by Joy Fielding
Prescott’s jaw visibly clenched as he flattened himself on the floor to shine a flashlight underneath the bed.
“Take your time getting back up,” Melanie said. “You don’t want to give yourself a hernia.”
“Okay,” Prescott said, noticeably out of breath as he sank down onto the bed, although whether it was with exertion or impatience was impossible to tell. “I think I’ve had just about enough of your sarcasm, so you can either stop with the smart-ass remarks or you can wait in my patrol car. The choice is yours.”
Melanie raised her hands in mock surrender, then drew a line across her mouth with her fingers, as if she were zipping it closed.
“Thank you.” Prescott reached over to pull open the top drawer of the nightstand.
You won’t find much in there but pencils and paper clips, Robin thought, recalling her own search of Landon’s belongings.
The sheriff withdrew the large ball of elastic bands, turning it over in his hands several times before tossing it back into the drawer. He moved on to the drawer below and leafed through a stack of comic books. “That’s quite a collection he’s got here,” Prescott remarked as he walked around the bed to the nightstand on the other side. More paper clips, more pens, more pencils, along with several loose scraps of paper, including the sketches of Cassidy.
Except that Cassidy was no longer recognizable; her face had been completely scribbled over with angry black lines.
“Somebody wasn’t very happy with his work,” the sheriff said, returning the papers to the drawer as Robin suppressed a gasp.
What did it mean? Why would Landon have defaced his sketches of Cassidy?
“Hold on,” Prescott said, stopping suddenly. “What’s this?”
Robin leaned forward, expecting to see a dome-shaped snow globe with a tiny plastic ballerina twirling in its center. Instead she saw something black and bulky, made of wool.
The sheriff unfolded it with deliberate care and held it out.
It was a ski mask.
Robin bit her lip as Melanie stiffened beside her, her face draining of color. How could I have missed that?
“Brian!” the sheriff called. “Peter! Get in here.”
Two deputies instantly came running, pushing past Robin, Blake, and Melanie.
“Bag this,” Prescott said.
“You planted that,” Melanie said, her voice quivering.
“Bullshit and you know it.” The sheriff dropped the ski mask into the plastic bag the deputy held out. “You guys find anything?”
“Not so far.”
“Take this to the car, then keep checking.”
The deputies left the room.
“You going to tell me that Landon’s been taking skiing lessons?” Prescott asked Melanie.
For once, Melanie was silent.
In the closet, the sheriff removed each item from its hanger, checking the pockets of every pair of jeans and every shirt before tossing each item to the bed.
I’ve been through those pockets, Robin thought. There was nothing. She had to admit, though, that her examination had been perfunctory at best. She breathed a sigh of relief when Prescott’s search of Landon’s clothes turned up nothing.
He crouched on the floor, his knees cracking loudly with the effort.
This time there were no smart remarks from Melanie. Robin reached out to stroke her sister’s arm, but Melanie jerked away as if she’d been burned.
Robin held her breath as the sheriff shone his flashlight into every corner of the long, narrow closet, then pushed his fingers into the toes of each sneaker and shoe. Please don’t let him find anything else, she prayed, suddenly realizing that Prescott had stopped moving. “What is it?”
The sheriff sighed and struggled to his feet, the effort showing on his face, which had turned a frightening shade of pink. He held out his hand, slowly opening his right fist to reveal a crumpled piece of tissue, the tissue unfolding to reveal a small emerald-and-ruby pin in the shape of a butterfly. Beside it lay a diamond engagement ring and a matching eternity band.
“Oh, God.” Robin collapsed against Blake’s side.
“I believe these were Tara’s,” Prescott said, once again calling for his deputies to bag the evidence.
Melanie slid down the wall to the floor, her body as limp as a rag doll.
Robin knelt beside her sister. “Can somebody please get us some water?”
Seconds later, a deputy appeared with a plastic glass, and Robin raised it to her sister’s lips. Melanie pushed the glass aside with an angry flick of her hand. It flew across the room, bouncing toward the sheriff’s feet and leaving a snaking trail of water in its wake.
“Where is Landon now?” Prescott asked.
Melanie said nothing.
The sheriff looked at Robin. “Where is he?”
Robin shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“You realize that you’re not doing the boy any favors by not cooperating. We’re going to find him, and I’m sure we’d all prefer if no one else got hurt.”
“We don’t know where he is,” Robin said. “He’s been out all morning.”
“With Cassidy?”
“They were gone when we woke up. We assume they’re together.”
Prescott took a deep breath. “Which means that Cassidy could be in danger.”
“Oh, God,” Robin said again, thinking of the sketches, Cassidy’s sweet face all but obliterated. Just like her mother’s. “Oh, God,” she said a third time.
“I don’t care what you found,” Melanie said, her voice as flat as if it had been run over by a steamroller. “Landon would never hurt Cassidy. He’s always been very protective of her.”
“I think it’s time you started telling us the truth, don’t you?” the sheriff said.
“What are you talking about?” Robin asked.
