“When we were kids, Madeline told us she’d found that magazine.” Clay’s odd smile lingered. “She said it was gross.”
“To a nine-year-old, I’m sure it was.” Hunter used his straw to stir the ice in his glass. “But when she was older, didn’t it make her question her father’s adherence to his own standards?”
“Why would it?” Clay said. “The minute he found out she’d seen that magazine, he told her he’d confiscated it from one of his parishioners, who was a ‘vile sinner on the surest road to hell.’ He burned it in front of her, said he’d planned to do that all along.”
“Bummer he had to dispose of it before he was finished with it,” Hunter said sarcastically.
“He didn’t need it. He had other things to entertain him.”
Hunter’s stomach muscles tensed. “Like…”
Clay shrugged and wouldn’t volunteer any more. So Hunter asked him directly. “Who do the other panties belong to?”
Madeline’s stepbrother used his index finger to circle the top of his beer. “How much is she paying you?” he asked instead of answering.
Hunter shoved his club soda away. “Why? Are you going to try and buy me off?”
Clay’s gaze never wavered. “Would it work if I did?”
“No. It’s not about the money.” Returning Madeline’s five thousand was the only way Hunter could ease his guilt over what had happened between them earlier. He’d decided to send her a check the minute he got back to L.A.
“What’s it about then?” Clay asked.
“I want to help her.”
“If that’s true, you’ll go home tomorrow,” he said and walked out, leaving the rest of his beer on the table.
Ray swore as he tried to stanch the blood from the cut on his right arm. The glass had sliced him so smoothly he hadn’t realized how deep the injury was. He was pretty sure he needed stitches. But he couldn’t go to a doctor. He’d seen the shows on TV, knew they’d trace the break-in at Madeline’s place back to him. It wasn’t as if he lived in a big city. He was probably the only person who’d cut himself tonight.
Holding his arm close to his body, he fumbled with the gauze from the old first aid kit he’d found under his bathroom sink. He wanted to bandage the wound, but it was awkward with just his left hand. The damn thing wouldn’t stop bleeding. Maybe if he applied a little more pressure…
A knock on his front door made him go rigid with fear. Had Madeline seen him? Had she sent the police? The bitch wasn’t even supposed to be home. When he found her car gone, he’d thought he was safe.
He glanced up at the tiny window above the shower. It was too small and too high to climb out of. But he could get to the back bedroom, crawl through that window and sneak out via the woods, heading toward the highway, where he could flag down a trucker. He was just trying to calculate how much of a lead that would afford him when the second knock came. It was more insistent than the first, but the voice that accompanied it left Ray sagging in relief.
“Hey, Ray. You in there? It’s me, Bubba.”
Bubba lived next door and was always trying to bum cigarettes off him. But it was after midnight. He’d thought he was safe. “Don’t have any smokes,” Ray yelled.
“That’s not why I’m here. The light in your car is on, man. Wouldn’t want to let your battery run down, ya know?”
Ray had been planning to go back out and clean up the car. He couldn’t leave the blood on his seat and steering wheel. “Don’t worry about it,” he called. “I’ll take care of it in a minute.”
There was a long silence, during which Ray hoped Bubba was lumbering back to his own damn trailer. At nearly five hundred pounds, Bubba was on state assistance because he couldn’t work. But he managed to get around pretty damn well if he wanted something.
“I saw you bringin’ in some groceries earlier. You don’t happen to have a beer, do ya?”
Son of a bitch. Ray gritted his teeth. Bubba was still there. And he’d obviously seen the six-pack Ray had carried in earlier. Which meant he wouldn’t leave until he had a cold beer in his fat hand.
Hastily wrapping the gauze around his cut and taping it as well as he could, Ray changed his clothes, being careful as he slipped the sleeve of his shirt over his injury. Then he shoved the box he’d taken from Madeline’s house into the back bedroom, where it couldn’t be seen. He wanted to go through it right away, make sure he had what he thought he had. But with Bubba nosing around, it’d have to wait.
“Hey, Ray?” Bubba’s voice again.
Ray felt a muscle twitch below his left eye. Bubba was annoying on a good day. And this was not a good day.
Hauling in a calming breath, he said, “Yeah?”
“You okay in there?”
He was just closing the door of the back room, but the hesitancy in Bubba’s voice gave him pause. “Sure. Why?”
“The blood, man. I tried to turn off the light for you and found blood all over the inside of your car. Are you hurt?”
Fuck! That was it. Clearing his mind, Ray began walking very deliberately toward the living room. Bubba was no problem. A man that obese could die at any moment.
Too bad it’d have to be tonight.
Chapter Seventeen
If that’s true, you’ll go home to California tomorrow…
Hunter sat at the table he’d shared with Clay more than an hour earlier, mulling over that statement while nursing another watered-down soda. He had half a mind to take Clay’s advice, to get out of town while he could.
But it was already too late. When he’d read Madeline’s childhood diary, the mention of Katie’s neck injury had jumped right off the page. He’d immediately connected it to the word collar used by whoever had called Madeline’s office and left that raspy message.
Or was he grasping for something that wasn’t there?
He didn’t think so. Someone knew what had happened and was nervous about its coming out. But he felt surprisingly confident that it wasn’t Clay who’d called. Clay wouldn’t have left that message on Maddy’s answering machine. He loved her, for one thing. And the Montgomerys’ position was that Grace had never been molested. Understandably, he wanted to distance his family from such a strong motive for murder.
And that meant someone else was involved. Hunter wanted to figure out who it was. But there was so much else to consider—including the memory of making love to Madeline against that tree and the desire to be with her again. He wasn’t ready for a relationship. Falling in love would be the ultimate betrayal of his daughter. He couldn’t love Antoinette, but could he love someone else? Find happiness elsewhere?