The Bad Daughter(25)

“The safe was located behind the picture,” Sheriff Prescott explained unnecessarily.

Not exactly the most original place in the world to hide a safe, Robin thought. Especially when the only thing on any of the walls was this stupid photograph. She glanced at the upside-down smiles of her father and his young family. They look so happy, she thought. Had they been?

“Any idea what was in that safe?” the sheriff asked.

Robin shook her head.

“Cash, probably,” Melanie said. “He liked to have lots on hand.”

“Any clue how much?”

“Five, maybe ten thousand dollars. That’s what he always had lying around at home.”

“Anything else?”

“Jewelry?” Melanie suggested. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“What about his will?” the sheriff asked.

“What about it?”

“Any idea who the beneficiaries might be?”

“You should probably talk to his lawyer.” Melanie gave Sheriff Prescott the attorney’s name. “But my father’s not dead yet, remember?”

“What about guns?”

“What about them?”

“Did your father have any?”

“A couple. Are they missing?”

Prescott nodded. “Do you know what kind they were?”

“A Smith & Wesson, I think. And…what’s that big one?”

“A .357?”

“Sounds about right. Was it the murder weapon?”

“It’s a possibility. Shall we go upstairs?”

“Why not? Any particular staircase you’d prefer?” Melanie asked, returning to the hall.

“Why don’t we start with the one on the right?”

“Good choice.”

“Wow,” Robin said when they reached the master suite. She stepped inside the first of three huge rooms, her feet sinking into the plush ivory-colored broadloom covering the floor and feeling it tickle her bare toes inside her sandals. Three small blue velvet sofas were grouped around a large blue leather ottoman. An enormous flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall. Heavy blue drapes framed the picture window overlooking the backyard.

“I believe they referred to this as their ‘bed-sitting room,’?” Melanie said, moving into the bedroom itself.

“Double wow,” Robin whispered when she saw the giant four-poster, complete with canopy and white chiffon curtains, that stood in the center of the cavernous room. A blue velvet divan was positioned in front of the bed, complementing the chairs of yet another sitting area in front of another long window. “Holy shit,” she said, her startled eyes coming to rest on a large nude portrait of Tara.

She was sitting on a swing, her right hand gripping one of the flower-festooned ropes that held it in place, her left strategically folded in her lap, her full breasts prominently and proudly on display.

As was the pronounced gash that ripped through the canvas on a diagonal from top to bottom.

“Looks as if at least one person has good taste in art,” Melanie remarked.

“Why would someone do this?” Robin asked, approaching the picture.

“We’ve been wondering the same thing,” Sheriff Prescott said, coming up behind her. “It looks personal, doesn’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” Melanie said. “I mean, you read about vandals doing stuff like this all the time. Wrecking things, defecating on carpets, slashing paintings…”

The sheriff nodded. “Yup. Could be.” He opened the door to the enormous walk-in closet, which was more like a room full of closets, all of them open, clothes pulled from their hangers, dozens of shoes flung across the floor. An island dresser, full of open drawers that had clearly been rummaged through, occupied the middle of the room. A jewelry box sat empty on the dresser’s hand-painted surface. “You know what jewelry might be missing?”

“Looks like all of it,” Melanie said with a shrug.

“Could you be more specific?”

“Tara had a necklace with a diamond heart, and a pair of diamond studs that my father gave her for her birthday. A few gold chains and earrings that used to belong to my mother, an emerald-and-ruby butterfly pin that was also my mother’s.”

Robin’s hand played absently with the amethyst ring on the chain around her neck, as she pictured the butterfly brooch her father had bought her mother for their twentieth anniversary. Her mother wore it only rarely, not wanting to appear ostentatious. Tara had had no such qualms.

“Maybe also some costume stuff,” Melanie said. “Tara didn’t have the best taste.”

“You said at the hospital that it looked as if someone took her wedding and engagement rings,” Robin said to the sheriff, not wanting to contradict her sister. She’d always admired Tara’s sense of style, although it was admittedly unique.

Which was exactly what was missing from this house, Robin realized.

Tara.

In spite of her nude likeness, Tara was missing.

“It appears that way from the bruising on her fingers, yes,” the sheriff said, answering the question she’d already forgotten she’d asked. “This way,” he said, leading them out of the closet into the marble-and-glass master bathroom. “Not much to see in here.”