“Melanie,” Prescott said, a rare note of tenderness creeping into his voice, “you can’t account for Landon’s whereabouts on the night of the shooting, can you?”
Melanie said nothing. She didn’t have to. Her face said it all.
“One person is dead,” he continued, “and your father and a twelve-year-old girl were grievously injured. Now, I understand your desire to protect your son, but continuing to lie to us is not only not protecting him—it could get him killed.”
Melanie stared blankly ahead. It was several seconds before she spoke. “He wasn’t having a very good day,” she began in a voice not her own. “He was rocking and pacing. He wouldn’t talk to me. He wouldn’t draw or look at his comic books. I couldn’t get him to calm down. I phoned Donny…”
“Donny Warren?” the sheriff asked, looking perplexed.
“Donny’s always been very good with him. They go for rides on his motorbike; they go horseback riding. He knows how to reach him when I can’t. So I called him, told him I was worried. He came right over, took Landon back to his ranch.”
“You’re saying that Landon was with Donny Warren that night?”
“Yes.”
“All night?”
“I don’t know. I was exhausted, so I took a sleeping pill and went to bed.”
“So you have no idea what time Landon came home.”
Melanie shook her head no.
Robin struggled to make sense of what was happening. Tara’s jewelry had been found in Landon’s room, implicating him in Tara’s murder. Her sister had just admitted that Landon had been with Donny Warren for at least part of that night, implicating Donny as well. What did it mean? “What about Alec?” she asked. If Landon was with Donny that night, wouldn’t that exonerate her brother?
“They could have all been working together,” the sheriff said, squashing that hope like a bug underfoot. “Cassidy couldn’t say for sure how many men were in the house that night. And don’t forget about the ski mask the San Francisco police found in your brother’s apartment.”
“Which could be a coincidence.”
“Never cared much for coincidences in murder inve
stigations,” the sheriff said, moving to the bedroom door.
“But Donny didn’t even know Alec,” Melanie protested. “It doesn’t make sense. What motive would he possibly have? What motive would Landon have?”
The sheriff didn’t answer, but Robin guessed that he was thinking it was probably personal for Alec and financial for Donny. Maybe some sort of combination of the two as far as Landon was concerned. Or maybe Landon had been nothing more than a convenient pawn, someone they used so they could get into the house without arousing suspicion.
“What happens now?” Blake asked.
“We pay Donny a visit. He has no idea what’s happened here or that we found anything. Hopefully we’ll find Landon and Cassidy. Fingers crossed that nobody’s done anything stupid and that the girl’s all right.”
Oh, God. Cassidy…
“I’m coming with you,” Melanie said, scrambling to her feet.
“No, you’re not.”
“You’ll scare Landon. He’s liable to panic…I don’t want him hurt. Please. I might be able to help.”
Robin thought it was the first time she’d ever heard her sister plead for anything. “We’re coming, too,” she said, and Blake nodded his agreement.
Prescott sighed. “All right. But you’ll all stay back and do exactly what I say. Do I have your word?”
Robin and Blake nodded their assent, and Melanie agreed half a beat later.
The sheriff assigned one of the deputies to stay at the house in case Landon and Cassidy returned. He dispatched another to the courthouse to get a search warrant for Donny’s house and property, and then he and the remaining deputies got into their cars. Blake climbed behind the wheel of his Lexus, and Robin got into the backseat beside her sister.
Tears streamed down Melanie’s cheeks, and Robin instinctively reached over to take her hand.
To her shock, Melanie didn’t pull away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Donny Warren’s Harley was parked in its usual spot at the side of the cabin when the small procession of cars turned onto his property. His old Chevy was parked down the road, closer to the barn.
“Looks like he’s home,” Melanie said as Blake pulled his car to a stop behind the sheriff.
The smell of horses hit Robin as soon as she opened her car door and she sneezed four times, one sneeze immediately following the other.
“Bless you,” Melanie said as they got out of the car.
“I’m going to need you to stay back here,” the sheriff told them.
“What about Landon?”
“If I need you, I’ll call you.”
“Please don’t hurt him,” Melanie begged.
Robin watched Prescott pivot toward the small log cabin, his deputies behind him, hands on their holsters as they neared the front door. Her eyes scanned the horizon, but she saw nothing besides acres of dried and yellowing grass. There were no riders in the distance, happily galloping across the barren expanse. If Landon and Cassidy were here, they were inside either the house or the barn, she thought, staring in that direction.
The sheriff knocked on Donny’s door and it opened almost immediately to reveal Donny, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt that emphasized the size of his biceps. His hair was uncombed and fell lazily across his forehead. “Sheriff,” he said, waving in their direction, his hand stopping in midair. “What can I do for you?”
“Is Landon here?”
“Landon? No. Why? Has something happened?”
“We’re just trying to find the boy. We thought he might be here.”
“He’s not.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
“Any chance he’s in the barn?”
“Not that I’m aware of. You can check it yourself if you want.”
The sheriff motioned for one of his deputies to do just that.
“What’s going on?” Donny asked, his eyes circling back to Melanie.
“When was the last time you saw Landon?”
“A few days ago. Why?”
