Dead Right (27 page)

Picking up the phone, Hunter cal ed Madeline.

“Hel o?” she said, sounding groggy.

“Were you asleep?”

“Not quite. What’s up?”

“Can you remember what Clay looked like
after
his police interview?”

“Not good. When he hit the table, he broke his nose.”

Hunter put the photos away and set the file aside so he could lean back on the bed. “Is Mrs. Lederman, the woman who typed the transcript, stil around?”

“Yes. But she’s in assisted care. She’s got Alzheimer’s.

Why do you ask?”

“I’m trying to piece everything together, wondering if I find the police version plausible.”

“Which incident do you doubt?”

“The table incident, for sure. Maybe even the truck wreck.”

“The police had a problem with the wreck, too,” she said.

“My mother, when she was questioned separately, said Clay hurt his face when she accidental y elbowed him while reaching into a cupboard.”

“Why the discrepancy?”

“I think my mother didn’t know about the accident and was afraid the bruises on Clay’s face would make him look guilty.”

“You know what that proves, don’t you?”

“It proves they were scared and were afraid they’d get blamed for something they didn’t do,” she said, a little too quickly.

“It also proves she’d lie for him.”

Madeline didn’t respond. Hunter could understand why.

This was one of those details she’d rather not acknowledge.

“Was there any damage to the vehicle?” he asked.

“A dent, right where it should be,” she said triumphantly, obviously much more awake.

He stared at the ceiling. “I don’t suppose that truck is stil around.”

“No. It was old then. We sold it for scrap metal shortly after. We sold everything we didn’t need, so we could eat.”

“Did your father ever beat Clay?” he asked.

“
Beat
him? No. Not in the sense you mean it.”

“In
any
sense?”

“My dad believed in corporal punishment, Hunter. It was how he was brought up, how he’d been taught kids should be raised. ‘Spare the rod, spoil the child’ and al that. But he wasn’t excessive, and it happened only when we misbehaved.”

Hunter reached over and turned off the light to rest his eyes. “How often did Clay misbehave?”

“Once in a while. But it real y wasn’t a problem.”

Or so she thought. Did she know everything? Clay was out on the farm quite a lot, out of their sight. And from what Hunter had gathered so far, he didn’t seem particularly eager to involve his sisters and mother in his problems.

Clay’s first instinct, even then, was to protect them.

“I’l let you get some sleep,” he said.

“What about you?”

“I can’t relax right now. Maybe in a couple of hours.”

“What’s wrong?”

He pressed a thumb and forefinger to his closed eyelids.

“I keep picturing how you looked in that shirt and those boxers you had on this morning.”

Her voice lowered seductively. “You liked it?”

“God, yes,” he said and hung up.

16

A
fter she’d spoken to Hunter for the second time, Madeline couldn’t go back to sleep. She got up and rambled around the house, trying to make sense of the inexplicable attraction between them. She’d never felt so sexual y aware of a man and found herself creating fantasies the likes of which she’d never entertained before.

It was exciting, risky; it was also inconvenient and confusing.

Did she like him so much because he was different from the other men she’d known, with his west coast accent, athlete’s body and beautiful tan? Or was it some kind of hero-worship, because he seemed capable of giving her the answers nobody else could? Or maybe she was merely looking for a quick replacement for Kirk, so she wouldn’t have to feel the pain of separation.

She couldn’t name the specific reason with any certainty.

She only knew it was al she could do not to drive over to the motel.

When she entered the kitchen, mumbling to herself that she had to be crazy to feel as strongly as she did, Sophie yawned and gazed up at her.

“You’re not concerned,” she said. “And I shouldn’t be, either. These things happen to people sometimes, right?”

But never to her. She’d known the same men her whole life….

The telephone rang. Thinking it was Hunter, she felt a tingle of anticipation as she crossed to the opposite counter to answer it.

“Hel o?”

“Is he stil there?”

Kirk. The arousal humming through her died instantly, fol owed by a heavy dose of guilt. “I thought you were going out of town,” she said.

“I am. In the morning.”

“When wil you be back?”

