Dead Giveaway. Brenda Novak
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to Allie’s relief, Evelyn managed to coax her from the room with the promise of calling Uncle Daniel in Arizona to say hello.
“Will Aunt Jamie be there, too?” Whitney asked.
“Maybe,” Evelyn said. “We’ll see.”
As soon as they were gone, Allie pulled Clay’s photograph from under her mattress, intending to return it to the file. She had no reason to feel embarrassed that she had it. It was work, that was all. And yet his fathomless blue eyes held her spellbound.
Was he a murderer? An accomplice? Or a convenient target?
At this point, she had no idea. She only knew he was the handsomest man she’d ever met.
With a curse, she shoved the photograph back between the mattresses—she didn’t want her mother and Whitney to catch her leaving the room with it—and forced herself to get up.
It rained again that night, and steam rose from the warm earth. Clay stood at his bedroom window, watching it, listening to the wind whip the trees against the house. The ferocity of the storm made him feel more isolated than usual, and yet it reminded him that seasons changed and life went on—even though he felt like he was trapped in the past.
The phone rang. After a long day of plowing, he’d replaced the roof on one of the sheds behind the barn. His back ached from hauling the heavy roofing material up the ladder and from bending over to attach each shingle. He wanted to go to bed. But, tired as he was, he strode to the nightstand and reached for the handset. It had to be Beth Ann. He’d tried calling her twice earlier.
“Hello?”
“Clay?”
It was her, all right. Stretching out on the bed, he gazed up at the ceiling, wondering why he wasn’t angry. She’d done her best to land him in prison, which was still a possibility. But he blamed himself more than he blamed her. At least she was willing to make a commitment. He couldn’t even offer her friendship.
“What’s up?” he said.
There was a moment’s hesitation, during which he felt her surprise at receiving his typical greeting. “You’re not mad?” she asked.
“That depends on what you mean by mad.”
Her voice dropped. “I’m sorry, if that helps.”
She sounded contrite, which made it even more difficult to hold what she’d done against her. Maybe she wasn’t the finest person in the world. But she wasn’t the worst, either. And Clay didn’t think he’d be nominated for sainthood anytime in the near future. “It happened. It’s over. I think we should both forget it and move on.”
“I agree,” she said eagerly.
Did that mean they could move on? He squeezed his forehead, anxious about what he might learn in the next few minutes. It was unlikely that Beth Ann was pregnant—but unlikely wasn’t impossible. “Just tell me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
Thunder boomed in the distance and rolled across the sky, loud enough to rattle the windows. “Is it true, what you said?”
He thought she’d immediately know what he meant. But he realized that wasn’t the case when she answered.
“No. Whatever Allie told you, she must’ve made it up. I was upset and I mouthed off. But she’s the one who wouldn’t let me go until I’d signed that silly statement.”
At this point, the damage from last night had already been done. All that mattered to Clay was whether or not there was a baby. But Beth Ann’s words were so unexpected they managed to distract him. “Are you trying to tell me it was Allie’s fault you said I confessed to murder?”
“Yes! She took advantage of me. Maybe you haven’t heard, but she’s planning to solve your stepfather’s case. I guess she wants to show all us country bumpkins what a detective from the big city can do.”
Allie’s image appeared in Clay’s mind. She wasn’t a beauty like Beth Ann, but she had a unique face. Short dark hair framed large brown eyes, a handful of freckles dotted her small nose, and her chin was, perhaps, too sharp. Because of her diminutive size, the freckles made her look almost childlike. But she had a beauty mark on her right cheek that added a degree of sophistication. And there was nothing childlike about her mouth. Full and soft-looking, it seemed a little misplaced juxtaposed against that nose and those freckles, but it was a very womanly feature and somehow pulled all the disparate parts of her face together.
“Stop blaming Allie,” he said, growing irritated. Allie was honest. He could tell. But that didn’t make him trust her. Because it was the truth that posed the biggest threat to him.
“It was her.”
“Bullshit. Allie’s not that kind of person.”
“Since when do you know her so well?”
He could read the jealousy in Beth Ann’s voice. But he had no patience for that, either. “You don’t have to know her. All you have to do is meet her. She takes that badge seriously.”
“She’s a chip off the old block, Clay. And the police have been out to get you for a long time.”
“Allie’s not out to get me, Beth Ann.” At least not yet. But that could change once she discovered that her father was having an affair with his mother. Or when she dug a bit deeper into the disappearance of Lee Barker.
“I wouldn’t have signed that statement without her, Clay. I promise.”
Beth Ann obviously thought it’d make a difference if she passed the blame. Clay understood that, but he couldn’t admire it. “I don’t care about the statement you gave Allie. If that was enough to put me in prison, I’d be there already. I just want to know about…”
“What?”
“The baby.”
“What baby?”
“You told her you were pregnant, remember?”
“Oh, well—” she laughed uncomfortably “—like I told you, I was upset and said some things I shouldn’t have. But I retracted them right away.”
Closing his eyes, he let his breath seep slowly between his lips. “So it’s not true?” he asked. He needed to be sure.
“No, but—” her voice fell to a hopeful whisper “—would you have married me if it was?”
Although he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, the answer to that question had been lurking in his heart and mind for twenty-four hours—ever since he’d first learned of the possibility. Which was why he’d been so frightened. After what he’d experienced growing up, he wanted to raise any child of his on a full-time basis and, if he could, he’d ensure that child received the support of both mother and father. Even if it meant marrying a woman he didn’t love. “Probably,” he admitted.
When his answer met with complete silence, he knew he’d shocked her.
“I’ll let you go,” he said.
“Wait…Clay, if it’s a baby you want, I’ll give you one. We could make it work.”
He imagined hearing a little girl’s laughter in the house, or taking his son out on the farm. Since Grace’s marriage, he had two nephews. Teddy and Heath belonged to Kennedy, her husband, but Clay loved them as much as if they were blood relatives. He wanted a couple of boys just like them, or maybe a little girl like Grace. Strained though their relationship had been since Barker, they were getting along much better these days. She’d always been his favorite, not only because they were closer in age, but because she was so fragile and lovely.
Thinking of his nephews made Beth Ann’s suggestion more tempting than he’d ever imagined it would be—almost worth the trade-off. He was thirty-four years old. Had his situation been different,