long as you don’t cancel on me altogether.”
“No chance. I missed you this morning.”
“Ditto. Coffee doesn’t taste the same without you.”
She laughed. “I highly doubt that. So nine is okay?”
“I’ll be waiting.”
She hung up, a rush of anticipation running through her veins. She considered leaving now and catching up with Mitch before he left his house, but decided against it. She’d been practically ignoring Dave and his friends since she’d been seeing Mitch, and Dave would be ticked if she bailed earlier than she planned. Plus she had to make it up to him for jumping down his throat earlier.
The timer went off and she took out the garlic bread. She decided one beer was plenty, and started a pot of coffee. That’s what it was: She was worn down from today and the stress of the confrontation with her father. A cup of coffee or three and she’d be back to her old self and ready for a night of dancing.
Dave walked into the room. “I’m sorry,” Claire said to him, glad they were alone for a minute.
“It’s okay.”
“Are you sure?”
Dave walked up to her, kissed her on the cheek, and said, “Yes. But I could tell something was bothering you from the minute you drove up. Want to talk about it?”
She glanced at the doorway. Everyone was in the great room, the television loud enough to drown out their conversation.
“Do you remember a few months ago, before the earthquake”—she preferred to say “earthquake” rather than “when my father escaped from Quentin”—“when we had dinner with your dad, and I told him about my conversation with the law student Oliver Maddox?”
Dave tensed and straightened. He went from friend to cop in a split second. “Yes. Dad had a visit from Maddox as well.”
“Right. And I was too angry and upset to listen to him.”
“I remember that, too.”
“But I need to know what they talked about.”
“Why now?”
“I—” She couldn’t tell him about her father. Not yet. “I found his card in my desk this morning and it’s been on my mind. He told me he was close to finding proof that my father is innocent. I didn’t believe anything he said then, especially when I found out he lied about who he worked for. But now—”
“Now what?”
She said, “I just need to know what he meant; if there’s anything he found out that might, I don’t know, confirm my father’s guilt or give me something new to look at, maybe—”
“Are you buying into Maddox’s theory?”
“I don’t even know what his theory is, not completely, which is why I wanted to talk to Bill.”
Dave stared at her flatly. “A bulletin came into the station today from the sheriff’s department. Oliver Maddox is dead. His body was found this morning in the Sacramento River near Isleton.”
Claire couldn’t have heard that right. “Dead?” she whispered.
“His identity hasn’t been confirmed, but it was his car and a body in the driver’s seat, badly decomposed, but it’s likely Oliver Maddox.” Dave watched her closely, too closely, like a cop viewing a suspect. “So I ask you again, Claire, why are you interested in Oliver Maddox now?”
“I haven’t been able to sleep,” she said, not completely lying. She’d had problems sleeping ever since her mother was killed. “It’s been worse since the earthquake.” Again, the truth. “And I’ve been thinking about what Maddox said, and wondering if I should have listened to him. If maybe he knew something that . . . that proved my father is innocent. What if it’s the truth? What if I ignored Maddox because of my own guilt?”
“Guilt? For what?”
She laughed without humor. “What? You know damn well that I called my dad that day and told him about the man in bed with my mother. I set in motion the entire chain of events. For fifteen years I’ve believed that I ignited my father’s fuse. He may have pulled the trigger, but I baited him. What if I’m innocent?”
“Claire, you are
“No chance. I missed you this morning.”
“Ditto. Coffee doesn’t taste the same without you.”
She laughed. “I highly doubt that. So nine is okay?”
“I’ll be waiting.”
She hung up, a rush of anticipation running through her veins. She considered leaving now and catching up with Mitch before he left his house, but decided against it. She’d been practically ignoring Dave and his friends since she’d been seeing Mitch, and Dave would be ticked if she bailed earlier than she planned. Plus she had to make it up to him for jumping down his throat earlier.
The timer went off and she took out the garlic bread. She decided one beer was plenty, and started a pot of coffee. That’s what it was: She was worn down from today and the stress of the confrontation with her father. A cup of coffee or three and she’d be back to her old self and ready for a night of dancing.
Dave walked into the room. “I’m sorry,” Claire said to him, glad they were alone for a minute.
“It’s okay.”
“Are you sure?”
Dave walked up to her, kissed her on the cheek, and said, “Yes. But I could tell something was bothering you from the minute you drove up. Want to talk about it?”
She glanced at the doorway. Everyone was in the great room, the television loud enough to drown out their conversation.
“Do you remember a few months ago, before the earthquake”—she preferred to say “earthquake” rather than “when my father escaped from Quentin”—“when we had dinner with your dad, and I told him about my conversation with the law student Oliver Maddox?”
Dave tensed and straightened. He went from friend to cop in a split second. “Yes. Dad had a visit from Maddox as well.”
“Right. And I was too angry and upset to listen to him.”
“I remember that, too.”
“But I need to know what they talked about.”
“Why now?”
“I—” She couldn’t tell him about her father. Not yet. “I found his card in my desk this morning and it’s been on my mind. He told me he was close to finding proof that my father is innocent. I didn’t believe anything he said then, especially when I found out he lied about who he worked for. But now—”
“Now what?”
She said, “I just need to know what he meant; if there’s anything he found out that might, I don’t know, confirm my father’s guilt or give me something new to look at, maybe—”
“Are you buying into Maddox’s theory?”
“I don’t even know what his theory is, not completely, which is why I wanted to talk to Bill.”
Dave stared at her flatly. “A bulletin came into the station today from the sheriff’s department. Oliver Maddox is dead. His body was found this morning in the Sacramento River near Isleton.”
Claire couldn’t have heard that right. “Dead?” she whispered.
“His identity hasn’t been confirmed, but it was his car and a body in the driver’s seat, badly decomposed, but it’s likely Oliver Maddox.” Dave watched her closely, too closely, like a cop viewing a suspect. “So I ask you again, Claire, why are you interested in Oliver Maddox now?”
“I haven’t been able to sleep,” she said, not completely lying. She’d had problems sleeping ever since her mother was killed. “It’s been worse since the earthquake.” Again, the truth. “And I’ve been thinking about what Maddox said, and wondering if I should have listened to him. If maybe he knew something that . . . that proved my father is innocent. What if it’s the truth? What if I ignored Maddox because of my own guilt?”
“Guilt? For what?”
She laughed without humor. “What? You know damn well that I called my dad that day and told him about the man in bed with my mother. I set in motion the entire chain of events. For fifteen years I’ve believed that I ignited my father’s fuse. He may have pulled the trigger, but I baited him. What if I’m innocent?”
“Claire, you are
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