“In a few weeks. Maybe.”

Maybe…
She took a deep breath. “So this is it? This is where you move like you’ve been talking about for months?”

“This is it.”

She knew he was hoping she’d talk him out of it. She didn’t want him to go, and yet she felt a strange measure of relief at the idea of his absence. If he left, they wouldn’t wind up marrying each other someday by default and living without any real passion, the kind she now knew existed.

“You don’t have anything to say?” he said.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Because he’s there?”

“No, he’s at the motel.”

“Why?”

She flinched at the reason that came to mind:
Because
we’d be in bed together if he wasn’t.
“He just is.”

There was a long silence, during which Madeline felt more self-conscious than ever. Her natural defensiveness over what she’d done earlier had led her to say more than she should have. The fact that Hunter was now staying at the motel revealed more about how she was feeling toward him than if he’d stil been in her guesthouse. She and Kirk had argued over his lodging arrangements that very morning.

Fortunately, Kirk didn’t force her to defend herself on that point. Maybe he didn’t want to face what Hunter’s relocation signified.

“He won’t find anything, Maddy,” he said. “Al ie was a forensics specialist and she came up with squat.”

So let him go, not just to the motel, but back to
California.
Wasn’t that what Kirk was real y saying? But unlike Al ie and the others, Hunter could be completely objective. That was why she’d brought him in, and that was what she liked about his investigation. He had dark suspicions about everyone she loved, but he had no vested interest in swaying her opinions one way or another, and would never act without proof—because he had no personal stake in anyone’s downfal . The hope of final y reaching the truth, no matter how painful it might be, kept her hanging on, despite the fear that she wouldn’t like what Hunter found.

She remembered him tel ing her that Clay was hiding something. Al ie would never have told her that. Madeline had denied it, even to herself, for a long time, but in her heart she knew it was true.

“I’m going to give him the week,” she said. “And then…”

“And then?” Kirk echoed hopeful y.

“And then I’l decide what to do next.”

Silence. At last he said, “I’m going to miss you, Mad.”

More guilt washed over her, for whatever it was—

attraction? lust? the cravings of a lonely soul?—that had made her do what she’d done with Hunter earlier that day.

She and Kirk hadn’t even been apart six weeks. How could she already desire someone else?

“I’l miss you, too,” she said. And it was true. She didn’t want to be lovers, but she couldn’t wait until they were friends again.

“Be careful,” he said.

She opened her mouth to respond, but he’d hung up.

Be careful?
Of what? The truth? Having her heart broken? Both?

As she set the phone back in its cradle, she tried to sort through her conflicting thoughts and emotions. But she couldn’t come to any resolution. She was frightened of the doubt she felt about Clay, but she stil felt it. She was frightened of the attraction she felt to Hunter, but she stil felt it. And the list went on from there.

With a muttered curse, she stopped trying to understand her own behavior and phoned Mol y, who answered on the first ring.

“Hel o?”

At the sound of her youngest stepsister’s voice, Madeline felt strangely tongue-tied. Was she betraying her family by getting involved with Hunter? The fact that she’d had sex with him had already forged a bond that pul ed her a little farther away from them. Could she honestly say, if he pointed his finger at Clay or Irene, that she wouldn’t believe him?

“Maddy?”

At the concern in Mol y’s voice, Madeline forced out a few words. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m about to watch a video with friends.”

“Oh, bad timing. I’l let you go.”

“I don’t mind missing the first few minutes,” Mol y said.

“Are you okay?”

Madeline considered the cracks that were beginning to weaken the dam of loyalty she’d built to protect her stepfamily. She wanted to ask Mol y to level with her, tel her if there was any way Clay could be hiding something about The Night. While talking to Mol y, Madeline often discussed her efforts to find her father, her latest theory on what might’ve happened to him. But Mol y general y didn’t add much. And Madeline had never real y
asked,
not in earnest.

She attempted to do so now—but couldn’t go through with it. She couldn’t bear the thought of Mol y knowing that she’d begun to lose faith in spite of everything Clay and the rest of the family had done for her.

