"Who's this?" Whitney asked.
Squinting to see clearly in the light filtering through a crack in the blinds, Allie focused on the object her daughter was trying to show her. "What do you have there, sweetheart?"
"It's a picture," she said, confusion etching a frown on her soft, round face.
"Of who?"
"A man."
The sleepiness Allie had felt a moment ago fell away as she realized her daughter was holding a photo of Clay Montgomery. Allie had brought his file home, hoping to finish her report on last night's events. Whitney must have been going through the box she used to transfer work back and forth.
"No one you know," she said in a careless tone.
Her daughter wrinkled up her nose. "Why isn't he wearing any clothes?"
Allie might've smiled at Whitney's distaste--if she hadn't been so aware of Clay when she was taking that picture. "He's wearing pants," she said.
Whitney still seemed skeptical. "I can't see them."
Allie searched the bottom of the photograph for any hint of a denim waistband. "I guess they don't show up, but they're there."
Her daughter continued to stare at Clay. "Why isn't he smiling?"
"He's not the type to smile." Allie remembered the sexy grin he'd given her when she'd asked him to remove his shirt. After you. "At least not very often." Which was probably a good thing, she added silently. It was almost intoxicating when he did.
"Are you going to put this on the fridge, beside my picture?"
Allie could imagine what her parents would think of having a bare-chested Clay Montgomery facing them every time they reached for a gallon of milk. "No, honey. I only have that because I need it for work."
Hoping to divert her daughter's attention from Clay's photo, Allie asked, "Where's your grandma?"
"In the kitchen. She's getting me a snack. She said I shouldn't bother you, but I wanted to say hi."
She gave her daughter a big hug. "You can say hello to me anytime."
As always, Whitney returned the embrace with plenty of enthusiasm. She was so loving that Allie couldn't believe her ex-husband could feel such animosity for their child, that he could hate being a father. His attitude toward Whitney was completely inexplicable to her. "You're getting big, aren't you?"
"I'm not in kindergarten anymore," she said proudly.
But the distraction didn't last. As soon as Allie released her, Whitney bent her blond head over Clay's picture again. "Is this a bad guy?"
Allie didn't think Clay was a bad guy in the sense that Whitney meant it. But his reputation suggested he wasn't an innocent, either. There were a lot of questions when it came to the Barker case, questions he hadn't gone out of his way to answer. "No. I took this picture to show that he doesn't have any marks on him that would indicate he'd been in a fight."
"Oh," she said, as though that cleared up all the confusion.
Fortunately, before Whitney could ask another question about Clay, Allie's mother's footsteps sounded in the hall.
When Whitney glanced expectantly toward the door, Allie shoved Clay's picture between her mattress and box spring. She'd taken that photo and the others to establish the truth, but she knew protecting Clay, even in the interests of truth, wouldn't be applauded in Stillwater, even in her parents' home.
"How are you feeling?" Evelyn asked as she stepped into the room.
"Boppo, I asked for cookies," Whitney complained when she saw that her grandmother carried a plate laden with a sandwich and chips. "I already ate lunch."
"This is for your mother. Your cookies are out on the counter."
"Oh!"
Evelyn grinned as Whitney hurried past her, then handed the plate to Allie.
Allie had never dreamed she'd move back in with her parents. Not at thirty-three and with a child of her own. It was humbling, maybe even a little humiliating, to find herself right back where she'd started. No one liked to feel like a failure. But Dale and Evelyn owned a three-thousand-square-foot single-story rambler on four and a half acres. It didn't make sense to pay for two households when they had so much room. Especially when living with Grandma and Grandpa meant Whitney could sleep in her own bed while Allie worked. Dale and Evelyn had a guesthouse down the hill, closer to the pond. Allie could've taken that--and would if it became necessary--but so far she liked being close to her parents more than she didn't like it. The last six years of her ten-year marriage had been particularly rough. Living in her own personal hell had made her grateful for their love. "Thanks, Mom."
"It was no trouble. How was work last night?"
"Interesting." She kicked off the covers. It was only mid-May, but she could already feel the humidity of summer creeping up on them.
Her mother smiled. "Interesting?" she asked in apparent surprise. "What, did you give out a speeding ticket? Pick up someone for expired tags?"
Evidently her father hadn't learned about the excitement last night. He hadn't called Evelyn about it, anyway. Regardless, Allie preferred not to discuss it. She'd heard her mother talk about Clay Montgomery before, knew Evelyn would believe Beth Ann before she'd ever believe Clay, and didn't want to feel defensive.
"I drove a few folks home from Let the Good Times Roll," she said--which was true, an hour or so before the call came in from the county dispatcher.
"That's it?" Evelyn asked.
"Pretty much." Allie knew she could convince her mother that Clay hadn't really attacked Beth Ann, that the evidence didn't support it. But she was uncomfortable with the fact that she'd felt slightly attracted to him and was afraid that, in the process of explaining, she might somehow give that away.
Ironically enough, in a roundabout way, Evelyn brought up the subject of Clay herself.
"Are you making any progress on the Barker case?" she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Because she was so thin, she had more wrinkles on her face than Dale, Allie's father, who was ruddy and barrel-chested and looked about ten years younger than his real age. But her mother was still attractive, in a faded-rose sort of way.
"A little." Just reading all the reports and statements in the boxes that were stacked in the small locked storage room at the station had been a chore. Allie had one more box to go; she hadn't had time to wade through its contents yet. Her father kept giving her other assignments. And she was the only one really working the night shift. It wasn't as if Hendricks was any help.
"From what I've seen so far, there're a lot of contradictions," she said. "Deirdre Hunt claims she saw Reverend Barker heading out of town at eight-thirty. Bonnie Ray Simpson says she saw him pull into the farm at about the same time. And you know Jed Fowler was there that night, fixing the tractor in the barn. He says he never heard or saw anything."