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  “Only what I was thinking when they pulled the Cadillac from the quarry.”

  “Which was…”

  “People don’t usually murder a middle-aged man without a reason.”

  “He could’ve been robbed! Maybe whoever attacked him stole the money from his wallet,” she said. “Or maybe there was no real motive, other than childish anger, lashing out, stupidity. There’re hundreds of reasons that have nothing to do with him.”

  “You’re thinking of Mike Metzger.”

  “Of course.”

  “Mike might be a dope hound but he’s not a murderer.”

  “You don’t know that. See? That’s the problem. We all have our suspicions, but no one really knows. That’s why folks keep blaming you. If Mr. Solozano uncovers the real culprit, they’ll have to stop, and I’ll be damn glad of it.”

  “It might be easier on you if you’d quit defending me,” he said. “You don’t have to, you know.”

  “Yes, I do. When folks accuse you, it hurts me, too. I’m tired of it. And I’ve had it with all the people who’ve implied that I must be an idiot to miss the obvious.”

  “Ignore them.”

  She made a face even though he couldn’t see her. “I can’t. You live outside town. I have to mingle with Stillwater’s residents every single day.”

  “But this investigator can’t be cheap,” he argued.

  He had no idea…“He’s not that expensive,” she lied.

  “You can afford him?”

  She pressed her thumb and forefinger to her closed eyelids. “Of course.”

  “Then you’re committed to this.”

  Hunter Solozano had asked her the same thing. “Yes. This is a gamble I have to take. Won’t you be relieved to know the truth? Aren’t you even a little curious?”

  “I’ve put the past behind me,” he said. “We have to live with what is.”

  She started to say she couldn’t face a future of not knowing. Every time she tried, the nightmares came more often. But she hadn’t told anyone about her sleepless nights. She was afraid she’d sound crazy.

  “I wish I could do that,” she said. “But I can’t.” At the sound of the door opening, Madeline turned. Irene had just walked in. “Mom’s here,” she told Clay. “Can I call you later?”

  “Sure. In the meantime, try to relax, okay? You’re worrying me.”

  “I’m fine,” Madeline said, but she had a headache from being awake most of the night. “Fine” actually felt a long way off.

  “Call me if you need anything,” he said and hung up without a goodbye. He didn’t waste words. She’d gotten more out of him today than she usually did, but she didn’t have time to think about that. Her stepmother looked upset.

  “Hi, Mom.” She rounded the desk to give Irene a hug.

  “Hi, honey.” Irene embraced Madeline rather stiffly, proof that she was as anxious and upset as Madeline was. “Have you heard from Chief Pontiff?”

  “No. You?”

  An expression of disgust tugged at her stepmother’s lips. “He’d never call me. Not unless he had another search warrant. Or an arrest warrant.” Although Chief Pontiff seemed less prejudiced against the Montgomerys than some people in Stillwater, he wasn’t particularly friendly to them, either. In the absence of hard evidence, he was obviously making an effort to reserve judgment. But Madeline sensed that he believed what everyone else believed—that her stepfamily had caused whatever had happened to Lee Barker.

  “It shouldn’t be long now,” she said, to herself as much as Irene.

  “Do they know what they’re doing? They should’ve asked Allie for help.”

  “They didn’t?”

  “No. She called and offered, but they turned her down.”

  The Vincellis had gotten to Toby, just as she’d expected. Otherwise, he would’ve included Allie. Allie had more experience in gathering evidence than anyone in Stillwater; she would’ve been the obvious choice. “I’m sure they’re doing their best. Chief Pontiff is a good man.”

  But he was new at his job, and Madeline didn’t have a lot of confidence in his ability to shrug off the political influence of people like Mayor Nibley, who happened to be a friend of the Vincellis.

  “Chief McCormick was a good man, too,” Irene said bitterly.

  Madeline didn’t respond. Her stepmother was still in love with Allie’s father. That was clear. Not that she saw him anymore. The McCormicks had relocated in an attempt to save their marriage. According to Allie, they were managing, although it remained to be seen whether or not they’d ultimately succeed.

