Dead Right. Brenda Novak
Madeline wasn’t about to stick Hunter Solozano in the aging motel located next to a trailer park of ramshackle mobile homes. Besides giving him something else to look down his nose at, it’d cost her more money, and Madeline sort of liked the idea of having her P.I. so close. Then she could be sure he was working and not watching pay-per-view at her expense. “He comes highly recommended.”
“Maddy—”
“After I meet him, if I think there’s any threat, I’ll make some adjustments,” she interrupted.
“O-kay,” Grace said, but her reluctance was evident in the way she drew out the word. “And you really think this guy will make a difference?”
“I’m sure of it. Talk to you later.” As Madeline disconnected, she realized that she was putting an inordinate amount of trust in Hunter. She could be setting herself up for a big disappointment. But every investigator who’d recommended him had done so in the most glowing terms. And she needed to believe he would bring her resolution at last.
It was odd, though. Even thoughts of ultimate success made Madeline nervous. She supposed, deep down, she was more terrified of the truth than she’d ever wanted to admit. Even to herself. She knew almost everyone in town, so chances were good she’d also know her father’s murderer.
Clay stared out his kitchen window at the barn where it had all started. The sun peeked from behind the clouds, giving the hulking structure a long, ominous shadow that stretched across the yard, reaching almost to the chicken coop.
Unfortunately, the shadow of the man they’d buried behind it stretched even farther. Clay had been only sixteen the night everything went wrong. Yet those events continued to haunt him.
Twenty damn years…And he knew that what had happened would still bother him after sixty years.
Shaking his head, he let his eyes shift to the front of the barn. After his sisters had left for college and his mother had moved to town, he’d converted the stables that had once housed the reverend’s mean horse and a couple of boarder horses into a large open area where he could restore antique cars. But the section that had once been Lee Barker’s office sat dark and empty. Clay had no plans to use that space; he never even went in there. It evoked too many memories of the man he hated more than he’d ever hated anyone.
Clay clenched his jaw as he imagined his stepfather standing at the window of that office, watching carefully to be sure the farm chores were done to his specifications. Once Irene had married the reverend, Clay had become little more than a slave. But what Barker had done to Grace was far worse…
“You’re never inside this time of day. What’s wrong?”
Turning, Clay saw his wife come into the room. He’d been expecting her. She helped out at their daughter’s school every Tuesday but was usually back by noon.
“Grace called,” he said, his gaze lingering on her as it always did. Just looking at Allie’s wide brown eyes, smooth complexion and ready smile soothed him.
Only she wasn’t smiling now. He could tell by the way she put her purse on the counter and tucked her dark hair behind her ears that she was bracing for the worst. Ever since they’d heard that the Cadillac had been found, they’d been expecting bad news. “What’s happening?” she asked. “Did the police turn up some piece of evidence or—”
“Not that I’ve heard.”
Her eyebrows knitted, creasing her forehead. “Then what?”
He wished he didn’t have to burden her with the worries he faced. He was used to shouldering them on his own. In some ways, he preferred it. She wasn’t part of the incident that had defined so much of his life. But when he’d married her, he’d promised he wouldn’t shut her out. From anything, even this. “Madeline’s hired a private investigator.”
She urged him into a kitchen chair where she began to massage his shoulders. “That might not be such a big deal,” she said. “This case is getting so old it’d be tough for anyone to crack. And there aren’t a lot of competent P.I.s out there.”
Clay frowned. “This guy has quite a reputation.”
“How do you know?”
“Grace did some checking. One of the attorneys she used to work with is from California and has used him in the past.”
Her hands stilled. “So he has a background in criminal investigation?”
“According to what Grace learned, he was originally a cop. He moved into the private sector when he realized he could find just about anything, and that there were folks who’d pay for his skills.”
“Great,” she said sarcastically. “So what’s his specialty? Next you’re going to say men who’ve been missing from small towns in Mississippi for twenty years.”
Clay rolled his neck. “Actually, I think he’s traced more assets than people.”
“So why would he come here?”
“He seems to take on anything that interests him.”
She started to massage again. “We’ll get through it,” she murmured.
She said that about every challenge; her attitude made life easier. “I’m glad I found you,” he said, kissing her hand. The past didn’t intrude quite so much when Allie was around. But he knew it’d never go away entirely. That was one of the reasons he’d been so reluctant to get involved with her. It wasn’t fair to bring such a dark secret into a marriage, to burden a spouse with the fear of its discovery or the task of keeping it safe.
“We were meant for each other,” she said.
He closed his eyes, enjoying her ministrations despite the anxiety humming through him.
“What will you do?” she asked.
He’d been considering that ever since he’d heard the news. “I’m not sure there’s anything I can do.”
“You could call Maddy, talk her out of it.”
“That might hold her off for a while, but her desire to know is too strong, especially since they found the Cadillac. She’d break down and hire him next month or the month after, even if I talk her out of doing it right now.”
“I don’t think so,” Allie said. “She listens to you. You’re the big brother whose shoes no one else can fill.”
If his stepsister knew the truth, she wouldn’t admire him half as much. As a matter of fact, she’d never be able to forgive him. It was all so complicated. If Madeline ever learned what really happened, she’d lose more than her relationship with him, his mother, Grace, even their youngest sister, Molly, who lived in New York City.
“She sounds as if she’s finished with Kirk,” he mused, changing the subject.
“And you’re disappointed.”
He twisted to look up at her. “You’re not?”
She gave him a wry smile. “I like Kirk, too. But we need to stay out of it. Madeline has to do what she thinks is best.”
“How do you know Kirk’s not what she needs? He’s a good man, a hard worker.”
“Just because you like him doesn’t mean she should marry him. There’s no spark there or they would’ve married long ago. They act more like buddies than lovers.”
But Kirk had been around for so many years, he’d already found his place in the family and was unlikely to disturb the delicate equilibrium of relationships. “She needs to do something. She’s thirty-six years old.”
Allie chuckled. “So are you. That’s hardly ancient.”
“She’s still talking about having a large family.”