“Yes,” she said. “I couldn’t say anything. It was after midnight. My parents didn’t even know I was out of the house. Lori would’ve lost her job. I don’t have to tell you that this town isn’t very forgiving of—” she lowered her voice yet again “—alternative lifestyles, to say nothing of a teacher-student relationship. It’s been thirteen years, but nothing’s changed there.”
“So why are you telling me?” At this point, Kennedy would rather not have known. He already cared about Grace, didn’t want to see this destroy her life. He’d hidden the Bible and decided to keep his own mouth shut.
“Why do you think?” she whispered harshly. “I’m trying to warn you that the Vincellis are probably right about Barker. What else could’ve happened that night? Clay was on his way out of town. The reverend’s car hasn’t been seen since. You put it together.”
Hank Pew bumped against Kennedy, nearly throwing him into Janice. Catching himself, Kennedy waited until Hank had muttered an apology and gone to the bar for another drink.
“Who else have you told?” he asked.
“No one. No one else can know. Lori might’ve moved away, but my parents still live in this town, and they’re begging me to get married and have a family. I have no desire to hurt them in their old age—or have my own place get torched. I’m sort of partial to my flower farm, you know?”
“So this is only for my benefit?”
“It’s for Raelynn and your boys, too. You’re good people. I don’t want to see you get mixed up with the Montgomerys. Even if Grace didn’t have anything to do with the actual murder, she’s kept silent all these years—working as a district attorney, no less. They’ll lynch her for that alone, if they ever find out. Think about your kids. If they become attached to her, what would seeing her go through a trial and possibly wind up in jail do to them?”
Kennedy couldn’t imagine. He’d never had to worry about anything like that before.
“Joe’s coming,” Janice said. “I gotta go.”
Kennedy caught her arm. “Wait—”
“No, I’ve done my part. I don’t ever want to talk about this again. Whether you take my advice or not is up to you,” she said and slipped into the crowd.
Kennedy watched her pass through the front door just as Joe reached him. “What was going on over here?” he asked. “That bitch looked like she had something serious to say to you.”
“She’s worried about the road near her house,” Kennedy replied. “If I get elected, she wants me to see about making some improvements.”
Joe wore a skeptical expression. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” he said and went through the motions of playing another two games of pool, just to keep up appearances. But his mind was on Grace the whole time—and the fact that he could no longer ignore the past and simply hope for the best.
He had to know what happened that night.
Clay didn’t answer his door right away. Kennedy thought maybe Grace’s brother wasn’t there. He was about to give up and head home to relieve Kari Monson, his Thursday-night babysitter, when the porch light snapped on. Then a curtain moved in the window, and he felt rather than saw someone looking out at him.
Finally, the lock clicked and the door opened.
“Kennedy,” Clay said, his expression curious yet guarded. “What can I do for you?”
Kennedy had hoped Clay would invite him in, but judging by the way he was dressed—in a pair of jeans with no shirt or shoes—this wasn’t a good time. “I’m sorry to bother you so late. But could you spare me a couple of minutes?”
Clay glanced back over his shoulder, leading Kennedy to believe he wasn’t alone. If it had been a Friday night, Kennedy might’ve expected him to have company. But not during the week. Clay worked too hard. Occasionally he showed up at the Let the Good Times Roll tavern, but more often he went to bed early.
“Clay? Who is it?” A woman’s voice. Kennedy thought it might be Alexandra Martin, who owned the breakfast café in town, but he knew it could be any one of a number of women. Eligible members of the opposite sex didn’t seem to care that Clay might’ve been involved in a murder. Some of them were making a career out of trying to win him over. They cooked him dinner, baked him cakes, occasionally accompanied him to the tavern and far more often kept his bed warm. But much to the disappointment of his many admirers—and the relief of their relatives—Clay remained as aloof as ever. Kennedy was willing to bet Grace’s brother would never marry.
“Should I come back tomorrow?” he asked, even though he felt like he needed to talk to Clay now, before he could spend one more second thinking about what Janice had said.
“That depends,” Clay said softly. “Does this have anything to do with my sister?”
It had everything to do with Grace. But Kennedy didn’t want to put it that way. “It has more to do with the past.”
Clay stepped outside and closed the door. “What do you have to say?”
Kennedy considered telling him that Janice had come forward. He knew it would increase his chances of reaching the truth if he could name a witness. But she’d put herself at risk to protect Heath and Teddy. Maybe Clay would guess, if he’d seen her that night eighteen years ago, but Kennedy wouldn’t reveal her identity.
“Someone saw you driving the reverend’s car the night he went missing,” he said.
Kennedy wasn’t sure if he’d expected a visible reaction to this news. If so, he should’ve known better. Clay was too good at poker to give himself away—and he’d been playing this game for far too long. “And five other people saw five other things,” he said.
“This is someone I trust.”
“Well, I don’t know who told you that, but they’re mistaken. The reverend never let me drive his car.”
“His lack of permission is part of the problem,” Kennedy said.
A muscle flexed in Clay’s cheek, but Kennedy wasn’t about to back off. “I caught Grace with the Bible the reverend carried around everywhere. I know you or someone else in your family was involved that night.”
There was a slight narrowing of Clay’s eyes, but nothing more. “So why don’t you go to the police?” he asked.
Kennedy scowled. “You know why.”