by Joy Fielding
Melanie spun around. “They were here?”
“How long ago?” Robin asked.
“A few hours, maybe.”
“How did they get here?” Blake asked. “They can’t have walked.”
“Cassidy called first thing this morning. She was pretty upset, said to come pick her up.”
“And Landon?”
“He’s like her shadow, man. Doesn’t let her go anywhere without him. You know how he gets…”
“What were they doing here?”
Kenny shrugged, his ribs clearly outlined beneath the thin layer of flesh covering them. “You know.”
“We don’t know,” Melanie said. “That’s why we’re asking.”
“Just chilling, smoking a little weed.”
“You gave my son marijuana?”
Not to mention giving it to a twelve-year-old girl, Robin thought.
“It’s not like it’s the first time,” Kenny said defensively.
“I don’t believe this,” Melanie said. “This is the last thing the sheriff needs to find out.”
Kenny’s body tensed. “Who said anything about the sheriff?”
“Do you know where Cassidy and Landon are now?” Robin asked.
Kenny shrugged. “Home, I guess. They caught a ride with one of my neighbors.”
“When did they leave?”
Kenny looked confused. “What time is it?”
Robin checked her watch. “Almost twelve.”
“Noon?”
“No, midnight,” Melanie said. “Of course, noon, you idiot.”
“Hey,” Kenny said, managing to look both offended and on the verge of unconsciousness at the same time.
“Let’s go,” Blake said.
“Wait,” Kenny said. “I’ll come with you.”
“No,” Robin told him. “You’ll stay here. If Landon and Cassidy come back or contact you, call us immediately. Okay? Do you understand me?”
Kenny raised his hand in a mock salute that missed his forehead by several inches. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
Melanie was already halfway down the lane. “Let’s go, people,” she shouted. “We haven’t got all day.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Melanie was out of the car before Blake could pull to a complete stop in her driveway. The deputy Prescott had assigned to stay at the house was nowhere in sight, and neither was his car.
“Landon?” Melanie called, pushing open the front door; Robin was right behind her. “Cassidy?”
There was no answer.
“Landon?” she called again, running up the stairs.
Robin did a quick check of the downstairs rooms. “Cassidy?” she shouted. But there was no sign of her.
“Up here,” Melanie yelled, her voice stopping just short of a scream.
“Oh, God,” said Robin, grabbing Blake’s hand as he reached her side.
Melanie was waiting for them at the top of the stairs, her hands shaking, her face gray with the strain. The door to Landon’s room was open. The room was empty.
“What?” Robin asked.
Melanie pointed across the hall at the open door to Cassidy’s room.
“What is it?” Robin asked. “Is she there? Is she…?”
“She’s on the bed. She’s not moving.”
Robin bolted from Blake’s side, rushing into Cassidy’s room and approaching the small figure sprawled facedown across the bed. “Cassidy,” she said, her shaking hand reaching out to touch the girl’s shoulder, her eyes scanning the comforter for blood. “Oh, God.” Had Landon strangled the child to death with his bare hands?
“Robin?”
Robin gasped as Cassidy twisted around on the bed to face her.
“What’s the matter? Are you all right?”
“Oh, God. Oh, God,” Robin cried, hugging the child and motioning the others into the room. “She’s okay. She’s okay!”
“Shit,” Melanie said. “You scared the hell out of us!”
“I don’t understand,” Cassidy said.
Robin detected the faint but stubborn scent of marijuana laced through the girl’s hair.
“Where’s Landon?” Melanie said.
“I don’t know. He went with that deputy.”
“What are you talking about?”
Cassidy rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “When we got home, there was this deputy waiting. He told Landon to get in the patrol car, and they drove off. I wasn’t feeling so hot, so I came upstairs to lie down. I guess I fell asleep.”
“How long ago was this?”
She glanced at Robin’s watch. “About an hour ago, maybe.”
“I’ve got to go,” Melanie said.
“Wait,” Robin said. “Where are you going?”
“To the sheriff’s department. Hopefully they haven’t placed Landon under arrest yet.”
“Why would they arrest Landon?” Cassidy asked.
“Call McAllister,” Melanie said. “Tell him to meet me there.”
“I’ll take you,” Blake offered. “You’re in no condition to drive.”
For once Melanie didn’t argue.
“I’ll stay with Cassidy. Phone me as soon as you know anything,” Robin called after them. She reached into the pocket of her jeans for her cell phone and called the lawyer’s office, relaying Melanie’s instructions to his assistant.
“I don’t understand. Why would they arrest Landon?” Cassidy asked again.
Robin told her about the warrant to search the house and what they had uncovered.
“They found Mommy’s jewelry in Landon’s room?”
“Yes.”
“And a ski mask?”
“Yes.”
Cassidy shook her head. “No. I don’t believe it.”
“I know. It’s inconceivable.”
“So they think that Landon and your brother…”
“And maybe Donny Warren,” Robin said, shocked at the words coming out of her mouth.
“They killed Mommy? They shot me and Daddy?”
