Allie managed to keep her brain working well enough to answer, but it took a real effort.
Her mind had drifted to Barker's Bible and the supposed "love" he felt for his stepdaughter. It wasn't love. He'd been sexually obsessed.
"There's no need for you to feel guilty, Maddy," she said. "I know you're not responsible for what your father, I mean--" she cleared her throat "-- stepmother has done."
Maddy seemed a bit confused by Allie's mistake but didn't comment on it. "I didn't know, I swear."
"Did Clay?" Allie asked, gazing through his kitchen window toward the barn outside.
"I doubt it."
She turned to glance around the kitchen. She'd had to kick out the cardboard they'd used to cover the broken window downstairs in order to get in. But it had been worth it to find a place where she could be alone and was unlikely to be disturbed. Her mother was refusing to accept Dale's calls or speak of the affair. And she was ignoring Allie--as though Allie was to blame for the situation--and lavishing one hundred percent of her attention on Whitney. Evelyn was trying to buffer herself from the pain. But Allie knew she'd have to deal with it at some point and worried that this would only put off her recovery.
Then there was Joe. Allie was afraid that even though his chances of getting a search warrant had improved by a large margin, he'd be back late tonight to find what he could. Clay's absence was too good an opportunity to pass up.
"I'm sure Grace didn't know, either," Madeline was saying. "She would've told me."
Allie picked up a Polaroid of Grace at twelve or thirteen years old. She couldn't tell where it had been taken but Grace was naked and spread eagled, her wrists and ankles tied. Another showed Barker with his mouth between her legs, his head slightly distorted as if he'd held the camera out and taken the picture himself.
Of course Grace would tell Madeline if their mother was having an affair, Allie thought sarcastically. Clay and Grace told Madeline everything, right?
Swallowing a sigh, Allie shook her head. Madeline had no idea. The Montgomerys loved her and treated her well, but they kept their secrets to themselves.
And she could see why. There were pictures here that revealed such depravity she couldn't even bear to pick them up.
Swiping her arm across the counter, she sent them fluttering to the floor. She didn't try to hold back her tears. What she'd seen wounded her in a way she'd never been hurt before. How could any man, least of all a minister, do what Barker had done? Experience had taught Allie how evil some people could be. In Chicago, she'd gained quite an education in that department. But this was different. The perpetrator wasn't a stranger. He was a man who'd dressed up as Santa Claus and dangled her on his knee, a man who'd encouraged her to be chaste and good and to save herself for marriage--the worst kind of hypocrite.
And the victims! Although older than Allie, they were women she'd known. Rosy Lee Harper had overdosed on sleeping pills at sixteen. Allie still remembered getting out of school to attend her funeral. And Katie Swanson had run away at--Allie couldn't quite remember because she'd been so young at the time--fifteen? Almost everyone in town had gathered to help find her, even Barker. He'd led the search! They'd combed the entire area until they received word that she'd been found dead on the highway, the victim of a hit and run. Both girls came from very poor families who'd relied heavily on the support of their minister.
Allie pressed her lips tightly together to squelch a sob. God, what Barker had done, what he'd caused. Poor Grace. She was the lone survivor.
Was that because of Clay?
Allie's conversation with Madeline had been filled with more silence than words. Madeline was being patient, but Allie shouldn't have answered the phone. She'd just...wanted to reach out to someone. She'd irrationally hoped that Madeline would set the world right again, or at least explain why. But the only person who could do that had disappeared nineteen years ago.
"I'd better run," Allie said at last. Madeline couldn't save her from the confusion and pain.
No one could--and she wasn't even involved. She was just viewing the evidence.
"Allie..."
From the sympathetic way she said her name, Allie knew Madeline had heard the tears in her voice. "I'm okay," she said.
"I'm so sorry."
"Don't be. We can't control what other people do."
"I know, but...please call me if I can help."
"I will," she promised and disconnected. Then she collected all the pictures and shoved them back in her purse, because she couldn't stand to look at them anymore. What was she going to do? If she turned them over to the police, they'd convince everyone that Barker had come to some violent end--and they'd give Clay a very compelling reason to have harmed him.
What happened the night the reverend went missing? Allie wondered for the millionth time. Had Clay discovered what Barker was doing to Grace and put a very decisive stop to it? Only yesterday, she would've bet her soul that Clay hadn't been the one to kill his stepfather.
But today, after seeing the pictures, she believed that if anything could make Clay resort to murder, what Barker had done was it.
A bump jolted Allie out of a deep sleep. Blinking, she gazed around her, taking in the neat but sparsely furnished room, bathed in a dim, eerie glow. The light in the adjoining kitchen was the only one she'd left on, but after a moment she could tell that she was in Clay's living room. She'd fallen asleep on the couch.
Sitting up, she tried to identify the noise that had disturbed her. The darkness felt heavy, oppressive. It was late. Too late for friendly visitors.
Had she heard a cat, jumping from the railing to the porch? Or was it...a car door?
It hadn't been a big bump. It was more of a quiet--
Thump.
There it was again. Nerves prickling, Allie reached for her purse and hugged it close to her body. Joe's goals in coming to the farm would have nothing to do with her purse. She doubted he'd glance twice at it. But she had to protect it, just in case. She couldn't let those pictures fall into the wrong hands--
Swish...Click...
That was no cat. Someone was in the house.
Thrusting her purse under the couch where it wouldn't be seen, she grabbed the closest lamp. Then she crept silently to the wall near the opening to the kitchen and pressed herself against it. The movements she heard seemed to be coming from the area around the back door.
Creak...creak...creak, creak, creak...Someone was crossing the kitchen floor.
Heart pumping, Allie leaned forward and peered around the door frame to see who it was.
She held the lamp high, ready to bring it crashing down on the head of the intruder. But what she saw surprised her. It was Grace, carrying her new baby in an infant seat.