Reluctant Dad

by Carla Cassidy

  “I appreciate it.”

  She sank down beside him, so close he could smell the sweet scent that emanated from her, feel the warmth of her body radiating toward him. He tensed against the sensory assault.

  “This is the calm before the storm, isn’t it?” she asked softly.

  He didn’t pretend not to know what she was talking about. “Probably. By this afternoon the police will know you’ve been released from the hospital, as will every reporter in town.”

  “Bill’s funeral is going to be day after tomorrow.” She raised her face toward the sun, as if to gather inner strength. The sunshine emphasized her delicate features, bathing them in warm gold tones.

  Dominic fought the impulse to reach out and touch her cheek, feel her soft skin beneath his fingertips. A flush of warmth swept through him at the thought. What was it about her that affected him on such a primal level? Stirred a longing inside him?

  “You hungry?” she asked suddenly. She turned and looked at him. “It’s almost noon.”

  He nodded. “I could eat.”

  She stood. “What would you like? Ham sandwiches? Hamburgers? Or maybe you prefer something more substantial? I think I have some steak in the freezer. I could thaw it in the microwave, or maybe...” A frantic energy radiated from her, as if the most important element in her life at the moment was to please him with lunch.

  He held up a hand to stop her. “I don’t get that many choices at the local diner,” he said, watching a small stain of blush sweep over her cheeks. “Melissa, I might be here for several days. I don’t expect you to wait on me. We’re kind of like partners in this mess.”

  “Partners?” She looked at him for a long moment. “Okay, but what I could really use right now is a friend.” She held her hand out to him. “Would you be my friend, Dominic?”

  He saw her need shining in her eyes. The need for a companion to guide her through the hell that was sure to come, a friend to support her through the grief and horror. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to offer her his friendship.

  Maybe his attraction to her was nothing more than his own need for a friend. His friends had fallen away like leaves from a tree in autumn when he’d been arrested, and he’d never had the inclination or the desire to rake them up after he’d been released.

  He enclosed her hand with his, the strength of her grip surprising him. “Friends,” he agreed.

  She smiled. A full, wonderful smile with enough warmth to rival the sun. Desire for her hit Dominic square in the gut. He quickly released her hand, shamed by his inappropriate need.

  “Let’s go eat,” she said. She picked up the baby and started toward the house.

  Dominic followed more slowly, knowing this promised to be the most difficult assignment he would ever undertake.

  They had just finished ham-and-cheese sandwiches and were sharing the cleanup when the doorbell rang. Melissa froze, knowing a visitor could only be the precursor of something terrible.

  “Stay here. I’ll answer it,” Dominic said. As he left the kitchen, Melissa moved closer to Jamison, who slept in his carrier in the center of the table. So far he’d been an exceptionally good baby, crying only when hungry and sleeping the rest of the time. It was as if the chaos of his unexpected birth had been more than enough for him, and he was content now just to sleep.

  “It was a reporter,” Dominic said as he reentered the kitchen. “I sent him away.”

  “Good. Thank you.” She sank into a chair at the table, her gaze fixed on her son. She could see both Bill and herself in his tiny features—Bill’s strong jaw, the very round shape of her own eyes.

  “Melissa?” Dominic’s voice was soft, inquiring.

  She looked up at him in despair. “What if they charge me with Bill’s murder? What if I end up being convicted? Who is going to love Jamison like I do?” Her voice thickened with emotion. “I’ll miss everything—his first steps, his first words....”

  “We aren’t going to let that happen.” Dominic joined her at the table. “Melissa, if the police aren’t going to find the real killer, then we’ll have to.”

  “But how?” Melissa felt a bubble of hysteria rise into the back of her throat. Damn Bill. Even in death he had the last word, continued the abuse. She could almost hear his laughter taunting her.

  “We’re going to have to pick apart Bill’s life, find out everything we can about him. We need to go through his work records, his personal papers, whatever we can find that might yield a clue.”

