The police would find Barker's car in the quarry, where Clay had driven it. They'd get another warrant to search for Barker's remains, and this time they wouldn't walk away empty-handed. Clay had poured cement over the earthen floor of the cellar, but that wouldn't stop them. "What if he's told someone? What if he tells Allie?"
"He swore he wouldn't."
As if that counted for anything. "Can't you get Chief McCormick to call off his daughter?"
he asked.
"Are you kidding? He won't even mention my name in front of her."
"What the hell does he think happened to Barker? Has he ever asked you about it?"
"No. We've never discussed it. I don't think he wants to know."
Clay clenched his jaw. "You've heard from Dale recently, then?"
"He called me yesterday."
"What did he say?"
"He misses me."
Clay knew from the way she'd spoken that she missed him, too. "Did you tell him it was over?"
She cringed visibly.
"Mom!"
"I couldn't," she said. "It was the first time we've been able to talk in over a week. But I will. I promise," she added quickly. "Just get Allie to quit searching for Lucas, okay? You have to stop her before she contacts him."
Clay rubbed the whiskers on his chin. He had no leverage with Officer McCormick. She wouldn't back off because he asked her to. Especially after the other night. "What can I do?" he asked.
"She's lonely," his mother volunteered.
He rocked back. "I hope that doesn't mean what I think it means."
She straightened her hat, as if she needed to keep her hands busy. "Women like you, Clay.
You can make Allie like you, too. You could even make her fall in love, if you wanted. A woman will do anything for love."
"No," he said. "Absolutely not. I won't play with her heart."
"But she's attractive and--"
"No!"
"Okay, don't go that far. Just...be nice to her, take her out a few times. Maybe you'll enjoy her company. You never know. You could do worse than end up with a woman like Allie."
Clay couldn't believe it. "Are you insane?" he asked. "How long do you think it would be before she figured out the whole scenario?"
"It's better to make her your friend than your enemy," she replied. "You're not opposed to having another female friend, are you?"
He said nothing.
"Come on," she continued. "Madeline says she's very nice."
His mother didn't need to convince him of that. He could already tell Allie was a good person. She'd certainly been fair with him the other night, despite the prejudice he faced from the rest of the community.
"I don't know," he said. He couldn't imagine befriending a cop under any circumstances.
He'd spent too many years avoiding them. But there was wisdom in the old adage "Hold your friends close and your enemies closer." The more information he gleaned about her investigation--what she was finding and which direction she was going--the more he'd be able to protect himself and his family.
"I don't like it," he said. Her suggestion made some sense, but he'd be using Allie, and he didn't feel right about that. He preferred to keep his distance.
"Can we really afford to hunker down and just hope for the best?"
No. He knew they couldn't.
"Clay." His mother touched his arm.
"What?"
"We have to do whatever we can."
She was right. He couldn't pretend Allie didn't have the skills and determination to reveal what--so far--he'd managed to hide. Maybe he should spend some time with her, try to neutralize the threat. What better choice did he have? He could be careful, maintain just enough distance.
He wondered if he'd ever be able to throw off the yoke of the past. "Fine," he said with a sigh.
His mother smiled in apparent relief, as if she thought he'd crook his finger and Allie would forget all about Lucas and Barker. Problem solved.
If only it was that simple.
Chapter 5
That evening, after Clay stepped out of the shower and finished toweling his hair, he called his stepsister, Madeline, on the cordless phone he'd taken into the bathroom. He loved Maddy, talked to her often. Irene, Grace and Molly did, too. After her father "went missing," she'd chosen to stay with them instead of going to live with Barker's extended relatives and was as much a part of the family as any one of them. They shared everything with her--except the secret destined to make her hate them if she ever found out.
"Hey, I ran into Beth Ann when I was getting gas today," she said the moment she heard his voice.
He hung the towel on the rack behind him. "Am I supposed to be excited about that?"
"I thought you might want to know that I already heard what happened at the farm night before last."
"Somehow that doesn't surprise me," he said, leaving the steamy bathroom and heading into his bedroom.
"Well, maybe this will. The version she gave me is quite different from the rumors going around town."
He twisted in front of the mirror to see how the scratches on his back were healing. "Is this good or bad news?"
"Good news."
The scratches were almost gone. That was good news, too. "Then she didn't tell you I tried to kill her?"
"She just said you broke up with her."
"Even that isn't true," he muttered as he delved into his underwear drawer.
"How's that?"
"There wasn't any commitment between us to begin with."
"She was hoping for one. She feels terrible about calling the cops on you, by the way. She claims she's in love with you."
He pulled on his boxer briefs. "Don't worry. She'll be in love with someone else next week."
"You're so cynical," she said, laughing. "But maybe you're right. She had John Keller in the car while she was crying over you, and he seemed more than willing to comfort her."
"John Keller?" he repeated, not immediately recognizing the name.
"The guy who manages Stillwater Sand and Gravel for Joe Vincelli's parents. Why?
Jealous?"
"No." He selected a pair of jeans. "I thought Joe managed the gravel pit."
"He has the title. But he doesn't do much other than chase women and drink beer. At least since he divorced Cindy. John's the one who keeps the business afloat."
If Madeline said it, it was probably true. No one knew Stillwater and the people living in it better than she did. It was her job to know. She owned the Stillwater Independent, a weekly paper she'd bought two years ago from the old couple who'd published it before.