A Creed in Stone Creek

by Linda Lael Miller

  “You’re right, counselor,” he said, maintaining the chill. “You and I can’t oppose each other in court. But I know some other lawyers who’ll be willing to take the case pro bono.”

  She blinked. “Why are you pushing this?” she asked.

  “Because I think Cahill is innocent,” Steven answered.

  “He was caught with the mask and the money! How could he be?”

  “Ask the dog,” Steven said.

  And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Melissa standing alone in the corridor outside the sheriff’s office.

  Ask the dog, Steven had said. What the hell did that mean?

  She opened Tom’s door quietly and slipped back into the office.

  Elvis was still sitting in front of Byron’s cell. The prisoner was sprawled facedown on his cot. And Tom was seated at his desk, entering data into his computer.

  Melissa approached, sank into a chair nearby. Glanced at Elvis.

  “What’s up with your dog?” she asked, after a long time.

  Tom sighed. “I’m not sure,” he said, so quietly that Byron wouldn’t have heard. “I’ve never seen Elvis behave like that before.” He paused. “I don’t mind admitting that it bothers me a little, though.”

  “Why?” Melissa asked, wishing she were at home, in her own bed, that the night hadn’t happened.

  That Steven Creed hadn’t happened.

  “Well,” Tom said, at some length, “Elvis has always been a pretty fair judge of character.”

  IT WAS HIS NIGHT for walking women to their front doors, evidently.

  Steven squired Velda Cahill along the dirt path leading to her rusted-out single-wide. A plastic gnome stood guard on a little porch jerry-rigged from mismatched scraps of lumber.

  The trailer door swung open, and Melissa’s assistant, Andrea, stood framed in the light from inside. Even with her face in shadow, Steven could see that she’d been crying.

  “Where’s Byron?” she demanded.

  “He’s in jail,” Velda said. She’d been frantic earlier in the evening, but now she seemed beaten down.

  Andrea gave a little wail of despair.

  “You’ll help him, won’t you?” Velda almost whispered, turning to look up at Steven. “You’ll make sure my boy doesn’t go back to prison for something he didn’t do?”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Steven answered, just as a young man replaced Andrea in the doorway, easing her to one side.

  Steven had never seen the guy before.

  “Nathan Carter,” he said, stepping aside long enough to sort of steer Velda into the trailer, then putting out a hand.

  “Steven Creed,” Steven answered.

  “Somebody’s got to look after these women,” Nathan said, although no one had asked what he was doing there. He sounded regretful as he spoke, but his eyes told another story. On some level, he almost seemed to be enjoying the excitement.

  Steven hesitated a moment, reluctant to leave and, at the same time, eager to be gone. He finally nodded to Carter and turned to descend the three rickety steps to the path.

  It was late, so, as he and Meg had agreed earlier, he didn’t stop at Stone Creek Ranch to pick Matt up. By now, the boy would be sound asleep.

  Back at the tour bus, Steven let Zeke out into the yard, waited while the dog made good use of the front yard and followed him inside.

  Zeke stood looking up at Steven, wagging his tail. For a dog, he sure was expressive.

  And so was Sheriff Parker’s four-legged deputy, Elvis.

  “Things don’t look real good for Byron Cahill,” Steven told Zeke, leaning to pick up the mutt’s nearly empty water dish to refill it at the sink. He set the bowl down on the floor and watched as the animal lapped up a drink. He remembered the expression on Melissa’s face, there in the corridor outside the jail. “Come to think of it,” he added, falling just short of a smile, “they’re not looking all that good for me, either.”

  IT WAS TOM WHO DROVE MELISSA home that night.

  She was thoughtful during the ride.

  He and Elvis walked her to the front door, waited until she was safely inside and left again. She knew Tom planned on spending the night on the couch in his office, rather than leaving the prisoner unattended until morning.

  Melissa locked up, then wandered into her bedroom and stood in front of the full-length mirror, shaking her head at the bedraggled figure staring back at her.

  The aqua dress, which had made her feel so pretty and so feminine earlier in the evening, seemed to mock her now.

