"You could see him?"
He nodded. "He wasn't moving."
It was beginning to get dark outside, so Allie lit the kerosene lamp. She needed to do something with her hands. She felt so jittery, so rattled. "What happened after that?" she asked as she blew out the match.
"They buried him."
"Where?"
"Behind the barn."
The flicker of the lamp's flame cast moving shadows on the table. "Weren't they afraid you'd see them?"
"They were too afraid of everything else to worry about me, I suppose. They tried to move careful and quiet-like, but..."
"It was too late. You'd already seen what happened."
Another nod.
"Only you didn't let them know."
"Figured we were all safer that way."
"Why do you think they didn't go to the police?"
Jed's expression didn't change. "For the same reason Eliza didn't."
"Grace might've told them about the pictures."
"Who knows if she knew where to find them. And even if they had them..." He clucked his tongue, and Allie knew what he was thinking. Even if they did, they were pictures that would humiliate a thirteen-year-old girl in the worst possible way. Pictures that would require she testify at her mother's trial in a town where she and her family weren't liked in the first place.
"You should've seen Grace that night," he added.
Allie doubted Grace would've been strong enough to go through a trial. And what if they'd lost? What if the court had ruled that Barker wasn't killed in self-defense? What if the prosecutor managed to convince a jury that Irene had murdered her husband because she'd found out what he was doing to her daughter?
Allie couldn't remain sitting any longer. She stood up and circled the room, careful not to look at the bed. Clay's blood was still on the sheets; no one had cleaned up since he was shot. The last few times she'd gone to the cabin, she'd been too busy searching for evidence. "So why are you breaking your silence after so long?" she asked. "Why are you telling me? "
Jed's whiskers made a rasping sound against his callused hand. "Because I don't think Clay ever will. And I don't think he'll let Grace tell you, either."
Allie had to agree. Clay was too loyal to his family. And knowing Clay, he'd view it as a burden he wouldn't want her to carry.
"I thought knowing the truth might help you defend him," Jed murmured.
"At least I know what we're up against."
"I had to do something this time. Clay doesn't deserve to spend the rest of his life behind bars."
And Jed didn't need any additional regrets. Allie understood. He'd spoken more words in the past hour than he'd probably ever strung together at one time, which proved how passionate he felt about Eliza and Barker and the Montgomerys. But Allie had one more question. "So why didn't the police find Barker's remains when they searched the farm?" she asked.
Jed shrugged. "They should've. They were searching in the right place."
And that was why Jed had confessed to Barker's murder. Suddenly it all made sense. Jed hadn't tried to confess because he was in love with Irene. He felt responsible because he hadn't stopped Barker when Eliza had told him what Barker was.
What Barker was...Allie shook her head in stunned disbelief. Madeline wanted the truth.
But wasn't a truth like that the worst thing a daughter could ever hear?
Chapter 22
"Alaska isn't like any place you've ever seen." Lucas smiled as if Clay and Molly had every reason to smile with him. Their father had been going on about the beauty of his adopted state and his love of flying ever since Molly had invited him in. And he'd been talking as fast and animatedly as Clay remembered, as if Clay had given him some sort of welcome, which he hadn't.
"With a mouth like that, you should've been a used-car salesman," Clay said.
Molly glanced nervously at him. Lucas merely blinked. "What?"
Evidently, Clay's response wasn't one Lucas had been expecting. Clay was a little surprised himself. He'd dreamed of seeing his father ever since Lucas had left them. At first, he'd imagined a happy reunion, a day when his father would finally realize how much he loved his family and return to apologize and make everything better.
But after that summer when Clay and his mother and sisters had subsisted almost entirely on oatmeal and they hadn't even been able to pay the electric bill, Clay's dreams had become far less optimistic. During the Barker years, whenever he thought about meeting up with his father, there was always some degree of violence involved. Usually, Clay threw a single punch that broke the old man's jaw.
Clay was still considering whether or not to make that dream a reality. But Molly seemed more willing to accept him. And his father no longer looked like a worthy adversary, which came as quite a disappointment. Age was taking its toll, and he wasn't nearly as big as Clay remembered.
"What did you say?" Lucas said, referring to Clay's comment.
"Don't mind him," Molly said quickly.
Until that moment, their father had avoided meeting Clay's eyes.
"I said, with a mouth like that, you should've been a used-car salesman."
Lucas chuckled uncomfortably. "Why's that?"
Clay let his gaze drift over the Flying Makes Me Higher Than a Kite T-shirt, blue jeans and brand-new flip-flops his father was wearing. "Because I've never met anyone who fits the stereotype more--all talk and no integrity."
"Clay--" Molly started, but he ignored her, keeping Lucas pinned beneath his unswerving regard.
Their father wiped his forehead as if it was getting too hot in the room. And it was. The humidity was causing beads of sweat to trickle down the middle of Clay's back.
"I deserved that," he said. "You've got every reason to be angry, Clay. I understand--"
"You don't understand anything," Clay interrupted. "What makes you think you can step foot on my property?"
"I came because I wanted to help."
Molly moved closer to Clay. "He just got here," she said softly.
"I don't care." Clay's hands curled into fists in spite of his determination not to swing them.
"We don't need his help. I already did his job." Not that Clay felt he'd managed very well. He'd had so little to work with--not much maturity, very little wisdom and no resources. He'd had to become a man at thirteen. "If he'd never left, Grace wouldn't have been hurt," he pointed out. "We wouldn't even have known Barker."
Instead, they had to live with their stepfather's remains in the cellar, as well as the terrible memories he'd created.