Dead Giveaway (Stillwater Trilogy 2)

The day was growing warm. Allie could feel her clothes sticking to her and adjusted the air-conditioning vents to hit her more directly. "I checked. There wasn't anything. But--" An idea suddenly occurred to her. "What about the gas station?"

"What about it?"

"Hendricks didn't do anything to clean up, right? He left that to the attendant."

"Who was already getting out his mop when I arrived."

"I admit it's a long shot, but it's possible he might've missed a spot or two, if not on the floor, then in the restroom. Maybe while I'm this close, I should go back and see."

"Will the owner let you snoop around like that?"

"I think so. He's fascinated by the fact that I'm investigating a shooting." Slowing, Allie found a safe place to pull off the highway and turn around.

"Do you have what you need to collect a sample if you find it?" Clay asked.

"Of course. I carry my forensics bag in my trunk."

"Still?"

"Always."

"But even if you find his DNA, what's to stop Hendricks from saying he had a nosebleed there three months ago?" Clay asked. "You told me the station cycles its security tapes, so we wouldn't be able to go back and prove he was lying--that he wasn't there earlier."

"He doesn't know that," she said. "And his wife already admitted that he had a cut on his hand."

"She did?"

"She clammed up right afterward, but I got that much. Anyway, I think this is how we play it--we tell Hendricks you saw him the night you were shot. If we're lucky, he'll panic and swear he's never been to that particular gas station. Chances are, before that night, he hadn't. He's certainly never been invited to the cabin. He drives my father crazy."

"He drives everyone crazy."

"Then we introduce the tape," she continued, "showing a man of Hendricks's exact height and weight buying Band-Aids, together with a DNA profile that puts him right where he said he's never been. Hopefully, that'll persuade him to give us what we really want."

"The name of the person who paid him."

"That's it," Allie said, but her mind wasn't on the conversation anymore. A truck had come right up on her bumper and was honking to get her attention.

"Does Whitney like steak?" Clay asked, changing the subject.

Allie twisted to look behind her, but the glare of the afternoon sun reflected off the windshield of the other vehicle, making it impossible to see the driver.

"Allie?"

"Someone wants me to pull over," she said.

"Why?"

"I don't know. But if you don't hear from me in five minutes, call the police."

Clay called Allie back immediately after she'd disconnected. He wanted to know who was flagging her down. Now. But she wasn't answering.

Hello, this is Allie. Leave your name and number and I'll get back to you as soon as possible.

Hanging up, he dialed again--and again got her recorded message. Finally, he pushed the phone across the table and stalked to the window above the sink, where he stared out, feeling pensive and uneasy.

He didn't have a cell phone so he couldn't leave. Should he wait for her to call? Continue trying to reach her? Summon the cops, just in case?

It had only been three or four minutes, but he couldn't wait any longer. He was going to call the police, then head up there himself.

But the phone rang just as he picked it up.

"Allie?" he said immediately.

"I'm fine," she replied.

"What's going on?"

"I can't explain right now. Jed and I are going to the cabin. I'm sorry, but it looks as if I won't be able to make dinner."

"I'm not worried about dinner," he said. "I'm worried about you. What does Jed want?"

"I'm not sure yet. But I'll call you as soon as I know."

"Should I come up there?"

"No. We'll be finished before you could ever reach us," she said and disconnected.

Clay wasn't about to sit home and wonder. Grabbing his car keys, he charged out of the house--and right into a middle-aged man several inches shorter than he was who'd just climbed the stairs to the front door. With his graying dark hair tied back, he looked like some kind of Willie Nelson wannabe.

But even after twenty-five years, Clay recognized his own father.

Allie couldn't move, couldn't breathe. She sat in the log chair she'd taken at the cabin, her stomach churning as she stared at Jed Fowler. "Why wouldn't you speak to me when I came to your house?" she asked.

He didn't answer, but he'd nearly run her off the road, trying to initiate this private meeting.

When she'd realized who was driving the blue truck that had come so close, she'd stopped at the most public place she could find, a small strip mall not far from the gas station where Hendricks had gone, and had her finger on the Send button of her phone, with 911 already programmed in.

But Jed had managed to convince her that he merely had something to say, so she'd called Clay to tell him who she was with and that she was fine. Then she and Jed had come to the cabin.

After all the effort he'd put into getting her alone, it was still difficult to drag anything out of him.

"Jed, please," she said. "You have to speak more freely. I...I need details. I have to understand."

"I didn't trust you," he said simply.

"Why not?"

"I thought you'd go along with the rest of 'em."

"The rest of them," she repeated.

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his work coveralls. "The Vincellis. Your father. The mayor."

"What makes you think I won't?"

There was a two-or three-second lag before every answer, but at least Jed was willing to talk about the Barker case. That was something, after keeping his mouth shut for nineteen years.

"I've been watching you," he said at last.

She'd noticed. His unwavering attention had made her very uncomfortable and suspicious.

So did the fact that he'd been following her. To Clay's farm. To Grace's stand. To the gas station where she'd picked up the tape. Today he'd been driving a truck someone must've brought in for repairs, because she hadn't recognized it or she would've realized who he was a lot sooner.

"Are you the person who left me that package?" she asked.

He looked puzzled for a moment. Then the confusion cleared. "You mean the one in your mailbox?"

Her phone rang, but she turned it to silent and slipped it into her purse. She was finally getting somewhere and was afraid it would spook Jed if they were interrupted. "Yes."