A Creed in Stone Creek (27 page)

Byron sat on the cot in one of them, his head down,
his hands hanging between his knees, fingers loosely intertwined. Elvis peered in at him, through the bars, reminding Melissa momentarily of one of the scenes in the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland.

“What happened?” Melissa asked, speaking to Tom but still watching Byron. She had a sinking feeling in her middle, and she knew the trouble went beyond the sure and certain knowledge that she and Steven would be on opposite sides of the coming fight.

They were emotionally involved so, technically, anyway, she and Steven could not legally oppose each other in a courtroom.

She could handle the prosecution, or Steven could defend Byron Cahill, but not both. One of them would have to withdraw.

And it wasn’t going to be her.

S
TANDING BESIDE
M
ELISSA
as she gazed at Byron Cahill through the bars of the cell, Tom explained what had happened after he’d spoken to Martine in the Grange Hall parking lot. He’d started for the Stop & Shop, intending to begin his investigation where the crime had taken place, and had nearly been hit by the Cahill car as it shot out of an alley.

Tom had stuck his portable light on the roof of his personal vehicle and set it flashing, wishing he had a siren, too.

The driver hadn’t slowed; in fact, if Byron hadn’t swerved to miss a cat running across the road in front of him, and pitched his mother’s car into the ditch in the process, the chase would still be on.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Byron said, lifting his eyes at last, looking out at them with an expression so hopeless that Melissa felt that drowning sensation again, like a swimmer going under.

“You didn’t stop when I pulled in behind you and turned on the light,” Tom reminded him calmly.

“I was scared,” Byron answered. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me!”

“Know why I don’t believe you, Byron?” Tom inquired, his tone smooth. Even. “Because on top of trying to outrun me, you happened to be carrying a ski mask
and a backpack full of $5, $10 and $20 bills in the trunk of your car.”

Melissa folded her arms. She didn’t want it to be true; if only for Andrea’s sake and for Velda’s, she’d hoped Byron would keep his nose clean. Make a new start.

But the evidence was stacked against him.

“If you didn’t rob the Stop & Shop,” she ventured, watching Byron’s faced closely, “who did?”

Elvis made a slight whimpering sound, full of sympathy.

Byron looked away. “I don’t know,” he said.

Years of taking depositions and reading juries had taught Melissa to spot a lie, and Byron Cahill was definitely not telling the truth now.

“Do we have a case?” Tom asked Melissa.

It was a rhetorical question, of course.

“I’m afraid so,” Melissa answered wearily. “I’ll file formal charges in the morning. In the meantime, since Mr. Cahill did his best to evade you when you tried to pull him over, it would be best to keep him here.”

Byron was on his feet, knuckles white where he gripped the bars with both hands, looking past Melissa and Tom. “Can they do that?” he demanded. “Can they hold me when no charges have been filed?”

Steven joined the group in front of the cell. Melissa slanted a sideways glance at his face, through her lashes, but said nothing.

“Depends,” Steven answered.

“I can always file charges tonight,” Melissa told Byron crisply, “if that’s what you want.”

Steven sighed.

Byron spun away.

“That went well,” Tom observed, leaning down to pat Elvis on the head.

When Melissa turned around, she was surprised to see that Velda had left.

“I asked Mrs. Cahill to wait in my truck,” Steven said. “I’m taking her home.”

“That’s very nice of you,” Melissa said, without inflection.

“You might as well go on home,” Tom interjected. “Both of you. There won’t be much going on here for the rest of the night.”

Cautiously, Steven touched Melissa’s elbow. “I’ll drop you off at your place,” he said.

“No, thanks,” Melissa replied lightly, but with an edge. “I’ll call someone.”

A look passed between Steven and Tom. Tom walked away, whistled for Elvis, who remained in front of the cell, keeping watch over the prisoner.

“I’d like a word with you, in private,” Steven told Melissa.

Melissa gave one abrupt nod and followed Steven out into the corridor.

She surprised herself by being the first one to speak. “You know damn well you can’t ethically defend Cahill,” she said, glaring up at him. “Not while I’m the prosecutor.”

“And you do intend to prosecute?”

“Of course I do,” Melissa answered impatiently. “It’s my job.”

“Has it occurred to you that the kid might be innocent, just as he claims?”

“He’ll have a public defender,” Melissa pointed out.

“No,” Steven argued, his tone and his eyes stone cold. “He won’t.”

“You can’t defend him, because—because of—”

“Us?”

