The Bad Daughter(42)

“Well, you’ll just have to figure something out…Wait. What about Mrs. Davis?”

“What about her?”

“You said you spent hours with my father and Cassidy, that they were so excited. What about Mrs. Davis? Wasn’t she excited?”

“I didn’t really see a lot of Mrs. Davis. She came only a few times, in the beginning. After that, she pretty much left things to her husband.” Sherry Loftus cleared her throat, then cleared it again. “About the pool table…I guess we could put it in storage for the time being. There’ll be a charge, of course.”

“Fine. Do that.”

“And there’s the matter of payment. The table was ten thousand dollars.”

“Ten thousand dollars!”

“And there’s money owing on—”

“Look,” Robin interrupted, “I really can’t deal with this now. My sister will have to get back to you.” She hung up before Sherry Loftus could say anything else. Then she poured herself another cup of coffee and gulped it down cold as fists of anxiety began pummeling her insides. “Okay. Breathe. Just breathe, goddamn it.”

“What’s going on?” her sister asked from somewhere behind her.

At the sound of Melanie’s voice, Robin dropped the mug, which crashed to the floor, splintering into dozens of pieces. “Shit.” She fell to her knees and began scooping up the ceramic shards, her hands shaking. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

“Relax. It’s not exactly a family heirloom.”

“I’ll buy you another one.”

Melanie lowered the bags of groceries in her hands to the kitchen table as the sound of Landon’s feet thundering up the stairs reverberated throughout the house. “You’re rather tightly wound this morning,” she said, starting to unload the groceries and put them away. “Landon and I were only gone an hour. What happened?”

Robin gathered the remaining pieces of the shattered mug from the floor and dropped them into the garbage bin under the sink before relaying her conversation with Sherry Loftus.

“Sherry!” Melanie exclaimed. “That’s it. I knew her name started with an S.”

“I think you’re missing the point here.”

“The point being?”

“What are we going to do?” Robin asked.

“About the pool table?” Melanie shrugged. “Not my problem. What else?”

“What do you mean, what else?”

“It doesn’t take a degree in psychology to see that something else is bothering you.”

Robin took a long, deep breath. Was there any point in telling Melanie that she’d been on the verge of contacting Tom Richards when Sherry Loftus called? “It’s something Sherry Loftus said,” she said instead, then waited for Melanie to ask what that something was. She didn’t. “She said that Tara only went to San Francisco with Dad a few times and then she lost interest.”

“And this bothers you because…?”

“You said that Tara made frequent trips…”

The phone rang.

“Busy morning,” Melanie said, reaching over to answer it. “Hello?” An exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Why, hello, Sheriff. How are you this fine morning?” She balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder as she put a carton of milk and a pound of butter in the fridge. “No, I haven’t spoken to my brother recently. No, he hasn’t called.” She looked to Robin for confirmation. “No, I have no idea where he might have gone. What makes you think he’s gone anywhere?”

“What’s he saying?” Robin asked.

Melanie ignored her. “You what? Why would you do that?”

“What did he do?”

Melanie swatted Robin’s question aside with a brusque wave of her hand.

Robin pulled her cell phone out of the pocket of her robe and pressed her brother’s number. It rang four times before voice mail picked up.

“Leave a message,” came the terse directive.

“Call me,” Robin said, equally abruptly. She disconnected the line at the same time Melanie was disconnecting hers. The two women stared at each other across the kitchen table. “What’s going on?” Robin asked.

Melanie lowered herself into the nearest chair. “It appears our baby brother has disappeared.”





CHAPTER SIXTEEN


“Information,” the recording said. “For what city?”

“San Francisco.”

“Do you want a residential number?”

“Yes.”

“For what name?”

Robin lowered her voice, glancing toward the closed door of her bedroom. Melanie wouldn’t be happy if she knew what she was doing.

“What—are you a detective now? You’re being ridiculous.” She could hear her sister scoff.

“Tom Richards,” Robin said clearly into her cell phone.

Maybe she was being ridiculous. But it was obvious that the sheriff considered Alec a suspect in the shootings, and her brother wasn’t helping his cause by taking off without a word to anyone. If she could confirm that Tara had been in touch with a man from her past, it might divert some of the suspicion away from Alec, and since she was stuck in this hellhole for at least a few more days, she might as well make herself useful.