The Bad Daughter(57)

“Nice car,” Prescott said as they approached Blake’s Lexus, a standout among the half dozen police cruisers.

“You can get in front with Blake,” Melanie directed her brother as she climbed into the backseat. “Robin will sit back here with me.” She patted the seat beside her.

“I’ll be in touch,” the sheriff called as Blake pulled out of his parking spot.

“Looking forward to it,” Alec said with a wave.

“What is it with you two?” Blake snapped, looking from Alec to Melanie and then back at Alec. “May I remind you that you’re a suspect in a murder investigation? That man you just blew off so cavalierly is a sheriff. Don’t deliberately antagonize the people with the power to throw your ass in jail.”

“They don’t have enough evidence to arrest him,” Melanie said, as she’d said earlier.

“Since when has that ever stopped anyone?”

“Since when did you start doing criminal law?” Alec asked, sounding genuinely interested.

“I didn’t. But I’ll do for now. If and when the time comes…” Blake looked around the mostly barren landscape, the mountains shimmering in the distance. “Where the hell am I?”

“Turn left at the next intersection,” Melanie said.

There was a moment’s silence and then everyone spoke at once.

“Thanks for doing this.” Alec.

“You must be exhausted.” Robin.

“What happened to your car?” Blake.

“So, did you do it?” Melanie.

“Wow,” said Alec, answering their questions one at a time. “Yes, I’m exhausted. The San Francisco police seized my car. And no, I didn’t do it. Thanks for asking.”

“But you were here in Red Bluff on the night of the shooting,” Melanie said.

“I don’t think I have to respond to that, do I, counselor?”

“What were you doing here?” Melanie persisted.

“How’s Landon?” Alec asked in return, ignoring the question.

Beside her, Robin felt Melanie’s body tense.

“Don’t do this, Alec,” Robin said, as exasperated as her sister. “Our father is in a coma, Tara is dead, and a twelve-year-old girl is without her mother. The police have proof you were in Red Bluff on the night of the shootings. This is not the time for evasions and obfuscations.”

“Wow—‘evasions and obfuscations.’ Impressive words.”

“How about ‘glib’? You like that word better?” Melanie asked.

Alec twisted in his seat and peered over his shoulder into the back of the car. “Look. I understand your concern and I’m grateful for it.”

“We don’t need your understanding or your gratitude,” Melanie said.

“And I don’t need to be cross-examined.” Alec turned back to face the windshield.

“For God’s sake, Alec,” Robin said. Why was he being so damn difficult? Was it possible he was guilty? “We’re family. We just want to help.”

“You can’t. Trust me, the less you know, the better off we’ll be.”

“What does that mean?” Robin and Melanie asked together, their voices overlapping.

“I think we’ve all seen enough Law & Order to know that anything I tell you can and will be used against me in a court of law. If I’m arrested and this thing actually goes to trial, you could be subpoenaed and compelled to testify against me. Am I right?” he asked Blake.

“That’s right. On the other hand,” Blake said, “I’m your attorney. At least for the moment. And anything you tell me is strictly confidential.”

Alec let out an audible sigh, nervously massaging his jaw as he lay back against his headrest and closed his eyes. “Then we’ll talk later,” he said.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


“Okay, who needs a drink?” Melanie asked as soon as they stepped inside the house.

“Beer for me.” Alec made a beeline for the kitchen, as if it hadn’t been almost six years since his last visit and this were still his home.

“Me, too,” echoed Blake, tossing his key fob onto the side table by the front door.

“I’m okay,” Robin said.

Except she wasn’t okay. She was in the midst of a full-blown panic attack, knives of anxiety stabbing her chest with each step, flailing at her carotid artery. If she wasn’t careful, she’d bleed out in front of everyone. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the bathroom.”

“You all right?” Blake asked.

“I’m fine. The Chinese food…” Robin hurried up the stairs, hearing Landon rocking behind his closed door as she raced for the bathroom. “Damn it,” she muttered, locking the door behind her. Damn it, damn it, damn it. “Okay. Settle down. Take deep breaths. You’ll be fine.”

But every time she tried to breathe, newly sharpened daggers pierced deeper into her flesh.

“Calm down. Calm down.”

Except how could she calm down when Alec refused to answer any questions about what he’d been doing in Red Bluff on the night Tara was murdered and their father and Cassidy shot, which meant that at the very least he had something to hide? How could she calm down when the only Tom Richards from Red Bluff who’d moved to San Francisco had been dead for two years, which meant that her brother and Tom Richards were likely one and the same? How could she calm down when there was a good chance Alec had been one of the shooters?