  Her hair drooped, her mascara made faint shadows under her eyes and she’d long since chewed off her lipstick.

  With a sigh, she grabbed her robe and headed for the small master bath just off her bedroom. There, she stripped, stepped under a hot shower and scrubbed until her skin squeaked.

  After that, she dried off, put on the robe and headed for the kitchen. What she needed, she decided, was a nice cup of herbal tea.

  Or a shot of whiskey.

  She decided on the tea, and was sitting at the table near the windows, sipping from a mug, when someone pounded on the back door.

  “Melissa!” yelled a familiar female voice. “I know you’re in there—let me in!”

  Andrea.

  Melissa went to the door, turned the dead bolt and then the knob. She didn’t ask what Andrea was doing there, at that hour of the night no less, because she already knew.

  The young woman was obviously upset; she’d been crying, hard, and her eyes were so red they looked raw.

  “Sit down,” Melissa said gently.

  Andrea collapsed into a chair at the table and, after locking the door again, Melissa prepared a second cup of tea and set it down in front of her midnight visitor.

  For a moment, Andrea looked as though she might send the mug and her tea flying with one angry swipe of her arm. Fortunately, she seemed to think better of the idea in the next instant and carefully lifted the cup to her mouth, her hands shaking.

  “Were you with Byron tonight, when he held up the Stop & Shop?” Melissa asked.

  Andrea flung a beleaguered look in her direction, but she retained her composure.

  “I was with Byron tonight,” she said. “But he didn’t rob the Stop & Shop.”

  Melissa merely waited, her own tea cooling, forgotten, on the table.

  The set of Andrea’s jaw was obstinate, but only for a moment or two. Fresh tears brimmed along her lower lashes, and one trickled, zigzag, down her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of one hand, but only after the fact.

  “I’m telling you, Byron didn’t do anything wrong,” the girl insisted.

  “You know,” Melissa said carefully, when Andrea lapsed into another silence, “I keep hearing that. From you. From Velda. But Byron was heading out of town at top speed when Tom caught up with him, and later, the money from the robbery was found in the trunk of his car, along with a ski mask like the one Martine described when she reported what happened.”

  “We were in bed,” Andrea said, in a broken whisper. “Byron and me.”

  “Where?” Melissa asked. She still suspected her assistant of making up an alibi for her boyfriend, but she was willing to listen.

  “His place,” Andrea said, meeting Melissa’s eyes only with an effort.

  “Velda must have loved that,” Melissa commented.

  Andrea bristled. “She was at work,” she said. “Byron and I had the place to ourselves. Velda called from the cocktail lounge around nine-thirty and said she didn’t feel very well and she needed to come home, and would Byron pick her up. That’s when he found out the car was gone.”

  “Gone? You mean, stolen?”

  “Byron knew who’d taken it. It was that loser, Nathan. He’s been hanging around the Cahills’ place lately—he and Byron ran around together when they were younger—said he needed someplace to stay. I guess Byron felt sorry for him or something.” Andrea tossed her head slightly; a good sign. She was turning back into her old, spirite
d self. “That Nathan, he’s a sneak. He tried to borrow money from me a couple of times—I turned him down. And he bragged that he had a case against Deputy Ferguson because of that black eye, and the county would have to give him some kind of settlement to keep the story out of the news—” She stopped, took a shaky breath, and then rushed on. “Deputy Ferguson didn’t give Nathan that shiner. Velda did.”

  The tale was just crazy enough to be true. “Velda?” Melissa asked, intrigued and more than a little uneasy. “Why?”

  “She said she caught him going through her purse,” Andrea said. “Byron and I weren’t around at the time. She told us later that she slugged Nathan because he gave her some back talk, and then she kicked him out.” Another sigh. “Of course, he came back, and Velda decided the cops were out to get him and so she’d let him stay at the trailer a while longer.”

  “Were you planning on mentioning this to me at some point?” Melissa asked archly. “The accusation Nathan Carter made could have ruined Deputy Ferguson’s career—or even his life.”

  “We didn’t know he’d accused anybody of anything until he started bragging about it,” Andrea said, sounding miffed. “I wouldn’t have let Deputy Ferguson be blamed, and neither would Byron. He’s a good person, Melissa.”