“Yes,” Melissa said, fighting a humiliating urge to break down and cry.

“You’re right, counselor,” he said, maintaining the chill. “You and I can’t oppose each other in court. But I know some other lawyers who’ll be willing to take the case pro bono.”

She blinked. “Why are you pushing this?” she asked.

“Because I think Cahill is innocent,” Steven answered.

“He was caught with the mask and the money! How
could
he be?”

“Ask the dog,” Steven said.

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Melissa standing alone in the corridor outside the sheriff’s office.

Ask the dog,
Steven had said. What the
hell
did that mean?

She opened Tom’s door quietly and slipped back into the office.

Elvis was still sitting in front of Byron’s cell. The prisoner was sprawled facedown on his cot. And Tom was seated at his desk, entering data into his computer.

Melissa approached, sank into a chair nearby. Glanced at Elvis.

“What’s up with your dog?” she asked, after a long time.

Tom sighed. “I’m not sure,” he said, so quietly that Byron wouldn’t have heard. “I’ve never seen Elvis
behave like that before.” He paused. “I don’t mind admitting that it bothers me a little, though.”

“Why?” Melissa asked, wishing she were at home, in her own bed, that the night hadn’t happened.

That
Steven Creed
hadn’t happened.

“Well,” Tom said, at some length, “Elvis has always been a pretty fair judge of character.”

I
T WAS HIS NIGHT
for walking women to their front doors, evidently.

Steven squired Velda Cahill along the dirt path leading to her rusted-out single-wide. A plastic gnome stood guard on a little porch jerry-rigged from mismatched scraps of lumber.

The trailer door swung open, and Melissa’s assistant, Andrea, stood framed in the light from inside. Even with her face in shadow, Steven could see that she’d been crying.

“Where’s Byron?” she demanded.

“He’s in jail,” Velda said. She’d been frantic earlier in the evening, but now she seemed beaten down.

Andrea gave a little wail of despair.

“You’ll help him, won’t you?” Velda almost whispered, turning to look up at Steven. “You’ll make sure my boy doesn’t go back to prison for something he didn’t do?”

“I’ll do what I can,” Steven answered, just as a young man replaced Andrea in the doorway, easing her to one side.

Steven had never seen the guy before.

“Nathan Carter,” he said, stepping aside long enough to sort of steer Velda into the trailer, then putting out a hand.

“Steven Creed,” Steven answered.

“Somebody’s got to look after these women,” Nathan said, although no one had asked what he was doing there. He sounded regretful as he spoke, but his eyes told another story. On some level, he almost seemed to be enjoying the excitement.

Steven hesitated a moment, reluctant to leave and, at the same time, eager to be gone. He finally nodded to Carter and turned to descend the three rickety steps to the path.

It was late, so, as he and Meg had agreed earlier, he didn’t stop at Stone Creek Ranch to pick Matt up. By now, the boy would be sound asleep.

Back at the tour bus, Steven let Zeke out into the yard, waited while the dog made good use of the front yard and followed him inside.

Zeke stood looking up at Steven, wagging his tail. For a dog, he sure was expressive.

And so was Sheriff Parker’s four-legged deputy, Elvis.

“Things don’t look real good for Byron Cahill,” Steven told Zeke, leaning to pick up the mutt’s nearly empty water dish to refill it at the sink. He set the bowl down on the floor and watched as the animal lapped up a drink. He remembered the expression on Melissa’s face, there in the corridor outside the jail. “Come to think of it,” he added, falling just short of a smile, “they’re not looking all that good for me, either.”

I
T WAS
T
OM WHO DROVE
M
ELISSA
home that night.

She was thoughtful during the ride.

He and Elvis walked her to the front door, waited until she was safely inside and left again. She knew
Tom planned on spending the night on the couch in his office, rather than leaving the prisoner unattended until morning.

Melissa locked up, then wandered into her bedroom and stood in front of the full-length mirror, shaking her head at the bedraggled figure staring back at her.

The aqua dress, which had made her feel so pretty and so feminine earlier in the evening, seemed to mock her now.

Her hair drooped, her mascara made faint shadows under her eyes and she’d long since chewed off her lipstick.

With a sigh, she grabbed her robe and headed for the small master bath just off her bedroom. There, she stripped, stepped under a hot shower and scrubbed until her skin squeaked.

After that, she dried off, put on the robe and headed for the kitchen. What she needed, she decided, was a nice cup of herbal tea.

Or a shot of whiskey.

She decided on the tea, and was sitting at the table near the windows, sipping from a mug, when someone pounded on the back door.

