Tears blurred Melissa’s vision as she thought of Bill. Even though she’d grown to hate him, she hadn’t wished this kind of death for him—although if she searched her heart, she knew she would find a dark corner where she’d sometimes fantasized his death. But not by brutal murder. Never in such violence.
Bill didn’t have any family, so there was nobody to contact, there were no relatives to grieve. Only her. And her grief was superficial, forced by the fact that she felt she should grieve.
“The one night my husband decides to take me out for dinner and a movie, all hell breaks loose.” Samantha Dark Sinclair stalked into the room like a comet broken free from its projected path. “Oh, Missy, what in the hell happened last night?”
As Samantha pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and grabbed Melissa’s hand, Melissa burst into tears. The strain and utter horror of Bill’s death, combined with the unexpected birth, was simply too much.
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry about Bill.” Samantha’s eyes sparkled with tears of sympathy. “I can’t imagine the grief you must be feeling.”
The fact that her sister thought her tears were all for her husband only made Melissa cry harder. The baby added his wails, and it was his cries that made Melissa cease sobbing, regain control.
“Let me see that big boy,” Samantha said as she reached to pick him up. “He’s beautiful,” she exclaimed. “I couldn’t believe it when Dominic told me he’d helped you give birth to this little munchkin.”
“Thank goodness Dominic was there. I don’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t been,” Melissa replied, thinking of the way Dominic had encouraged her, comforted her through her fear and pain.
Even though she felt grateful to Dominic, she also felt a twinge of embarrassment as she thought of the unexpected intimacy the birth had created between them.
“Yeah, Dominic is a good guy.” Samantha handed the baby back to Melissa who began to breastfeed him. “Now, let’s talk about last night.” She scooted her chair closer to Melissa’s bed.
Melissa stroked the top of her little boy’s head. “I’m going to name him Jamison, after Dad,” she said.
“That’s nice. Dad would have liked that.”
Melissa looked at her sister. “No, he probably would have hated it. He hated Bill.”
Samantha looked at her in surprise. “He did?”
Of course Samantha didn’t know; couldn’t know how vehemently Jamison Jackson Dark had opposed Melissa’s marriage to Bill. Samantha had left Wilford when Melissa was eighteen, leaving Melissa behind to cope with their cold, autocratic father. Samantha had only been back in town six months, and it was only recently that the two sisters had managed to recapture the closeness they’d once shared.
Two months after Samantha had left Wilford, Bill had moved to town. Bill, with his sweet little smile and his laughing blue eyes. Bill, who had made Melissa feel beautiful and desired. He’d been a panacea for the cold indifference she’d suffered from her father, an escape from the mansion that held no warmth, no love.
“Dad thought Bill was too old for me,” she explained to her sister. “He was thirty when we met, but I didn’t care what Dad said. I wanted a life with Bill. Dad didn’t even come to our wedding and never accepted Bill as a son-in-law.”
“Did that cause problems between you and Bill?” Samantha asked.
Melissa shook her head. “Not really. Bill didn’t seem to care. Dad wasn’t one who was into family gatherings.”
“No kidding,” Samantha replied dryly.
For a moment the two sisters were silent, and Melissa knew Samantha was thinking about their father. It was only after his death almost a year ago that Melissa was finally able to forgive him for being incapable of filling his daughters’ emotional needs.
“Melissa, we need to talk about last night...about Bill’s murder.”
“I know.” Once again Melissa stroked her son’s head. He’d fallen asleep. Melissa didn’t want to think about Bill—his life or his death. She wanted it all to just go away. All her emotions were too close to the surface, too mixed-up to sort out.
“I tried to get some information from the police before I came here, but they aren’t releasing anything yet,” Samantha said. “Tell me what happened, Melissa.”
For the third time, Melissa explained the events that had led up to her discovering Bill murdered. Samantha listened silently, asking only an occasional question. Melissa could tell by Samantha’s questions that she was assessing the situation not as her sister, but as an attorney.
