by Joy Fielding
“Don’t go in there,” Robin said, catching the warning not to interfere in the sheriff’s eyes.
“I saw two men,” Cassidy continued. “One of them was waving a gun and shouting, ‘Stop fucking with me, you piece of shit, or I swear I’ll shoot the bitch. I’ll shoot the bitch right now.’ ”
Robin closed her eyes. The words coming out of the child’s mouth were as jarring as the first time she’d heard them.
“And the other man? What did he say?” the sheriff asked.
“He never said anything.”
Robin tried to gauge what the sheriff was thinking. Two men, both muscular and tall, one barking orders in a voice that Cassidy couldn’t identify, the other silent.
Alec and Landon?
Cassidy’s eyes widened in alarm at the vision taking shape in her mind’s eye. “Daddy lunged and the man whacked him with the gun on the side of his head. Daddy went down, and Mommy started screaming.”
“Which of the men struck your father?” Prescott asked. “The one who was yelling or the silent one?”
“The one who was yelling.”
“And where were you standing exactly?”
Cassidy spoke from her position at the entrance to the living room. “Here.”
“And no one saw you?”
“No. Not yet.”
“And then what happened?”
“The guy shot Mommy.”
“Which guy?” the sheriff prodded. “The one who was yelling or the other one?”
“The other one.”
“The silent one?”
“Yes.”
Robin did a quick mental calculation, trying to put herself in the sheriff’s head, to figure out how his brain was processing this information. If Alec and Landon were indeed the two men in the house that night, then Alec was undoubtedly the man yelling. Surely Cassidy would have recognized Landon’s voice.
Still, while it made perverse sense that Alec might hate his father enough to shoot him, it made no sense at all for Landon to kill Tara. If revenge was the true motive, wouldn’t Alec have shot Tara himself? She recalled Dylan Campbell’s chilling words: “If I wanted the bitch dead, I’d have taken care of it myself. I wouldn’t let someone else have all the fun.”
Unless, of course, Landon had panicked and just started firing.
Except that the gunman had shot Tara in the face. That was personal. Not panic.
Another nagging question: if Alec had come to Red Bluff expecting to rendezvous with Tara, as he claimed, and Tara told him she’d changed her mind, enraging him enough to kill, as the sheriff speculated, when had he had time to contact Landon?
Unless Tara had already broken up with him, giving her brother sufficient time to nurse his grudge and plot his revenge, to contact Landon, to enlist his help…
Unless. Unless. Unless.
“You’re sure it was the silent one who shot your mother?” Robin asked, her head spinning with unless.
“Robin, please,” the sheriff warned.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Cassidy said, eyes darting between Robin and Blake. Then, “No. Wait. I don’t know. Maybe it was the other guy. It could have been the other guy.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know.”
Prescott checked his notes. “You told us in the hospital that it was the second man, the silent one, who shot your mother. You were very clear about that, very sure.”
“Yes,” Cassidy said. “But now I’m not. It could have been the other guy. It all happened so fast, and I was so scared.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Robin said.
“It’s not really important who shot who,” Prescott said, the sudden gruffness in his voice betraying his impatience. “Both men were there. Both men are equally guilty under the law.”
Robin understood that while both men might be equally guilty, regardless of who pulled the trigger, in a case like this one, every detail was important. If Cassidy couldn’t be certain who shot her mother, if she wasn’t even sure if there’d been two men or three in the house that night, what else could she be mistaken about?
“What happened next?” the sheriff asked.
“I screamed,” Cassidy said, “and that’s when the men saw me and came after me.”
“They both came after you?”
“No. Just one.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t know. They were wearing ski masks. They looked the same.” Cassidy was crying now, her words escaping her mouth in gulps. “I ran up the stairs to my room and grabbed my phone to call nine-one-one. That’s when the man burst through the door. He pointed the gun at my chest. Oh, God.”
“That’s enough,” Robin said. “She’s told you everything. We’re out of here.”
“Okay,” the sheriff reluctantly agreed. “We’ll call it a day.”
“I still need my clothes,” Cassidy whispered.
“I’ll get them,” Robin said.
“There’s a suitcase in my closet,” Cassidy told her. “You can dump my stuff in it. And there’s a bag for my shoes…somewhere…”
“I’ll find it.”
“I’ll give you a hand,” Blake said.
“No,” Cassidy cried, grabbing his arm. “Stay with me.”
“It’s okay,” Robin said. “I can manage.”
Sheriff Prescott motioned for the deputy to accompany Robin upstairs. He remained in the doorway as Robin walked straight to the closet in Cassidy’s room, trying not to see the blood staining the bed. She located the blue canvas suitcase on the floor and unzipped it, dragging Cassidy’s clothes from their hangers and stuffing them inside the bag, then moving to the nearby chest of drawers and emptying each one. Luckily, Cassidy’s wardrobe consisted mostly of jeans and T-shirts. And thongs, Robin realized, counting one for every day of the week. There were a few items with Trendsetters labels, including a pretty white dress that she could wear to her mother’s funeral.
Dear God. Tara’s funeral. Did this nightmare never end?