  “But aren’t the police already doing all that?” she asked.

  “Not if what Samantha and Tyler said is true. If the police have narrowed their focus to you alone, then they aren’t looking for other suspects, aren’t following any other avenues. The only reason they haven’t grilled you yet is because you’ve been in the hospital.”

  Melissa sighed. She’d only been home a couple of hours and already she was died—far too tired for a twenty-five-year-old. “So, where do we begin?”

  Before he could answer, the doorbell rang again. Dominic immediately stood. “I’ll be right back.”

  She assumed it was probably another reporter, looking for an exclusive interview with the murder suspect. Melissa knew this would be a juicy story, especially given the social status of her maiden name.

  The fact that her father had been a wealthy, highly respected attorney before his death, would only add fuel to the fires of gossip. There was nothing people loved more than a prominent person’s fall from grace.

  She rose in surprise when Dominic returned to the kitchen, this time in the company of an older, portly gentleman with a shock of silver hair.

  “Richard Wallace,” the man said, holding out a hand toward her. “I spoke with your sister yesterday.”

  “Oh, yes. Thank you for coming.” Melissa shook his hand, realizing he was the lawyer Samantha had contacted about representing Melissa. “Please, sit down. Let me just take the baby to his room.” She knew it was silly, but she didn’t want Jamison in the center of the table while they spoke of the heinous crime and her supposed part in his father’s death.

  It took her only moments to put the baby to bed in the room where teddy bears danced on the wallpaper border. Then Melissa stood in the center of the floor, breathing in the scent of her son, capturing it in her lungs to give her strength.

  Richard Wallace’s appearance suddenly made everything frighteningly real. Bill was dead, and the police believed she was responsible.

  If they didn’t find the real killer, then she would go to prison, possibly for the rest of her life. Her son would grow up motherless, fatherless....

  She turned and left the room. In the hallway, she looked toward the master bedroom. The door was closed and she had yet to go into the room where Bill had died, even though Samantha had told her she’d thoroughly cleaned it the day before. Too bad Samantha couldn’t cleanse Melissa’s memory as effectively.

  When she returned to the kitchen, Dominic was making coffee, and Richard had opened a briefcase and was pulling paperwork out across the table.

  It took them only a few minutes to discuss the business end of Richard’s representation. “I knew your father,” Richard said when she’d signed the contract that retained him as her counsel. “A fine man. An exceptional lawyer.”

  And a rotten father, Melissa mentally added. But, since her father’s death seven months earlier, Melissa had found a healing peace where Jamison Jackson Dark’s inadequacies as a father were concerned. In fact, she wished he were here now, to help her out of this mess. Jamison hadn’t been a compassionate, loving father, but he had been a brilliant lawyer.

  Now she had to depend on Richard Wallace to carry her through the legal entanglements. Just as she had to depend on Dominic to be a friend. A friend. The word sounded wonderful.

  “I understand you were separated from Bill for a period of time,” Richard said, a legal pad opened before him.

  “Only a couple of months,” Melissa answered.

  “Did y
ou want the separation or did Bill?”

  Melissa wrapped her fingers around her coffee cup. “We mutually agreed we needed some time apart.” It was a tiny white lie—one she couldn’t imagine would hurt anyone. Bill had never wanted a separation, had been surprised by her uncharacteristic resolve and determination to break free of him. In an equally uncharacteristic display of indulgence, he’d agreed to give her some space, then had set in motion a campaign to win her back.

  Melissa tightened her grip on her coffee cup, wishing she hadn’t given in to him, wishing she could go back and be strong enough, smart enough to realize he would never change, and his promises of reformation had been nothing more than empty lies.

  “Bill was pleased by your pregnancy?”

  “That’s what made us decide to put the marriage back together again.” At least she wasn’t lying about that. Initially Bill had seemed ecstatic at the news of her pregnancy. He’d told her how important it was for them to be a family once again, how desperately he wanted to be a good father. Then, when she’d agreed to get back together and after they’d moved into this house, he hadn’t mentioned her pregnancy again.