  Madeline knew Irene was hoping against it. Her stepmother was so lonely she dropped in more often these days. With Clay and Grace both married, and Molly living in New York, it was natural that she’d turn to Madeline. But Madeline could’ve survived without today’s visit. Her stepmother’s angst added fuel to her own.

  “Should we call him?” Madeline asked.

  Irene nodded, but the phone rang before Madeline could reach it.

  Bending over the desk, she pulled it toward her. Caller ID registered a blocked number, but she still hoped it was Chief Pontiff. “Stillwater Independent,” she said.

  “Madeline?” The voice was muffled, odd, as if someone was purposely trying to disguise it.

  “Yes?” she said hesitantly.

  “I heard your father’s car was found in the quarry.”

  Madeline was fairly certain it was a woman, although the caller was attempting to deepen her voice. “That’s true.”

  “It was Clay who drove it there. I saw him,” she said.

  Then the phone went dead.

  Chapter Four

  Madeline told herself that it was just another crank call. She’d gotten a lot of them, all promising information they never delivered. But there was something different about this one. The caller had seemed so nervous, so self-conscious, so…genuine.

  Irene watched her with worried eyes. “What is it?”

  “Wrong number.” She conjured up what was probably a lame smile, but she couldn’t manage anything more sincere. The sound of the caller’s voice hung over her like the gray clouds outside. Who’d placed that call? If she’d really seen what she’d claimed, why didn’t she come forward, be more specific? Madeline had a list of people who said they’d witnessed this or that. But once her father had left the church that last day, no one could say for sure where he’d gone.

  Movement at the window caught Madeline’s attention.

  “It’s Pontiff,” Irene said.

  Toby stepped through the door, looking very official in his police-issue raincoat.

  Madeline immediately forgot about the caller. “Chief,” she said expectantly.

  He stood dripping on her doormat as he sent a fleeting glance at Irene, then nodded politely.

  “Did you find anything?” she asked.

  His eyebrows gathered over his brown eyes. “Can I speak to you, Madeline? Privately?”

  Madeline hesitated. She wanted to agree, simply because it’d give her a moment to absorb what he had to say before thinking about how it might affect her stepmother. But she couldn’t pull him into the tiny bathroom, and other than that her office was one big room occupied mostly by a giant printer. She wasn’t about to be so rude as to huddle in a corner and whisper while Irene was at her desk. She worked too hard to make sure others treated her stepmother with respect to ever slight Irene herself. “It’s okay. Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of my mother.”

  He looked as if he might argue, but ultimately must’ve decided against it. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up, but we found some items this morning that could possibly turn into leads.”

  “Possibly?” she echoed, her pulse kicking up. “What, exactly, are we talking about?”

  “Some short strands of hair, for one.”

  “That didn’t belong to my father?”

  “They’re black.”

  She knew what he was going to say next, so she said it for him. “Like Clay’s.”

  It was Clay who drove it there…

  “Yes.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” Irene snapped.

  The Montgomerys had been accused so many times, Madeline could scarcely blame Irene for sounding belligerent. But Madeline was afraid her stepmother’s attitude wouldn’t win her any points with Pontiff, so she squelched her own flicker of doubt beneath the love and respect she felt for Clay.

  “Mom’s right. If you look closely, you’ll probably find my hair in that car, too. And Grace’s. And Molly’s. We took the Cadillac to church every week.”

  “Saying you found Clay’s hair in the car is like saying you found Clay’s DNA in the house!” Irene added.

  Madeline recognized the dislike in Toby’s eyes. As if the town didn’t have enough against her stepmother, many Stillwater residents blamed Irene for the downfall of Chief McCormick. Madeline was guessing Toby was one of them. But there was nothing Madeline could do about what had happened nine months ago, nothing anyone could do. Unlike the mystery surrounding her father, the former police chief’s affair with Irene was more than mere accusation; it was common knowledge.

