The Bad Daughter(98)

Melanie raised her hands in mock surrender, then drew a line across her mouth with her fingers, as if she were zipping it closed.

“Thank you.” Prescott reached over to pull open the top drawer of the nightstand.

You won’t find much in there but pencils and paper clips, Robin thought, recalling her own search of Landon’s belongings.

The sheriff withdrew the large ball of elastic bands, turning it over in his hands several times before tossing it back into the drawer. He moved on to the drawer below and leafed through a stack of comic books. “That’s quite a collection he’s got here,” Prescott remarked as he walked around the bed to the nightstand on the other side. More paper clips, more pens, more pencils, along with several loose scraps of paper, including the sketches of Cassidy.

Except that Cassidy was no longer recognizable; her face had been completely scribbled over with angry black lines.

“Somebody wasn’t very happy with his work,” the sheriff said, returning the papers to the drawer as Robin suppressed a gasp.

What did it mean? Why would Landon have defaced his sketches of Cassidy?

“Hold on,” Prescott said, stopping suddenly. “What’s this?”

Robin leaned forward, expecting to see a dome-shaped snow globe with a tiny plastic ballerina twirling in its center. Instead she saw something black and bulky, made of wool.

The sheriff unfolded it with deliberate care and held it out.

It was a ski mask.

Robin bit her lip as Melanie stiffened beside her, her face draining of color. How could I have missed that?

“Brian!” the sheriff called. “Peter! Get in here.”

Two deputies instantly came running, pushing past Robin, Blake, and Melanie.

“Bag this,” Prescott said.

“You planted that,” Melanie said, her voice quivering.

“Bullshit and you know it.” The sheriff dropped the ski mask into the plastic bag the deputy held out. “You guys find anything?”

“Not so far.”

“Take this to the car, then keep checking.”

The deputies left the room.

“You going to tell me that Landon’s been taking skiing lessons?” Prescott asked Melanie.

For once, Melanie was silent.

In the closet, the sheriff removed each item from its hanger, checking the pockets of every pair of jeans and every shirt before tossing each item to the bed.

I’ve been through those pockets, Robin thought. There was nothing. She had to admit, though, that her examination had been perfunctory at best. She breathed a sigh of relief when Prescott’s search of Landon’s clothes turned up nothing.

He crouched on the floor, his knees cracking loudly with the effort.

This time there were no smart remarks from Melanie. Robin reached out to stroke her sister’s arm, but Melanie jerked away as if she’d been burned.

Robin held her breath as the sheriff shone his flashlight into every corner of the long, narrow closet, then pushed his fingers into the toes of each sneaker and shoe. Please don’t let him find anything else, she prayed, suddenly realizing that Prescott had stopped moving. “What is it?”

The sheriff sighed and struggled to his feet, the effort showing on his face, which had turned a frightening shade of pink. He held out his hand, slowly opening his right fist to reveal a crumpled piece of tissue, the tissue unfolding to reveal a small emerald-and-ruby pin in the shape of a butterfly. Beside it lay a diamond engagement ring and a matching eternity band.

“Oh, God.” Robin collapsed against Blake’s side.

“I believe these were Tara’s,” Prescott said, once again calling for his deputies to bag the evidence.

Melanie slid down the wall to the floor, her body as limp as a rag doll.

Robin knelt beside her sister. “Can somebody please get us some water?”

Seconds later, a deputy appeared with a plastic glass, and Robin raised it to her sister’s lips. Melanie pushed the glass aside with an angry flick of her hand. It flew across the room, bouncing toward the sheriff’s feet and leaving a snaking trail of water in its wake.

“Where is Landon now?” Prescott asked.

Melanie said nothing.

The sheriff looked at Robin. “Where is he?”

Robin shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“You realize that you’re not doing the boy any favors by not cooperating. We’re going to find him, and I’m sure we’d all prefer if no one else got hurt.”

“We don’t know where he is,” Robin said. “He’s been out all morning.”

“With Cassidy?”

“They were gone when we woke up. We assume they’re together.”

Prescott took a deep breath. “Which means that Cassidy could be in danger.”

“Oh, God,” Robin said again, thinking of the sketches, Cassidy’s sweet face all but obliterated. Just like her mother’s. “Oh, God,” she said a third time.

“I don’t care what you found,” Melanie said, her voice as flat as if it had been run over by a steamroller. “Landon would never hurt Cassidy. He’s always been very protective of her.”

“I think it’s time you started telling us the truth, don’t you?” the sheriff said.

“What are you talking about?” Robin asked.