“It looks bad, doesn’t it?” Melissa finally asked.
“Right now, perhaps,” Samantha agreed. “But I’m sure when the police finish their investigation, they’ll find forensic evidence of an intruder...somebody else’s presence in the house.” She patted Melissa’s hand reassuringly.
“Detective Mawlins thinks I did it. He thinks I killed Bill. I saw it in his eyes last night when he questioned me.”
Samantha snorted. “Detective Mawlins is a disgrace to the department. He’s lazy, so he’ll look to solve this as quickly and easily as possible.”
Melissa sighed. “I keep thinking I should know something—somebody who was angry enough with Bill to do this. But I can’t think of anyone.” Except me, she added to herself.
“Melissa, it’s possible this was just a random act of violence. A robbery gone bad.”
Melissa frowned. Samantha’s suggestion didn’t feel right. Bill’s business van had been parked in the driveway. She’d had stew warming on the stove. Surely a burglar would be more discerning in choosing a house to rob. She sighed once again and rubbed her forehead.
“You’re tired. I’ll get out of here.” Samantha stood, leaned down and kissed Melissa’s cheek, then the baby’s head. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I’m going to put Dominic and Tyler to work on this case. You just get your strength back and take care of this precious little boy.”
Melissa nodded, suddenly exhausted. Bill’s death still felt oddly distant, almost surreal to her. She knew she hadn’t yet felt its full impact.
“Melissa?” Samantha paused in the doorway and looked back at her. “You and Bill... Things were okay between the two of you, right?”
Oh, how she wanted to tell Samantha the truth, that things had been horrible; that in marrying Bill she had exchanged one kind of prison for a far worse one. But shame kept her silent; the folly of her stupidity was too painful.
“Everything was great with me and Bill,” she finally answered.
As Samantha left the hospital room, a cold wind of despair blew through Melissa. She was tangling herself up in a web of lies. Hopefully nobody would be able to see through the gossamer strands to learn the truth. Because Melissa knew that in that truth was the perfect motive for murder.
Chapter 3
Dominic gripped the floral bouquet more tightly, feeling silly as he walked down the hospital corridor toward the maternity unit. It had been two days since the birth. Despite his intentions to stay uninvolved, in spite of the fact that he had no desire to form any sort of emotional attachment to either Melissa Newman or her baby, he’d been unable to stop himself from this visit.
He wanted to see the infant who had entered this world in Dominic’s hands. And he felt pity for the woman who’d lost her loved one. There would be no flowers from a beaming husband, no blue-banded cigars passed around, no daddy to boast with pride about his new addition to the family.
A tragedy. That was what it was. And Dominic knew all about tragedy.
He hesitated just outside Melissa’s hospital room, fighting the impulse to run. What the hell are you trying to do? an inner voice mocked.
He just wanted to see the baby, that was all. He wanted to see those big, blue innocent eyes that had gazed so trustingly into his. Those eyes that had not judged, not censured, only accepted. It had been a long time since Dominic had seen that in anyone’s eyes.
Besides, he wanted to assure himself that the infant was
well and healthy, that there were no ill effects from the crazy circumstances of the birth.
Drawing a deep breath, he stepped into the room and stopped short at the sight that greeted him. Melissa was asleep, the baby in her arms.
The room smelled of baby powder and a faint floral perfume. The afternoon sunshine streamed through the window, outlining the bed and Melissa with its golden beams.
Dominic felt an emotional pull deep in his gut as one tiny hand came free from the blue blanket and waved in the air, as if beckoning him closer.
He stood still, uncertain whether to leave the flowers and back out, or wait for her to wake up. Before he could make up his mind, her eyes opened.
“Dominic.” She offered him a sweet, sleepy smile as she moved to a sitting position. “Please...come in.” She motioned him toward the chair next to the bed.
“I brought these for you,” he said, gesturing to the flowers he held. “I’ll just put them here.” He walked over to a small table, where another arrangement sat in colorful glory. He recognized Samantha’s handwriting on the card that poked out of the flowers.
