The Bad Daughter

by Joy Fielding

  “You don’t have to do this,” Blake said, swiveling toward her.

  “Yes, I do. Guilty or not, he’s still my brother.” She closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath.

  “Are you having a panic attack?”

  Robin searched her body for familiar signs of anxiety. Surprisingly, there were none—no trapped birds fluttering wildly against her chest, no razor-sharp knives stabbing at her flesh, no overwhelming urge to flee the scene. “No,” she said, opening her eyes. “I’m okay.”

  “I wish I could go with you.”

  “I wish you could, too.”

  Jeff McAllister had already informed them of the prison rules: inmates were allowed a thirty-minute visit twice a week; all visits had to be non-contact and were limited to one person at a time; visitors had to be over eighteen and produce photo IDs; all visitors were subject to search.

  “Just remember that you have no expectation of privacy and that your conversation is likely being recorded.”

  Robin nodded and took another deep breath, smoothing her hair and playing with the top button of her sleeveless mauve sundress. “Do I look all right?”

  “You look terrific.”

  “My face isn’t all scrunched up?”

  “Your face is beautiful.”

  Robin smiled and opened her car door.

  “Wait,” Blake said.

  She turned back.

  “I love you,” he told her.

  Robin stretched across the front seat to kiss him gently on the lips. “I love you, too.”

  She walked up the concrete path to the prison’s front door, then stopped for one last deep breath before stepping inside. She was greeted by an unsmiling male officer in a glass booth who asked for her ID, after which she was patted down by a female deputy and her purse was passed through a metal detector. She was then escorted into a waiting area filled with gray plastic chairs and instructed to wait until her name was called.

  There were three people already waiting, a middle-aged man and two women. They looked up briefly when she walked in, the younger of the two women offering an almost imperceptible nod in her direction. Robin took a seat in one corner of the room, noting the long tubes of too-bright fluorescent lights lining the recessed ceiling and shining down on the dull white walls. Abundant signs warned visitors against bringing items such as guns, explosive devices, and chewing gum into the jail.

  “First time here?” a voice asked from beside her, and Robin jumped. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. Mind if I sit down?”

  Robin turned to see the woman who’d acknowledged her arrival. She was in her mid-twenties and auburn-haired, wearing blue jeans and a red V-neck T-shirt that exaggerated the multiple folds of flesh beneath it. She smiled and sat down before Robin could object. “First time, huh,” she said, turning her earlier question into a statement.

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “The dress is a dead giveaway. I wore a dress the first time I came, too. But then you realize there’s no point. Do I know you? You look sort of familiar.”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “My name’s Brenda. I’m visiting my boyfriend. He got laid off from his job and didn’t take it too good, went back the next day and shot up the place. Didn’t hurt anybody, but that’s more a case of dumb luck than anything else. Turns out it’s not as easy to hit your target as it looks on TV. The jackass. Got six years.” She shrugged. “What’s your guy in for?”

  Robin hesitated, wondering if the woman was a plant, if their conversation was being recorded. “It’s a mistake…”

  Brenda laughed. “That what he told you?”

  “He didn’t have to.”

  “Yeah, well, good luck with that. What’d you say your name was?”

  Robin briefly considered giving Brenda a fake name, but decided against it. “It’s Robin.”

  “You’re sure? You kind of hesitated.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Robin,” the woman repeated. “Like the bird.” She squinted, small hazel eyes all but disappearing inside fleshy cheeks. “You sure do look familiar.”

  The door at the far end of the room opened and a deputy appeared. “Robin Davis,” he announced.

  “Davis?” Brenda repeated as Robin was standing up. “Robin Davis? No shit. You’re related to those people who got shot? I saw your picture in the paper. Damn it, I knew you looked familiar.”

  “This way,” the deputy directed, and Robin eagerly followed him into a small adjoining room. “Empty your purse, please.” He pointed toward a scuffed metal table that was the room’s only furniture.

