The Bad Daughter(97)

“Can I see that?” Blake extended his open palm.

Melanie approached, hands on her hips, a frown on her face. “What’s going on?”

“They have a warrant to search the house,” Robin said.

“Let me see that.” Melanie grabbed the warrant from Blake’s hands.

“It looks to be in order,” Blake said.

“I don’t care what kind of order it’s in,” Melanie said. “You’re not setting foot inside this house.”

“Come on, Melanie,” Prescott said. “Let’s not make this any more unpleasant than it has to be. I don’t want to have to arrest you.”

“I don’t understand,” Robin said. “Why do you want to search the house? What are you looking for?”

“They’re looking for evidence, obviously,” Melanie said. “They think Landon was Alec’s accomplice.”

“But Alec didn’t do anything.”

“And neither did Landon.”

“Is Landon home?” Prescott asked.

“No,” Robin said.

“And Cassidy?”

“Not here,” Robin said, deciding this probably wasn’t the best time to elaborate.

“Good. Then let us inside to do our job,” Prescott said. “Hopefully we’ll be out of here before they get back. We’ll try not to make too much of a mess.” He waved the deputies inside the house.

“You piece of shit,” Melanie muttered as they entered the hallway. “You won’t find anything.”

“We’ll start with the upstairs,” the sheriff said, stopping at the foot of the steps. “If you’d be kind enough to direct me to Landon’s room.”

“You’re the one with the search warrant,” Melanie told him. “Find it yourself.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT


One deputy remained downstairs while the sheriff and the other three officers headed for the upstairs bedrooms. Prescott directed one deputy to Melanie’s room, another to the room Robin and Blake were sharing, and the third to Cassidy’s room, leaving Landon’s bedroom for himself. “We’ll be as quick and as careful as we can,” Prescott told Robin and Blake as he donned a pair of latex gloves to pull back the curtains in Landon’s room and flip on the overhead light.

“You break anything, you pay for it,” Melanie warned.

“I’m going to need you to stand back,” Prescott said. “You can watch if you want, but you’re not to interfere in any way.”

“You are one miserable son of a bitch,” Melanie told him.

“Melanie…,” Robin cautioned.

“What? Are you going to tell me he’s just doing his job? That this isn’t personal?”

“Why would it be personal?” Robin’s eyes shot between her sister and the sheriff, the reason for their enmity suddenly clear. “Whoa,” she gasped. “Seriously? You and the sheriff?”

“Guess I forgot to mention it,” Melanie acknowledged. “Guess he wasn’t all that memorable.”

“Can we not do this now?” the sheriff said.

“Yeah, I think that’s what you said when you told me you’d decided to patch things up with your wife.”

“And I’m deeply sorry that I hurt you. It was never my—”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Melanie interrupted. “Shit. Don’t flatter yourself. Just don’t try to tell me this isn’t personal.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized again, looking sheepishly at Robin. “But none of this has anything to do with my investigation or why I’m here. Believe me, I’d rather be anywhere else.”

I believe you, thought Robin.

“Now, we’ve wasted enough time.”

“You can say that again,” Melanie said.

The sheriff sighed in defeat and pulled open the top drawer of the dresser, sweeping his gloved hand through Landon’s underwear, then moving on to the drawer below, which contained his Tshirts and socks.

The third drawer was filled to overflowing with sweatpants and sweatshirts, all of which Prescott shook out before tossing them across the bed.

“So much for not making a mess,” Melanie said.

“Come on, Melanie,” Robin said, still reeling from the realization of her sister’s affair with Prescott. “You’re only making things worse.”

The bottom drawer contained sweaters and a crumpled black rain jacket. The sheriff checked the jacket’s pockets, then returned it to the drawer before getting down on his hands and knees in front of the bed.

“Careful, Sheriff,” Melanie warned. “If I remember correctly, you don’t have a lot of stamina.”

Prescott’s jaw visibly clenched as he flattened himself on the floor to shine a flashlight underneath the bed.

“Take your time getting back up,” Melanie said. “You don’t want to give yourself a hernia.”

“Okay,” Prescott said, noticeably out of breath as he sank down onto the bed, although whether it was with exertion or impatience was impossible to tell. “I think I’ve had just about enough of your sarcasm, so you can either stop with the smart-ass remarks or you can wait in my patrol car. The choice is yours.”