“Thank you. They’re beautiful,” Melissa replied.
“I just thought I’d stop by and see how you and the baby were getting along.” He shifted from one foot to the other. He’d always hated hospitals.
“We’re doing fine.” She beckoned him closer, smiling down at the baby boy in her arms. “Even though you’ve already met him, allow me to officially introduce you to Jamison Jackson Newman.”
“Pretty big name for such a little boy,” Dominic said as he peered down at the infant.
“He’ll grow into it.” She picked up the baby and held him out to Dominic. “Here, hold him. You helped bring this little bundle of joy into the world.”
“Oh, no, I—” Dominic’s protests were cut short as she placed the baby in his arms. He sank into the chair, afraid to remain standing while holding the precious child. The scent of baby powder and the snuggly warmth against his chest momentarily took away his capacity to speak.
He’d once wanted children. A houseful. He’d fantasized about marrying Abigail and starting a family of healthy, beloved children. But Abigail had married another man, then had been murdered, and Dominic’s dreams had died at the same time. There would be no children for him; no love, no marriage.
Still, his heart went out to this little fatherless child, born amid chaos, forced into a premature entrance into the world by his mother’s emotional stress.
“Dominic, I’d like for you to be his godfather.”
He looked at Melissa in surprise. “Oh, no... No, I couldn’t.” He stood and handed the baby back to her, trying to ignore the hurt that momentarily darkened her eyes. “Look, I’m honored by the thought, but I just really don’t think it’s right.”
She fussed with the baby’s blanket, her gaze averted from his. “You’re probably right. It was just a crazy impulse.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence and Dominic wished he’d handled the situation with more diplomacy. Once again he shifted from foot to foot, seeking a graceful way to escape.
“Tell me what’s going on with the investigation,” she said, breaking the awkward silence. “I’ve been so isolated I don’t know what’s been happening. I need to know what progress has been made in finding Bill’s killer.”
Dominic hesitated before answering. How could he tell her that according to the newspapers, according to the scuttlebutt he’d heard, the police believed they had the murderer—and the murderer was her?
“The investigation is ongoing,” he hedged.
She sighed impatiently. “I know that, but surely by now they have some sort of leads, some clues they’re pursuing.”
Dominic sank back down in the chair. “There’s not a lot of official information coming from the police yet,” he explained. “But from what little I’ve been able to glean, the authorities have pretty well ruled out a ‘stranger’ homicide or a burglary gone awry.”
She frowned and Dominic noticed the color of her eyes exactly matched the aquamarine flowers that dotted her hospital gown. “I don’t understand. What would make the police come to that conclusion?”
“They believe Bill’s death was a rage killing. And rage usually means somebody close to the victim.” He hoped she wouldn’t pursue it further; he wasn’t comfortable sharing the grim details with her.
“A rage killing?” She studied him thoughtfully, her hand absently stroking the baby’s little arm. “How many times was he stabbed?”
He was surprised by her acumen, her instant grasp of the situation. “Twenty-two.”
She closed her eyes with a swift intake of breath. Dominic felt an empathetic swirl of sadness inside his chest. The details of a death were never pretty, but somehow always more palatable when devoid of such obvious overkill.
She looked at him once again. “What about fingerprints on the knife?”
“They haven’t gotten results back from the lab.”
She nodded and took a moment to rearrange the blanket around the baby. “I’m surprised nobody from the police department has been in to ask me more questions.”
Dominic smiled. “You can thank your sister for that. She told the hospital personnel that she’d personally sue them all if any police got in to see you, and she told Detective Mawlins he could interview you once you were out of here.”
“She also talked them into keeping me a day longer than usual. I’m going home tomorrow morning,” she said. “Samantha told me the police have released the house.”
“And I’ve been trying to tell her she shouldn’t go back there. She should stay with me and Tyler,” Samantha said as she walked into the room. Tyler followed behind her and both nodded a greeting to Dominic.
