The Bad Daughter(73)
“But why not just tell us the truth?”
“Honestly, at first I was too stunned. When you told me that Dad had been shot, my first thought was that Tara had shot him. Then you told me that Tara had been shot, too, and my next thought was that Dad had shot her and then turned the gun on himself. But then you said that someone had shot Cassidy, which was just inconceivable, and that it looked like some sort of home invasion.”
He slumped forward in his seat, lowering his head into his hands.
“I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know what to do. There didn’t seem to be anything to be gained by telling anyone about Tara and me. I thought it would only complicate things, and things were already complicated enough. And then a few days later, you started asking about my car, and I realized that the sheriff had found out I was in Red Bluff, and I knew how it would look and that nobody would believe me. It was only my word that Tara was going to leave Dad. The sheriff was probably going to assume I killed Tara and shot Dad and Cassidy because Tara had decided not to leave him. He’d say that I was furious at being made a fool of a second time and I wasn’t going to let Tara get away with it again.”
“Would he be right?” Melanie asked from the front seat.
“Shit,” said Alec, looking imploringly at Robin. “You see.”
“Just asking,” Melanie said.
Alec turned back to Robin. “Look. As motives go, it’s a bit of a stretch to think I would still be carrying a grudge after more than five years, especially if I hadn’t seen Tara in all that time. But once I admit to an ongoing affair, it’s a whole different ball game. Put it together with my being here in Red Bluff that night, and they have a pretty solid case.”
“What did McAllister say?”
“He agrees. Says there’ll be plenty of time for the truth if and when they make an arrest. In the meantime, it’s not necessary for me to do their job for them.”
Robin sank back in her seat. “Shit,” she said. What else was there to say?
“I’m sorry,” Alec said. “I screwed up.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Melanie threw the car into gear and pulled away from the shoulder.
“I didn’t shoot them. I swear it.”
“I believe you,” Robin said, watching Melanie’s eyes narrow in the rearview mirror.
“Thank you.”
“Where are we going?” Robin asked her sister.
“Same place we were headed before this little episode of True Confessions. Fasten your seat belts, everyone,” she said, channeling Bette Davis in All About Eve. “Looks like we’re in for a bumpy ride.”
* * *
—
They arrived at an isolated stretch of land on the outskirts of Red Bluff less than ten minutes later. Melanie got out of the car to open a wooden gate, then turned the car onto the wide dirt path inside the wire fence that ran along the treeless perimeter of the property. It was the polar opposite of the lush farmland along the Sacramento River. We might as well be on the moon, Robin thought, although she understood why tourists might find it fascinating. This place gives new meaning to the phrase “wide-open spaces.”
A bright orange barn stood to the right of the path, a small log cabin to the left, surrounded by dry yellowing grass everywhere she looked. A rusty old Chevy was parked to one side of the cabin, a shiny Harley-Davidson on the other, leaving no doubt in her mind whose property this was.
“Everybody out.” Melanie turned off the car’s engine and opened the door.
The smell of horses instantly invaded Robin’s nostrils, causing her to sneeze three times in quick succession.
“This way.” Melanie strode purposefully toward the barn.
“You going to tell us why we’re here?” Alec asked as he and Robin trailed after her.
In reply, Melanie pointed past the barn to the field beyond.
Robin brought her hands to her forehead to shield her eyes. Even with her sunglasses on, the light was almost blinding, there being no shade to provide even minimal protection from the blistering sun. In the distance she saw two men on horseback, their gaits measured and in complete sync. “Is that Landon?” Robin asked, straining to find something familiar in the black-filled outlines of the men’s faces.
“It is,” Melanie said, a surprising but unmistakable trace of pride in her voice.
“And the man with him is Donny Warren?”
“It is,” Melanie said again, the pride lingering.
“What’s going on?” Alec asked. “Who’s Donny Warren?”
The riders turned in their direction, one of them waving. “A friend of Landon’s,” Melanie said. “He’s been teaching him how to ride.”
Robin had read reports that animals—dogs and especially horses—could be an effective tool in the treatment of autism.
“He called while you were with McAllister, said Landon was with him and that I shouldn’t worry.”
“Very interesting,” Alec said.
Robin sensed something in her brother’s tone that made her uneasy.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he continued, confirming her worst fears, “but didn’t Cassidy tell the sheriff that there were two men in Dad’s house the night of the shootings, and that both men were tall and muscular?”