Dead Silence (Stillwater Trilogy #1)(14)
Author: Brenda Novak

“Shut up, Heath,” Teddy said. “You don’t have to tell Dad everything.”

Kennedy glanced at his youngest son in the rearview mirror. It was getting dark out, but he could still see Teddy’s scowl. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“What’d you do?” Kennedy persisted.

Heath pointed at his window as they drove past Evonne’s. “He went to that house.”

Kennedy guessed Grace had parked her Beemer in the detached garage because it was no longer sitting out front, as it had been when he passed by earlier. Kirk Vantassel’s truck was there now, and all the lights were on inside the house, which meant Grace was probably entertaining her stepsister. Madeline had been seeing Kirk for a long time. “Why’d that upset Grandma?”

“He’s supposed to stay away from Main Street. It’s too busy.”

“I went through the alley and the back gate,” Teddy argued.

“That doesn’t matter, stupid,” Heath replied. “Evonne’s dead. Someone else lives there now.”

“Hey,” Kennedy warned, but Teddy was already responding.

“You’re stupid! I know someone else lives there. I met her. She gave me an extra dollar for pulling weeds and said I could mow the lawn in a few days.”

“You have to mind Grandma,” Heath said. “He can’t go there anymore, right, Dad?”

Kennedy turned left at the stop sign and, another block down the road, Evonne’s house disappeared from his mirrors. He knew Grace didn’t like him and was tempted to tell Teddy to stay away because of that. But he remembered all too well how isolated she’d been as a girl and was determined not to support that again. “I don’t see why it would be any different than working for Evonne.”

Teddy made a face at his brother. “See?”

“Grandma won’t like it,” Heath said.

“So? Grace is giving me cookies tomorrow,” Teddy insisted. “Now I’m not gonna bring you one.”

Heath stuck out his tongue in return. “You wouldn’t anyway.”

“Maybe I would,” Teddy said.

Kennedy thought there was actually a pretty good chance of it. Teddy might be headstrong, but he was also generous. “I’ll tell Grandma it’s fine for you to help Grace every once in a while.”

“Grandma’s going to be m-a-d,” Heath said. “I don’t think she likes Grace.”

“Grandma doesn’t even know her,” Teddy said.

“Yes, she does,” Heath replied. “I heard her on the phone. She said that Grace is a tramp and her mother killed some reverend dude.”

The frustration Kennedy sometimes felt toward his mother reasserted itself. “Grace Montgomery graduated first in her class at Georgetown, which is a very tough law school. And she’s become an excellent assistant district attorney. There was an article in the paper not long ago saying she’s never lost a case.”

“What does that mean?” Heath asked.

“It means she’s earned some respect, okay? And your grandmother doesn’t know that anyone killed the reverend.”

“You’d have to be an idiot to believe anything else,” Heath said.

Kennedy twisted in his seat to give his oldest son a pointed stare, and Heath immediately backed off. “That’s what Grandma said,” he added sheepishly.

Rubbing the five-o’clock shadow on his jaw, Kennedy returned his focus to the road. “Sometimes Grandma says a little too much,” he said, although almost everyone in town suspected the same thing. He’d even wondered on occasion. “The Reverend Barker went missing years ago. No one knows what happened to him.”

“Does that mean I can go to Grace’s tomorrow, Dad?” Teddy said.

Kennedy remembered the resentment shining in Grace’s eyes when she’d looked up at him in the parking lot of the pizza parlor. “Does she realize you’re my son?”

“I don’t know.”

“Has she said anything about me?”

“No.”

“Okay, you can mow the lawn, but don’t go inside the house.”

“Why not?”

“That’s the rule. Either obey it or stay completely away.”

“What about my cookies?”

“She can give them to you at the door, okay?”

There was a moment of silence, but Teddy sounded somewhat mollified when he answered. “Okay. I left her a note. I bet she’ll have them for me tomorrow.”

“Will you bring me one, too?” Kennedy asked.

“Cookies have carbs, Dad,” Teddy replied.

Kennedy chuckled. “Do you even know what carbs are?”

“No, but Grandma does. She hates them.”

“That’s because she’s watching her weight.”

“Mom used to make the best cookies,” Heath said.

Kennedy heard the melancholy in his son’s voice and felt the familiar weight of his loss. Heath and Teddy missed their mother terribly. Kennedy missed Raelynn, too. He missed her fingers curling through his hair, her laugh, her presence in their home. He also missed not having to deal with his overbearing mother on a daily basis.

“I’ll get you both one,” Teddy said softly.

Again, Kennedy remembered the look Grace had given him. “Just don’t mention that one of them is for me,” he added with a rueful laugh.

4

“So…tell her,” Madeline prompted, nudging Kirk Vantassel’s foot with her own.

They were sitting around the coffee table in the living room, relaxing after the impromptu dinner Grace had served—chicken and pasta with a green salad and sourdough rolls. Kirk had brought over some Vicki Nibley for Mayor signs, and Madeline had made a big deal about what traitors they were not to support the candidate endorsed by her paper. Kirk admitted he didn’t have strong political views. He said he was just trying to help his father get a date with Vicki, who’d been a widow for nearly five years. His reasoning made Grace laugh. But now that Madeline was changing the subject, she felt a measure of unease trickle through her veins. Grace knew from their earlier conversation that her stepsister was leading them straight to the topic she least wanted to discuss.

“Tell her what?” he asked, sprawled out on one end of Grace’s plush, olive-colored sofa.

An illegitimate baby, Kirk had been raised by his grandmother in the small brick house next to the library on First Street, until his father was old enough to take him. Because he was eight years older than Grace, she hadn’t had much contact with him when she lived in Stillwater. But she’d always liked him. He was the strong silent type, immovable in his loyalties and affections. And he wasn’t bad-looking. He had a crooked nose—something he’d acquired playing football—and fine brown hair that lacked body. A pair of intense brown eyes easily redeemed his appearance, however. And he had great hands. Large and masculine, with plenty of nicks and gouges from his work as a roofing contractor, they were very different from George’s long, narrow fingers and perfectly manicured nails.