The Bad Daughter(39)

The second night table contained more of the same: comic books, paper clips, rubber bands, pens and pencils, scrap pieces of paper full of doodles and illegible scribbles. And something else. Something hard and dome-shaped. A snow globe, she realized, pulling it out from the back of the drawer and turning it upside down, watching hundreds of make-believe flakes dance around the tiny plastic ballerina at its center.

An odd thing for a teenage boy to have, she thought, wondering if Cassidy had given it to him. Or maybe he’d just helped himself from her collection after she’d moved out. Odd, maybe, but hardly incriminating. Robin returned the snow globe to its previous position and pushed the drawer closed.

Except it didn’t close.

Robin tried it repeatedly, but the drawer would shut only halfway before getting stuck. “Close, damn you.” She jiggled it, but it refused to budge. “Shit! Okay. Don’t panic.” A few measured breaths later, she reached back and found two crumpled pieces of paper wedged between the two drawers. She extricated them gently, ironing them across her thighs with the palms of her hands.

A girl’s face stared back at her from both pages. The sketches were rendered in pencil. While they were somewhat slapdash and lacking in detail, the girl in both pictures was instantly recognizable, even in the dim light: Cassidy.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Robin muttered, wondering if Melanie was aware that Landon was such a talented artist and realizing that she couldn’t ask her about it without giving away her snooping. Would there be any more surprises?

She folded the papers neatly in half and returned them to the drawer, releasing a deep sigh of relief as the drawer now slid easily back into place.

She crossed to the closet, examining the shirts and pants draped across the wire hangers, and rummaging through the shoes on the floor. There was nothing unusual. No jewelry secreted in the toe of a sneaker, no gun hidden in the back pocket of a pair of jeans.

Robin was moving toward the dresser when she heard the sound of car doors slamming. She hurried to the window and peered through the sheer curtains, careful to keep out of sight.

A car was parked at the top of her father’s driveway. Two people were running toward the house.

Robin reached under the curtains to pry open the window several inches.

“It’s so dark,” she heard a girl say, her high-pitched voice magnified by the breeze. “You’re sure this is the right place?”

“Of course it’s the right place,” her male companion answered. “Can’t you see the police tape?”

Dear God. Teenagers.

“I can hardly see anything, it’s so dark.” The girl stopped. “It’s really spooky. I think we should leave.”

Yes, that’s exactly what you should do.

“Come on. It’s an adventure. Everybody’s gonna be so jealous when we tell ’em we were here.”

Robin watched in horror as the boy ran toward the house.

“Wait,” the girl called after him, although she didn’t move.

“Are you coming or not?”

And then another voice. “What the hell is going on out here?”

Melanie?

“Shit,” the boy swore as Robin watched Melanie march toward them, a housecoat over her pajamas, something long and menacing in her hand.

Dear God, was that a rifle?

“She’s got a gun,” the girl cried. “No! Please don’t shoot us.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“We just wanted to have a look…”

“This isn’t a goddamn tourist attraction. Get out of here before I call the sheriff.”

Robin watched the two kids race back to their car and take off, the car’s tires screaming in protest.

“Stupid kids,” Melanie growled, lowering the rifle as she glanced up at Landon’s window.

Immediately Robin dropped to the floor. Had Melanie seen her?

Shit.

She heard the front door close, followed by Melanie’s footsteps on the stairs. The next moment, Melanie was standing outside Landon’s door, knocking gently. “Landon,” she called softly. “Landon, are you awake?”

Please go away. Please go away. Please go away.

Several long seconds passed before Robin realized that Melanie was no longer standing outside the door, and still more time went by before she was able to breathe without pain and get to her feet. Her knees wobbling, she closed the bedroom window, debating whether to continue her search. She decided not to press her luck. One close call was enough for one night. She might not be the world’s best therapist, but she was an even worse detective.

What the hell was I thinking?

Better not to think at all, she decided, returning to her room and collapsing on the bed. A series of silent images replayed in her head as she closed her eyes: Landon swaying by the side of the road; a motorcycle pulling up in the dark; a wriggling ball of elastic bands; two pencil drawings of Cassidy’s smiling face; curious teenagers creeping toward her father’s house; Melanie walking toward them, a rifle in her hands.

The last thing Robin saw before she fell asleep was a tiny ballerina imprisoned in a plastic dome, snowflakes swirling around her head.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN


She woke the next morning to a house that was eerily quiet: no voices, no footsteps, no persistent rocking.