  “It’s already been through the scanner.”

  “Empty your purse, please,” the deputy repeated.

  Robin dumped the contents of her beige canvas bag onto the table, revealing a mint-green leather wallet, a bright orange change purse, her cell phone, a checkbook with a torn black plastic cover, three ballpoint pens, a small notebook, a pair of sunglasses in a red faux-ostrich case, and a bunch of crumpled tissues. “No chewing gum,” she said, hoping to elicit a smile from the officer, but receiving only the hint of a scowl instead. Robin decided that the poor man had probably heard that line at least a hundred times. “Sorry.”

  The scowl became fixed. “For what?”

  “Bad joke,” she muttered, deciding to volunteer nothing further unless asked a direct question. If she wasn’t careful, they would throw her in jail, too.

  “Okay,” the deputy said after rechecking the inside of the bag to make sure it was empty. He handed it back to her, indicating that she could refill it, then directed her to the door opposite the one from which she’d entered. “Your brother will be in shortly. You have thirty minutes.”

  “Thank you.” Robin stepped inside a long, narrow room divided down the middle by a wall of individual glass partitions. Ten round wooden stools were secured to the dividing wall by metal bars, and the concrete floor had been painted an unpleasant shade of butterscotch. An elderly woman sat on a stool at the far end of the room, crying into the telephone on the wall beside her as she spoke to the prisoner on the other side of the partition. Robin slid onto the closest stool, staring at the empty space in front of her, her solemn expression reflected in the glass. What must it feel like to be on the other side?

  A minute later, her brother was led into his half of the room and directed to the stool across from her. He was wearing the same orange jumpsuit he’d worn to court. His hair was combed away from his face, but he looked gaunt and a decade older than when she’d last seen him. He sat down, lifting the phone to his ear at the same moment that Robin lifted hers.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi.”

  “How are you doing?”

  “Not bad.”

  “Not good,” Robin corrected.

  “I’ve been better.”

  “Are you eating?”

  “A bit. Food’s not exactly gourmet. How about you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “The others?”

  “Fine.”

  “Cassidy?”

  “She’s doing well, all things considered.”

  “Must have been quite a shock for her, seeing me,” Alec said. “Realizing I wasn’t who she thought I was.”

  “Yes, that was quite a shock for all of us.”

  Alec looked sheepish. “Sorry about that.”

  Robin wondered how he’d been planning to handle seeing Cassidy again, but decided not to ask in case their conversation was being monitored.

  “I guess I figured I’d be long gone by the time she got out of the hospital, and I wouldn’t have to see her at all,” he said, as if reading Robin’s mind.

  She sighed, trying to decide what topics would be safe to broach.

  “I didn’t do it, Robin,” he told her.

  So much for that. “I know you didn’t.”

  “Everything I told you that day was the truth.”

  “I know. I believe you,” Robin said, knowing in her b
ones that no matter how bad it looked or how strong the evidence was against him, Alec was incapable of hurting anyone. She also understood that it was up to her, that she would have to work as hard to prove her brother’s innocence as the sheriff’s department was working to prove his guilt.

  “I loved Tara,” Alec said. “She loved me. We were gonna build a life together.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Please tell Cassidy that I’m innocent, that I could never hurt her mother.”

  “I will. I did.”

  “Did she believe you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The door opened and Brenda walked into the room, glancing pointedly at Alec as she walked past Robin and sat down on the stool next to hers. “Your brother’s hot,” she said out of the corner of her mouth as her boyfriend took a seat next to Alec and picked up his phone.

  “Don’t look,” Robin heard Brenda tell her boyfriend, “but you’re sitting next to a real celebrity. The guy who shot his father and murdered his ex-girlfriend. Oh, and shot her kid, too. No, I’m not shitting you.”

  “Robin?” Alec asked. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. I just hate seeing you in this awful place.”