Robin said nothing. Inconceivable as it may have been, the evidence against the three men was mounting every day: Alec had had both motive and opportunity to carry out the attack; Landon had obvious behavior problems, and some of Tara’s stolen jewelry had been found hidden in his room; Landon had been with Donny on the night of the shootings; identical ski masks had been found in both Landon’s room and Alec’s apartment. There was no telling what the search of Donny’s cabin might uncover. “I’m so sorry,” she said, not knowing what else to say.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” Cassidy bolted off the bed and ran out of the room.
Robin remained where she was, unable to move, the enormity of the day’s events weighing her down like an anchor. She stared blankly ahead, her mind reeling, her head spinning.
Gradually the room returned to focus around her: the small window overlooking the backyard, the bare ecru walls, the ceiling fan whirring gently overhead, the double bed with its billowy beige comforter, the mirrored nightstand beside the bed, the small stack of fashion magazines on top of it, the familiar snow globe beside the magazines.
Robin reached out and picked up the snow globe, turning it over in her hands and watching the flakes of pretend snow cascade around the tiny ballerina at its center.
A sliver of anxiety burrowed into Robin’s side.
“That was awful,” Cassidy said, returning to the room.
“Are you okay?”
Cassidy plopped down on the bed. “Yeah. I hate throwing up. Don’t you?”
“I don’t think anybody likes it.”
“I remember when I was really little,” Cassidy said, “and I ate all this junk—candies and jellies and a whole bag of red licorice—and Mommy warned me I’d be sick to my stomach, but I ate it all anyway, and then I spent most of the night throwing it all up. It was the worst. I haven’t been able to look at red licorice since.”
Robin marveled at the child’s ability to compartmentalize—one minute she was discussing
her mother’s murder, the next she was going on about red licorice—and wished she could do the same.
“And after that, every night when I went to bed,” Cassidy continued, “I used to grit my teeth, ’cause I thought that would keep me from throwing up again. I did that for a long time, till the dentist told Mommy I was ruining my teeth and I had to stop.” She motioned toward the stack of fashion magazines. “Some of these models, they have eating disorders. They actually make themselves throw up. On purpose.” She looked horrified by the thought. “That’s really gross. Don’t you think?”
“Gross,” Robin agreed, turning the snow globe over again, watching the snowflakes dance around the ballerina’s head. “Maybe it was the marijuana that made you sick.”
Cassidy stiffened. “What marijuana?”
Robin lowered the snow globe to her lap. “I can smell it in your hair.”
There was a long pause before Cassidy spoke. “It’s because I was so upset about you leaving, and Kenny said it would make me feel better,” she admitted sheepishly. “I just had a couple of puffs. I swear. I didn’t like it and I promise I won’t do it again.”
“Okay. That’s good. You’re too young for that sort of thing.” Robin held up the snow globe. “Where did you get this?”
“I have a whole bunch. I used to collect them. This one was always my favorite.”
“I’ve seen it before,” Robin said.
“There’s probably hundreds like it.”
“I saw it in Landon’s room.”
“Really?” Cassidy asked. “It was there on the nightstand when I got home from the hospital. Guess he must have put it there. So I’d have it.”
“Guess so,” Robin agreed.
“Which means he would never shoot me,” Cassidy insisted. “Don’t you see? Deep down, Landon’s kind and he’s sensitive, and he loves me. He would never do anything to hurt me. I don’t care what they found in his room.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I am right. At least I think I am.” Cassidy jumped to her feet. “Oh, God. I don’t know what to think anymore. I’m so confused.”
“Me, too, sweetheart,” Robin said, taking the girl in her arms. “I wish there was something I could say to reassure you.” To reassure both of us.
“I don’t know who to trust.”
“You can trust me.”
“You’re leaving,” Cassidy said.
“Not till we know what’s going on,” Robin told her. “And not without you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Blake and I talked about it. We decided that if my dad doesn’t pull through, you’ll come back to L.A. and live with us. I wanted to tell you last night, but…”
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God!” Cassidy danced around the room with excitement. “I can’t believe it! This is so wonderful! Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
“Can we go right now? Please? We can transfer Daddy to a hospital in L.A.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“I don’t want to stay here anymore. I want to get out of here now.”
“We’ll go soon, I promise, but—”
The doorbell rang.
Robin and Cassidy froze. “Who’s that?” Cassidy asked.
Robin left Cassidy’s side and headed for the master bedroom at the front of the house. She stared out the window at the driveway below, feeling Cassidy right behind her, the girl’s chin resting on her shoulder.
“It’s Kenny,” Cassidy said. “That’s his car.” She was out of Melanie’s room before Robin had even turned around.
“Cassidy, wait!” Robin called as the child’s footsteps receded down the stairs.
A multitude of thoughts began swarming around in Robin’s head, like a horde of locusts, their insistent buzzing getting louder, stronger. According to Melanie, Tara had been concerned about Kenny’s interest in her daughter. Had Tara told the young man to stop coming around? Had he gotten angry? Angry enough to kill?
It would have been so easy for him to blame everything on Landon once suspicions arose. Kenny had been in the house multiple times since the shootings. He’d had ample opportunity to hide both the jewelry and the balaclava among Landon’s things.
