"You can read the report," Allie said stiffly. "I'll file it when I turn in my badge." Pivoting, she stalked past Clay and collected her shoes from the cabin before marching over and climbing into the front seat of her father's cruiser.
Clay remained where he was. He'd been worried about his mother putting his sisters at risk.
But after nineteen years of caution, he was making some big mistakes of his own.
McCormick stomped around him and went into the cabin. Clay glanced over at the patrol car, but Allie didn't look back at him. She stared straight ahead, the set of her jaw testifying to her misery.
He could've avoided this whole debacle, Clay thought. If only he'd stayed home and minded his own business--the way he usually did.
But then he remembered that the window of Allie's car had been broken before he'd arrived.
Maybe it was a good thing he'd come. Whoever had shot him might've attacked her had he not shown up--
"What's this?"
Clay turned to see McCormick holding his shirt. It was so bloody he'd left it on the floor and donned his sweatshirt instead.
"What does it look like?" he said and got into the back of the cruiser.
Allie's mother hovered over her the entire time Allie was packing her belongings. Allie felt bad about the rift between her and her father, and was worried about how she'd support her daughter. But even if her father would allow it, she couldn't go back to the Stillwater police force.
They weren't interested in devoting the man-hours it would take to actually solve the Barker case.
They were only looking for a quick escape from the pressure, a way to get Clay.
She needed her own space. Complicated as her life had become, that was clear.
"Why not move into the guesthouse?" her mother asked hopefully. Wearing a pained expression, Evelyn had been waiting for the right moment to intercede. But Allie hadn't given her much of a chance. She'd been rushing from one drawer to the next. Whitney's clothes and half of her own belongings were already jammed into a large suitcase she'd had to sit on to latch. The rest she was tossing into boxes she'd stored in the garage.
"No, thanks," she muttered.
Her father had made himself scarce since their return to town. Allie couldn't guess what he was thinking. But she refused to be dependent on him any longer. She had some savings, enough to pay a security deposit and a few months' rent. She'd start looking for work on Monday.
"Where are we going, Mommy?" Whitney asked, watching her with eyes almost as wide as Evelyn's.
"Not far, sweetheart." After she'd dropped off her badge and cruiser at the station, along with a report that explained the theft and subsequent shooting, Allie had picked up a newspaper and placed a few calls. Stillwater didn't have much of a rental market. But she'd managed to lease, on a month-to-month basis, a small two-bedroom house.
The only problem was that it happened to be directly across the street from Jed Fowler's.
Allie wasn't too happy about living in Jed's neighborhood. But at least she'd be around the corner from Whitney's school.
"Why are you making such a snap decision?" Evelyn asked. "Give your father time to cool off, then sit down and talk about this with him, like adults."
Letting him cool off wouldn't help. They were on opposite sides of this issue. She hated to uproot Whitney again, but she and her father couldn't live under the same roof. The tension would be worse for her daughter than the change. "I have nothing more to say to him," she said.
"You're mad at Grandpa?" Whitney asked.
Allie tried to temper her response. "We're having a disagreement, that's all."
Whitney moved closer. "So you want to leave before he gets home?"
"That would be best." She'd rather save Whitney from hearing an upsetting argument. She had other reasons for rushing, too. She was determined to canvass the cabin and surrounding woods for evidence--before the sheriff's department could take over. She'd gone through the area once already, when Officer Grimes had taken her back to get her car. But she hadn't wanted to run into Clay, who'd be coming back for his truck, so she'd made only a cursory pass. She was embarrassed that she'd lost her objectivity so quickly. And she wasn't proud of herself for getting personally involved in a case.
Whitney hugged Evelyn's leg. "Will I still get to see Boppo?"
Seeing the panic in her daughter's face, Allie knelt in front of her. "Of course. Boppo can visit us whenever she likes."
" Visit you?" Evelyn echoed. "I won't be watching Whitney while you work?"
"Not until I get a job."
"You quit the force?"
Allie dumped the rest of her shoes on top of the quilt that had been a wedding gift. "No, Dad fired me. But...he was probably right to do so." Otherwise, she would've caused even more trouble for him. And, hurt and angry though she was over what he'd said, she didn't want to do that.
"What's wrong with him?" Evelyn muttered, obviously confused.
Remembering the photograph stuck between her mattress and box spring, Allie retrieved it and slipped it into her pocket. "He doesn't like the company I'm keeping," she said. Then she started dragging the first of her boxes down the hall.
Clay was cleaning up the dishes from his supper when he finally gave up trying to ignore his ringing phone.
"I've been trying to reach you all day. Where have you been?" his mother asked without any of the customary greetings.
Clay hadn't wanted to talk to anyone until he'd decided how he was going to handle the situation with Allie and her father. He couldn't leave it as it was. She'd lost her job because of him.
"I've been busy."
"I came by earlier. No one was there."
"I was out running errands." He'd had Grace drive him to Jed's shop, where he'd purchased two tires before she took him to the cabin to get his truck. Then he'd paid Joe a visit. Joe claimed he was in bed asleep when Clay was shot. But there wasn't anyone to corroborate his whereabouts. So it wasn't easy to give him the benefit of the doubt.
"Word has it you were shot last night," Irene said.
"That would be true." He was wearing a makeshift bandage he'd put on himself. But he didn't plan to keep it on for long. The tape bothered him, and the wound was already beginning to heal.
"You didn't think your mother might be worried about you?"
He slipped the pan he'd used to fry grits into the soapy water. "Who told you? Grace?"
"No. I haven't been able to get hold of her, either. Madeline overheard it at the grocery store. Can you imagine what that must've been like? To hear from a stranger that her brother had been shot? We've both been worried sick."