“So soon? Come on. I drove all the way out here to have some fun. The least you can do is hang out with me for a few minutes. There’re so many things I’m dying to ask you.”
The foreboding that plagued her so often returned. “I can’t imagine why you’d want to ask me anything.”
“I’m not the only one. You hold the key to the big mystery, right?”
“Wrong. I don’t know where the reverend is.”
“That’s what you call him now?”
She cursed her stupidity. She’d been away from Stillwater too long. “What do you want me to call him?”
“If I remember correctly, it was always Daddy before.”
“He never legally adopted me. And I’m thirty-one years old.”
“Still, you could’ve said ‘my father.’ I don’t know where my father is.”
The chill of the evening seemed to soak right through Grace’s sweatshirt. She hugged herself for warmth. “I thought you might take exception to it.”
“I see. But you didn’t care about that when you were a kid.”
“It never even occurred to me.”
“And now you’re all grown up.” He grinned at Kennedy. “We’ve noticed.”
Kennedy gave him a dirty look, but Joe didn’t seem to let it bother him. “So what are your theories on the disappearance of my uncle Lee?” he asked. “Surely you’ve got a few ideas.”
“Enough about your uncle,” Kennedy said sharply.
Joe cocked his head to one side. “The subject doesn’t interest you?”
“I’m sick of hearing about it.”
“Then you’re the only person who is. Except maybe for Grace.”
“Daddy?” Teddy called from the tent, his voice filled with sleep.
“What is it, bud?” Kennedy responded.
“Heath just kicked me.”
“Push him over.”
“I tried. He’s too heavy.”
Kennedy shot Joe what looked like a warning glance as he strode past him to take care of his son. But when he ducked inside the tent, Joe leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “Why don’t the two of us try to put the puzzle together?”
“How do you propose we do that?” Grace asked. “He disappeared without a trace.”
“Without a trace,” Joe repeated. “See, that’s where you lose me. I believe there has to be some clue, someone who saw something.”
Like Jed Fowler…. “Who?” she challenged, knowing if Joe had anything solid she would’ve heard about it already.
“Nora Young had a meeting with him at the church. She claims she was still in the parking lot talking to Rachelle Cook when he locked up and got in his car. Rachelle confirms it.”
“So? Dede Hunt saw him heading out of town at about eight-thirty.”
“She thought she saw a car that looked like his. That’s different.” The shadows made his sly smile appear rather sinister. “And Bonnie Ray Simpson, the closest neighbor, said she saw his car parked in the drive around nine or ten.”
“Bonnie Ray’s an alcoholic.”
“That doesn’t mean she didn’t see his car.”
Grace leaned back, careful to seem completely at ease. “He never came home. Only my mother returned.”
“When was that?”
“About nine. She came from choir practice at Ruby Bradford’s.”
“She didn’t see him?”
“You know she didn’t. I told you, he didn’t come home.”
Joe rocked back. “God, doesn’t it drive you nuts, Grace?”
She took another drink of her water, watching him steadily over the rim. “What?”
“Not knowing.”
“I’ve finally come to terms with it,” she lied. She’d managed to block out part of that night—the part that came right after the reverend locked Molly out and right before her mother came home. But there was so much more that haunted her….
“You sound pretty certain that this mystery can’t be solved,” Joe said, clicking his tongue. “Do you know something we don’t?”
She remembered Clay getting home shortly after her mother—heard the shouts, the terrible thud of fist on bone. “You’ve asked me that before. Do you think the answer’s going to change?”
“I can always hope.”
“You can hope that the Easter Bunny’s real, too, but that won’t make it so.”
He studied her for a moment. “Your mother had a black eye the day after my uncle disappeared. And Clay had a cut lip.”
“Clay was getting a plate from the cupboard and accidentally clipped her with his elbow. When he bent over to see if she was okay, she lifted her head unexpectedly and caught him in the mouth.” There were more injuries that Grace remembered. But fortunately, they could be hidden.
“You’re sure.”
“Are you insinuating that your beloved uncle, a man of the cloth, would ever strike a woman? Or beat up a younger man?”
Joe chuckled at her neat dodge and drained the whiskey in his cup. “Maybe he was provoked.”
“He was far too patient and gentle for that.”
The zipper of the tent alerted them to the fact that Kennedy was back.
“What do you think, Kennedy?” Joe asked, setting his mug on the ground.
Kennedy moved to the picnic table and started stowing all the stuff the boys had left out. “I think you’ve had too much to drink. Why don’t we all turn in?”
“The conversation’s just gettin’ good.” Joe rubbed the whiskers on his chin. “Tell me what you think happened to him, Grace. Honestly.”
“That’s enough,” Kennedy said. “She doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m asking her, not you,” Joe responded.
Kennedy whipped around. “I don’t care. Leave her alone.”
Grace caught her breath at the sudden tension between them—and sensed an increased malevolence in Joe as he glanced back at her. “Looks like you’re coming up in the world.”
“What do you mean by that?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said.
Something had been set in motion the day she returned to Stillwater, like a rock rolling downhill, gathering speed. It would crush her if she didn’t stop it. She had to act. “What do you want from me?” she asked softly.