Dead Right. Brenda NovakЧитать онлайн книгу.
a guesthouse. I thought maybe you could stay there. It’d be quiet,” she added. “I live alone.”
“And what will I drive?”
“My car.”
“And you’ll drive…”
“My stepbrother will let me borrow a truck from the farm. It might not look like much after hauling dirt and feed and who knows what else, but he’s always got an extra.”
Hunter didn’t seem to mind staying in her guesthouse and driving her car, because he agreed right away. “That’s fine. Does that mean you’re picking me up at the airport?”
If she played chauffeur, they’d be able to talk while she drove. Then he could start his investigation the moment he reached Stillwater. Saving whatever money she could seemed prudent, especially since she wasn’t sure hiring him would make any difference in the end. Would he find evidence everyone else had missed? Or would he be as ineffectual as the police?
Maybe she was bankrupting herself for nothing, for a hunger that could never be satisfied…
“Ms. Barker?”
She swallowed to ease a particularly dry mouth. “I’ll pick you up. Fly into Nashville, okay?”
“It’s closer than Jackson?”
“By two hours.”
“Okay. I’ll make my travel arrangements over the Internet and call you in the morning.”
“Fine.” She pretended to be as businesslike as he was. But when she hung up, she couldn’t tear her eyes from the phone.
“What have I done?” she breathed.
Chapter Three
“You’ve done what?” Grace asked.
Madeline held the phone to her shoulder as she rinsed her coffee cup and placed it in the dishwasher. Morning had come too soon. After a restless night, her eyes stung with fatigue. It didn’t help that the coffee she’d drunk to get her going churned sourly in her otherwise empty stomach. “I hired a private investigator.”
There was a momentary silence. “You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“From where?”
“California.”
“But…it’s been so many years since Dad went missing, Maddy.”
“I know. That’s why I did it.” Sophie followed her as she hurried to the bathroom. She needed to finish her hair and makeup and head over to the office. She couldn’t avoid work this morning. She would sit down and write the article she should’ve written yesterday—and she’d finish it before the paper had to go to press. Maybe her resolve had come a little late, but she was Stillwater’s only official reporter. She’d reveal the unbiased details of the Cadillac’s discovery, regardless of her personal connection.
“But Allie used to be a cold case detective,” Grace said. “If she couldn’t find anything, aren’t you afraid hiring someone else will be a waste of time and money?”
Madeline didn’t want to talk about Allie—not with Grace. Once Allie had begun to feel romantic interest in Clay, she’d no longer seemed fully committed to the investigation. Had she been afraid of what she might find if she really looked? Considering what everyone else believed, probably. Madeline doubted Allie was still worried about that now that she knew Clay as well as she did. But they both seemed determined to move forward and not dwell on the past.
They could move forward, Madeline thought. They didn’t feel the same responsibility to Lee Barker that she did. Allie’s father had had his own problems before he moved away, problems that had included an affair with Irene. But Chief McCormick was still part of Allie’s life. How could Allie understand what it would be like not to know where he was or even whether he was alive? And Clay had only lived with Lee for three years.
“Before she could dig too deep, her father fired her for taking Clay’s side,” Madeline said, trying to smooth over the issue. If she started pointing fingers at others for not doing enough, she knew Grace would feel guilty by association. And Grace had always had her own demons to deal with. It wasn’t until she came home eighteen months ago that she’d had much of a relationship with her family. Before that, she’d been emotionally remote and completely immersed in her work as an assistant district attorney in Jackson.
The past had been difficult for them all.
“She would’ve continued to dig,” Grace said. “She just didn’t find anything that gave her any indication of where Dad might’ve gone.”
“Or who might’ve harmed him,” Madeline added.
“Or who might’ve harmed him,” she conceded.
Madeline pulled her hair back so she could apply concealer to the dark circles that came from a week’s worth of restless nights. “It’s something I’ve got to do.”
“This might not solve anything,” Grace said again.
“I know, but seeing the Cadillac lifted out of the quarry made me sick.” She paused, her hand on the blush she was going to apply next. “I felt as if I’ve let my father down by not doing more. I’ve let myself down, too. Even you and Clay, Grace. They almost prosecuted Clay last summer, for murder.”
“I don’t think they’ll go after him again,” Grace argued. “Last year, it was political pressure that caused all the trouble. The Vincellis have backed off since then.”
“My aunt and uncle, maybe. Not my cousins. You saw them at the quarry.”
“Joe and Roger are vultures. We’re safe as long as we’re still moving.”
“They have a lot of powerful friends.”
“But there’s no solid evidence. There never has been. Clay’s innocent.”
Finished with the blush, Madeline smeared some brown eye shadow on her eyelids. “The car’s going to stir it all up again,” she said. “Don’t you think it’s better to get to the bottom of what happened?”
The silence stretched, and a few seconds became half a minute.
“Is something wrong?” Madeline finally asked.
“No, of course not,” Grace said. “Believe me, I’d like to know what happened, too. But not at any cost.”
“We’re talking about dollars. What are dollars compared to peace of mind?” Dropping the eye shadow into her makeup bag, Madeline dug around for her mascara.
“Can you really afford him?” There was concern in Grace’s voice.
“I’ll keep him on as long as I can.” Madeline heard a clock ticking somewhere in her subconscious, and it made her frantic. She only hoped Hunter found her some answers before she had a nervous breakdown or was living out on the street.
“Do you need help with his bill?”
It was a generous offer. But Madeline didn’t expect her stepsister to finance an investigation she couldn’t welcome. Mr. Solozano would, in all likelihood, focus on Grace and the mother and brother she loved so dearly—at least in the beginning, before he got beyond the circumstantial evidence that led everyone else to blame the Montgomerys.
“No. But thanks.” She glanced at her watch. It was nearly nine. “I’d better go.”
“Maybe you should discuss this with Clay,” Grace said.
“I’m sure Mr. Solozano has already purchased his plane ticket.”
“Where will he be staying?”
“Here, in the guest house.”
“You don’t even know him!