Dead Right
sisters and mother. They’d had to constantly defend themselves, suffer two police searches of the farm, endure the distrust of almost everyone in town and tolerate whispering behind their backs. But what else could she have done? What else could she do now but pursue whoever was responsible? Lee Barker was her father, the only parent who’d planned on sticking with her.
    Besides, if she could get to the truth, wouldn’t the Montgomerys ultimately be better off?
    “I should’ve hired a P.I. a long time ago,” she said.
    “Maybe it would’ve brought me some peace—and saved you from what happened last summer.”
    He didn’t comment on the murder charges that’d been brought against him. Clay never made a big deal of his own difficulties. “Al ie feels bad,” he said. “I hope you don’t think she let you down with her investigation.”
    “No. I’m the one who let the two of you down. I can’t believe I…” She toyed with her paper-clip holder. She tended to avoid any reference to what had occurred at Al ie’s dad’s fishing cabin the night she hired Hendricks.
    They al did. But she felt the need to address it today, to apologize once again. Clay could’ve died, and it would’ve been her fault. She shuddered at the thought. “I’m so sorry for what I did.”
    “Don’t mention it. Hendricks was only supposed to rattle a doorknob or two. I know that.”
    “But you wouldn’t have been hurt if I hadn’t sent him there in the first place.”
    “You had no way of knowing he’d take it so far. Or that I’d even be around that night.”
    It was true, but she’d never be able to forgive herself for resorting to the tactics she’d used. If she hadn’t al owed her hopes to soar so high when Al ie returned to Stil water and promised to look into her father’s disappearance—or felt so damn helpless when Al ie lost interest—maybe she would’ve been thinking more clearly. But her desperation and impatience had simply gotten the best of her. When she felt Al ie’s commitment and enthusiasm beginning to lag, she’d tried to shore it up by trying to convince her that someone out there was stil a threat.
    It had seemed like an innocent enough plan. But it had cost Hendricks, who’d been a member of the Stil water Police force, his job, a year in prison and probation after that. His wife was struggling to support their family without him and, had Hendricks’s aim been more accurate, Clay could’ve paid an even higher price. Madeline had only escaped prosecution because she hadn’t intended any harm. Stealing Al ie’s gun—and using it—had been Hendricks’s idea.
    She got up and paced the room. “Sometimes I think about it and—”
    “ Don’t think about it,” he said. “We al make mistakes, do things we regret.”
    She managed a tired smile at his generosity. “You’re a good brother.”
    He immediately moved forward with the conversation.
    “Grace tel s me you’re hiring a private investigator.
    Someone from California.”
    “That’s right.”
    “When’s he coming in?”
    “This Thursday. I’m not sure what time.” She stopped at the window. Why hadn’t Chief Pontiff cal ed? If only he could come up with something that would finally solve this….
    “That soon?” Clay said.

    “Yeah.” She wandered back to her desk and sank into her seat. “Grace doesn’t seem to think it’l do any good.”
    “The odds aren’t in your favor,” he responded.
    She began doodling on a Post-it note. “So you don’t think I should do it, either.”
    He didn’t answer right away. When he did, he surprised Madeline. She’d been expecting his customary, “You gotta do what you gotta do.” He said that whenever she asked his opinion on publishing a new lead or printing a story designed to inspire renewed interest in the mystery. Instead she got, “Some things are better left as they are, Maddy.”
    Dropping her pen, she sat up straight. “What do you mean by that?”
    “Maybe the

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