“Mike’s home,” Madeline said instead.

“Mike?”

“Metzger.”

“Oh boy. Why isn’t he in prison?”

“He’s out on parole.”

“You’re sure?”

Madeline could hear others talking in the background. “I saw him this afternoon.”

There was a long pause. “Does he scare you, Maddy?”

He hadn’t scared her until today. He’d seemed so far removed when he was in prison. But the malevolence in his eyes was difficult to forget. Whoever had made that cal to the office, claiming to be her father, had to hate her. Was it Mike?

She shivered. “Maybe a little.”

“You should go to the police.”

“And tel them what?”

“Show them the letter he sent you.”

“He sent it from prison so that means someone in authority read it, Mol. They must not have deemed it a direct threat. And it probably isn’t. Saying you wish you’d done something isn’t the same as saying you’re
going
to do it.”

“It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up when you read it to me.”

What he’d written—
I wish I’d killed you both—
had the same effect on Madeline. But even she wasn’t completely convinced he’d ever act on the threat. “No one in this town wil take me seriously. They think Mike’s a burnout, a waste

—a danger only to himself. Clay’s the one they believe is capable of violence, remember?”

“But your friend’s husband is the chief of police. He’l listen to you, won’t he?”

A noise in the back yard brought Madeline to the window. She’d let Hunter take her car. Had he returned for some reason?

“Toby? He might.” She peered out, but the guesthouse was dark. “I’l give him a cal tomorrow.”

“Let me know how it goes.”

“I wil . Enjoy the movie.” She disconnected. Then she made sure the doors were locked and spent another few minutes gazing out at the yard. Was someone out there?

Mad-dy…it’s dad-dy…

The first part of that message had been even crueler than the last, because that was the part she longed to believe—that he’d suddenly cal her or appear after al these years.

She moved from window to window, imagining what it’d be like to see her father again. Maybe they were wrong, al of them, and he was out there somewhere. Maybe someone had hit him over the head and stolen his wal et, and he’d awakened with amnesia….

It wasn’t likely. But it was possible. And sometimes
possible
was enough to cling to, wasn’t it? Then Irene, Clay, Grace and Mol y would be cleared. Madeline would have them in her life, without the doubts. And she’d have her father, too. The driving need to reclaim what she’d lost would then be satisfied.

But it wasn’t realistic to hope for such an ending. She had a feeling she had a visitor, but she knew better than to believe it was her father.

Clay was tempted to ignore the ringing phone. He had Al ie in his arms and was trying desperately to reassure himself that he’d
always
have Al ie—even though there was a body buried in his cel ar. But after the letter he’d received earlier, he didn’t dare ignore a late-night summons. Anyone who tried to reach him at midnight had to be cal ing for a reason.

He just hoped it wasn’t his mother, with more histrionics.

“Not now,” Al ie groaned.

He kissed the delicate spot beneath her ear and reluctantly pul ed away from the soft warmth of her body.

“Sorry.” Throwing back the covers, he grabbed the phone.

“Hel o?”

“It’s Hunter Solozano.”

“I’m busy,” he said, already missing his wife. They wanted a baby, but now Clay was almost afraid to make one. If he went to prison, he didn’t want to do it knowing Al ie was pregnant with a child he’d never get to help her raise. Losing Whitney would destroy him as it was.

“We need to meet.”

Clay froze, his senses on ful alert. “Why?”

“You’l see.”

“Where?”

“I’m at the motel.”

“Do you have a car?”

“I have Madeline’s.”

“Then meet me at the pool hal in twenty minutes. If I’m going out, I’m having a drink,” he said and hung up.

Al ie ran a hand over his chest as he turned back to her.

“You have to go?”

Clay hated to leave her, although he no longer felt like making love. Why would Madeline’s P.I. want to talk to him?

He had no idea. But he couldn’t refuse. Hunter was a wild card.

Hunter could change everything.

A bang woke Madeline from a deep sleep. She sat up and blinked at the papers she’d wrinkled by slumping onto the desk in her smal office.

What time was it? How long had she been sleeping?