The Bad Daughter(83)
“Why are we talking about Landon?” Melanie asked, her voice stretched as tight as an elastic band.
“I was just saying he fits the description,” Cassidy said. “The same as Alec.”
“The same as a lot of people,” Robin said, sensing that in spite of Cassidy’s best efforts, by linking Alec and Landon she’d only made things worse. There’d been at least two men in the house that night, two men matching the general description of her brother and her nephew. “Any other questions, Sheriff?”
He smiled at Cassidy. “I was wondering if you felt strong enough to accompany me to the house—”
“We’ve already discussed this,” Robin interrupted. “She’s not going anywhere near that house.”
“No, I want to go,” Cassidy said. “All my stuff, my clothes…”
“We’ll get you new clothes.”
“But I might remember something,” Cassidy insisted. “Something that could help Alec.”
Or hurt him, Robin thought. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Cassidy took a deep breath, exhaling audibly. “What about Mommy?”
“What about her?” Melanie asked.
“Where is she?” Cassidy asked the sheriff. “Can I see her?”
“We’ll be releasing her body for burial in another day or two,” Prescott said.
“Then I’ll need something to wear.” Cassidy nodded several times to emphasize that her mind was made up. “We should go soon.”
“How’s tomorrow morning?” the sheriff asked.
“Tomorrow morning is good.”
“You’re sure you want to do this?” Robin asked.
“I’m sure.”
* * *
—
The sheriff arrived at precisely nine o’clock the next morning. Cassidy was waiting in the front hall, Robin and Blake on either side of her. “How are you doing today, Cassidy?” Prescott asked. “You ready to do this?”
Cassidy nodded, grabbing both Robin’s and Blake’s hands for support.
“I take it you’ll be joining us.” Prescott’s tone indicated that he was resigned to their presence.
“We will,” Robin said.
“Then I must instruct you not to interfere in any way.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“And Melanie?”
“Staying right here,” she called from the kitchen.
“My lucky day,” Prescott muttered, not quite under his breath. “Shall we?” He opened the door, and they stepped into the warm morning air. “We can walk or take my car.” He motioned toward the end of the driveway where his patrol car was parked.
“The doctors said I should get as much exercise as I can,” Cassidy said.
“Fine. If you think you’re strong enough.”
“I’m strong enough.”
Robin smiled proudly. Cassidy was one of the strongest people she’d ever met. She wondered where that kind of fortitude came from. Tara probably. God knows I’ve never had it, she thought, squeezing Cassidy’s hand as they proceeded slowly up the driveway and along the side of the road to the house next door.
“Ready?” the sheriff asked when they reached the front door, where a deputy was waiting.
Cassidy nodded, the deputy unlocked the door, and they stepped inside the large circular foyer. Robin followed Blake’s gaze from the high ceiling and huge crystal chandelier to the two staircases off the center hall. She saw his lips form an unspoken “Wow.”
“How you doin’ so far?” the sheriff asked Cassidy.
“Okay,” Cassidy said, although the slight wobble in her voice said otherwise. Her fingernails dug into the back of Robin’s hand.
“I thought we could start by going over the events of that night again.” Prescott paused to let his words sink in. “You woke up to loud voices and came down the stairs to see what was happening…”
Cassidy’s eyes glazed over, as if she were watching the scene play out before her. She let go of Robin’s and Blake’s hands and, as if she were sleepwalking, moved toward the staircase on the left side of the hall, the others following close behind her. “It sounded like arguing,” she said, stopping at the base of the staircase, “so I got out of bed and tiptoed down the stairs to see what was going on. The voices got louder.” She began inching toward the living room. “This one guy was yelling. He was really mad.”
“Can you hear him now?” the sheriff asked. “Do you recognize his voice?”
Cassidy tilted her head, as if she were listening. “No.” She stopped, gasping when she saw the blood covering the living room rug and much of the furniture. “Oh, God.”
“Don’t go in there,” Robin said, catching the warning not to interfere in the sheriff’s eyes.
“I saw two men,” Cassidy continued. “One of them was waving a gun and shouting, ‘Stop fucking with me, you piece of shit, or I swear I’ll shoot the bitch. I’ll shoot the bitch right now.’?”
Robin closed her eyes. The words coming out of the child’s mouth were as jarring as the first time she’d heard them.