The Bad Daughter(90)

Landon’s response was to turn and run from the room.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Cassidy said as Landon’s feet banged up the stairs. “He’s all upset.”

“He’s fine.”

“He isn’t fine. You know how sensitive he is.”

“He doesn’t want you to go to L.A.”

“I don’t think it’s such a bad idea.” Melanie lifted a sandwich off the tray. “After everything that’s happened, a fresh start might be just what the doctor ordered. And if Robin and Blake are willing…”

“I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves here,” Blake said. “At the moment, I’m the only one who’s going anywhere.”

“You’re leaving us?” Melanie asked.

“On Sunday.”

The door to Landon’s room slammed shut.

“I think you should go up there,” Cassidy said to Kenny. “Make sure he’s all right.”

“Only if you come, too,” Kenny said. “It’s because of you he’s upset.”

Cassidy sighed. She tried to stand up from the sofa but collapsed back onto it from the strain.

“Here,” Blake said, “let me help you.”

“I’ll do it,” Kenny said, rushing forward to grab Cassidy’s arm.

“Get away,” Cassidy said to Kenny. “You’re being weird.” She allowed Blake to help her to her feet, then walk her out of the room and slowly up the stairs, Kenny on their heels.

Robin stood up. “Well, that was…”

“Weird?” Melanie made her I-told-you-so face. “You know you’re crazy if you’re seriously considering taking that girl back to L.A. with you, don’t you?”

“Didn’t you just say you thought it was a good idea?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’d be thrilled. I just thought you were smarter than that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the obvious crush Cassidy has on your boyfriend, which might not seem like much of a threat to you now, but she won’t be twelve forever. And if she’s anything like her mother was at eighteen…”

“Now you’re just being mean.”

“And you’re being obtuse.”

Blake returned to the living room to find the two women standing at opposite ends of the couch, glaring at each other. “What just happened?”

The phone rang. Melanie turned on her heel and marched into the kitchen without a word. Seconds later, she was back. “That was the sheriff. Apparently the San Francisco police obtained a warrant to search Alec’s apartment and guess what they found?”

Robin’s mind raced through the incriminating possibilities: the murder weapon, the contents of their father’s safe…“Our mother’s jewelry?” she said out loud.

“Close, but no cigar.”

“Are you going to tell us or do I have to keep guessing?”

“A ski mask. Just like the ones Cassidy described.”

“Shit.”

“Still convinced he’s innocent?”

Robin sank down onto the sofa, cradling her head in her hands. “There has to be some sort of explanation.”

“There is,” Melanie said. “He’s guilty.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE


The Tehama County Jail is a coed, medium-security facility whose primary function is to confine inmates for relatively short periods of time while they await processing or trial. Both unimaginative and unattractive in design, it was built in 1974, with additions completed twenty years later, including a reinforced perimeter fence and electronic detection system to ensure that inmates remain inside its ugly brown-brick walls until their release.

“Oh, God,” Robin said, as Blake pulled his car into the parking lot and turned off the engine. It was the morning after the funeral, the fourth day of Alec’s incarceration and the first time she’d been permitted to visit.

“You don’t have to do this,” Blake said, swiveling toward her.

“Yes, I do. Guilty or not, he’s still my brother.” She closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath.

“Are you having a panic attack?”

Robin searched her body for familiar signs of anxiety. Surprisingly, there were none—no trapped birds fluttering wildly against her chest, no razor-sharp knives stabbing at her flesh, no overwhelming urge to flee the scene. “No,” she said, opening her eyes. “I’m okay.”

“I wish I could go with you.”

“I wish you could, too.”

Jeff McAllister had already informed them of the prison rules: inmates were allowed a thirty-minute visit twice a week; all visits had to be non-contact and were limited to one person at a time; visitors had to be over eighteen and produce photo IDs; all visitors were subject to search.

“Just remember that you have no expectation of privacy and that your conversation is likely being recorded.”

Robin nodded and took another deep breath, smoothing her hair and playing with the top button of her sleeveless mauve sundress. “Do I look all right?”

“You look terrific.”

“My face isn’t all scrunched up?”