  “You and me both.” He rubbed his jaw. “Did you speak to Prescott?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you know about the ski mask the cops found in my apartment.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this,” Robin said.

  “Why not? It’s a black ski mask, for fuck’s sake. Not some rare artifact. There must be a million like it around.”

  “Why would you have one?”

  “Why would I have one?” he repeated, looking at the ceiling in obvious frustration. “I ski, for God’s sake. The police found ski boots, too. Did the sheriff tell you that?”

  Robin felt a rush of hope. “Since when do you ski?”

  “Since after I left Red Bluff. I was depressed. Hell, I was almost suicidal. Thought skiing would be as good a way to kill myself as any. Discovered to my shock that I was actually good at it. And I loved it. It’s very therapeutic. You should try it.”

  She smiled. “Maybe you’ll give me lessons when you get out.”

  “Might not be for another thirty years.”

  The smile froze on Robin’s lips. “Please don’t talk like that.”

  “Sorry. A little jailhouse humor.”

  “Not very funny.”

  “There’s something else you should know.”

  Robin held her breath. Had the search of Alec’s apartment turned up any other potentially incriminating evidence? “What else?”

  “McAllister thinks they might be willing to offer me a deal.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “He thinks the State might be willing to agree to a charge of murder two, providing I agree to name my accomplice.”

  “But you didn’t do it. You don’t have an accomplice.”

  Alec smiled. “Aye, there’s the rub.”

  They sat for several seconds in silence. “So what are we going to do?” Robin said finally.

  “There is no ‘we’ here, Robin. Just me. You need to pack your bags, grab your fiancé, and get your ass out of town.”

  “No way. I’m not leaving until you’re out of here.”

  “Yeah,” Alec said, “you are.” He stood up, the phone cord stretching into a straight line as he motioned for the deputy standing guard at the door.

  “What are you doing? We still have lots of time.”

  “Don’t come back, Robin. Get out of here while you can still breathe.”

  “Alec…,” Robin called as the deputy led him from the room. But he didn’t stop, didn’t so much as turn around. She returned the phone to its receiver, then lowered her chin to her chest and cried.

  “It gets easier,” Brenda said, leaning toward her. “You’ll see. A few more weeks and this place’ll feel just like home.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The doorbell rang at just after six o’clock that evening.

  “Pizza’s here,” Melanie called from the kitchen. “Can somebody please answer the door?”

  “I’ll get it.” Robin finished setting the last place at the dining room table and walked into the hallway. Cassidy and Blake were watching TV in the living room, and Robin gave a little wave when she passed by. She heard Landon’s bedroom door open and his footsteps on the stairs as she opened the front door, unprepared for what she would see. “Oh, my God.”

  “Robin,” said the woman on the other side of the threshold. “It’s been a long time. You’re looking well. May I come in?”

  Robin stepped back to allow the woman to enter. She glanced over her shoulder at Landon, who stood watching from the foot of the stairs.

  “What’s happening with that pizza?” Melanie called, coming out of the kitchen, then stopping dead in her tracks. “Holy shit.”

  The woman’s shoulders stiffened at the profanity. “Melanie,” she said. “My goodness. You girls haven’t changed a bit.”

  “You sure have,” Melanie said. “What’s with the hair?”

  Robin shot her sister a look of disapproval, although she’d been thinking the same thing. The woman’s hair, once black and luxurious, was now stringy and gray. It hung in uncombed strands halfway down her back. Her dress was a shapeless beige sack, her feet bare in her worn Birkenstocks. She looked like the stereotype of an aging hippie, a throwback to a time that was never as simple or loving as it had once seemed.

  “What are you doing here?” Melanie asked.

  “Where else would I be?”

  “Wherever you’ve been for the last decade, I guess.”

  “Is the pizza here?” Blake asked, joining them in the hall. “Oh, sorry.” He looked toward the gray-haired woman. “Who’s this?”

