The Bad Daughter(43)

“For what address?” the recording asked.

Shit. “I have no idea.”

“Please hold for an operator.”

Seconds later, a human voice replaced the recording, informing Robin that there were three Tom Richardses in the Bay Area. Robin jotted down their phone numbers, then called all three.

The first Tom Richards was at least eighty years old and partially deaf, so their conversation consisted mostly of the words “Sorry” (hers) and “What?” (his). The second Tom Richards was a lifelong resident of San Francisco and had never been to Red Bluff. She was about to phone the third Tom Richards when she heard her sister’s voice.

“Robin,” Melanie called from the hallway, “what are you doing in there? I thought you wanted to go to the hospital.”

“I’ll be ready in two minutes.”

Robin waited until she heard Melanie retreat down the hall before completing the last call. It was answered after six rings, just as she was about to hang up.

“Hello,” a woman said, the word a shout, as if she’d just run in from outside.

“Hello,” Robin said. “I’m sorry to bother you. My name is Robin Davis and I was wondering if…”

“Just a minute,” the woman said. “Tom, wait a second. I need to talk to you before you leave.”

“Actually, it’s Tom I was hoping to speak to,” Robin said quickly.

“You want to speak to Tom?” The woman sounded surprised. “May I ask what about?”

“It’s a long story. Please, if I could just speak to him. It’s very important.”

“Some woman wants to talk to you,” the woman said. “What have you been up to?”

Robin heard shuffling noises as the phone was transferred from one hand to another.

“Hello?” came a child’s voice seconds later.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Robin apologized quickly. “It must be your father I’m looking for—is he there?”

“She wants to talk to Daddy,” the boy explained to his mother.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” the woman said, returning to the line. “You can go. Tell Jason’s mother I’ll call her later. Watch crossing the road. Hello,” she said into the receiver. “Who did you say you were?”

“Robin Davis. From Red Bluff. I’m trying to reach an old classmate named Tom Richards. By any chance, is that your husband?”

There was a long pause. Robin could feel her heart pounding. She wondered if the woman was still on the line.

“My husband is dead,” the woman said. “He died two years ago. Leukemia.”

“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.”

“We haven’t been back to Red Bluff in years. Was there something in particular that you wanted to talk to him about?”

“No. No,” Robin stammered. “I was just looking through some old high school yearbooks and thought I’d…” Clearly, she had no idea what she’d been thinking. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

The woman hung up without saying goodbye.

“Shit.” She’d managed to locate her old classmate, only to discover that he’d been dead for two years. Which meant what? That someone had borrowed his name? That that someone was Alec? That he and Tara…? She couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought. “Shit.”

“What are you swearing about in there?” Melanie asked from outside the door. “What’s the problem now?”

Robin tucked her phone into the side pocket of her jeans and opened the door. “No problem. Let’s go.”



* * *



—

The sheriff was waiting for them when they arrived at the hospital.

“Well, well,” Melanie said, her voice as stiff as her posture. “What a surprise.”

“Ladies,” he said, with a tip of his hat. “I was hoping we’d run into each other.”

“Has something happened?” Robin asked.

“There are a few things I need to discuss with you,” he answered. “Is Landon here?”

“Do you see him?” Melanie’s voice was colder than the morning’s leftover coffee.

“He’s at home,” Robin said. Was he? Or was he off somewhere, balancing on the back of a motorcycle, long hair blowing in the wind? She’d wanted to question Melanie about what she’d seen the previous night, but didn’t want to undermine their uneasy peace. “Did you locate Alec?” she asked the sheriff instead.

“Not yet. Perhaps we could sit down.” He motioned toward a nearby seating area where a cluster of beige leather chairs sat across from a long brown sofa.

“If you don’t mind,” Melanie said, “we’re here to see our father.”

“By all means,” came Prescott’s easy reply. “Whenever you’re ready. I’ll wait right here.”

Melanie’s eyes narrowed into a hard glare. She spun on her heel and headed toward the east wing, Robin trailing after her. Minutes later, the sisters stood beside their father’s bed. “He’s looking a little gray around the edges,” Melanie remarked dispassionately, as if she were commenting on the color of the walls. “Doesn’t look like it’ll be much longer.”