The Bad Daughter(55)

“Sounds complicated. And by ‘complicated,’ I mean boring.”

He laughed. “I guess it can be both.”

Why can’t I do that? Robin wondered. Just shrug and laugh off Melanie’s more caustic remarks. Why do I always react?

“Do you understand any of it?” Melanie was asking her.

“Not really,” Robin admitted, determined to try harder, to not let her sister get to her.

“I try not to bring my work home with me,” Blake said.

“Probably wise. Our dad had much the same philosophy. Didn’t he, Robin?”

“Fuck off,” Robin said. So much for shrugging and laughing it off.

“What’d I do now?” Melanie asked. “Honestly, Blake, is this how she is with you?”

Blake smiled. “Fuck off,” he said.

Robin burst into tears of gratitude as the waitress appeared with their egg rolls.

“It’s okay. She’s just really hungry,” Melanie told the startled young woman. The waitress deposited the food on the table, then backed quickly away. “Well,” Melanie said, smiling as she dipped her egg roll into the accompanying plum sauce and lifted it into the air. “Cheers, everyone.”

A phone rang.

“Again?” Melanie asked.

“Not mine,” Blake said as it rang a second time.

“Oh, what do you know? It’s mine.” Melanie laughed as she extricated her cell phone from her purse and raised it to her ear. “Hello?” A brief pause and a roll of her eyes. “Yes. What can I do for you?”

A longer pause. Melanie pressed the button to disconnect the call.

“Well?” Robin asked.

Melanie took a big bite of her egg roll. “That was our illustrious sheriff. Apparently the San Francisco police have located Alec and they’re escorting him to Red Bluff as we speak. They should be here in about an hour. Looks like we’re going to have to eat fast.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


The Tehama County Sheriff’s Office is located on Antelope Boulevard near the intersection of Highways 99 and 36, far from the center of town. According to its website, it exists to protect the lives and property of the more than 63,000 permanent residents of Tehama County, which includes the city of Red Bluff, as well as the thousands of visitors who enjoy hunting, fishing, and vacationing in the area’s vast wilderness. It is staffed by the sheriff, the assistant sheriff, one captain, three lieutenants, nine sergeants, seven detectives, and twenty-nine deputy sheriffs, all of whom proudly sport the seven-pointed badge on the front of their uniforms. The department’s motto, prominently displayed throughout the uninteresting brown-brick low-rise building, is Serving Our Community with P.R.I.D.E., the initials standing for Professionalism, Respect, Integrity, Dedication, and Equality.

“As if,” Melanie said, pushing open the heavy glass front door.

Sheriff Prescott was waiting for them in the lobby, in front of a high reception counter, behind which a series of glassed-in offices ran down a wide corridor in both directions.

“Where is he?” Robin said instead of “Hello.”

“Why don’t we sit down for a minute?” The sheriff motioned toward a group of brown leather chairs. “Relax, catch your breath…”

“Why don’t you just skip the bullshit and let us see our brother?” Melanie said.

The deputy behind the counter looked up at the word “bullshit,” his hand moving instinctively toward the gun in his holster. The sheriff smiled and turned toward Blake. “I’m Sheriff Alan Prescott. And you are?”

“Blake Upton.” Blake shook the sheriff’s hand, his own hand disappearing inside the larger man’s palm.

“My fiancé,” Robin explained. “He drove up yesterday from L.A.”

“Nice to meet you, although I wish it were under…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Melanie said dismissively. “Better circumstances and all that. Isn’t that what people tell each other at funerals?”

“And always a pleasure seeing you, Melanie.” Again Sheriff Prescott motioned toward the nearby chairs. “Please, everyone, have a seat. You’ll be able to see your brother shortly.”

Robin looked nervously down the hallway, its off-white walls lined with diplomas, citations, and photographs of men and women in and out of uniform, along with the department’s ubiquitous P.R.I.D.E. motto. She saw doors, all of them closed, with labels such as Civil Division, Operation Division, and Jail Division, even though the jail itself was housed in a separate building at the corner of Oak and Madison, in the center of town. At least they haven’t taken Alec there, she was thinking as she and Blake sat down. “Is my brother under arrest?”

“Not yet. At the moment he’s merely a person of interest.” The sheriff lowered himself into a chair across from them.

“I’ve always loved that expression,” Melanie said, remaining stubbornly on her feet and hovering beside the sheriff’s chair. “As if the rest of us are of no interest whatsoever.”

“If he’s not under arrest, then why is he here?” Blake asked. “Why the police escort?”

“He didn’t leave us much choice,” Prescott answered. “It appears that he was on his way to Canada, judging by the fact that he had his passport with him and a considerable amount of cash.”