She zipped the suitcase back up, then tossed half a dozen pairs of sandals and sneakers into a brown leather bag she found at the back of the closet, allowing the deputy to take both bags from her hands and carry them down the stairs. “Okay,” she said when she reached the bottom. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Oak Hill Cemetery is located at 735 Cemetery Lane, off West Walnut Street, not far from Larie Lane. More than a century and a half old, it was established in 1859 and completed in 1861. An elaborate wrought-iron archway at the cemetery’s entrance was added several decades ago, the words “Oak Hill Cemetery”written across its surface. Tall, shady trees are everywhere along the gentle curves and subtle undulations of the landscape.
“I’d forgotten how beautiful it is here,” Robin said as Blake’s car followed the hearse containing Tara’s body along the winding, picturesque road to the gravesite. Cassidy was in the backseat beside Robin, holding tight to her hand. Melanie was in the front seat beside Blake, having made the decision that it would be better for everyone concerned if Landon stayed home. Now that news of Alec’s arrest was public knowledge, speculation was rampant that Landon had been his accomplice.
“It’s beautiful, all right,” Melanie agreed. She shot Robin a knowing look over her shoulder, and Robin remembered the joke from their childhood that Melanie used to love: “It’s so beautiful that people are dying to get in.” Mercifully, Melanie refrained from saying this out loud.
Robin twisted around in her seat to glance out the back window. The sheriff and several of his deputies were among the small procession of cars behind them. Despite the family’s best efforts to stay under the radar and their appeal to the press for privacy, word had leaked out about Tara’s funeral. There was no telling how many curious spectators would show up. Robin wondered if the men who’d killed Tara would be among them.
It had been two days since their visit to the house, two more days that Alec had languished behind bars. The police seemed
confident that they had their man. Their only concern now was identifying his accomplice.
“Is your mom buried here?” Cassidy asked.
“Yes,” Robin said.
Cassidy stared out the side window at the rows of gravesites, each one marked by a small rectangular block of white stone in the ground. Bouquets of plastic flowers were scattered across the dry earth. “Where is she?”
“Not really sure.” While Robin had a general sense of the part of the cemetery where her mother had been laid to rest, she couldn’t pinpoint the grave’s precise location. She hadn’t been back to Oak Hill since her mother’s funeral.
“Over that way,” Melanie said, pointing in the direction opposite to the one in which they were headed. “It wouldn’t do to have our father’s wives lying too close to each other for all eternity,” Melanie had opined when choosing a plot. And while Robin might not have put it exactly that way, she’d agreed with the sentiment.
The hearse came to a stop underneath an impressive cluster of weeping willow trees, and Blake pulled up directly behind it, the patrol cars forming a line behind him.
Robin gave Cassidy’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Ready?”
Cassidy nodded, tucking her freshly washed hair behind her ears and smoothing out the creases of her sleeveless white dress as she exited the car. Immediately, a man with a camera came rushing toward her.
“Back off,” the sheriff shouted, punching the air with his fist. “Back off right now.”
“Public property, Sheriff,” the cameraman shouted back.
“And this is a private funeral. Come within fifty feet of us and I’ll have your ass hauled off to jail.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Yeah, I can. You can sue me later.”
The cameraman backed away, grumbling, although he kept his camera raised and ready. “He threatened me,” he said to the reporter beside him. “Did you hear him?”
“Sorry about that,” Prescott said to no one in particular as he positioned his substantial girth between the spectators and Cassidy. Robin and Blake, both wearing black, quickly formed a protective semicircle around her. Melanie stood off to the side, looking uncomfortable in her denim skirt and blue cotton blouse, as she waited for Tara’s casket to be removed from the hearse.
“Oh, poor Mommy,” Cassidy whispered, glancing at the elegantly simple light walnut casket that Robin had selected.
The small group gathered around the gravesite as Tara’s casket was lowered into the freshly dug grave. Robin’s eyes filled with tears at the thought of the most vibrant person she’d ever known lying lifeless inside it. In spite of her conflicted feelings for her former friend, she couldn’t deny that Tara had been a force of nature.
“Shouldn’t we say something?” Cassidy asked. They’d decided against a formal service or a religious officiant, Tara having been decidedly anti-religion ever since her mother had run off to join a cult.
“Like what?” Melanie asked.
“I don’t know. Something.” Cassidy turned to Robin. “Maybe you could…?”
Robin took a few seconds to gather her thoughts. “I loved your mother,” she said finally, her eyes daring Melanie to contradict her. “She came to my rescue when we were in grade school and I didn’t know a soul, didn’t have a friend, had no clue how to make one. She grabbed my hand and said she’d be my best friend forever.” She paused. “It didn’t quite work out that way, but despite everything that happened, deep down I still loved her. And missed her. I missed her spunk and her spirit. She was a real little firecracker.” Robin choked back a laugh full of tears. “That’s what my father used to call her. And while he was so wrong about so many things, he was certainly right about that. Tara was fearless; some might even say reckless. She would rush in where not only angels but the devil himself feared to tread. And while I know that she came to regret some of her rasher decisions, the one thing she never regretted was being a mother.” She turned to face Cassidy. “I can still picture her rocking you in her arms after you were born. I can see the love in her eyes, and feel the pride in her heart when you took your first steps and spoke your first words. I remember how she worried when you went off to school for the first time. ‘Please let her find a forever friend like Robin,’ she said.” An involuntary cry escaped Robin’s throat, and Cassidy grabbed her hand. “I loved your mother. I miss her. And I will miss my ‘forever friend’ forever.”