  Richard continued his questions, asking her about the reconciliation, her movements and activities on the night of the murder, their financial situation at the time of Bill’s death. She answered each question as truthfully as possible, guarding only the secret that would cast doubt on her innocence.

  Richard Wallace exuded a calm confidence, an innate intelligence that helped ease Melissa’s worries. His questions were sharp and to the point, and he seemed to believe in her innocence, although he never asked her directly if she was responsible for Bill’s death.

  Dominic sat so close to her she could smell his attractive, masculine scent. His nearness also helped chase away some of her apprehension. Surely with two such strong, intelligent men on her side, she couldn’t help but get through this all right.

  “You know the name of the store clerk who checked you out on the evening of the murder?” Richard asked.

  “Sandy. Sandy Mason.”

  The phone rang, interrupting them. Dominic answered. “She’s not available for comment,” he said, then hung up. Immediately the phone rang again.

  “I suggest you get an answering machine or turn off your phone,” Richard advised. “I absolutely don’t want you saying anything to any reporter. In fact, I don’t want you discussing this case with anyone without my presence. I’ll release whatever information we want to go out to the press.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Melissa agreed. She had no desire to speak with any reporters and feed the gossipmongers.

  “Samantha told me yesterday that there are some concerns about your safety,” Richard continued. “After hearing all the facts, I think you’re right to be concerned.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Dominic said.

  Richard nodded. “Melissa, I don’t want you leaving this house without Dominic. I don’t want you going to your mailbox, answering the door or wandering around the yard without him by your side.”

  “That’s like being a prisoner in my own home,” she said softly.

  Richard offered her a grim smile. “No, my dear. It’s nothing like being a prisoner. Keeping you out of prison is what we’re going to try to do.”

  Melissa felt a shiver whisper up her spine at his words. Prison. Surely the police case against her wouldn’t go so far. Surely they would discover who had really murdered Bill long before she was actually charged. “What can I do to help you learn the identity of the real killer?” she asked.

  Richard looked at her, his silver eyebrows dancing upward in surprise. “My dear, it’s not my job to find the real killer. It’s my job simply to prove that you aren’t the killer. Leave the investigation to the police, and I’ll take care of the legal work.”

  He placed his papers back in his briefcase and stood. “That’s really all we can do for now. Detective Mawlins wants to question you tomorrow. He wanted you at the station, but I insisted he question you here. He’s to meet with us at two.”

  “Thank you. I much prefer not having to go to the station.”

  “Then I’ll see you here tomorrow about one-thirty,” Richard said as he, Melissa and Dominic walked out of the kitchen and toward the front door. “Don’t worry, everything is going to be just fine.”

  Melissa forced a smile, even though she had a feeling nothing was ever going to be fine again. She opened the door and Richard took a step out, then turned back to her.

  “Oh, one more thing,” he said. “There’s a simple way to get yourself pretty clear of any suspicions.”

  “What’s that?” Melissa asked hopefully.

  “Take a lie-detector test.”

  The words hung in the air. Melissa felt the weight of not only Richard’s gaze on her, but Dominic’s, as well. She wanted to say she would, but she was afraid.

  “Although they aren’t admitted into evidence in a court case, it would alleviate some of the police suspicion,” Richard explained.

  What if they asked her about her relationship with Bill? What if they asked her if she’d ever wanted him dead? It was too risky. Contrary to what Richard thought, a lie-detector test would not eliminate her as a suspect; it would only strengthen a case against her.

  “I...I can’t do that,” she finally answered.

  Richard nodded, seeming unfazed by her reply. “Okay, then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  As she watched Richard go down the sidewalk to his car, she felt Dominic’s gaze on her, studying her with surprise, in confusion.

  “I’m going to go check on the baby,” she said, refusing to address the unspoken questions in his eyes.

  As she walked down the hallway, she could still feel Dominic watching her, and she knew he was wondering if he’d been wrong about her innocence, and if she really had killed Bill.

