Dead Right. Brenda Novak

that I can see.”

      Disappointment weighed heavily. “So…do you think it was used to bind my father?” Madeline hated the vision her words evoked but refused to let fear of what her father might’ve experienced stop her from asking difficult questions. “That whatever happened to him was premeditated?”

      Pontiff fidgeted uncomfortably. “I don’t think the rope was used on your father,” he said. “That wasn’t the only thing in the bag.”

      Madeline exchanged a wary glance with Irene. “Tell us.”

      He lowered his voice, until she could scarcely make out the words. “There was also a…dildo.”

      Feeling as if he’d just tied thirty-pound weights to each of her limbs, Madeline released Irene’s hand. “A what?”

      Chief Pontiff had turned bright red. “A—a sex toy, you know, a dildo.”

      “What would a dildo be doing in my father’s trunk?” she nearly shouted.

      His blush deepened. “I have no idea. But I’m hoping we can extract some DNA from it.”

      Irene’s hand clutched her chest. “After all this time?”

      Madeline could tell Pontiff didn’t like Irene enough to let her put him on the spot. But since she was present, he was trying to maintain a certain level of professionalism. “The dildo itself was inside a Ziploc bag that was sealed. If it—” he cleared his throat “—if it wasn’t washed before it went into that bag, we might have a chance.”

      Irene turned a shade paler. “What will that tell us?”

      “Maybe there’s a victim out there somewhere, connected with another case—a case that might have witnesses or information that could help us. Chances are slim that we’ll be able to get a sample from the…object, and even slimmer that we’ll be able to tie it to someone, but we need to gather whatever we can.”

      Irene shook her head. “But the connection you’re looking for could be clear across the country. Lee must’ve picked up a hitchhiker on his way home, some guy who shoved that stuff in the trunk before sinking the car.”

      She’d often postulated that a drifter or hitchhiker had been involved. But no one had reported seeing any strangers the day Madeline’s father went missing. And strangers definitely stood out in a town where everyone knew everyone else and viewed the unfamiliar with a measure of distrust.

      Pontiff studied his shoes. “We found something else in the suitcase, too,” he said in a resigned manner.

      It couldn’t get worse…Could it?

      “What?” Madeline asked as Irene echoed the same question.

      He lifted his gaze, and a muscle flexed in his cheek. “Three pairs of panties. They look like they came from a girl of eleven or twelve.”

      Suddenly, Madeline felt dizzy. The thought of a rope, a dildo and girls’ panties hidden together—anywhere—made her ill. No doubt they affected Chief Pontiff the same way. He had three children—all of them daughters.

      “So the man who killed my father was a pedophile?” she gasped.

      “That’s the way it appears.”

      But how did someone like that circulate among them, going so far as to murder the town’s spiritual leader—and get away with it? Stillwater typically had little or no crime. There were only fifteen hundred residents—and not one convicted sex offender.

      Collecting her splintered thoughts, Madeline touched Pontiff’s arm. “Toby.” For a moment, he wasn’t the chief of police to her. He was her friend’s husband, a boy she’d known her whole life, a caring adult like herself. “What if my father was counseling a man with…with unacceptable sexual compulsions. You know how confessions are supposed to be private, but some things have to be reported? Maybe my father was going to turn in this…this pathetic individual and was killed because of it.”

      “That’s crossed my mind,” he admitted.

      “If it was someone he knew well, maybe even trusted and respected, think of the resulting embarrassment.”

      “Someone like that might go to great lengths to avoid discovery.”

      “Exactly. So are you planning to question all the men in my father’s congregation?” This had been done before, but now they had reason to look closer.

      “I might. Right now, I need the two of you to come to the station with me.”

      “For what?” Irene cried.

      “To see if you recognize the suitcase or the panties. We need to figure out who they might’ve belonged to.”

      “You don’t think they could be mine,” Madeline said. When Irene slipped one arm around her, she realized her voice had gone shrill, but the idea of her panties, or those of anyone else she knew, being in that suitcase was too horrible to contemplate.

      “I have no idea,” Pontiff said. “But I’d like to find out. And it makes sense to begin with the family.”

      It did make sense; it was just that his discovery was so revolting.

      “That’ll be too upsetting for her,” Irene said. “I’ll do it.”

      Madeline put up a hand. “No, of course I’ll come, too. We both will.”

      “Good.”

      Madeline caught his elbow. “You know what this confirms, don’t you?”

      He didn’t seem to know at all. “What?”

      “The Vincellis and everyone who’s supported them are wrong.” A lump rose in her throat as she spoke, surprising even her. “It wasn’t Clay.”

      “Maddy—” he started, but she refused to let him interrupt her.

      “My stepbrother might seem dark and remote to you, to lots of people, but he’d sacrifice his own life before he’d ever hurt a child.”

      Sympathy softened Pontiff’s features. “Folks aren’t always what they seem, Maddy.”

      Madeline wouldn’t let it go. “I’d bet my own life that he’d never touch a child in an inappropriate manner,” she said fiercely. “He’s angry and he’s determined and he’s—” she searched for the right word to describe her stepbrother “—tough. But he’s not sick.”

      “He had a hard childhood,” Pontiff said gently. “That can scar a person.”

      It was the first time she’d heard Toby speak with any compassion for Clay. Clay was too capable, too strong to evoke sympathy from most people, despite his background.

      “He has his scars,” she said. “But he’s always protected those who are smaller, weaker and more vulnerable than himself. Surely you’ve seen how much his stepdaughter adores him.”

      Pontiff put his hand over hers. “The fact that he has a stepdaughter means I can’t take your word for what Clay is or isn’t, Maddy. I have to look at the facts. You understand.”

      What she understood was that it was time to exonerate Clay and expose the real killer. Maybe the facts hadn’t stood in his favor before. But she was more certain than ever that now they would. And if the police weren’t capable of solving the case, she’d make sure Hunter Solozano did the job for them.

      

      Madeline sat in the police station with her stepmother, waiting for Grace to arrive. The rain had finally stopped, but the cloud-darkened sky threatened more bad weather.

      The heater rattled as it pumped out hot air. Officer Radcliffe, who stood at the filing cabinet in the corner, bore a sheen of sweat on his forehead—proof that the heater was working. But Madeline couldn’t get warm. Not since