  “The hairs were stuck between the headrest and the seat,” Pontiff clarified.

  “So?” Irene challenged.

  “On the driver’s side.”

  Clay had never been allowed to drive the Cadillac. Madeline had verified that in her own statement to the police.

  “Maybe he took it for a joy ride once,” Irene suggested.

  Pontiff’s lips barely moved when he spoke. “To the quarry, perhaps?”

  “What you found doesn’t prove that.” Irene’s voice had a desperate, panicky edge that made Madeline step closer and take her hand.

  “Clay might’ve been behind the wheel for reasons completely unrelated to my father’s disappearance,” she said.

  “For instance…” Pontiff prodded.

  Madeline quickly came up with a plausible scenario. “To move it so he could get the tractor through.”

  The hair meant nothing. Like the caller today. Like all the accusations that had come before. If her stepbrother was guilty, where was the proof?

  “There’s something else,” Pontiff said.

  Madeline’s stomach tensed with painful anticipation. “What?”

  “A small suitcase.”

  “You found a suitcase? Where was it when we were at the quarry?”

  “It’s more like a small satchel. It was hidden beneath the spare tire in the trunk.”

  “But my father didn’t take any of his clothes.”

  “It wasn’t filled with clothes. It had some rope inside.”

  The anxiety grew worse. “What kind of rope?”

  “Unfortunately, it’s ordinary rope that you can buy at any hardware store.”

  “Is there anything unique about it? Anything that might help us figure out where it came from?”

  “Not that I can see.”

  Disappointment weighed heavily. “So…do you think it was used to bind my father?” Madeline hated the vision her words evoked but refused to let fear of what her father might’ve experienced stop her from asking difficult questions. “That whatever happened to him was premeditated?”

  Pontiff fidgeted uncomfortably. “I don’t think the rope was used on your father,” he said. “That wasn’t the only thing in the bag.”

  Madeline exchanged a wary glance with Irene. “Tell us.”

  He lowered his voice, until she could scarcely make out the words. “There was also a…dildo.”

  Feeling as if he’d just tied thirty-pound weights to each of her limbs, Madeline released Irene’s hand. “A what?”

  Chief Pontiff had turned bright red. “A—a sex toy, you know, a dildo.”

  “What would a dildo be doing in my father’s trunk?” she nearly shouted.

  His blush deepened. “I have no idea. But I’m hoping we can extract some DNA from it.”

  Irene’s hand clutched her chest. “After all this time?”

  Madeline could tell Pontiff didn’t like Irene enough to let her put him on the spot. But since she was present, he was trying to maintain a certain level of professionalism. “The dildo itself was inside a Ziploc bag that was sealed. If it—” he cleared his throat “—if it wasn’t washed before it went into that bag, we might have a chance.”

  Irene turned a shade paler. “What will that tell us?”

  “Maybe there’s a victim out there somewhere, connected with another case—a case that might have witnesses or information that could help us. Chances are slim that we’ll be able to get a sample from the…object, and even slimmer that we’ll be able to tie it to someone, but we need to gather whatever we can.”

  Irene shook her head. “But the connection you’re looking for could be clear across the country. Lee must’ve picked up a hitchhiker on his way home, some guy who shoved that stuff in the trunk before sinking the car.”

  She’d often postulated that a drifter or hitchhiker had been involved. But no one had reported seeing any strangers the day Madeline’s father went missing. And strangers definitely stood out in a town where everyone knew everyone else and viewed the unfamiliar with a measure of distrust.

  Pontiff studied his shoes. “We found something else in the suitcase, too,” he said in a resigned manner.

  It couldn’t get worse…Could it?

  “What?” Madeline asked as Irene echoed the same question.

  He lifted his gaze, and a muscle flexed in his cheek. “Three pairs of panties. They look like they came from a girl of eleven or twelve.”

