said and Pontiff backed up as he stepped forward and stripped off his whole shirt, as well as the T-shirt beneath. “You see anything here that concerns you?” Clay challenged, turning around. “You want to take pictures? Allie, go get a camera. We’ll send Chief Pontiff on his way with a bunch of time-stamped digital pictures for his files.”

“No.” Pontiff shook his head, looking bewildered. “No, there’s…there’s no need.”

Clay tossed his shirts on the chair of the porch. It was only forty degrees outside, but he didn’t care. He was going to make a statement, guarantee that Pontiff saw all he wanted. “What were you hoping to find, Toby?”

“The—the perpetrator cut himself pretty bad. There was blood everywhere. It led from the window that was broken through the kitchen and down into the basement.”