There was a moment of absolute silence. Robin waited for Melanie to offer a customary barb, but she didn’t, and Robin breathed a small sigh of relief.
“Thank you,” Cassidy said.
“Your mother loved you more than anything on earth,” Robin told her. “I hope that no matter what happens, you’ll always remember that.”
“I will.”
They fell into each other’s arms.
“Oh, shit,” said Melanie. She grabbed Robin’s arm and spun her around.
“Shit,” Robin repeated, shaking her head in dismay as Dylan Campbell separated himself from the small gathering of spectators still hovering. He was wearing a white T-shirt, black jeans, and a blue baseball cap with a Yankees logo.
“I’ll get rid of him,” the sheriff offered before Robin could ask.
“Who is it?” Cassidy asked, eyes widening with each step Dylan took toward them.
“It’s your father,” Melanie said.
“My father’s in the hospital,” Cassidy corrected Melanie, her voice a rebuke. “I don’t know this person.”
Robin strained to hear the words exchanged between Dylan and the sheriff, but was able to make out only a few snatches.
“What do you think you’re…?”
“I have as much right as…”
“I’ll tell you the same thing I told that reporter…”
“…just want to see my kid.”
“Blake,” Robin said, “can you take Cassidy back to the car? I’ll handle this.”
“No,” said Cassidy firmly. “I want to talk to him.”
“Sweetheart, I don’t think…”
“It’s all right, Robin.” Cassidy’s eyes were on Dylan as he maneuvered around the sheriff and took half a dozen steps toward her. “I’m okay.”
“That’s my girl.” Dylan removed his baseball cap and extended his arms, as if preparing to embrace her.
“I’m not your girl,” Cassidy said, stopping him in his tracks.
He smiled, deep dimples creasing his cheeks. “You’re my flesh and blood.”
“Don’t take another step,” Robin warned as he was about to.
“What do you want?” Cassidy asked.
“I want to see you.”
“You saw me twelve years ago. Seemed like more than enough for you at the time.”
“Times change.”
“People don’t.”
Dylan cocked his thumb toward Robin. “She tell you that?”
“She didn’t have to. One look at you tells me everything I need to know.”
He laughed. “You sound so grown up.”
“What is it you want, Dylan?” Robin asked.
“Look,” he said, ignoring her. “I can only imagine the things your mother said about me, but…”
“She said you were no good.”
“Uh…”
“She said you used to beat her.”
“Yeah, well, truth is she could throw a pretty mean punch herself.”
“She said you were scum,” Cassidy continued, clearly warming to her subject.
“ ‘Scum’s’ a little strong…”
“She said you were a lowlife and a liar and a thief.”
Dylan grinned. “Your mother always did have a way with words.”
“She said that you never sent her the support money the court ordered you to pay.”
“Because she wouldn’t let me see you.”
“Did you ever try?”
“I knew there’d be no point.”
“There’s no point now.”
“Ah
, come on, Cassie. I’m your daddy. The only real family you got left.”
Cassidy grabbed Robin’s hand. “That’s not true. I have Daddy, and Robin, and Melanie, and Blake.”
“And I have rights.” Dylan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Come on, Cassie. Don’t be like this.” He looked toward Sheriff Prescott. “Can’t you talk some sense into the girl, Sheriff?”
“She’s making a lot of sense to me,” Prescott replied.
“Look, I tell you what,” Dylan said, returning his attention to Cassidy and his baseball cap to his head. “It looks like I made a mistake coming here today. I wanted to pay my respects—to you, to your mother, to these kind people here who’ve been looking after you. But I can see now that this wasn’t the best time or place to get reacquainted or make amends. You’re grieving and not thinking straight. So I’m gonna back off, give you a few days to mull things over, then try again. How’s that?”
“How much do you want, Dylan?” Cassidy asked.
“What do you mean?”
“How much money will it take to make you go away for good?”
“Ah, honey. You got me all wrong. This isn’t about money.”
“It isn’t? Well, then, I guess there’s nothing left to talk about.”
“Well, I mean, sure,” Dylan said quickly. “It’s not the reason I came, but if my daughter would like to help me out a bit financially, well, I wouldn’t turn it down.”
“How much?” Cassidy asked.
“A hundred thousand?” He glanced quickly at the sheriff. “That’s not blackmail or anything. You heard her. She offered.”
“A hundred thousand,” Cassidy repeated. “What would you do with all that money?”
“I was thinking about maybe starting up a business.”
“Cool. What kind of business?”
“Well, I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.” Dylan tried for his most endearing smile, but managed only a twitch instead.
There was a long pause.
“I don’t think so,” Cassidy said. She turned to Robin. “We can go now.”
“Okay. Wait,” Dylan said. “Maybe that was a little steep. Fifty thousand would probably do me.”