“Samantha, I explained to you yesterday, I need to go home...to my home. Staying with you and Tyler will only postpone the inevitable.” Melissa plumped the pillow behind her head and sat up straighter. “Besides, the baby’s room is all set up there. It just makes sense for me to go home.”
She looked down at the baby. “Bill is gone, and I can’t do anything to change that, but I won’t let them take my home from me as well.” Her voice was deep, full of emotion.
Again Dominic marveled at the strength, the fortitude that would allow her to return to the house where her husband had been murdered. At the same time, he understood her need to be there, to take her son back to the place where she and her husband had lived, had loved.
“I’ll just get out of here and let you all talk,” Dominic said as he stood.
“No, please, stay,” Samantha protested. “We have some things to discuss that include you.” Samantha walked over to the bed and swept a caressing finger over the baby’s cheek. “Why don’t we put this little guy in his own bed?” She took the baby and placed him in the crib across the room, then returned to Tyler’s side.
Samantha leaned against Tyler, and Dominic noticed the way Tyler’s hand went to her waist in a completely unconscious gesture of married intimacy.
Dominic had a feeling that whatever news they’d brought was not good, and he watched Melissa as she squared her shoulders, as if preparing herself for it.
“It seems Detective Mawlins has you in his crosshairs,” Samantha said.
The words caused Melissa to frown worriedly. “Has some new information come to light?” she asked.
“There was no sign of forced entry, and the murder weapon was from your kitchen drawer.” Samantha hesitated for a moment and Tyler’s hand moved from her waist to her shoulder, as if silently offering strength. “Apparently the only prints on the knife were yours.”
Melissa gasped. “But...but that’s impossible!”
“Not really,” Dominic replied. “You probably touched your knives a thousand times—using them, washing them, then putting them away. If the killer wore gloves, then your prints would be the only ones that showed up.”
“Then that’s got to be what happened,” Melissa exclaim
ed.
“Yes, well, Mawlins thinks you did it, and the official investigation seems to be focused solely on proving your guilt,” Samantha said. “You had access to the weapon, you don’t have a substantiated alibi for the three-hour period when the murder occurred. The only thing the police are lacking at this moment is a logical motive.”
Melissa winced ruefully. Her sister never sugarcoated her words.
“Harvey Mawlins hated your father, which gives him a personal reason to go after you,” Tyler added. “Your father regularly discredited Mawlins on the witness stand in a variety of cases. Harvey’s hatred runs deep.”
“You need a lawyer, Melissa. Tyler and I both think it best if you get a lawyer right away,” Samantha said.
“Okay...you’re hired,” Melissa retorted.
Samantha shook her head. “It’s never a good idea to represent family members. Jurors don’t believe lawyers whose clients are family.”
Melissa closed her eyes, a wave of despair twisting her features. Dominic could guess the thoughts that scurried through her head. The word “jurors” implied a trial with her as the defendant.
He remembered how frightened, how utterly helpless he’d felt when he’d realized he was the only suspect in Abigail’s murder; that the police had already tried and convicted him without pursuing any other leads.
“We’ve contacted Richard Wallace. He’s a criminal trial attorney in Kansas City. He’s agreed to represent you. He’s a good lawyer, Melissa,” Samantha said. “He’s coming to town tomorrow to speak with you.”
Melissa nodded wearily.
“I know this is all a little overwhelming at the moment,” Tyler added. “But we’d rather err on the side of caution.”
“If you insist on going back to your house tomorrow, then I’d like Dominic to go with you, to stay with you for the next couple of days,” Samantha said.
Dominic didn’t know whose face registered more surprise, his own or Melissa’s.
“Hear me out.” Samantha raised a hand to stifle any protests from her sister. She moved to the side of the bed. “You don’t just have yourself to think about anymore.” She glanced at the baby sleeping in the nearby crib. “Melissa, you told me the other day that you couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone to the store while Bill was taking his early-evening nap. You said it was your normal routine to be in the house cooking dinner at that hour.”
Reluctant Dad Page 3