The Bad Daughter(78)

“I’ll give you a police escort home,” Prescott said.

“Appreciate that.”

“Can’t promise the vultures won’t follow us.” The sheriff peered into the backseat. “How you doin’, kiddo?”

“I’m okay. I got flowers,” Cassidy said, holding up her bouquet.

Robin put her arms around the child and hugged her close, careful not to apply too much pressure. “I want to be just like you when I grow up,” she said.



* * *



—

They arrived home fifteen minutes later. The sheriff parked at the top of the driveway to allow Blake entry, and Blake pulled his car as close to the front door as possible.

Melanie’s car was nowhere in sight. Which was good, Robin decided. Melanie was going to be far from thrilled to see Cassidy, and even less thrilled to see the sheriff.

“Doesn’t look as if anybody’s home,” Prescott said, helping Blake and Robin with Cassidy. “Must still be at Donny’s ranch.”

“I take it that means you’re still following us,” Robin said, bristling.

“Just making sure nobody gets any bad ideas.”

“What do you mean?” Cassidy asked. “What bad ideas?”

“Nothing for you to worry about, sweetheart,” he answered. “Now, you think you’re strong enough to walk to the door on your own?”

“How about I carry you?” Blake offered before Cassidy could answer.

Relief flashed through Cassidy’s doe-like brown eyes. “Thank you.” She leaned her head against Blake’s shoulder as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the house.

Robin glanced toward the road, where three cars had already stopped to unload photographers with long-range lenses. As she watched, a small truck with a FOX News logo pulled up and a man jumped out, balancing a camera on one shoulder. “Shit,” Robin said. Melanie is going to have a fit when she sees the growing media circus. Not even a town the size of Red Bluff was safe. “Isn’t there anything you can do about this?” she asked the sheriff.

“As long as they stay on public property, my hands are tied. I can have a deputy posted at the top of your driveway if you’d like, make sure nobody trespasses. But you should probably consult with your sister about that.”

Won’t that be fun? Robin thought, leaving his side to unlock the front door, then standing back as Blake carried Cassidy through the hallway and into the living room. He deposited her gently on the sofa, then sat down beside her, the child still clinging to his side.

“Well, thank you, Sheriff,” Robin said, surprised to find him still hovering, “for making sure we got home safely. We can manage things from here.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a drink of something cold, would you?” he asked.

“I’ll get it,” Blake offered. “I could use a drink myself.”

“No,” said Cassidy, her hand clutching tight to his arm. “Don’t leave me.”

“How about I put those flowers in a vase,” Robin said, taking the bouquet from Cassidy’s hands, “and bring a pitcher of water in here. Sheriff, would you mind giving me a hand?”

Prescott looked skeptical. “It would be my pleasure.” He followed her down the hall. “I take it you have something you want to say to me,” he said when they reached the kitchen.

“What the hell are you trying to do to that child?” Robin demanded angrily, setting the flowers on the counter.

“I’m not sure I under—”

“The hell you don’t! What are you doing suggesting to Cassidy that she go back to my father’s house?”

“It’s not an unreasonable idea.”

“She’s twelve years old! Her mother was murdered. She’s been through a terrible trauma. And you’re asking her to relive it?”

Sheriff Prescott lowered his voice, perhaps hoping Robin would do the same. “I’m conducting a murder investigation, Robin. Cassidy is our only witness.”

“She’s also a victim. And she’s already told you that she can’t identify the men who were in the house that night.”

“She thinks she can’t identify them, but being back in the house might—”

“No. I won’t allow it.”

“I don’t think that’s your decision to make. Cassidy seems ready…”

“Cassidy’s a minor,” Robin reminded him. “And if I have to hire a lawyer and get a court order to stop you, that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

“Anything else?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, there is.”

The sheriff cocked his head to one side, like a curious bulldog.

“Stop harassing my brother. You can’t make him stay in Red Bluff indefinitely, hoping to come up with enough evidence to arrest him. He has a life in San Francisco, and you have no right to keep him here. The way I see it is that you have two choices: either you arrest him or you leave him alone. Shit or get off the pot, as my father used to say.” Robin was stunned by her outburst. She was even more stunned to hear herself quoting her father.

“Everything all right in there?” Blake called from the other room.

“Everything’s fine,” Robin called back. She found a glass vase in the cupboard over the sink, filled it with water, then arranged the tulips inside it, watching as they almost instantly drooped. “Here,” she said to the sheriff, removing a pitcher from the same cupboard and all but pushing it against his hard stomach. “You can fill this with ice.” She reached into the cupboard for glasses.