Part 30 (1/2)

She blinked. ”Why are you pus.h.i.+ng this?” she asked.

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

”He was caught with the mask and the money! How could could he be?” 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 Steven had said. What the h.e.l.l h.e.l.l did that mean? 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, wis.h.i.+ng she were at home, in her own bed, that the night hadn't happened.

That Steven Creed Steven Creed hadn't happened. hadn't happened.

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

IT WAS HIS NIGHT for walking women to their front doors, evidently. 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 sc.r.a.ps of lumber.

The trailer door swung open, and Melissa's a.s.sistant, 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.”

IT WAS T TOM WHO DROVE M MELISSA home that night. 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 k.n.o.b. 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.