The Bad Daughter

by Joy Fielding

  “I don’t usually wear a bra,” Cassidy said. “I never even had boobs till I got my period. And it might kind of dig in.”

  “Of course. How stupid of me.”

  “You’re not stupid,” Cassidy said. “You’re the best.” She turned and buried her head in Robin’s chest as her arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

  Tears sprang to Robin’s eyes. “Let’s get you home.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Three reporters and a photographer were waiting in the parking lot when Robin and Blake, pushing Cassidy in a wheelchair and flanked by two deputies, reached the front door of the hospital.

  “Damn that Terri Glover,” Robin said.

  “Norris,” Blake corrected. “She traded in the Glover, remember?”

  “What do we do?”

  “I’ll get the car,” Blake said. “Bring it up to the door.”

  “What do they want?” Cassidy asked.

  “Some sort of statement, I guess. Some pictures.”

  “Of me?”

  “You don’t have to talk to anyone,” Blake told her. “Just hang tight. I’ll be right back.”

  “Who are you?” one reporter called out as Blake pushed the door open.

  “Cassidy!” cried another. “Cassidy, look this way.”

  “How are you feeling, Cassidy?” the third one shouted. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  “Who shot you?”

  “Oh, God,” said Cassidy as the door swung shut.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart.” Robin looked from one deputy to the other. “Can’t you do something?”

  “They’ve been warned to keep their distance,” one of the deputies replied. “The sheriff’s on his way.”

  “I’m scared,” said Cassidy.

  “Don’t be,” Robin said. Then, “Hell. I’m scared, too.”

  “Really? You get scared?”

  Pretty much every day of my life, Robin thought. “We’ll be okay,” she said.

  “What about Daddy?” Cassidy asked. “Will he be okay?”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

  Cassidy had insisted on seeing their father before they left the hospital. Robin had wheeled her into his room, and the child had sat beside his bed for ten long minutes, holding his hand and crying quietly. “Please wake up, Daddy,” she kept repeating. “Please wake up.”

  But Greg Davis didn’t wake up, and every hour brought less hope that he ever would. He’d suffered another seizure the previous night. The next one would likely kill him, his doctor had confided. Still, if anyone could prove them wrong, Robin thought, it was her father.

  “Cassidy?” a woman said, approaching from behind.

  Robin’s first thought was that a reporter had somehow managed to get past the guard, but when she turned around she saw that it was one of the nurses assigned to Cassidy’s care. The young woman was holding a bouquet of white tulips. “We wanted you to have these,” she said, nodding toward two older nurses standing behind her as she transferred the floral bouquet to Cassidy.

  “Thank you so much,” said Cassidy. “They’re so beautiful.”

  “You’re our little miracle child,” the nurse said.

  “Take care of yourself,” said another.

  “Come back and see us whenever you want.”

  “That was really nice of them,” Cassidy said after they were gone.

  “Yes, it was.”

  “Can I tell you something awful?”

  “Something awful?”

  Cassidy motioned for Robin to lean closer. “I don’t like tulips,” she whispered.

  “You don’t?” Robin smiled. “I thought everybody liked tulips.”

  “Mommy always said that they don’t smell, they droop, and then they die.”

  Robin decided that was a pretty fair assessment.

  “I like roses better.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Robin said as Blake pulled his car up to the front door.

  “Ready?” asked one of the deputies.

  Robin nodded as the deputy opened the door. Immediately a flood of voices washed over them.

  “Do you know who shot you, Cassidy?”

  “Did you recognize the person who killed your mother?”

  “Was it someone you know?”

  “Cassidy, look this way.”

  “Can you give us a smile?”

  And still more voices, disembodied, relentless, pummeling them like angry fists as Robin raised her arms in front of her face, trying to block the prying gaze of the camera. “Robin, is it true you haven’t talked to your father in over five years?”

  “Is your brother a suspect?”

  “Who do you think is responsible?”