  “Blake,” Robin said, “this is Holly Bishop.” She took a long, deep breath. “Tara’s mother.”

  “Oh, dear Lord.” The woman burst into tears. “My poor baby.” She flung herself into Robin’s arms, sobbing on her shoulder. “How could this happen?”

  Robin’s arms inched reluctantly around the woman’s thickening waist. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Bishop.”

  “Took you long enough to get here,” Melanie said, her voice cold. “It’s been almost two weeks since Tara died.”

  “I just found out.” Holly Bishop pulled out of Robin’s embrace. “I left Oregon as soon as I heard.”

  Robin couldn’t help noticing that the woman’s eyes were dry despite the sobs that had racked her body only seconds earlier.

  “I live in a pretty isolated area. We don’t have TVs or personal computers.”

  “So how did you find out?”

  “Reverend Sampson, our leader. He told me.”

  “Your leader has a computer?” Robin asked.

  “Yes, of course. An old one. Someone has to be aware of what’s happening in the world. He relays all pertinent information.”

  “To his flock,” Melanie said.

  “To his followers, yes,” Holly corrected. “He heard about the shootings and came to me. He remembered that I used to live in Red Bluff, that I still had family here.”

  “And figured out that your granddaughter would be coming into a lot of money that might allow him to upgrade his equipment,” Melanie said. “A godsend, you might say.”

  “That’s not why I’m here.”

  “Why are you here?” Robin asked.

  “I came to see Cassidy. That poor child.” Holly’s voice quivered, but once again there were no actual tears.

  “What’s going on?”

  Robin turned to see Cassidy standing in the living room doorway.

  “Hello,” Cassidy said to the woman.

  “Oh, my,” Holly said. “Is this my precious baby?”

  “Who are you?”

  Holly crossed both hands over her heart. “I’m your grandmother, darling.”

  “My grandmother?”

  “Your mother’s mother,�
� Holly explained, inching toward her.

  “The one who disowned her after she married Dylan,” Melanie clarified.

  Holly came to an abrupt halt. Her mouth opened, but it was several seconds before any sounds emerged. “Well, I didn’t approve of her marriage, that’s true,” she sputtered, “but I never actually disowned her.”

  “You didn’t talk to her. You didn’t help her,” Robin said.

  “She didn’t want my help.”

  “You ran off with a cult—”

  “It’s not a cult, dear. It’s a religious order.”

  “Really? What church?”

  “Well, it’s not an actual church, but—”

  “But you joined it anyway. And you ran off, left Tara to fend for herself.”

  “It was what she wanted.”

  “It was what you wanted,” Melanie said.

  “It was what the Lord wanted,” Holly said, as if that was the final word.

  “Did the Lord want Tara to be murdered?” Robin asked. “Is that the kind of God you ran off to serve?”

  “The Lord works in mysterious ways,” Holly began. “We can’t hope to understand—”

  “You think things happen for a reason?” Cassidy interrupted, glancing at Robin.

  Robin smiled, marveling at the child’s composure.

  “I do.”

  “So you think there’s a good reason that some moron blew Mommy’s face off? That Daddy Greg is in a coma? That I almost died? You think God planned for that to happen?”

  “I have to think there’s a reason that we mortals can’t comprehend, yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” Holly repeated. “Because—”

  “Because you’re too stupid to think for yourself?” Cassidy challenged. “That’s what Mommy always said about you, you know, that you were too stupid to think for yourself, and that you joined a cult so someone else could do it for you.”

  Holly visibly stiffened.

  “She told me about how mean you were to her,” Cassidy continued. “How you were always putting her down, telling her she’d never amount to anything. She said that my grandfather was so starved for affection that he ran off with the first woman who was nice to him.”

  “Oh, yes. She always took his side. Even after he left us for that whore, she blamed me and made excuses for him. And where is that poor love-deprived man now?” Holly asked. “Has he shown up to comfort you? Is he here?”