“Better than I expected.” Her stepbrother offered no specifics.
“When’s it over?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Are you going to have trouble letting this one go?”
His gaze finally strayed from Hunter’s face. “Trouble?”
“Isn’t this one of the rarest cars you’ve owned?”
“There’s another one right behind it.”
“You put so much work into each vehicle, I’d want to keep them all.”
“The work is the part I like.”
“What are you planning to do next?” she asked.
“The Chevy sitting beyond the tractor.”
“Not the truck!”
“It’s about time, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. I’m so used to seeing that old hunk of junk, this place won’t look the same without it.”
No comment.
She peered into the car. “Even when you’re finished, it won’t be worth nearly as much as this baby, will it?”
“No.”
“So why mess with it?”
“I’m ready for something different.”
He didn’t do it for the money. That was clear. A few other things were clear, too. Clay had a giant chip on his shoulder, and he had little, if any, interest in seeing his stepfather’s murder solved.
“How do you feel about Lee Barker?” Hunter asked.
Madeline’s lips parted as if she wasn’t comfortable with the suddenness of this question. But Clay didn’t seem startled. He looked Hunter right in the eye, stubborn, defiant. “I don’t think about him anymore.”
“And back then?”
“We had our differences, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Just the usual stuff,” Madeline added. “The kind of problems any teenager would have—”
Hunter raised a hand. “Let him answer, okay?”
Clay folded his arms across his chest. “I already did.”
“You don’t like the fact that I’m here, do you?” Hunter said.
“You thought I’d be excited about it?”
Not really. It was obvious that Clay didn’t trust him. Hunter doubted Clay trusted anyone, except maybe his wife.
“Is there anything you’d like to tell me about your stepfather?” Hunter asked.
“Nope.”
“Clay’s been through this so many times,” Madeline said and seemed relieved when Allie reappeared.
Clay gave his wife a slight nod. She walked between them and unlocked the pastor’s office with one key for the door and a different one for the dead bolt. When she swung the door wide, the room’s musty scent hit them full force.
Hunter tried to ignore it. “When did you put the dead bolt on here?”
“I didn’t,” Clay replied.
“My father kept his office locked at all times,” Madeline put in.
“Why?” Hunter couldn’t imagine that Lee Barker had stored anything of value in this old barn. From what he understood, Barker didn’t actually have a whole lot of real value.
“As a pastor, he was privy to some of his parishioners’ darkest thoughts and deeds,” she said. “This was where he kept his notes. I’m sure he didn’t want that kind of information to get out.”
A pastor should be discreet, especially in such a small town, where gossip could ruin someone’s life. But a simple lock wasn’t enough? Who did he think was going to break in?
Hunter examined the heavy-duty bolt as Allie and Madeline entered the empty room ahead of him.
“Looks like Madeline’s father was a very cautious man,” he said to Clay, who hadn’t moved. Again, he received no response.
“There isn’t much to see in here,” Allie was saying. “Clay dismantled the place a year or two ago. After eighteen years—” she turned to Madeline and her voice softened apologetically “—he figured it was time to give Maddy her father’s things.”
Hunter didn’t make any effort to study the room. Anything that was here when Madeline’s father was around had long since been removed, even the carpet. Instead, he crossed to the window and gazed out, trying to see the farm as Barker would’ve seen it.
From where he stood, he had a good view of the gravel drive, the chicken coop off to the right and the back porch. This place would’ve been a functional home office, if not a fancy one. Because of its location, Barker would know when someone arrived, and he’d be able to keep an eye on the kids if they were out playing or doing chores.
Above him, Hunter noticed some holes in the wall that indicated there’d been blinds at one time. For privacy. Like the dead bolt.
“That was Grace’s room,” Madeline said, coming up behind him.
“Which one?” Hunter asked.
She pointed at the farmhouse, to the window above the porch. “The corner, near that lattice.”
“She had her own room?”
“Yes, but she wasn’t alone very often. I was supposed to be sharing a room with Molly. Molly was the youngest and it was my job to look after her. But Grace had two twin beds and she was always begging me to stay with her.” She smiled nostalgically. “I’ve never known anyone more afraid of the dark. If she was up late doing homework and needed to shower for the next day, she’d wake me and ask me to go into the bathroom with her. I’d sit on the counter waiting for her.”
“I was scared when I was young, too,” Allie said. “But I blame my older brother. He and his friends loved to bang on the house or scratch on the wall, anything to frighten me. He thought it was hilarious.”
“I was never frightened,” Madeline said. “At least not of the boogeyman.”
Clay hadn’t entered the room, but he hadn’t gone back to work, either. He leaned against the doorjamb, watching them. Hunter saw that he scowled when Madeline said what she did, as if her pain hurt him, too. Clay was angry, embittered, a loner. And yet he loved his stepsister, regardless of what might’ve happened to her father.
“What were you afraid of?” Hunter asked.
Madeline’s chest rose, as if she’d just taken a deep breath and she met his gaze. “Becoming as unhappy as my mother.”
Having a parent so miserable that she didn’t want to go on would scare any child. “What about now?” Hunter asked quietly. “Are you still afraid?”
The question had nothing to do with his investigation. It was really none of his business. But there was something so achingly lonely about Madeline Barker that he couldn’t help wanting to banish the haunted look that sometimes appeared in her eyes.