Allie wanted to see how definite Clay's neighbor was about that sighting. But as she looked over at the farm, wondering where Clay might have gone, she spotted the back end of his truck parked slightly behind the house. Had he missed her call because he was outside in the barn or somewhere else on the property?
Turning around, she pulled into Clay's driveway instead of Bonnie's and parked next to his truck. He hadn't answered the phone, so she didn't bother approaching the front door. She walked to the chicken coop in back, calling his name as she scanned the fields and the area between the outbuildings.
No one responded and nothing moved except the chickens pecking at the ground and the leaves on the trees, stirred by a gentle wind.
She crossed to the barn. Clay spent a lot of time restoring antique cars. She was betting she'd find him tearing apart one engine or another. But the barn doors were bolted shut and secured by a heavy padlock.
To the right, she recognized the small room that had been Barker's office. She'd accompanied her father there once to hand in her brother's permission slip for a youth campout.
That was a long time ago, but she had a vivid recollection of the middle-aged, soft-looking Barker sitting behind his wooden desk, wearing a pair of reading glasses she'd never seen on him before.
Tossing a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't being watched, she hurried closer to the window. Sunlight reflected off the glass, making it difficult to see. But when she raised a hand to shade her eyes, she found herself peering into a room that had been stripped of absolutely everything--even the carpet and the dark paneling that had once covered the walls.
Obviously, Clay didn't plan on Barker's coming back. Allie could understand, now that Barker had been gone for so many years. But she wondered why Clay hadn't turned the space into his own office. Or used it for some other purpose. Maybe he was in the process of doing so, she thought. But--she squinted to see more clearly--it appeared that someone had stabbed at the bare Sheetrock with a knife or some other sharp object.
Automatically, she began searching for the instrument that might have caused the damage, but the deep rumble of an engine distracted her. She looked between the buildings, toward the sound, just in time to see a tow truck heading toward town.
Was it Jed Fowler? Had he followed her here?
Hurrying toward the road to catch another glimpse of the truck, she charged around the corner of the house as fast as she could in high heels.
A strong arm reached out and grabbed her, halting her in midstride and causing her to step right out of one shoe.
"What are you doing here?"
Allie blinked up at Clay. She'd seen a number of closely guarded emotions flicker across his face in the past three days, more than she'd ever seen him reveal before--but now his expression was positively stony.
"You didn't answer your phone," she explained. She looked past him, trying to see the road again. But the tow truck was gone.
"And?" Clay prompted.
She gave him her full attention. "And when I was on my way to Bonnie Ray's, I spotted your vehicle and thought you must be working outside."
"I was having a shower."
She could tell. Water dripped from his hair onto his bare shoulders. He hadn't taken time to put on a shirt or shoes before coming out of the house.
"I'm sorry. I just wanted to let you know that I'm interested in dinner."
He flicked his hair out of his eyes. "So you can dig a little deeper into my past?"
"So we can work together to discover what happened to your stepfather and bring Madeline and the rest of your family some closure." Allie suspected he wouldn't like that answer, but she knew he couldn't complain about it, regardless of his true feelings.
"And your father?" he asked.
"Don't worry about my father. He's...confused right now."
"About?"
"The nature of our relationship."
"Which is..."
She wasn't completely sure herself, but she knew what it needed to be. "Professional, of course."
"Of course," he repeated.
"So where should we eat?"
He wiped away a drop of water running down his chest. "I don't like crowds."
"We could find some out-of-the-way cafe. Or...wait, I know the perfect place."
He hesitated as if he might refuse.
"Have you changed your mind?" she asked.
"Maybe."
She sent him a challenging grin. "Why? Do I make you nervous?"
He chuckled softly--the cat laughing at the canary. "What time?"
"Is it okay if we go late? After I put Whitney to bed?"
"Your call," he said.
"Fine." She told him how to get to the back of her parents' property and promised she'd be waiting at the guesthouse. From there, they'd drive on to the destination she had in mind. "Pick me up at eight-thirty."
His eyes moved over her. The blouse she was wearing wasn't particularly revealing. It wouldn't raise eyebrows even in a church, which was why she'd felt perfectly comfortable wearing it to the service today. But Clay had a way of making her feel as if he could see right through it.
Her heart began to pound for no reason at all and she realized then, more than ever, that police officer or not, she wasn't as immune to his sex appeal as she preferred to think.
The nature of our relationship is professional. Of course.
"See you at eight-thirty," he said and went back inside as if he didn't care whether she rambled around the farm. But now that he was aware of her presence, she knew she wouldn't get very far if she started snooping again. Clay was infamous for guarding his own.
With a sigh, she wiggled her foot back into the high heel she'd lost, climbed into her car and headed to Bonnie Ray's. The place she'd chosen for dinner with Clay was private indeed. Which could work in her favor, if it put Clay at ease and he actually talked to her. Or the seclusion could be a liability, if Clay was as dangerous as her father had suggested.
Was she foolish to take the chance? Possibly. But not because she feared Clay would hurt her physically. It was the promise of what he could do to make her feel good that worried her. The last thing she needed was to get intimately involved with her prime suspect.
Clay picked up Allie and they took his truck, but she insisted on driving, so they switched seats.
She drove about forty-five minutes from Stillwater to an isolated fishing shack upstream from Pickwick Lake. Then she cut the engine, grabbed the picnic basket she'd wedged into the seat between them and climbed out.
Clay wasn't sure whether or not to follow her. He didn't know where Irene and Dale spent time together, but he figured it had to be fairly close. Neither of them was ever gone for long. And Clay doubted the chief would risk meeting Irene at the guesthouse on his property in town. This small fishing hut, which Allie had described as her father's favorite getaway, sounded like a much more viable option. It was always available to Dale, very private and somewhere Evelyn probably never went.