Dead Giveaway

“It’s not as if I planned for this. It just…happened. Sometimes marriages fall apart.”

“As far as we know, his marriage is fine. It’s his libido that’s leading him into trouble.”

“Stop it!” she cried. “Stop treating me like I’m a tramp!”

He wanted to tell her to quit acting like one. But he couldn’t be that disrespectful. Besides, he could almost understand why she’d fallen for Chief McCormick. Both the men she’d married had mistreated her. But Dale was a kind man who lavished her with gifts and attention.

“Mom, if Allie finds out, she’ll be determined to prove that we’re responsible for Reverend Barker’s murder. What better revenge would there be?”

The scent of coffee filled the room. “Dale and I haven’t been together since Allie came back,” she grumbled.

Clay studied her, wondering if that was true. Judging from her expression, he decided it probably was. “That’s good. But you’re planning to be with him as soon as you get the chance, right?”

“No.”

He didn’t believe her. Without a definite breakup, he knew a relationship like theirs could go on for years. “You’ve got to tell him you can’t see him anymore.”

Tears welled up in Irene’s eyes as she came toward him. Seeing her cry made Clay wish he could tell her everything would be okay. But he couldn’t. If Chief McCormick left his wife for Irene, the whole town would be out to get her. They’d never liked her much to begin with—thanks to Reverend Barker. He’d isolated her right from the start by refusing to let her go anywhere except church events. He’d also taken every opportunity to imply that he’d made a mistake when he married her, that he was now saddled with a wife who was too flighty, lazy, vain—a cross for him to bear. Occasionally, he’d even criticized her in subtle, demeaning ways from the pulpit. And his parishioners had bought every word. After all, he’d had a history in this place—land, family, friends and the illusion of purity. Irene had had nothing, except the hope of a better life.

A hope the man behind the pious mask had quickly dashed.

But no one else knew that man. Not like the Montgomerys did.

“I’m sorry,” Clay said softly. “You don’t have a choice. Not really. You know that, don’t you?”

She swiped at the tears spilling down her cheeks. “Yes.”

Chapter 3

“Mommy…Mommy…”

Her daughter’s voice and small hand, jiggling her shoulder, came to Allie as if through a fog, waking her that afternoon. She was still tired—she’d gone to bed only five hours earlier, after getting Whitney off to school—but she struggled to open her eyes. She wanted to be available to her child as much as possible. That was why she’d moved back to Stillwater, taken a cut in pay and accepted the night shift.

“Who’s this?” Whitney asked.

Squinting to see clearly in the light filtering through a crack in the blinds, Allie focused on the object her daughter was trying to show her. “What do you have there, sweetheart?”

“It’s a picture,” she said, confusion etching a frown on her soft, round face.

“Of who?”

“A man.”

The sleepiness Allie had felt a moment ago fell away as she realized her daughter was holding a photo of Clay Montgomery. Allie had brought his file home, hoping to finish her report on last night’s events. Whitney must have been going through the box she used to transfer work back and forth.

“No one you know,” she said in a careless tone.

Her daughter wrinkled up her nose. “Why isn’t he wearing any clothes?”

Allie might’ve smiled at Whitney’s distaste—if she hadn’t been so aware of Clay when she was taking that picture. “He’s wearing pants,” she said.

Whitney still seemed skeptical. “I can’t see them.”

Allie searched the bottom of the photograph for any hint of a denim waistband. “I guess they don’t show up, but they’re there.”

Her daughter continued to stare at Clay. “Why isn’t he smiling?”

“He’s not the type to smile.” Allie remembered the sexy grin he’d given her when she’d asked him to remove his shirt. After you. “At least not very often.” Which was probably a good thing, she added silently. It was almost intoxicating when he did.

“Are you going to put this on the fridge, beside my picture?”

Allie could imagine what her parents would think of having a bare-chested Clay Montgomery facing them every time they reached for a gallon of milk. “No, honey. I only have that because I need it for work.”

Hoping to divert her daughter’s attention from Clay’s photo, Allie asked, “Where’s your grandma?”

“In the kitchen. She’s getting me a snack. She said I shouldn’t bother you, but I wanted to say hi.”

She gave her daughter a big hug. “You can say hello to me anytime.”

As always, Whitney returned the embrace with plenty of enthusiasm. She was so loving that Allie couldn’t believe her ex-husband could feel such animosity for their child, that he could hate being a father. His attitude toward Whitney was completely inexplicable to her. “You’re getting big, aren’t you?”

“I’m not in kindergarten anymore,” she said proudly.

But the distraction didn’t last. As soon as Allie released her, Whitney bent her blond head over Clay’s picture again. “Is this a bad guy?”

Allie didn’t think Clay was a bad guy in the sense that Whitney meant it. But his reputation suggested he wasn’t an innocent, either. There were a lot of questions when it came to the Barker case, questions he hadn’t gone out of his way to answer. “No. I took this picture to show that he doesn’t have any marks on him that would indicate he’d been in a fight.”

“Oh,” she said, as though that cleared up all the confusion.

Fortunately, before Whitney could ask another question about Clay, Allie’s mother’s footsteps sounded in the hall.

When Whitney glanced expectantly toward the door, Allie shoved Clay’s picture between her mattress and box spring. She’d taken that photo and the others to establish the truth, but she knew protecting Clay, even in the interests of truth, wouldn’t be applauded in Stillwater, even in her parents’ home.

“How are you feeling?” Evelyn asked as she stepped into the room.

“Boppo, I asked for cookies,” Whitney complained when she saw that her grandmother carried a plate laden with a sandwich and chips. “I already ate lunch.”

“This is for your mother. Your cookies are out on the counter.”

“Oh!”

Evelyn grinned as Whitney hurried past her, then handed the plate to Allie.

Allie had never dreamed she’d move back in with her parents. Not at thirty-three and with a child of her own. It was humbling, maybe even a little humiliating, to find herself right back where she’d started. No one liked to feel like a failure. But Dale and Evelyn owned a three-thousand-square-foot single-story rambler on four and a half acres. It didn’t make sense to pay for two households when they had so much room. Especially when living with Grandma and Grandpa meant Whitney could sleep in her own bed while Allie worked. Dale and Evelyn had a guesthouse down the hill, closer to the pond. Allie could’ve taken that—and would if it became necessary—but so far she liked being close to her parents more than she didn’t like it. The last six years of her ten-year marriage had been particularly rough. Living in her own personal hell had made her grateful for their love. “Thanks, Mom.”

“It was no trouble. How was work last night?”

“Interesting.” She kicked off the covers. It was only mid-May, but she could already feel the humidity of summer creeping up on them.