  The sheriff pulled into the parking lot as Blake was helping Cassidy out of her wheelchair and into the backseat of his car. “Okay, guys, back off. Now,” he commanded. “You’ve got your pictures. Nobody’s answering any questions today. The child’s terrified. Get the hell out of here.”

  Miraculously, the reporters obeyed, dispersing as quickly as if the sheriff had tossed a smoke bomb into their midst, although the cameraman stayed behind, clicking away. Robin took her seat beside Cassidy as Blake got behind the wheel, about to drive off when the sheriff knocked on his side window.

  “I’ll give you a police escort home,” Prescott said.

  “Appreciate that.”

  “Can’t promise the vultures won’t follow us.” The sheriff peered into the backseat. “How you doin’, kiddo?”

  “I’m okay. I got flowers,” Cassidy said, holding up her bouquet.

  Robin put her arms around the child and hugged her close, careful not to apply too much pressure. “I want to be just like you when I grow up,” she said.

  * * *

  —

  They arrived home fifteen minutes later. The sheriff parked at the top of the driveway to allow Blake entry, and Blake pulled his car as close to the front door as possible.

  Melanie’s car was nowhere in sight. Which was good, Robin decided. Melanie was going to be far from thrilled to see Cassidy, and even less thrilled to see the sheriff.

  “Doesn’t look as if anybody’s home,” Prescott said, helping Blake and Robin with Cassidy. “Must still be at Donny’s ranch.”

  “I take it that means you’re still following us,” Robin said, bristling.

  “Just making sure nobody gets any bad ideas.”

  “What do you mean?” Cassidy asked. “What bad ideas?”

  “Nothing for you to worry about, sweetheart,” he answered. “Now, you think you’re strong enough to walk to the door on your own?”

  “How about I carry you?” Blake offered before Cassidy could answer.

  Relief flashed through Cassidy’s doe-like brown eyes. “Thank you.” She leaned her head against Blake’s shoulder as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the house.

  Robin glanced toward the road, where three cars had already stopped to unload photographers with long-range lenses. As she watched, a small truck with a FOX News logo pulled up and a man jumped out, balancing a camera on one shoulder. “Shit,” Robin said. Melanie is going to have a fit when she sees the growing media circus. Not even a town the size of Red Bluff was safe. “Isn’t there anything you can do about this?” she asked the sheriff.

  “As long as they stay on public property, my hands are tied. I can have a deputy posted at the top of your driveway if you’d like, make sure nobody trespasses. But you should probably consult with your sister about that.”

  Won’t that be fun? Robin thought, leaving his side to unlock the front door, then standing back as Blake carried Cassidy through the hallway and into the living room. He deposited her gently on the sofa, then sat down beside her, the child still clinging to his side.

  “Well, thank you, Sheriff,” Robin said, surprised to find him still hovering, “for making sure we got home safely. We can manage things from here.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a drink of somethin
g cold, would you?” he asked.

  “I’ll get it,” Blake offered. “I could use a drink myself.”

  “No,” said Cassidy, her hand clutching tight to his arm. “Don’t leave me.”

  “How about I put those flowers in a vase,” Robin said, taking the bouquet from Cassidy’s hands, “and bring a pitcher of water in here. Sheriff, would you mind giving me a hand?”

  Prescott looked skeptical. “It would be my pleasure.” He followed her down the hall. “I take it you have something you want to say to me,” he said when they reached the kitchen.

  “What the hell are you trying to do to that child?” Robin demanded angrily, setting the flowers on the counter.

  “I’m not sure I under—”

  “The hell you don’t! What are you doing suggesting to Cassidy that she go back to my father’s house?”

  “It’s not an unreasonable idea.”

  “She’s twelve years old! Her mother was murdered. She’s been through a terrible trauma. And you’re asking her to relive it?”

  Sheriff Prescott lowered his voice, perhaps hoping Robin would do the same. “I’m conducting a murder investigation, Robin. Cassidy is our only witness.”

