“Pretty soon the farm will be his hobby.”

  “I doubt it,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “He was born to work the land. He loves it.”

  “How did he get started with cars? His father? Your father?”

  “Neither. He’s just always loved them—and had the talent for doing whatever needed to be done. After my father disappeared and Clay came back from college and took over the farm, he ripped out the stalls and converted it into a garage.”

  “So your father had animals in here?”

  “The meanest son-of-a-bitch horse you’ve ever met,” a deep voice responded.

  Hunter turned to find a man standing in the doorway. He had thick black hair falling across his forehead, blue eyes and a dark shadow of beard growth covering a very square jaw. He was tall, too. Probably three inches taller than Hunter and fifty pounds heavier.

  Hunter might have felt a little intimidated, but he preferred to think of himself as light and fast—a skateboarder, surfer or skier as opposed to a football player, wrestler or one-man army.

  “You must be Madeline’s stepbrother.”

  He didn’t bother to smile. “And you must be the dick from California.”

  Despite the situation, Hunter couldn’t restrain a laugh. Clay’s flat, emotionless voice suggested that he wasn’t necessarily referring to Hunter’s profession. “I can see you’re a man who says what he means.”

  “Any other kind of man isn’t a man.”

  “And if I prefer the term P.I.?”

  “You’re in Mississippi, son,” he replied. “We don’t give a damn about being politically correct around here.”

  Son…He was definitely pushing his advantage in age and weight. “Which makes me what?” Hunter asked. “A liberal?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I am what I am,” he said with a shrug. When he didn’t act threatened or upset, Hunter recognized a positive shift in Clay’s attitude. He would’ve relaxed—except that he suspected Allie had called Clay the second they’d stepped off the porch and that Clay didn’t like them snooping around. At least not on their own.

  “How old are you?” Clay asked.

  Hunter cast Madeline a sidelong glance. “Did you tell him to ask me that?”

  “You look young,” she said with a shrug.

  “I look like a certified badass,” he corrected, hoping to ease the tension, and was rewarded with the low rumble of a chuckle from Clay.

  “So?” Madeline said to her stepbrother.

  “So what?” he responded grumpily.

  “If you’re finished putting Hunter on notice, we’ll move ahead with the tour.”

  Clay held out a large hand, one that was nicked and gouged. “Be my guest. If he stays long enough, maybe we’ll see what kind of dick he really is.”

  Hunter turned and cocked an eyebrow at Madeline’s stepbrother. “I’m a damn good one,” he said.

  “Which means what?”

  “Which means if you’re involved in this mess, you should be worried.”

  If Clay was surprised that Hunter would stand his ground, he didn’t show it. There was a slight tightening around his eyes and mouth, that was all.

  “Good thing he’s not involved.”

  Allie had joined them. She came up behind Clay and put her hand on his back in an obvious effort to calm him. That simple action let Hunter know that Allie loved and supported her husband one hundred percent. The devotion in Clay’s eyes when he realized his wife was there said he felt the same way about her.

  This case was going to be more difficult than Hunter had thought. The people here stood together, guarded their secrets well.

  “Welcome to a small southern town,” he muttered. Evidently, stereotypes were stereotypes for a reason.

  “He’s not involved,” Madeline said, repeating Allie’s comment.

  Hunter pulled his instant camera from the pocket of his coat. “And what kind of dick would I be if I took everything I was told at face value?” he asked with a smile.

  Madeline clasped her hands in front of her, so tightly he could see the veins stand out. “You’re here to prove Clay innocent.”

  He wasn’t here for any such thing. He was here to find out who’d killed her father, and at this point everyone was suspect. But he didn’t say so. He wandered over to take a look at the office.

  Clay’s voice stopped him just as his hand curled around the doorknob. “That’s locked.”

  He glanced back. “Because…”

  “I like it that way.”

  “Stop it.” Allie nudged her husband meaningfully. “You have to forgive Clay, Mr. Solozano. When the police couldn’t figure out what happened to Madeline’s father, they blamed him. It was ridiculous, of course. Clay was only sixteen at the time. But Reverend Barker was a beloved pastor, and folks in Stillwater wanted someone to pay for their loss.”

  “I understand,” he said.

  “That room is locked because we never use it,” she went on. “There’s just the three of us—me, Clay and my daughter, Whitney. We have plenty of space, and it gets cold in the winter. There’s no heat in that room.”

  “I see.”

  “My father used to have a space heater,” Madeline volunteered. “And an air-conditioning unit that sat in the window.”

  “It was so old Clay finally threw it away,” Allie said, still trying to compensate for her surly husband.

  “Is there a key?” Hunter asked pointedly.

  “Somewhere,” she said. “I’m not sure—”

  Surprisingly, Clay interrupted. “It’s in the cupboard above the fridge.”

  Allie hesitated long enough that Hunter knew she hadn’t planned to tell them. “I’ll get it,” she said at last.

  Hunter and Clay stared at each other while they waited; Madeline kept up a stream of nervous chatter.

  “The convertible’s looking good,” she said. “How’s the bidding going?”

  “Better than I expected.” Her stepbrother offered no specifics.

