Dead Silence by Brenda Novak Page A

saw the reverend’s car pull intohis own drive that night so long ago; others said they saw him heading out of town the opposite way. According to Kennedy’s conversation with McCormick a few minutes earlier, one woman had even come forward to say she’d seen the reverend in a mall in Jackson only a few months ago. Most people, however, pointed fingers at Irene or Clay. Some claimed Grace had killed him, although she was just a young teenager at the time. Only Madeline, who was gone the night everything happened, was free from accusation.
    Kennedy had a few suspicions of his own—but, like everyone else, he had no proof. And he felt the gossip was getting out of hand. He was more intrigued by the kind of person Grace had become than what’d happened to the reverend. There was something tragic about her, something fragile and vulnerable despite the tough exterior she tried to show the world. The contrast between her beauty and the darkness of her past fascinated him.
    He’d lain awake last night marveling at what she’d been able to accomplish after leaving Stillwater with only a high school diploma—and remembering what he’d seen in the window.
    “Of course I’d like to know,” he said. “But not badly enough to make the Montgomerys miserable unless we have more to go on.”
    Joe stretched out his long legs. “Then do it for me.”
    Kennedy had feared this was coming. Although Joe had never before held the incident at the Yocona River over his head—which was one thing Kennedy had always admired about him—Kennedy couldn’t help feeling obligated to Joe in ways he wasn’t obligated to anyone else.
    But the thought of what it would do to Grace still made him pause. “I can’t. I don’t have that authority.”
    Joe grimaced. “We both know your father owns this town. Lately he’s been turning everything over to you. Talk to McCormick. Make him do something.”
    Joe had his better moments. He was a funny drunk and would do almost anything for his friends. But he had a mean streak the others didn’t possess and a less-than-impressive track record. He’d been divorced from the same woman twice and, if not for his parents, probably wouldn’t have a job. His folks owned Stillwater Road & Gravel just north of town. They let Joe pretend to manage it for them, but he spent most of his time hanging out, having lunch with the gang, chasing women or bugging Kennedy to lend him more money.
    “Why?” Kennedy asked.
    “Because a crime’s been committed!”
    “We don’t know that.” Kennedy suspected Grace had already paid a heavy price for that night, whether whatever had happened was her fault or not. And even though he had to admit that Joe might be right about her family, he felt strangely reluctant to pursue it.
    “Why not make sure?” Joe pressed. “Fix it so I can take a backhoe to the farm and dig around. If there’s a body there, I’ll find it.”
    “The police searched the farm. They found nothing to warrant the use of a backhoe.”
    “Come on! That was before old man Jenkins retired, and you know as well as I do that Jenkins couldn’t find his own ass without a guide. We had the equivalent of Barney Fife running the investigation.”
    “Regardless, McCormick would need another warrant, which wouldn’t be easy to obtain. Not when the police have already been given one shot. This may come as news to you, but judges don’t take invading people’sprivacy lightly,” Kennedy said. “And Clay’s like a junkyard dog. You know that. He isn’t going to give his permission.”
    “Judge Reynolds would listen to you.”
    Kennedy recalled how Joe had acted at the pizza parlor. “This is not about obtaining justice for your uncle, is it?”
    “No,” he said with a scowl.
    “Seems to me you’re more concerned with hurting Grace than anything else.”
    “You mean Grinding Gracie? ” Joe chuckled as though she wasn’t worthy of so much attention. “That’s bullshit. Why would I want to hurt