  She wasn’t sure why, but she wanted Dominic to believe her without reservation. She needed him to believe in her.

  Suddenly the confidence she’d felt earlier ebbed away, leaving her in the cold, clammy grip of despair.

  Chapter 5

  The house was silent, dark except for the single light Dominic had burning in the living room. Melissa had stayed in the baby’s room for most of the afternoon and evening, coming out only to tell Dominic to help himself to anything he wanted to eat for dinner.

  He’d made himself a couple of sandwiches, eaten alone in the kitchen and had cleaned up his mess. Then, after checking to make certain all of the doors and windows were locked tight for the night, he’d flopped down on the sofa, his thoughts his only company.

  He had to admit, Melissa’s refusal to take a lie-detector test had thrown him for a loop. Although he understood why Richard hadn’t pressed the issue. Richard didn’t care if Melissa was guilty or not, and as a lawyer, he wouldn’t want a test that indicated deception. His job was to defend her...period.

  However, if she was innocent, why would she deny herself an opportunity to prove it by taking a lie-detector test? It made no sense.

  Had she killed Bill? And if she had...why? Or was it possible she knew who might have committed the crime? Was she protecting someone? And if so, whom? And why?

  Or was it simpler than that? Did she realize how easily the questions on a lie-detector test could be twisted to imply guilt when no guilt was present?

  She’d left the front door unlocked, which had allowed the killer access to the house. It was possible that fact alone was enough to make her feel partially responsible for Bill’s murder.

  Dominic leaned back against the cushions of the sofa and looked around the room curiously. Melissa was obviously a spotless housekeeper. No clutter marred the room, no magazines splayed across the coffee table. A place for everything and everything in its place.

  This area of the house radiated little warmth, as if this room hadn’t seen much entertainment, much living. And yet, the easy chair in front of the television bore the depression of a man’s we
ight.

  A coaster on the table nearby implied nights of Bill sitting in the chair, perhaps drinking a cold beer or soda as he relaxed after a hard day’s work. The room seemed more male than female, spartan and without feminine touches.

  It seemed odd to him. In the short time he’d spent with Melissa, she’d struck him as a woman who would have the need to feather her nest in her own distinctive style. He could easily put her in a home filled with cut wildflower arrangements, fragile knickknacks that each had special meaning, wind chimes tinkling to welcome in a morning breeze.

  He thought of her as he’d seen her that afternoon, standing amid the flowers, whispering sweet nothings to her infant as she filled the bird feeders.

  It was difficult to imagine her being able to commit a murder. There was a gentleness about her that would seem to make such an act practically impossible.

  A gentleness in her soul and a hint of dark secrets in her eyes. He frowned and rubbed a hand across his jaw. Maybe it wasn’t secrets at all, but merely the shadows of grief not yet explored.

  He sat up as he heard the distant cry of the baby. A moment later the sounds grew closer and Melissa walked into the living room, carrying the crying infant in her arms. She jumped in surprise at the sight of Dominic, as if she’d forgotten his presence in the house or was afraid of disturbing him in any way.

  “Hi. I didn’t realize you were still up. It’s time for his nine o‘clock feeding,” she explained. “I need to make him a bottle.”

  He followed her out to the kitchen, where she shifted the baby from one arm to the other as she pulled a can of formula from the cabinet.

  “You want me to hold him while you do that?” he asked after a moment of hesitation.

  She smiled gratefully. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” She handed Jamison to him, the baby’s displeasure obvious at having to wait for his meal.

  “He’s got healthy lungs,” Dominic said teasingly.

  Jamison’s face was red, his forehead wrinkled with his cries. Dominic touched a finger to Jamison’s cheek. Soft. Like nothing he’d touched before. He laughed as the baby stopped crying and turned his head toward Dominic’s finger. “You’re a demanding little fellow,” he said. Jamison quieted, as if intrigued by the sound of Dominic’s voice.