  “I really want to believe that,” Melissa said slowly.

  “But you don’t?” Andrea challenged, and the tears were back again.

  Melissa didn’t answer.

  “Don’t you see?” Andrea pressed, looking and sounding desperate now. “Nathan Carter robbed that store, not Byron!”

  It wasn’t beyond credibility, but there was one obvious problem. Nathan hadn’t been trying to get away from Stone Creek with the money taken at gunpoint from the Stop & Shop—Byron had been the one at the wheel when Tom caught up to him. And Byron probably wouldn’t have stopped at all if he hadn’t run off the road.

  “Then why wasn’t he driving Velda’s car, Andrea?” Melissa asked, after taking a few moments to collect her own composure. “If Nathan went into that store, wearing a ski mask, and stole that money, why was Byron the one who tried to get away?”

  “I don’t know,” Andrea said.

  “You don’t know,” Melissa repeated, absorbing that.

  “After Byron realized his mom’s car was missing, he told me to go back to my apartment and stay there. He said there was going to be trouble, he could feel it, and he didn’t want me to be involved.”

  “And you went home? Just like that?” Melissa was skeptical. The Andrea she knew wasn’t fond of taking orders.

  “Yes,” Andrea replied. “Byron was really upset, and I was scared. Not of Byron, but of whatever had scared him so much.”

  “So you’ve been home, in your apartment, since Byron sent you away?”

  Andrea bit her lower lip, then shook her head. “No,” she answered, after a few beats. “The Crockett sisters heard about the robbery over their police scanner, and they couldn’t wait to tell me that Sheriff Parker and all his deputies were out hunting for Byron. I panicked and went over to Velda’s, and Nathan was there. He told me Byron was in big trouble, that he’d pulled a heist with a deadly weapon and Velda had gone to the jail to try and do something to help—”

  A chill trickled down Melissa’s spine. “And after that?”

  “Steven Creed brought Velda home. She’s a basket case. Nathan’s making like he’s all caring and everything—he made her a hot toddy and everything.”

  “And you decided to come and talk to me.” It was a statement, not a question. Melissa’s mind was racing, but she knew she appeared calm on the outside. She’d had a lot of practice at that.

  Andrea nodded hard, glanced nervously in the direction of the door. “I knew Byron thought Nathan had taken the car, and when I heard about the robbery and headed over to Velda’s, and Nathan was there, I knew what had really happened. I sneaked out while he was making a fuss over Velda, making her a drink and everything, and then I was scared to go home, because Nathan knows where I live.”

  Melissa rose from her chair, crossed to the wall phone, and picked up the handset.

  Tom Parker answered on the first ring. “Stone Creek County Sheriff’s office,” he said. “This is Tom.”

  Melissa launched right in, telling Tom everything Andrea had told her.

  He didn’t interrupt, but simply listened.

  “I’ll check it out,” he said, when she’d finished. “Keep Andrea there with you, and make sure all the doors and windows are locked up tight.”

  “Tom,” Melissa said, after catching her breath. “Be careful, okay?”

  “Always,” he promised, with a smile in his voice. “I’ll leave Elvis here to guard the prisoner.”

  Melissa didn’t comment. “Call me,” she said.

  “Lock up tight,” Tom responded.

  And then he hung up.

  Melissa checked the front door and all the windows. She brewed more tea, and she and Andrea moved to the living room, where there were draperies over the windows.

  Melissa was definitely creeped out, and she knew Andrea was, too, although neither of them said much. Andrea seemed exhausted, and little wonder, after the night she’d put in.

  Eventually, Andrea fell asleep on the couch.

  Melissa covered her with an afghan Ashley had crocheted for her years ago, as a Christmas gift, and sat down in her easy chair again, huddled inside her bathrobe.

  The clock on the mantel ticked ponderously. Every passing second seemed like a full minute to Melissa, every minute an hour.

  At some point, she nodded off.

  ANDREA AWAKENED HER with a cry of alarm. “My car is gone!”

  Melissa straightened, blinking, surprised to find herself in a chair instead of her bed.

