Dead Right. Brenda Novak

it to work. “I’m sure.”

      “But I don’t remember them. And lots of young girls wore bikini underwear.”

      It wasn’t the fact that they were bikinis that made them identifiable; it was the picture of an island with a monkey climbing a palm tree on the back. Madeline suspected Irene recognized them, too. Her stepmother didn’t want to face what it might mean, preferred to think they were dealing with some kind of coincidence or mistake. “I’m positive.”

      She’d meant to speak gently, but she couldn’t conceal her impatience. Irene was getting older and didn’t have the coping skills she’d once possessed. But Madeline was so exhausted and confused, she lacked the reserves to shelter her right now.

      Why were Grace’s first pair of bikini underwear—the ones Madeline had bought her for Christmas—in a strange suitcase with some rope and a dildo? Grace was only thirteen when that car went missing.

      “If you’re sure about the…the panties, there’s no need to have Grace come down here,” Irene said.

      “Mom, please,” Madeline snapped.

      Chief Pontiff looked up from his desk and met Madeline’s eyes. When she scowled and turned away, he bent over his work again, and she was grateful to him for giving her some space instead of getting up to offer her a drink or something. She knew he’d seen the instant recognition on her face as he’d carefully arranged each item for her view.

      It wasn’t just the panties that upset her. The dildo had been there, too, grotesque in its size.

      She dropped her head in her hands. The possibility that a sexual predator had had any contact with Grace at the age she’d been when she was wearing those panties sickened Madeline.

      “God help us,” she whispered and began to rub her temples. Her head hurt, but not as badly as her heart. She knew Grace had problems as a teenager. Had they started because she’d been molested—or worse, raped—by some demented creep?

      No. She would’ve said something…

      But deep down Madeline knew that wasn’t true. Girls who’d been molested were often too ashamed afterwards to reveal their terrible secret.

      “Whoever it was better not have touched her,” she muttered.

      Her stepmother jumped to her feet. “I want to call Clay.”

      Startled, Madeline blinked. “You want him to see this?” She waved at the panties on the table. The giant dildo sat front and center. Not that Madeline could look at it.

      “I—I need him,” Irene said.

      Her slightly hysterical tone made Madeline feel guilty for being so impatient a moment before. She owed her stepmother more sensitivity than she’d just shown her. Irene was the one who’d provided the love and attention Madeline had needed as a young teen. Madeline couldn’t imagine what life would’ve been like without her.

      “We’re okay,” she whispered, hoping to comfort her. “We can take care of this ourselves, right?”

      “No.” Irene shook her head adamantly.

      “But you know Clay. He’ll go nuts if he sees this. And we wouldn’t want to humiliate Grace any more than necessary. Obviously, if something terrible happened, she chose not to share it with us. It won’t be easy for her to walk in here, especially with an audience, and admit it now.”

      “Let’s not make her come,” Irene said, gripping Madeline’s arm.

      Chief Pontiff glanced up again, and Madeline knew, without his having to say a word that he’d insist on it. He required Grace to confirm what Madeline had, after several shocked minutes, told him. “I’m afraid it’s important.”

      “Then I need Clay,” her stepmother said. “Grace will need him, too.”

      “I’d rather save him this,” Madeline argued, but it was too late. Irene had hurried over to one of the empty desks and helped herself to a phone.

      Madeline considered asking her to hang up but was actually relieved that Clay would be joining them. At the very least, maybe he’d take care of Irene until Madeline could come to grips with all of this.

      The door opened and Grace’s husband, Kennedy Archer, walked in, holding her hand. He had on one of the tailored suits he wore to work, while Grace was dressed more casually in jeans, Ugg boots and an attractive sweater. A pair of sunglasses hid her eyes despite the season and the inclement weather.

      She’s marshalling her defenses. She knows something’s up. Suddenly, Madeline was very reluctant to see what would happen next.

      Kennedy said a brief hello, although his cautious manner with Grace revealed his concern. Grace nodded in their direction but said nothing.

      “Kennedy, Grace. Thanks for coming down.” Pontiff had walked over the second he saw them and was now shaking hands with Kennedy. He offered Grace his hand as well, but she’d caught sight of the articles on the paper-lined table and didn’t respond.

      “What’s the problem?” Kennedy asked, his voice low and guarded.

      Pontiff explained that these items had been found in the Cadillac as he motioned them closer. Grace allowed her husband to lead her, but her skin looked taut across her elegant bones.

      After a moment, she swayed as if she might pass out, and Madeline stepped up to take her hand. Irene remained near the door, muttering something about Clay.

      “Do you recognize any of these objects?” Chief Pontiff asked.

      Kennedy went rigid. “Grace?” he murmured, and there was a world of intimacy and love in the way he said her name.

      She shook her head as Pontiff pointed at the suitcase. She did the same when he indicated the dildo, the rope and the panties. But when he reached the ones with the monkey, she finally spoke. “Those were mine.”

      Panic crowded so close Grace could hardly breathe. She’d known this would be agonizing. But she’d had no idea how much worse it’d be with Madeline looking on. Chief Pontiff watched, too, his expression shuttered. Even Officer Radcliffe, who stood off to the side pretending to file, was taking careful note.

      Their future depended on the next few minutes—and her ability to be convincing even though she was drowning in a sea of painful memories.

      “Do you know how your panties came to be in the trunk of the Cadillac?” Pontiff asked.

      “No.” She wished she had the strength to remove her sunglasses and meet his gaze directly. She’d coached enough witnesses to know how to enhance credibility. But she couldn’t do it. Kennedy’s hand, holding hers tightly, reminded her that what she saw on the table was her life then, and he and their children were her life now. It was the only thing that kept her from falling apart. He was determined to get her through this. She could feel him willing her to endure and to triumph. For everyone’s sake.

      Don’t let your stepfather win. Don’t let him. He said that whenever the past began to encroach on her happiness. And, so far, it had worked.

      Silently, she promised she wouldn’t disappoint him and ignored the terrible stabbing sensation she remembered so clearly, along with the stench of her stepfather’s breath, his eager grunts and groans, the flash of the camera when she was in the most vulnerable positions a girl could be in.

      Pontiff spoke again. “No one ever used the rope or, um, the—any of these items to hurt you in any way?”

      A bead of sweat rolled between her shoulder blades.

      Madeline squeezed her arm as if to say it didn’t matter, that nothing would change if she answered in the affirmative. But Grace knew that wasn’t true. Summoning more strength—from where, she had no idea—she managed to add a scoffing tone to her voice. “Of course not.”

      “No one…touched