I searched that room, Robin thought, mentally retracing her steps that night. I checked each pocket and the inside of every shoe. I went through everything and found nothing. No ski mask stuck to the back of a drawer, no jewelry secreted in the toe of a sneaker. And while it’s possible I might have missed one or the other, there’s no way I missed both. I’m sure of it.
“Cassidy,” she called, “wait. Don’t answer that.”
But it was too late. Cassidy was already opening the front door. Kenny was inside the house.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Robin heard them moving around in the kitchen as she approached the top of the stairs. She took her cell phone from her pocket and pressed Blake’s number. The call went straight to voice mail. “Get home as fast as you can,” she whispered. “Bring the sheriff with you.”
She could hear Cassidy and Kenny arguing as she crept slowly down the stairs and tiptoed cautiously across the hall.
“What the hell, Cassidy?”
“Why are you being such a jerk? It’s not like you can’t come and visit.”
“Yeah, sure. With him there?”
“Him? You mean Blake?”
“Yeah, I mean Blake. Everything was going great until he got here.”
“Going great? Are you kidding me? I just got out of the hospital. I almost died!”
“This morning you told me there was nothing to worry about, that you definitely weren’t going to L.A.”
“That’s what I thought, but then Robin said—”
“I don’t give a shit what Robin said. You’re not going.”
“I am going. I’ve always wanted to live in L.A. You know that. This is my big chance. I’m gonna be a famous model, like Kate Upton.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I am, and you can’t stop me.”
Next she heard the sound of a chair crashing to the floor. “Wanna bet?”
“Sit down. You’re drunk.”
“What’s going on in here?” Robin asked, taking a deep breath as she straightened her shoulders and pushed herself into the room.
“Nothing,” Cassidy said, her voice heavy with disgust. “Kenny’s just being weird.”
Kenny was standing beside the kitchen table, an upturned chair at his feet, a freshly opened bottle of beer in his hand. He quickly righted the chair and plopped down across from where Cassidy was sitting. Robin thought he looked even worse than when she’d seen him earlier, the cocktail of drugs and alcohol in his system wreaking havoc with his focus, his eyes seeming to dart in all directions at once. Cassidy, on the other hand, looked cool and unfazed.
What’s wrong with this picture? Robin found herself thinking.
“Cassidy tells me it’s a done deal,” Kenny said. “That she’s going to L.A. with you.” He sniffed and scratched the side of his nose. “When exactly are you planning to take off?”
“That will depend,” Robin said, wondering what other drugs he’d taken in the last hour.
“On what?”
“On what happens with Daddy and Landon,” Cassidy told him, filling Kenny in on the search of Landon’s room and his arrest.
Kenny made a sound halfway between a scoff and a laugh. “No kidding. Landon was one of the shooters?” He took a long sip of his beer. “To be honest, I have to say I’m not all that surprised.”
Robin waited for him to elaborate. “What do you mean, you’re not surprised?” she asked when he didn’t. “I thought you two were friends.”
“We are. But, well, he’s got a temper. And you gotta admit, he’s not exactly operating with a full deck.”
“Just because he’s autistic doesn’t mean he’s stupid,” Robin said, hearing echoes of her sister in her voice.
Kenny shrugged and took another
swig of his beer.
What am I missing?
“A little early to be drinking, isn’t it?”
Kenny laughed. “Not where I come from. My daddy used to start drinking before he even got out of bed in the morning. My mama wasn’t far behind.” He took another long swallow, as if to underline his point.
“Where are they now?”
“My parents?” Kenny looked toward the mudroom, as if they might be standing just outside the back door. “Around somewhere, I guess. They got divorced when I was nine. Both been married a bunch of times since. My father has an apartment somewhere in town. Lost track of my mom and stepdad after they kicked me out of the house. Been on my own since I was sixteen.”
“That can’t have been easy for you,” Robin said, stealing a look at her watch.
“I manage.”
“How?”
“What?” Kenny asked.
“How do you manage? It doesn’t seem that you have a job…”
He smiled. “Let’s just say I’m in supply and demand.”
“What does that mean?”
“Simple. If there’s a demand, I supply.”
“You’re a drug dealer,” Robin stated.
The smile widened. “We do what we gotta do.” He raised his beer bottle in a mock toast.
“Don’t say stuff like that,” Cassidy admonished. “He’s drunk and he’s just being silly,” she said to Robin. “He doesn’t mean it.”
“Yeah,” Kenny said, “I don’t mean it.” He took another swig from the bottle. “Anything else you want to know? Like, do I have any brothers or sisters or anything?”
“Do you?” Robin wasn’t sure if she was genuinely interested or just stalling until Blake and the sheriff could get there.
“Had a sister. She died when I was seven. Menin…menin…something.”
“Meningitis?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Why’re you so interested all of a sudden?”
“Robin’s a therapist,” Cassidy told him.
“That like a shrink?”
“Sort of,” Robin said.
“You trying to get inside my head? Find out my deep, dark secrets?”
“Do you have any?”
“Oh, we all got some of those,” Kenny said, a note of pride in his voice.
“Maybe I’m just trying to get to know you.”