  “When’s it over?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “Are you going to have trouble letting this one go?”

  His gaze finally strayed from Hunter’s face. “Trouble?”

  “Isn’t this one of the rarest cars you’ve owned?”

  “There’s another one right behind it.”

  “You put so much work into each vehicle, I’d want to keep them all.”

  “The work is the part I like.”

  “What are you planning to do next?” she asked.

  “The Chevy sitting beyond the tractor.”

  “Not the truck!”

  “It’s about time, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know. I’m so used to seeing that old hunk of junk, this place won’t look the same without it.”

  No comment.

  She peered into the car. “Even when you’re finished, it won’t be worth nearly as much as this baby, will it?”

  “No.”

  “So why mess with it?”

  “I’m ready for something different.”

  He didn’t do it for the money. That was clear. A few other things were clear, too. Clay had a giant chip on his shoulder, and he had little, if any, interest in seeing his stepfather’s murder solved.

  “How do you feel about Lee Barker?” Hunter asked.

  Madeline’s lips parted as if she wasn’t comfortable with the suddenness of this question. But Clay didn’t seem startled. He looked Hunter right in the eye, stubborn, defiant. “I don’t think about him anymore.”

  “And back then?”

  “We had our differences, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “Just the usual stuff,” Madeline added. “The kind of problems any teenager would have—”

  Hunter raised a hand. “Let him answer, okay?”

  Clay folded his arms across his chest. “I already did.”

  “You don’t like the fact that I’m here, do you?” Hunter said.

  “You thought I’d be excited about it?”

  Not really. It was obvious that Clay didn’t trust him. Hunter doubted Clay trusted anyone, except maybe his wife.

  “Is there anything you’d like to tell me about your stepfather?” Hunter asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Clay’s been through this so many times,” Madeline said and seemed relieved when Allie reappeared.

  Clay gave his wife a slight nod. She walked between them and unlocked the pastor’s office with one key for the door and a different one for the dead bolt. When she swung the door wide, the room’s musty scent hit them full force.

  Hunter tried to ignore it. “When did you put the dead bolt on here?”

  “I didn’t,” Clay replied.

  “My father kept his office locked at all times,” Madeline put in.

  “Why?” Hunter couldn’t imagine that Lee Barker had stored anything of value in this old barn. From what he understood, Barker didn’t actually have a whole lot of real value.

  “As a pastor, he was privy to some of his parishioners’ darkest thoughts and deeds,” she said. “This was where he kept his notes. I’m sure he didn’t want that kind of information to get out.”

  A pastor should be discreet, especially in such a small town, where gossip could ruin someone’s life. But a simple lock wasn’t enough? Who did he think was going to break in?

  Hunter examined the heavy-duty bolt as Allie and Madeline entered the empty room ahead of him.

  “Looks like Madeline’s father was a very cautious man,” he said to Clay, who hadn’t moved. Again, he received no response.

  “There isn’t much to see in here,” Allie was saying. “Clay dismantled the place a year or two ago. After eighteen years—” she turned to Madeline and her voice softened apologetically “—he figured it was time to give Maddy her father’s things.”

  Hunter didn’t make any effort to study the room. Anything that was here when Madeline’s father was around had long since been removed, even the carpet. Instead, he crossed to the window and gazed out, trying to see the farm as Barker would’ve seen it.

  From where he stood, he had a good view of the gravel drive, the chicken coop off to the right and the back porch. This place would’ve been a functional home office, if not a fancy one. Because of its location, Barker would know when someone arrived, and he’d be able to keep an eye on the kids if they were out playing or doing chores.

  Above him, Hunter noticed some holes in the wall that indicated there’d been blinds at one time. For privacy. Like the dead bolt.

  “That was Grace’s room,” Madeline said, coming up behind him.

  “Which one?” Hunter asked.

  She pointed at the farmhouse, to the window above the porch. “The corner, near that lattice.”

  “She had her own room?”

  “Yes, but she wasn’t alone very often. I was supposed to be sharing a room with Molly. Molly was the youngest and it was my job to look after her. But Grace had two twin beds and she was always begging me to stay with her.” She smiled nostalgically. “I’ve never known anyone more afraid of the dark. If she was up late doing homework and needed to shower for the next day, she’d wake me and ask me to go into the bathroom with her. I’d sit on the counter waiting for her.”

  “I was scared when I was young, too,” Allie said. “But I blame my older brother. He and his friends loved to bang on the house or scratch on the wall, anything to frighten me. He thought it was hilarious.”

  “I was never frightened,” Madeline said. “At least not of the boogeyman.”

  Clay hadn’t entered the room, but he hadn’t gone back to work, either. He leaned against the doorjamb, watching them. Hunter saw that he scowled when Madeline said what she did, as if her pain hurt him, too. Clay was angry, embittered, a loner. And yet he loved his stepsister, regardless of what might’ve happened to her father.

  “What were you afraid of?” Hunter asked.

  Madeline’s chest rose, as if she’d just taken a deep breath and she met his gaze. “Becoming as unhappy as my mother.”