“Melissa!” yelled a familiar female voice. “I know you’re in there—let me in!”

Andrea.

Melissa went to the door, turned the dead bolt and then the knob. She didn’t ask what Andrea was doing there, at that hour of the night no less, because she already knew.

The young woman was obviously upset; she’d been crying, hard, and her eyes were so red they looked raw.

“Sit down,” Melissa said gently.

Andrea collapsed into a chair at the table and, after locking the door again, Melissa prepared a second cup of tea and set it down in front of her midnight visitor.

For a moment, Andrea looked as though she might send the mug and her tea flying with one angry swipe of her arm. Fortunately, she seemed to think better of the idea in the next instant and carefully lifted the cup to her mouth, her hands shaking.

“Were you with Byron tonight, when he held up the Stop & Shop?” Melissa asked.

Andrea flung a beleaguered look in her direction, but she retained her composure.

“I was with Byron tonight,” she said. “But he didn’t rob the Stop & Shop.”

Melissa merely waited, her own tea cooling, forgotten, on the table.

The set of Andrea’s jaw was obstinate, but only for a moment or two. Fresh tears brimmed along her lower lashes, and one trickled, zigzag, down her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of one hand, but only after the fact.

“I’m telling you, Byron didn’t do anything wrong,” the girl insisted.

“You know,” Melissa said carefully, when Andrea lapsed into another silence, “I keep hearing that. From you. From Velda. But Byron was heading out of town at top speed when Tom caught up with him, and later, the money from the robbery was found in the trunk of his car, along with a ski mask like the one Martine described when she reported what happened.”

“We were in bed,” Andrea said, in a broken whisper. “Byron and me.”

“Where?” Melissa asked. She still suspected her
assistant of making up an alibi for her boyfriend, but she was willing to listen.

“His place,” Andrea said, meeting Melissa’s eyes only with an effort.

“Velda must have loved that,” Melissa commented.

Andrea bristled. “She was at work,” she said. “Byron and I had the place to ourselves. Velda called from the cocktail lounge around nine-thirty and said she didn’t feel very well and she needed to come home, and would Byron pick her up. That’s when he found out the car was gone.”

“Gone? You mean, stolen?”

“Byron knew who’d taken it. It was that loser, Nathan. He’s been hanging around the Cahills’ place lately—he and Byron ran around together when they were younger—said he needed someplace to stay. I guess Byron felt sorry for him or something.” Andrea tossed her head slightly; a good sign. She was turning back into her old, spirited self. “That Nathan, he’s a sneak. He tried to borrow money from me a couple of times—I turned him down. And he bragged that he had a case against Deputy Ferguson because of that black eye, and the county would have to give him some kind of settlement to keep the story out of the news—” She stopped, took a shaky breath, and then rushed on. “Deputy Ferguson didn’t give Nathan that shiner. Velda did.”

The tale was just crazy enough to be true. “Velda?” Melissa asked, intrigued and more than a little uneasy. “Why?”

“She said she caught him going through her purse,” Andrea said. “Byron and I weren’t around at the time. She told us later that she slugged Nathan because he gave her some back talk, and then she kicked him out.”
Another sigh. “Of course, he came back, and Velda decided the cops were out to get him and so she’d let him stay at the trailer a while longer.”

“Were you planning on mentioning this to me at some point?” Melissa asked archly. “The accusation Nathan Carter made could have ruined Deputy Ferguson’s career—or even his life.”

“We didn’t know he’d accused anybody of anything until he started bragging about it,” Andrea said, sounding miffed. “I wouldn’t have let Deputy Ferguson be blamed, and neither would Byron. He’s a good person, Melissa.”

“I really want to believe that,” Melissa said slowly.

“But you don’t?” Andrea challenged, and the tears were back again.

Melissa didn’t answer.

“Don’t you see?” Andrea pressed, looking and sounding desperate now. “
Nathan Carter
robbed that store, not Byron!”

It wasn’t beyond credibility, but there was one obvious problem. Nathan hadn’t been trying to get away from Stone Creek with the money taken at gunpoint from the Stop & Shop—
Byron
had been the one at the wheel when Tom caught up to him. And Byron probably wouldn’t have stopped at all if he hadn’t run off the road.

“Then why wasn’t he driving Velda’s car, Andrea?” Melissa asked, after taking a few moments to collect her own composure. “If Nathan went into that store, wearing a ski mask, and stole that money, why was Byron the one who tried to get away?”