“Rose Lee Harper and Katie Swanson.”
Hunter’s frown became more pronounced. “How do you know?”
Clay wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “We found pictures. I destroyed all the ones I found, but Allie came across some more last summer.”
“Will you get them for me?”
Again Clay searched for a way out and couldn’t see one. This was the beginning of the end. And he was the one pulling the plug. But he didn’t have any other choice. He wouldn’t allow another member of his family to be hurt. “Yes. Just be prepared.”
“For what?” Hunter asked.
“The worst.”
Madeline heard the heavy knock and knew immediately what it meant. Jumping out of bed, she flew down the stairs. It was her father. She could hear him calling her.
“Maddy? Where’s my girl?”
She could see his shape through the cloudy glass inset and couldn’t wait to throw her arms around him. Putting her hand on the knob, she started to turn it, then paused, feeling oddly reluctant. Something was wrong.
“Maddy? Why won’t you answer me?”
She tried to respond with the welcome he expected, but she was no longer excited. A bone-deep dread settled in as she watched him force the door open from the other side.
Finding her voice, she spoke over the racket of her racing heart. “Wait! Don’t come in, Daddy. I’m not dressed.”
She’d used a lie, an easy excuse, but suddenly it was true. She was naked. She could feel her own skin, her bare br**sts. But that didn’t stop her father. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, leering at her while he slowly revealed something hidden under his coat—something flesh colored.
The dildo!
Madeline screamed as she sat up. She was in such a hurry to get away, to escape the degradation and pain of what she saw and felt that she’d scrambled out of bed before realizing she wasn’t in the entryway at all. She was really naked, but she was in her bedroom, alone.
Gasping for breath, she looked wildly around. She could smell a hint of Hunter’s cologne, but even he was gone.
Calm down. It was just another nightmare.
Only this one was worse—far worse. And then she realized, dimly, that the telephone was ringing. Its jangling was probably what had drawn her from the clutches of that terrible dream.
Anxious to hear another human voice, she grabbed the handset. “Hello?” she said eagerly, trying to slow her heart and regain control. But when her stepmother answered, she knew she should’ve taken the time to check caller ID. She’d wanted to hear another human voice, but she didn’t want it to be this one.
“There you are. Madeline, I’ve been so worried about you. Are you okay?”
She didn’t think so. Her reality—her nightmares, too—was getting worse. But she couldn’t admit it. Irene hadn’t wanted her to bring Hunter to Stillwater in the first place. In a way, all of this was her own fault, wasn’t it? She was the one ripping off the scab that had for so long covered the wound of her father’s disappearance; she was the one drawing fresh blood.
“I—I’m fine,” she managed to say.
There was a short pause. “Why haven’t you been returning my calls?”
Madeline blanched at the hurt and accusation in Irene’s voice. “I’ve been…busy,” she said. “Really busy.” The excuse sounded every bit as lame as it was. But what was she supposed to say? That she was beginning to believe Irene had killed her father? That she was terrified her father might’ve deserved it?
“That private investigator came by,” Irene said. “He…he has some odd notions. I hope you’re not listening to him, Maddy. I hope you know that—”
“What?” she countered, unable to avoid it anymore.
Her mother seemed startled by her almost vehement response. “That—that he’s wrong, of course.”
“Is he, Mom?” she asked.
Irene shrank from the challenge. “Well, that depends on what he’s saying, of course, but—”
Normally, Madeline would’ve let her talk, would’ve accepted what she had to say because the thought of any truth except the one she wanted most was unbearable. But the questions in her soul had grown just as unbearable. “He’s saying Dad molested Grace,” she blurted out. “He’s saying you killed him because of it and that Clay’s been covering for you all these years.”
There was shocked silence.
“Is it true?” she demanded.
“No! Madeline, listen. Your father was a—a reverend. He—he didn’t come home that night, and—and there was a—a transient and—”
She was babbling and crying—and lying. It had never been more apparent than it was at that moment.
Slowly, Madeline sank to the floor. Dropping her head onto her knees, she began to cry, too. “How do you know he molested Grace?” she interrupted. “Maybe it was someone else, someone he was counseling. Maybe you killed him for nothing!”
“Maddy, stay right there. I—I’m coming over. Clay’s coming, too, okay? Did you hear me, Maddy? I’m calling Clay.”
“To keep it all together for you, Mom? To help you convince me of your lies?”
Madeline hung up. She couldn’t stay on the phone any longer, didn’t want to hear the panic in her stepmother’s voice. She had to get out of the house before Irene arrived, before Grace and Clay showed up, too. They’d all come so they could convince her that she was wrong…
Without even bothering to comb her hair, she yanked on some clothes, ran down the stairs, ignoring Sophie who looked up from her food dish, and scooped up the keys to Clay’s old truck. She grabbed her purse, too, and left immediately. She couldn’t deal with the Montgomerys right now; she needed time to think. But her cell phone kept ringing and ringing.
“Leave me alone!” she cried and swerved around the next corner, nearly crashing into Ray Harper, who was coming the other way.
Hunter wondered how he could show a man the pictures he had in his possession and ask, “Is this your daughter?” He couldn’t imagine the pain of recognizing his own child in such a photograph. Or maybe he could imagine it. That was why he was having trouble approaching the door, why he was holding back.
But he had to talk to Ray, didn’t he? He had to figure out the role these girls played in what had happened.
Maybe Ray already knew what Barker had done to his daughter. It was possible that Rose Lee had gone to her father for help. That might’ve been what caused the falling out between Ray and Barker. It was even possible that Ray, and not Irene, had killed Barker.