  “She’s also a victim. And she’s already told you that she can’t identify the men who were in the house that night.”

  “She thinks she can’t identify them, but being back in the house might—”

  “No. I won’t allow it.”

  “I don’t think that’s your decision to make. Cassidy seems ready…”

  “Cassidy’s a minor,” Robin reminded him. “And if I have to hire a lawyer and get a court order to stop you, that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

  “Anything else?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes, there is.”

  The sheriff cocked his head to one side, like a curious bulldog.

  “Stop harassing my brother. You can’t make him stay in Red Bluff indefinitely, hoping to come up with enough evidence to arrest him. He has a life in San Francisco, and you have no right to keep him here. The way I see it is that you have two choices: either you arrest him or you leave him alone. Shit or get off the pot, as my father used to say.” Robin was stunned by her outburst. She was even more stunned to hear herself quoting her father.

  “Everything all right in there?” Blake called from the other room.

  “Everything’s fine,” Robin called back. She found a glass vase in the cupboard over the sink, filled it with water, then arranged the tulips inside it, watching as they almost instantly drooped. “Here,” she said to the sheriff, removing a pitcher from the same cupboard and all but pushing it against his hard stomach. “You can fill this with ice.” She reached into the cupboard for glasses.

  She heard the front door open, then slam shut, as Melanie sprayed the air with questions. “Robin, what’s going on? What’s with all the reporters? What’s the sheriff’s car doing here?”

  Robin put the glasses on the counter and stepped into the hallway, the sheriff behind her. Melanie, Alec, and Landon were standing just inside the front door. The smell of horses galloped toward Robin, almost knocking her down. She sneezed twice.

  “Bless you,” said the sheriff.

  “Thank you,” Robin acknowledged. Then, seeing the confusion in Melanie’s eyes, “Why don’t you go into the living room—”

  “Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

  “Melanie,” Robin said, “go into the living room.”

  “Fine.” Melanie marched into the living room, Alec and Landon behind her, Robin and the sheriff bringing up the rear.

  “Hi, Melanie,” Cassidy said in greeting, her eyes shifting toward the two men behind her. “Hi, Landon.” A slight pause. Then, “Tom? Is that you? What are you doing here?”

  Alec turned pale, his mouth falling open in shock.

  Robin felt a jolt of anxiety so strong that it reverberated throughout her entire body. “Oh, God,” she muttered, understanding that it wouldn’t take long for the sheriff to put two and two together. Motive and opportunity. All that was needed for the sheriff to make an arrest.

  “Who’s Tom?” the sheriff asked.

  “Tom,” Cassidy repeated. “My mother’s friend from San Francisco.”

  “You’re confused,” Melanie said. “This man is Alec, my brother.”

  “Alec? No. It’s Tom. Tom Richards. We used to visit him.”

  The sheriff stepped forward, his hand on his holster, the full meaning of what he’d just heard clicking into place behind his eyes. “Okay, everybody, stay nice and calm. Alec, suppose we step outside.”

  “Sheriff—” Robin began.

  “Let’s not make this any more unpleasant for everyone than we have to,” Prescott said, cutting her off. He put a hand on Alec’s arm and led him from the room.

  “I don’t understand. What’s happening?” Cassidy asked.

  Robin ran outside after them. “What are you doing?” she asked as the sheriff cuffed her brother’s hands behind his back.

  “I believe you advised me earlier to shit or get off the pot,” Prescott said. “Alec Davis,” he began, guiding him up the gravel driveway toward his patrol car as the waiting reporters and photographers descended en masse, “I remind you that you have the right to remain silent…”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The Tehama Superior Court is located at 445 Pine Street, a few blocks from Main Street and a block from the Tehama County Jail. Unlike the unassuming low-rise brown-brick jailhouse, the courthouse is an imposing two-story white concrete-and-marble building, whose front entrance is flanked by tall decorative columns and towering evergreens.

