The Bad Daughter(34)
“You mean with Daddy?”
“Yes.”
“They were so happy,” Cassidy said. “They loved each other so much.”
So what about the rumors of infidelity? What about this mysterious “friend,” Tom? Robin wanted to ask, knowing she couldn’t. “And my…our father?” she asked instead. “Was he a good father to you?”
“The best. I mean, Melanie always complained that he was spoiling me rotten, but then Daddy would tell her that you can’t spoil a child with too much love.”
Wow. “I’m sure that went over big,” Robin said without thinking.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” Robin found herself wishing that she’d known the “Daddy” Greg Davis had been to Cassidy. Would that he’d been so loving and magnanimous toward his own children. “Do you ever wonder about your biological father?” she asked.
Cassidy studied Robin for several long seconds, as if trying to peek inside her brain. “He’s here, isn’t he?” she stunned Robin by asking. “Have you talked to him?”
“Yes, he’s here. How did you know?”
“Because Mommy always said he’d turn up one day. She said that he was like a rash you couldn’t get rid of.” Cassidy’s already pale complexion turned ashen. She looked as if she was about to faint. “Do you think he’s the one who shot us?”
“I don’t know. He says no.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I’m sure the sheriff will have his alibi thoroughly checked out.”
“I don’t want to see him.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I don’t want to see him,” Cassidy repeated. “Ever. I already have a father. A real father. And he’s going to be okay. He’s going to be okay, right? He’s not going to die.”
Robin tried to form the words, but they wouldn’t come. “I wish I knew,” she whispered.
“What will happen to me if he dies?”
“Let’s not worry about that now.”
“Will they make me go live with him?” Cassidy asked, panic returning to her voice.
“With Dylan Campbell? No! Of course not.” Would they?
“Because I’d run away if they did. I’d kill myself.”
“Sweetheart, no. Don’t talk that way.”
“And I don’t want to live with Melanie. I know she doesn’t really want me. And Landon, well, he’s nice and all, but he can be kind of scary sometimes. The way he rocks all the time and everything. I know it’s not his fault, that he can’t help it…” Cassidy reached over and grabbed Robin’s hand. “I want to live with you,” she said, her voice pleading. “If anything happens to Daddy, please, can I live with you?” Her eyes suddenly rolled back in her head and she collapsed against her pillows, unconscious.
Robin jumped out of her seat and ran to the door. “Get a nurse,” she shouted at the officer stationed in the hall.
* * *
—
“Tell me again exactly what he said to you,” Sheriff Prescott instructed Robin. They were in the waiting area down the hall from Cassidy’s room, sitting in the same two chairs they’d occupied the first time they’d met. Cassidy’s vital signs had returned to normal, although the doctors cautioned that everything could change in an instant.
For the third time, Robin relayed her conversation with Dylan to the sheriff, watching as he checked her story against the notes he’d already made. “You have any idea where he’s staying?” he asked.
“None.”
“Well, I guess it shouldn’t be too difficult to find him.” The sheriff ran his palm across the top of his smooth head. “From everything he said to you, it doesn’t look as if he’s going anywhere anytime soon.”
“Are you going to check his alibi?”
“Soon as I know what it is,” the sheriff said with a smile.
“Do you think he did it?”
“I won’t know what to think till I talk to the man. Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
Robin debated informing the sheriff what had happened at the dinner table the previous night—Landon’s violent reaction to the ringing of her cell phone, his fleeing the house and not returning until after midnight.
“He can be kind of scary,” she heard Cassidy say.
“What is it?” Prescott asked.
Robin shook her head. The sheriff was already suspicious of Landon. Anything she said would only reinforce that suspicion, make him less likely to examine other possibilities. She couldn’t betray her nephew. Not without tangible evidence that he’d done something wrong. “Nothing.”
“You’re sure? You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”
“Who’s Donny Warren?” Robin asked.
“Donny Warren,” the sheriff repeated. “Why do you ask?”
Robin relayed the conversation she’d overheard at Starbucks, watching him copy it into his notepad. “Who is he?” she asked again.
“He’s a war vet, did a couple of tours in Afghanistan, moved here about three years ago from Tacoma, Washington, and bought a small ranch on the outskirts of town. Kind of a loner. Owns a couple of horses. Drives a Harley. Never been arrested, as far as I know. You think he and Tara had something going on?”