“What about Cassidy?”
“Cassidy? What about her?”
“Have you seen her?”
“No. I haven’t seen Cassidy since before…”
“…she got shot?”
“Right,” Donny said.
“You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you?” Prescott asked almost casually, as if it were an afterthought.
Donny’s face froze before breaking into a wide grin. “Is this a joke? Some kind of hidden-camera thing?”
“No joke, Donny.”
“Hold on. You think I had something to do with the shootings?” He stared at Melanie. “You think I shot your father?”
Melanie stepped forward. “No, I don’t. I honestly don’t.”
“Stay back,” the sheriff warned.
Robin reached for Melanie’s arm to restrain her, but Melanie shook off her sister’s hand and continued walking.
“I don’t think for a minute that you had anything to do with what happened,” Melanie told Donny. “No more than I think Landon had anything to do with it.”
The second deputy moved to block Melanie’s path.
“Landon?” Donny’s focus returned to the sheriff. “You think Landon was involved?”
“They think you were in it together,” Melanie said. “Along with Alec.”
“Your brother? That’s absurd. I just met the man.”
“I tried to tell them—”
“You’ve said more than enough,” the sheriff cautioned Melanie. “Get back in the car before I arrest you for interfering with a police investigation.”
“They’re getting a warrant to search your house and property,” Melanie continued as she sidestepped the deputy.
“They don’t need a warrant,” Donny said. He motioned toward the cabin with a sweep of his hands. “Have at it.”
“Maybe you should consult a lawyer,” Blake advised.
“I don’t need a lawyer. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“We’re going to do this by the book,” Prescott said as the deputy returned from the barn, shaking his head to indicate he’d found nothing, “and wait for a warrant. In the meantime, we’re going to put out an APB on Landon, and you guys are going to get the hell out of here and go home until I send for you. Am I making myself very clear?”
Robin nodded. “Come on, Melanie.”
Melanie shifted her weight from one foot to the other, almost as if she were considering making an end run around the deputy. Then she stopped and turned back to Robin, allowing her to take her arm and guide her toward the car. “What now?” she asked as she crawled into the backseat beside Robin. “We go home and wait for the good sheriff to shoot my son?”
“Not quite,” Robin said. “I have another idea.”
* * *
—
“What makes you think they’re here?” Melanie asked as they were approaching the run-down Loma Vista Trailer Park on Vista Way.
“I can’t think of anywhere else,” Robin admitted. “Were you ever going to tell me about you and the sheriff?”
“Probably not. Why?”
“Would have been nice to know, that’s all.”
“Why?” Melanie repeated. “So you’d have another reason to look down your nose at me?”
“I don’t look down my nose at you.”
“Really? Tell that to your face. It gets all…”
“…scrunched up?”
“Is that a technical term?”
“It’s just what happens to my face when I get worried.”
Melanie did her own variation of a scrunched-up face. “Yeah, well, you don’t have to worry about me. Turn left here. You can park in the lot. His trailer’s down that way.”
“Did you love him?” Robin asked as Blake pulled his car into the narrow space between a relatively new Toyota and a rusted-over Dodge.
“Are we still talking about the sheriff?” Melanie asked.
&nbs
p; “How long were the two of you…involved?”
“Four months, give or take a couple of weeks. He stopped me for speeding one afternoon. We started talking. He asked how Dad’s house was coming along, how Landon was doing. He told me that he and his wife had separated. One thing led to another. Four months later he was back with his wife. End of affair. End of story.”
“And Donny?”
“Probably the end of that story as well, thanks to what just happened.” Melanie opened her car door and stepped onto the sand and gravel of the small parking lot. In front of them stood half a dozen rows of dilapidated trailers. “If memory serves, his trailer’s down this way.”
Robin took Blake’s hand and they followed Melanie, turning right at the end of the first row, then right again.
“Shit.” Melanie came to a sudden stop. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s that way. Wait. That’s it. Magnolia Lane. This way. Number 24. Over here.” She marched toward the second of four squat trailers in obvious need of repair and knocked on its door.
No one answered.
“Kenny?” Melanie knocked again. “Kenny? Anyone home?” She took a step back, waited half a beat, then stood on her tiptoes to peer in the high window. “It’s dark. Looks empty.”
“Damn it,” Robin said. “I really thought there was a chance Cassidy might have come here.”
“It was a good thought,” Melanie conceded. “Oh, God.” She sank to the step in front of the door. “What if Prescott is right? What if Landon was involved? What if he was one of the shooters? What if Cassidy is in danger?” A low moan escaped her lips. “What if it’s too late?”
The door to the trailer suddenly opened, striking Melanie’s back. She jumped up and out of the way. Kenny stood in the doorway, shirtless and holding a half-full bottle of beer, the smell of marijuana circling his head like a halo.
“Mrs. Davis?” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“Is Landon with you?” Melanie asked.
“No.” He glanced around, as if checking to make sure.
“What about Cassidy?”
“No.”
“Damn. Okay. Sorry to bother you.”
“They left a while ago,” he said as they were turning to go back to their car.