  The interior is equally impressive—a large, open lobby in white-and-beige marble, more decorative columns, skylights, and a sweeping staircase leading to a balcony that surrounds and overlooks the lobby below. The court’s mission statement is “to ensure the prompt and fair adjudication of all cases and to improve public confidence in the Courts through accessibility, communication and education.” There are a total of five courtrooms, presided over by Tehama County magistrates.

  Robin and Blake stood in the hall outside Courtroom One, waiting for the bailiff to unlock the doors. It was almost nine-thirty. Alec’s hearing was scheduled for ten o’clock. “What do you think is going to happen?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think they’ll grant Alec bail?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think he’s all right? Please don’t say you don’t know.”

  “I think he’s all right,” Blake responded dutifully, although his eyes said, “I don’t know.”

  “Poor Alec,” Robin checked that her white blouse was tucked securely in the waistband of her blue skirt. “Do you think he got any sleep at all last night?”

  “Probably more than you did.”

  “I’m sorry. Did I keep you up?”

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Robin apologized again. “I just feel so helpless. What do you think is going to happen?”

  “McAllister will be here soon. He should be able to tell us something.”

  Robin looked down the wide corridor for some sign of her brother’s lawyer, but while the building was filling up with people, Jeff McAllister wasn’t one of them.

  She’d called him as soon as Alec had been arrested and told him what had happened. The lawyer had listened and said he’d be in touch. When Robin hadn’t heard from him an hour later, she and Blake drove to the sheriff’s office themselves, only to be told that Alec had been transferred to the Tehama County Jail.

  “He’s in jail,” Robin had reported to Melanie, who’d stayed back at the house with Cassidy and Landon. The jail was more than forty years old and had a capacity for two hundred and twenty-seven inmates, both those who had been sentenced and those who were awaiting sentencing. Alec was now one of the latter. “They won’t let us see him. And his bail hearing isn’t till tomorrow morning. Whi
ch means he has to spend the night in that awful place.”

  “Which is probably a good thing,” Melanie said. “He certainly can’t come back here. Cassidy’s upset enough as it is. She keeps asking me if I think Alec killed her mother.”

  “I hope you told her that he didn’t.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  Robin promptly disconnected the call.

  Cassidy had been sleeping when Robin and Blake left the house this morning. Which was probably a good thing, Robin decided, borrowing Melanie’s phrase. It had been difficult enough trying to explain Alec’s relationship with Tara. “You mean they were having an affair?” Cassidy asked, eyes wide with disbelief. “She was cheating on Daddy?”

  “She wasn’t happy, sweetheart.”

  “No, you’re wrong,” Cassidy had insisted. “She loved Daddy. They were really happy together.”

  Now Robin stared at the beige marble tiles at her feet, wondering if Alec had been entirely truthful with her. She didn’t doubt that Tara and her brother had been having an affair, but what if Tara had merely been playing with him? What if she’d had no intention of leaving her husband and told Alec so that night and he snapped?

  No, it wasn’t possible. She knew her brother. He was no more capable of shooting anyone than she was. But if he didn’t shoot them, who did?

  A young woman with a pronounced pout and long blond hair falling in waves down her back approached. She was dressed in tight white jeans and an even tighter cherry-red tank top. Obviously not the district attorney, Robin thought.

  The woman came to a stop directly in front of Blake. “Hi,” she said to him, as if Robin didn’t exist.

  “Can we help you?” Robin asked.

  The young woman didn’t so much as glance in Robin’s direction. “I was just wondering where to go to pay my traffic ticket?” Her voice curled up flirtatiously at the end of the sentence.

  “Sorry,” Blake said, “I have no idea.”

  “I think the office is that way.” Robin pointed down the hall to her right.

  “Guess I must have walked right by it.” The woman lingered, smiling expectantly at Blake, as if it was his turn to say something. “Okay. Well, thanks,” she said, wiggling away when he didn’t speak.