“Why are you so quiet this morning?” her mother asked, pouring syrup on the pancakes Grace had put in front of her.
Grace carried a pitcher of orange juice to the table. Irene had been pretty quiet herself. She’d shown up late and more than a little flustered, still insisting that she’d spent the morning alone.
“Just thinking,” Grace said.
“About what?”
Returning to the counter, Grace added some bacon to her own plate before sitting down across from Irene. “Madeline.”
“She does a really nice job with the paper.”
Grace could tell from her mother’s deflecting comment that she didn’t want to talk about anything too deep. She’d always preferred to ignore the potentially upsetting.
Grace wished she could go on pretending that the veneer her mother valued so much was real. But she couldn’t. That was why she worked tirelessly to protect the vulnerable and bring those who victimized others to justice. Why she’d ultimately had to come back to Stillwater. “She thinks she knows who killed her father,” she said.
Irene made a face. “That Mike Metzger is a devil, isn’t he?”
Mike wasn’t a good man. But he hadn’t killed Lee Barker, and Irene knew it.
“She’s written some nice articles about you,” Irene said. “She’s very proud.”
Grace knew Madeline had heard the rumors about her and the boys at school, but she’d resolutely ignored them. Or maybe she’d just refused to believe them, as she refused to believe the suspicion and accusations surrounding the Montgomerys.
“She’s always stood by us,” Grace said.
Her mother took a sip of juice. “I didn’t give birth to that girl, but she’s every bit one of my own. And I know she feels the same way.”
Grace gaped at Irene. She knew she shouldn’t say it. But she couldn’t help herself. It drove her crazy that Irene seemed to take no responsibility for the past. “Provided she never finds out, right?”
A pained expression appeared on Irene’s face. “She won’t.”
More denial.
“She could.”
No answer.
“I think we should move the body,” Grace blurted.
Irene blinked in surprise. Even Grace couldn’t believe what had come out of her mouth. Going to such great lengths to continue the cover-up might only make things worse. And yet…what else could she do? Let the people she loved suffer for something that wasn’t their fault to begin with?
Her mother blanched. “Grace, please. I don’t want to talk about…any of that.”
Grace lowered her voice. Now that she’d actually stated the thought she’d squelched so many times before, she grew very convinced that they needed to act on it. “Mom, I realize this is difficult. I’m not trying to upset you. I just…I’m telling you we have to move the body.”
“Stop it,” Irene whispered harshly, glancing around as though someone might be in the house with them, listening. “We’ll do nothing of the sort.”
“Last night Joe Vincelli came over, threatening to take a backhoe to the farm.”
“Why would he do that? After eighteen years?”
“Because he feels we’re hiding something.”
“But Lee went missing so long ago. His family won’t speak to me when we pass on the street, of course. But Joe’s never caused us any trouble. Why would he start now?”
Grace rubbed the condensation from her glass. “Because he’s not thirteen anymore. And because he’s a vengeful son of a bitch.”
Irene smoothed several nonexistent wrinkles on her skirt. “The police searched the farm, and they didn’t find anything. Joe won’t, either.”
“But he’s not the only threat. Madeline’s just as determined to look for answers. If she prints possible leads in the paper again, it’ll never end. Folks around town are already dredging up all the old tales about who saw what when. Maybe in some other place, a bigger place, the scandal would’ve been forgotten by now. But not here, especially with Joe’s family in town, believing we got away with murder. And not with Madeline running the newspaper and keeping her father’s disappearance constantly in the public eye.”
“It’s only natural she’d want to know.”
Grace grabbed her mother’s arm. “Mom, the sharks in this town have been circling for years, biding their time, waiting. Something could give us away. We need to get rid of the reverend’s remains while we still have the chance. Bury them deep in the woods.”
Her mother raised her juice but her hand was shaking too badly to manage another drink. Returning the glass to the table, she covered her mouth. “No. I—I can’t face it.”
“We have to make some changes,” Grace insisted. “Clay can’t live on that farm forever. He deserves some freedom, to marry, to move on. If we get rid of the remains, there’ll be nothing to tie us to the reverend’s disappearance. But if anyone ever finds that body where it is…”
“Heaven help us,” Irene finished with a whimper.
“Exactly.”
Her mother began to wring her hands. “But it’s been so long. That—that night…” She stared at her plate, obviously replaying scenes in her mind that she’d rather not see. Eventually she shook her head. “No, we should sit tight. If we change…the place, we could make a mistake, miss something, leave evidence—and then Lee will win in the end. He’ll destroy me, us, even Madeline.”
Irene was getting too worked up.
Suddenly, Grace saw how fragile her mother had become, and let go of her arm. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the food around on her plate as it grew cold. Irene no longer had the strength or the presence of mind she’d once possessed; they couldn’t rely on her for the kind of decisions she’d made, with Clay’s help, in the past. Maybe Clay had figured that out first. Maybe that was why he shielded her so well.
“I’m sorry,” Grace said. “Don’t—don’t worry about it, okay? I was wrong. We’re fine.”
Irene’s eyes darted around the kitchen. “You really think so?”
“I know so.” Grace patted her forearm. “I let Joe spook me and I…overreacted, that’s all.”
“You’re sure?”
Grace assumed a calm she didn’t feel. “Positive.”