  Having a parent so miserable that she didn’t want to go on would scare any child. “What about now?” Hunter asked quietly. “Are you still afraid?”

  The question had nothing to do with his investigation. It was really none of his business. But there was something so achingly lonely about Madeline Barker that he couldn’t help wanting to banish the haunted look that sometimes appeared in her eyes.

  “No,” she said. But he was fairly sure it was a lie.

  Madeline hated having to bring Hunter to the farm. She knew Clay didn’t like it. Her stepbrother was a man who took his privacy seriously. Yet here she was parading a private investigator around his home. The police had searched the property twice—but only after they’d produced a warrant. Even then, Clay had held them strictly to the specified areas, allowing them no extra leeway. He didn’t trust the police.

  She could tell he didn’t trust Hunter, either—and she hated the fact that she was taking advantage of their relationship by bringing a detective here. But Hunter had to have free access to everything in order to do his job.

  She stood in the center of the room, watching as he looked around. “So your father used this office to meet with people from his congregation?”

  “Occasionally. He had a study at the church, but it was easier to maintain the farm if he worked out here.”

  “He was home a lot, then.”

  “Quite a bit. But he was always busy.”

  “Can you remember any of the people who came out here to visit him in the days immediately prior to his disappearance?”

  “There’s a list in the police files.”

  He nodded. “Good. Any chance you can show me where that guy was working on the tractor?”

  “Of course.”

  He headed toward the entrance, but Clay blocked the doorway.

  “Clay,” Allie said. Hunter spoke at the same time.

  “Do you have a problem with me being here, Mr. Montgomery?” he asked.

  “Clay’s put up with a lot,” Madeline said, but Clay raised a hand.

  “You don’t have to make excuses for me, Maddy.”

  “I just want him to understand. So he doesn’t jump to the wrong conclusion.”

  “And what conclusion would that be?” Hunter asked.

  Madeline curled her nails into her palms. Hunter wasn’t as intimidated by Clay as most men. Maybe he was shorter and had a smaller build, but he had a will that was every bit as strong. She hadn’t expected to find that beneath his Hollywood smile and beach bum manner.

  “My stepbrother’s easily misunderstood,” she said so he wouldn’t automatically assume that Clay was guilty of any greater sin than being guarded.

  Hunter thrust out his chin. It was a slight movement, but Madeline noticed it and grew more worried. “I think he’s making himself pretty clear,” Hunter muttered.

  Allie had stepped over to the door and, as usual, tried to act as a peacemaker and go-between for Clay. Gently maneuvering Clay out of Hunter’s way, she chuckled. “The testosterone levels are running a bit too high, guys. This is a friendly meeting, remember?”

  Hunter ignored her. “You’re not interested in helping me find out what happened to your stepfather,” he said as he moved into the larger part of the barn.

  “Not particularly,” Clay admitted.

  Hunter’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I’d be interested to hear why.”

  Clay glanced at Madeline, and she sent him a pleading look. “It’s not going to change the fact that he’s gone. Far as I’m concerned, you’re just more trouble.”

  “It’d bring Madeline some peace if she knew,” Hunter said.

  “Says you,” Clay retorted. “But you don’t know her or care about her the way we do, so don’t talk to me about what would or wouldn’t be good for my sister.”

  “She’s the one who brought me.”

  “That’s the only reason you’re still standing here.”

  Hunter didn’t back down. He stood his ground, returning Clay’s glare. And despite herself, Madeline was impressed. Clay was so intense that, at times, he made even those who were close to him a little nervous.

  “Where did the police search when they came?” Hunter asked. He was still addressing Clay, refusing to give in, as most other men would’ve done. But it was Allie who answered. Madeline guessed she was just as eager to defuse the tension between the two men as Madeline was.

  “The first time, they searched the house and the barn.”

  “They searched more than once?” This finally pulled Hunter’s attention away from Clay.

  Allie nodded. “Eighteen months ago, they took a backhoe to the yard. They didn’t find anything, of course.”

  “Why would they do that after so long?” he asked.

  “Because of Joe Vincelli,” Madeline explained. “He followed Grace over here one night, decided she was about to exhume my father’s body and move it to a better hiding place.”

  “Did she have a shovel?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was she doing?”

  “She’d come here to dig, like he said, but only to prove that all the rumors were false,” Madeline told him.

  Hunter seemed skeptical. “Then why not do it during the day?”

  “Because she knew I’d never let her,” Clay responded, chiming in for the first time since the standoff between them.

  “Why not?” Hunter asked.

  Clay smiled humorlessly. “Because I’m not stupid.”

  “They’ve been hoping to pin this on Clay for a long time,” Allie said. “He couldn’t take the chance that they might stumble upon something they could misinterpret, something that might appear to give him more of a motive or whatever. People see what they want to see, you know? I was a police officer for ten years, spent five of those as a cold case detective. I’ve watched it happen before.”

  “So you approve of your husband’s refusal to cooperate?” he asked.

  Her smile disappeared and she stepped closer to Clay. “Completely.”

  Hunter nodded at Madeline. “I’m finished here.”

  “You don’t want to see where Jed was working on the tractor?” she asked, surprised by his abrupt change.