  Suddenly, Madeline felt dizzy. The thought of a rope, a dildo and girls’ panties hidden together—anywhere—made her ill. No doubt they affected Chief Pontiff the same way. He had three children—all of them daughters.

  “So the man who killed my father was a pedophile?” she gasped.

  “That’s the way it appears.”

  But how did someone like that circulate among them, going so far as to murder the town’s spiritual leader—and get away with it? Stillwater typically had little or no crime. There were only fifteen hundred residents—and not one convicted sex offender.

  Collecting her splintered thoughts, Madeline touched Pontiff’s arm. “Toby.” For a moment, he wasn’t the chief of police to her. He was her friend’s husband, a boy she’d known her whole life, a caring adult like herself. “What if my father was counseling a man with…with unacceptable sexual compulsions. You know how confessions are supposed to be private, but some things have to be reported? Maybe my father was going to turn in this…this pathetic individual and was killed because of it.”

  “That’s crossed my mind,” he admitted.

  “If it was someone he knew well, maybe even trusted and respected, think of the resulting embarrassment.”

  “Someone like that might go to great lengths to avoid discovery.”

  “Exactly. So are you planning to question all the men in my father’s congregation?” This had been done before, but now they had reason to look closer.

  “I might. Right now, I need the two of you to come to the station with me.”

  “For what?” Irene cried.

  “To see if you recognize the suitcase or the panties. We need to figure out who they might’ve belonged to.”

  “You don’t think they could be mine,” Madeline said. When Irene slipped one arm around her, she realized her voice had gone shrill, but the idea of her panties, or those of anyone else she knew, being in that suitcase was too horrible to contemplate.

  “I have no idea,” Pontiff said. “But I’d like to find out. And it makes sense to begin with the family.”

  It did make sense; it was just that his discovery was so revolting.

  “That’ll be too upsetting for her,” Irene said. “I’ll do it.”

  Madeline put up a hand. “No, of course I’ll come, too. We both will.”

  “Good.”

  Madeline caught his elbow. “You know what this confirms, don’t you?”

  He didn’t seem to know at all. “What?”

  “The Vincellis and everyone who’s supported them are wrong.” A lump rose in her throat as she spoke, surprising even her. “It wasn’t Clay.”

  “Maddy—” he started, but she refused to let him interrupt her.

  “My stepbrother might seem dark and remote to you, to lots of people, but he’d sacrifice his own life before he’d ever hurt a child.”

  Sympathy softened Pontiff’s features. “Folks aren’t always what they seem, Maddy.”

  Madeline wouldn’t let it go. “I’d bet my own life that he’d never touch a child in an inappropriate manner,” she said fiercely. “He’s angry and he’s determined and he’s—” she searched for the right word to describe her stepbrother “—tough. But he’s not sick.”

  “He had a hard childhood,” Pontiff said gently. “That can scar a person.”

  It was the first time she’d heard Toby speak with any compassion for Clay. Clay was too capable, too strong to evoke sympathy from most people, despite his background.

  “He has his scars,” she said. “But he’s always protected those who are smaller, weaker and more vulnerable than himself. Surely you’ve seen how much his stepdaughter adores him.”

  Pontiff put his hand over hers. “The fact that he has a stepdaughter means I can’t take your word for what Clay is or isn’t, Maddy. I have to look at the facts. You understand.”

  What she understood was that it was time to exonerate Clay and expose the real killer. Maybe the facts hadn’t stood in his favor before. But she was more certain than ever that now they would. And if the police weren’t capable of solving the case, she’d make sure Hunter Solozano did the job for them.

  Madeline sat in the police station with her stepmother, waiting for Grace to arrive. The rain had finally stopped, but the cloud-darkened sky threatened more bad weather.

  The heater rattled as it pumped out hot air. Officer Radcliffe, who stood at the filing cabinet in the corner, bore a sheen of sweat on his forehead—proof that the heater was working. But Madeline couldn’t get warm. Not since she’d seen what the police had found in her father’s trunk.