McCormick shot Irene a subtle glance before responding. “What is it?” he asked, striding over.
“Beats me,” Hendricks said. “Fabric of some kind.”
“Fabric?” Joe echoed. “That’s not what we’re looking for. Keep digging. You have to keep digging.”
McCormick ignored him. “Set it aside.”
“Be careful with it,” Joe said. “It could be evidence.”
Slipping the strip of pink cotton into a paper sack, Hendricks went back to work. Grace expected him or one of the others to find the reverend with the very next shovelful. But just as they brought up something that showed bone through the dirt, Jed Fowler stepped forward.
“It was me,” he said. “I did it.”
Every shovel stilled as the men turned to stare.
McCormick’s bushy eyebrows met above his piercing brown eyes. In the east, the sun was just showing the first hint of daybreak, making it easier to see. “You’re saying you killed the reverend?”
Grace tightened her grip on Kennedy’s hand as Jed nodded.
The police chief sent Irene another glance, then spat on the ground. His slow response gave the impression that he was mulling this information over in his mind, seeing how well it fit his instincts. The look on Irene’s face was…strange, too; almost as if they shared some secret. But as far as Grace was aware, her mother barely knew Chief McCormick.
“How’d you do it?” he asked Jed.
Irene stepped between them. “It’s not true. You know it’s not true,” she said.
“With a piece of wood,” he said.
“You hit him with it?”
“Yes, sir. On the back of the head.”
McCormick rubbed his chin. “Okay. Why’d you do it?”
“Chief McCormick…” The hand Irene laid on the police chief’s arm could simply have been a beseeching gesture. But Grace thought she noticed something just a little too familiar about it. “He didn’t do it.”
“Of course he didn’t,” Clay added.
Joe Vincelli had come over the moment Jed spoke. Now he crowded closer. “They should know,” he said.
McCormick raised a hand, signalling them all to stay out of it. “Jed?”
“He didn’t want to pay me for my work,” Jed muttered.
“Come on, I know you,” McCormick said, lowering his voice. “I’ve seen the stray animals you adopt, the unassuming life you lead. Hell, you’ve fixed my cars since I can remember. You expect me to believe you killed the Reverend Barker over a repair bill? And you’ve kept silent all these years while suspicion swirled around the Montgomerys?”
Jed looked at Grace’s mother, and Grace thought she could imagine why he’d hidden the Bible. Was he in love with her? In any event, he knew what had happened that night. At least he knew part of it. He’d hidden that Bible for Irene’s sake.
“I should’ve come forward earlier,” he said.
“I won’t let you do this,” Irene murmured. “I won’t let him,” she said to Chief McCormick.
The quick glances between the police chief and Irene had ceased. Suddenly he seemed reluctant to even look at her. “I’ve never seen you get angry in the forty-some years I’ve known you,” he said, staring intently at Jed.
“I was angry that night.”
Grace believed he had been angry, angry on behalf of Irene. Had he heard the shouting? Seen the fighting? Watched them drag the body from the house? She guessed he had. She also guessed he’d helped clean up after they’d left with the car. That was how he’d come by the Bible.
“So his skull should be smashed in,” McCormick said.
“Should be,” Jed responded.
“And what did you do with the body?”
“That’s it right there.” He pointed to the bone showing through the dirt in Officer Hendrick’s shovel.
“He’s lying,” Joe said. “He’s trying to protect the Montgomerys.”
“Shut up.” McCormick motioned for Hendricks to pick up whatever he had in his shovel.
Tension made Grace’s muscles ache. She held her breath as Hendricks carefully dusted off what was clearly a skull. But—instinctively she stepped closer—it was too elongated to be human. And it certainly wasn’t smashed.
Clay folded his arms. “Wonderful, McCormick. You’ve exhumed our family dog. He died of natural causes when I was only fifteen, but feel free to cart him off to a forensic anthropologist if that’ll reassure you.”
Joe glared at him. But McCormick seemed to breathe more easily as Hendricks placed the skull next to the fabric.
“Keep digging,” Joe said. “I know my uncle’s here somewhere.”
McCormick cocked an eyebrow at Joe as though tempted to refuse. Grace could feel the weight of her mother’s will, pressing him to do just that. And she could tell that it had an effect on him. There was a tangible intimacy between them that surprised her.
And then it all made sense. Her mother wasn’t seeing Jed. She was seeing Chief McCormick.
Grace covered her mouth as she studied her mother. Irene returned her gaze, but wouldn’t hold it, which told Grace almost as clearly as an admission that she was right. Her mother was having an affair with a married man—as they’d feared. But not just any married man. She was sleeping with Stillwater’s Chief of Police!
Turning in Kennedy’s arms, she tried to make out his expression. Was what she saw apparent to everyone? But he didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.
“What is it?” he murmured.
“Nothing,” she said and turned back.
McCormick rested a hand on top of his shovel. “I think we’ve done enough here.”
Because they’d really done enough? Or because he wanted to let Irene off the hook?
Grace watched Irene close her eyes, probably saying a silent prayer of thanks. But Joe wasn’t about to let things go. “Wait a second,” he said. “You’ve got a warrant. You can’t waste the opportunity. You have to dig.”
“I don’t have to do anything,” McCormick said. But when Joe glanced from him to Irene, Grace could tell it pricked the chief’s conscience. No doubt he felt as though he was wearing a scarlet letter. In any case, he quickly backed off. “What the hell,” he said, once again avoiding Irene’s gaze. “We’ve come this far. We might as well make damn sure.”