Dead Right. Brenda Novak

his chief.

      As Pontiff began to pry open the door, the car complained loudly, ratcheting up the tension that made Madeline’s muscles ache. Then her heart lurched as the metal gave way and water from inside came pouring out over everyone’s shoes.

      Pontiff didn’t seem to notice. No one did. They were all busy staring at the gush of water as if they expected parts of her father to come floating out with it.

      How could this be happening? she wondered. How could she have lost her mother and her father—in two separate incidents?

      She didn’t see anything that could be connected to a human being, so she inched closer, straining her eyes for the smallest bit of clothing or—she grimaced—bone. At least, if her father’s remains were in the car, she’d know he hadn’t meant to leave her. She’d never been able to accept that he’d walked out on her. As the town’s beloved pastor, he was a God-fearing man, always ready to help out in an emergency, always a leader. He would never abandon his flock, his farm, his family.

      Which meant someone must’ve killed him. But who?

      As the water seeped over the ground to the lip of the quarry, mixing with the runoff from the rain, Madeline clenched her jaw. Nothing macabre. Yet.

      They were opening the trunk. The Cadillac’s keys had been left dangling in the ignition, but the locks were corroded so they were using the crowbar again.

      Bile rose in Madeline’s throat as the minutes stretched on. She tried to keep her mind busy. But what did one think about at a time like this? The teenage girl they’d buried on Wednesday? The miserable weather? The years she’d lived without her father?

      Pontiff lifted something with one hand. “You recognize this?”

      Belatedly, Madeline realized he was speaking to her and nodded. It was the Polaroid camera she’d seen her father use on various occasions. A chill crawled down her spine. Seeing his camera made him seem so close, but it didn’t tell her anything.

      “Is that all?” she asked around the lump in her throat.

      The police chief pulled out some jumper cables, a couple of quarts of oil, a sopping blanket. Familiar items that could be found in any trunk.

      There’ll be something that’ll finally reveal the truth. Madeline was praying so hard she almost couldn’t believe it when she heard him say, “That’s it.”

      “What?” she cried. “There’s nothing that tells us where he went?”

      Pontiff shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m afraid not.”

      She didn’t move—felt absolutely rooted to the spot—as Clay wiped her tears with his thumb. “I’m sorry, Maddy.”

      Sorry didn’t have any meaning. She’d been expecting so much more. It couldn’t be over. If so, she was right back where she’d been before they discovered the car. Where she’d been all along—faced with this nagging mystery and the prospect that she might never know.

      “There…” Her teeth chattered from the cold. “There h-has to be…something else here,” she said. “You’ll…look, won’t you? You’ll…let the car dry out and…and go over it inch by inch?”

      Chief Pontiff nodded, but she could tell he wasn’t optimistic.

      “Will you let Allie help?” Her sister-in-law had been a cold case detective in Chicago. Surely, she’d uncover some kind of clue.

      With a grudging glance at Joe and Roger, Pontiff scowled. “You know I can’t do that.”

      “Don’t let the…the Vincellis dictate how you handle this,” Madeline said. “She’s the most qualified…p-person around here.”

      “She’s also married to the man who did it!” Joe shouted.

      The cleft in Joe’s chin was a little too deep to be attractive. Or maybe it was his close-set eyes that gave him a shifty air. He stood six feet tall and was almost as muscular as Clay, but Madeline had never found him good-looking. “Stop it,” she murmured, but he talked right over her.

      “Give me a break! Will you listen to yourself? Maddy, if you want to know what happened to your father, ask that man right there!”

      He pointed at Clay, but wilted when Clay pinned him with a steely gaze. Not many men could stand up to Clay, and Joe was no exception. He shuffled back, muttering, “Tell ‘em, Roger.”

      Joe’s brother was even less handsome. His teeth were straighter, but he was thinner, a full three inches shorter, and had a severely receding hairline. Although he was the older brother, he tended to stay in Joe’s shadow. “It’s true,” he said, but weakly, as if he didn’t really want to incite Clay.

      Chief Pontiff ignored them both. Madeline knew he was well aware of the suspicion and accusations of the past. He’d been on the force when Clay’s future wife had returned to town and begun following up on the Barker case. He’d been around when Allie’s father, the former chief of police, charged Clay with murder and put him in jail last summer. He’d also been around when they let Clay go because there wasn’t, and never had been, any real evidence linking him to the crime.

      “This car has been submerged for more than half our lives,” Pontiff said, his attention on Madeline. “Look at it. Even the metal’s begun to corrode. Much as I hate to say it, the Caddy might not tell us what we want to know. You need to prepare yourself, just in case.”

      “No!” She hugged herself to stop the shaking. “There could be a…a tooth, or a comb stuck way down between the seats. Some evidence, some lead.” She watched those forensics shows on TV religiously, recorded them if she wasn’t going to be home. She’d seen dozens of cases solved with the tiniest scrap of evidence.

      “We’ll check, like I said, but…” His words dwindled away.

      “Oh, Maddy,” Grace said softly.

      Madeline didn’t respond to her stepsister. She wanted to calm down, for her family’s sake. They didn’t need the added stress of her breaking down. They’d been through a lot, too. At least no one had blamed her for her father’s disappearance. But she couldn’t seem to restrain herself. Not this time. “Don’t prepare an excuse before you even try,” she said. “Find s-something. I want to know what happened. I need to know what happened.” She grabbed Chief Pontiff’s arm. “Do your job!”

      Pontiff blinked in surprise, and Clay quickly pulled her into his arms. “Maddy, stop,” he murmured against her hair.

      If anyone else had asked her, she wouldn’t have—couldn’t have—gained control of her wayward emotions. But regardless of the turmoil inside her, she had too much respect for Clay to ignore his wishes or embarrass him further. Burying her face in his chest, she started to cry as she hadn’t cried since she was a child, with big wracking sobs that shook her whole body.

      He hugged her close. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”

      “You’re hugging the man who killed him,” Joe whispered.

      “Shut up, Joe,” she snapped. Clay had been the one to keep their family safe through the dark years after her father was gone. At times, he’d been the only thing standing between them and destitution.

      “I’m sorry,” she told Clay. She didn’t want to draw attention to him. She knew he simply wanted to go on with his life and forget. She wished she could forget. But it was impossible. She’d tried.

      “You have nothing to be sorry about,” he said.

      With a sniff, she pulled away and dashed a hand across her cheeks. “I’m going home.”

      “I’ll call you if we find anything,” Pontiff said.

      Joe and his brother were still there, but one look from Clay kept them shuffling around the perimeter