"Sometimes the truth hurts," he murmured carelessly in her ear.
Kirk reached out to steady her, but Allie couldn't hold back the tears. Especially as she watched Hendricks and Joe force open the door to the bedroom and turn on the light. Sure enough, her father was inside. He had his clothes on, but there was a lipstick smudge on his shirt, his face was beet red and his hair mussed.
Although Dale was trying to shield her from view, Irene was there, too, and looked even worse. Her hair, which was normally teased high, was completely flat on one side, and her mascara was running with her tears.
But the worst was yet to come. Striding into the room, Joe picked up a scrap of fabric that had been shoved under the bed. "What's this?" he said and held it up for all to see.
It was a tiny sheer teddy.
Chapter 19
As the sun came up, Allie sat at her kitchen table, staring into the cup of coffee that had grown cold more than an hour ago. She'd brought her mother home with her and tried to feed her--with no success. Finally, she'd given her a sedative and put her to bed in Whitney's room. She already knew she'd never forget Evelyn's gasp of pain as they both stood facing the proof of Dale's infidelity.
The images that once again entered Allie's mind threatened to make her ill. Pushing her coffee away, she squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to block out the worst of what she'd seen and heard. But it was no good. Everything came back to her: her father's halting apology, Irene crying that Dale was the only man she'd ever loved, Joe calling them both the most degrading of names, Kirk almost punching him, the mayor showing up in the midst of the chaos. It was difficult to believe that less than a year before, Allie had been married and living in Chicago, and longing for Stillwater as if it was still the perfect haven it'd always been for her.
Maybe she and Sam hadn't had the best relationship, but her life had been far saner than it was now. She was divorced, Dale and Evelyn would probably soon follow, she'd lost her job, and her father was about to join her in the ranks of the unemployed. Beyond all that, she loved a man who was, most likely, going to prison.
God, she wanted to be with Clay....
"Home's supposed to be...safe," she muttered. She'd come back to Stillwater to recoup, rebuild. Instead, she felt as if her life had fallen apart bit by bit--and at a faster rate after she'd returned than before.
She wondered how her brother would take the news of what had happened last night.
Briefly, she considered calling him, but couldn't make herself go through with it. She had to come to terms with this new reality first. Actually, she wasn't sure how she'd ever tell Daniel that their father had been sleeping with Irene Montgomery. Finding out that Dale was having an affair was bad enough. Betrayal was never easy to accept. But cheating with Irene Montgomery? That created all sorts of additional complications.
If Allie had her guess, it was only a matter of time until Joe began to fight for another search of the farm, saying that her father had purposely avoided the barn when they were digging there before. As she left this morning, he was already claiming that Dale knew all about Barker and had been keeping quiet for Irene's sake.
Allie remembered her father's comment that the Montgomerys had been through enough.
Did he know what had happened?
Covering a yawn, she got up and tried to busy herself by cleaning up--throwing out the leftover eggs she'd cooked for her mother, washing the dishes, putting them away. But she had no energy, could hardly move. Thinking about the conversation she had to have with her daughter when she picked Whitney up from Emily's in a few hours didn't help. How was she going to explain why Boppo was coming to live with them? And later in the day, Allie had a meeting with Grace. They'd arranged it yesterday. Would Clay's sister be surprised about Dale and Irene? Or did she already know about the affair? What about Madeline and Molly? And Clay? Surely Kirk had called them all by now. Except Clay, of course.
Remembering Clay's evasive answers when she'd told him that she was afraid her father might be cheating on her mother, and his reluctance to come to the cabin after that, she guessed Clay had known all along. It bothered her that he'd heard her deepest fears and hadn't leveled with her--but not because she couldn't understand why. His silence emphasized the fact that he had other people to protect, other people who meant more to him than she did.
Of course. What they'd had was...fleeting, unreal. A one-time encounter. She knew that and yet she had a hard time really believing it. Making love with Clay had felt so powerful, so visceral and meaningful.
Suddenly claustrophic, Allie dried her wet hands and walked outside. It was a mild Sunday morning. No one on her street seemed to be up yet.
She sat in the plastic chair she'd placed on her porch and stared across the street at Jed Fowler's. She had to find out who shot Clay. She also had to prove that Clay wasn't guilty of murder and that her father hadn't turned a blind eye to the fact that he was.
A neighbor's cat jumped from the top of her mailbox to the ground, reminding her that she hadn't retrieved yesterday's mail. Chances were good that there'd only be a stack of bills. But, like Madeline, she was expecting her tax return. Thinking the money might help her survive until her life improved, she walked down the driveway and checked inside the box.
There was a large package jammed inside. After struggling to pull it out, she realized it hadn't come through the mail. It had no return address or postage. Just her name in big bold letters across the front.
Who'd delivered this? And when?
She checked the box again, and found a page of coupons and a few bills. Nothing else.
Instinctively, she looked around her, but whoever had brought it was long gone.
When she opened the package, she could see why.
The man the jailer led down the narrow gray hall outside Clay's cell stood several inches taller than Clay, which made him six-eight or so. Shackled and wearing handcuffs, he was on his way to the empty cage next door, but he was smiling as if his arrest and subsequent lockup didn't bother him at all.
Leaning against the bars of his own cell, Clay watched, wondering why this Goliath of a man seemed so damn happy. It couldn't be because anyone was making him feel welcome here.
The jailer handled him more roughly than he had Clay and responded curtly to every question.
"When's dinner?" the man asked. "I'm looking forward to my three squares a day, you know? It's a bitch on the outside. You gotta feed yourself."
"You'll eat when it comes," the jailer responded. The officer's disgust was obvious, but his rudeness didn't disturb the new inmate. The man laughed as the jailer clanked the door shut and stalked off. Then he turned to Clay.