  Andrea was standing by the window, holding back one of the drapes. Cold light spilled over her puffy face, and her cheeks were streaked with mascara and last night’s tears.

  “Wh-what?” Melissa said, bumbling to her feet. Yawning.

  “My car!” Andrea wailed. “I parked it right out there, at the curb, last night. And now it’s gone!”

  “Are you sure?” It was a stupid question, but, despite years of getting up at the crack of dawn to go out and run, in actuality, Melissa wasn’t a morning person.

  “Of course I’m sure!” Andrea replied. “It was there, and now it’s gone!”

  Melissa sighed. Time to put in another call to Tom.

  She picked up the cordless handset in the living room and punched in his office number.

  “Stone Creek County Sheriff’s office,” he answered.

  “Andrea’s car has been stolen,” Melissa blurted.

  Tom was quiet for so long that Melissa spoke up again.

  “Tom? What’s going on?”

  He gave a raspy sigh. “I’ll tell you when you get here,” he said. “In the meantime, put Andrea on. I’m going to need as much information about her car as she can give me.”

  “But—”

  “When you get here, Melissa,” Tom repeated, sternly patient. “Oh, and fair warning. You’re bound to run into Steven Creed. He’s on his way here right now, to oversee Byron Cahill’s release.”

  “You’re letting him go?” Another stupid question.

  She needed coffee. Pronto.

  “Yep,” Tom said.

  Melissa turned to find Andrea standing wide-eyed at her elbow. “The sheriff wants to ask you some questions about your car,” she said to the girl.

  “They’re letting Byron go?” Andrea asked softly.

  Melissa nodded. “Sounds like it,” she said.

  While Andrea was trying to remember her license-plate number and other pertinent details, Melissa hurried off to her room.

  She dressed quickly, donning a black pantsuit, pulling her hair back and fastening it in place with a barrette. She applied minimal makeup and rejoined Andrea in the living room.

  The girl was still standing there, looking dumb-founded with joy. Sure, her car was
gone, possibly for good, but Byron was getting out of jail.

  For Andrea, it was all good.

  They both hopped into Melissa’s roadster, keeping the top up because it was a misty morning, and headed for the courthouse.

  As fate would have it, the first person Melissa encountered was Steven Creed. He was dressed for lawyering, as Big John would have said, in a tailored suit and shoes polished to such a sheen that they almost made her blink.

  Andrea dashed past him, anxious to see Byron.

  Steven’s expression was just short of smug, but something in his eyes made Melissa wary.

  “What?” she finally whispered, standing there in the corridor, looking at him.

  He straightened his tasteful tie—pale blue silk with very thin gray stripes running diagonally—and even though his mouth didn’t shape itself into a smile, he looked amused.

  “So this is your evil twin,” he said, taking in her mean-business pantsuit, slapdash makeup job and prim, no-nonsense hairstyle. One of his eyebrows rose slightly. “I must admit, I like the other Melissa better, the one with no hard edges.”

  Evil twin? Hard edges?

  “Get out of my way,” Melissa said.

  Steven didn’t move except to shove his hands into the pockets of his perfectly tailored trousers and cock his head to one side. “Temper, temper,” he scolded, with syrupy insolence. “Your edges are showing.”

  She tried to go around him, but he blocked her way.

  “Before you go in there, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  Again, Melissa felt that quiet alarm. She drew a deep breath, let it out slowly, and silently instructed herself to calm the heck down. It was downright unprofessional, letting this man rattle her the way he did.

  And even worse that he knew exactly what he was doing.

  “All right,” she said, finally. “What is it?”

  His face tightened almost imperceptibly, and he actually averted his gaze for a moment. “Velda Cahill was assaulted last night.”

  “What?”

  Steven relaxed a little, took a light hold on Melissa’s shoulders. “She’ll be fine in a few days,” he assured her. A muscle bunched in his cheek, and she saw a combination of anger and regret flare up in his eyes, gone as quickly as it appeared. “Carter knocked her around some last night, when he realized Andrea had slipped out of the trailer behind his back. He stole Velda’s watch and the contents of her tip jar and took off.”