with her,” Lacy offered, anxious to be away from all this subterfuge.
“All right.” Cassidy dropped a bill on the table for the beers and a tip. “I’ll relieve you at ten tonight.”
Melinda heaved a tired sigh. “Really, Cassidy, I’m not a child. I can be alone.”
She shook her head. “It’s too risky. They’ll target you, Melinda. They’ll consider you the weak link.”
She looked confused and uncertain, then with a nod relented, “You’re right, I suppose.”
“Hey,” Lacy interjected with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “It’ll be like old times. Remember how we loved sleeping over?”
Melinda smiled weakly.
But it wouldn’t be like old times, Lacy admitted to herself. Nothing would ever be the same again.
Charles Ashland, Junior, was dead.
And now the whole world knew.
Lacy followed Melinda into her house. She would rather walk on broken glass and then tread across hot coals than come back to this house, but she had to. If Cassidy said it was necessary, then it was. They had to pretend that everything was normal—appearances were important right now. And Melinda definitely didn’t need to be alone. She looked like hell. Lacy caught a glimpse of herself as she passed a hall mirror, not that she looked any better.
“Are you hungry?” Melinda led the way into the kitchen. “I’m suddenly starved.”
“When did you eat last?” Lacy had a bad feeling that it hadn’t been today.
Melinda washed her hands in the sink and reached for a nearby towel. “I can’t remember. Sometime yesterday, before the call.”
“That’s what I thought.” Lacy opened the fridge door and surveyed the contents. “How about I make a loaded chef salad?”
“You don’t need to do that,” Melinda protested. “You’re a guest. Let me take care of dinner.”
Still standing in the vee created by the open door, Lacy lifted a skeptical eyebrow at her friend. “A guest?” She harrumphed. “Get real, Mel.”
“God.” Melinda dropped into a chair at the table. “I’m not sure I can get through this, Lace.”
Lacy shoved the door shut, and crouched down in front of her friend. “Look, we’ll get through it. No one has to do this alone.”
“But what if Cassidy’s wrong? What if they have that stupid inquest my attorney told me about and something goes wrong?”
Lacy shook her head adamantly. “Nothing is going to go wrong. Cassidy knows what she’s talking about.”
Melinda ran a hand over her face and then smoothed back her hair. “I know you’re right. It’s just so hard. I’m so afraid.”
Lacy took Melinda’s hands in hers. “We all are, Mel. But we’re going to be all right. Cassidy wouldn’t be so sure of herself if she had any doubts at all. You know her better than that. She’s a tiger when it comes to the law, and she’s totally honest and irreverently blunt.”
“What about Rick?” Melinda moistened her lips and blew out another breath of worry and helpless frustration. “I’m scared to death he’ll suspect something.”
Lacy managed a halfhearted laugh. “That’s his job. He’s supposed to suspect everybody until he solves or closes the case.”
An old anger and hurt turned Melinda’s hazel eyes as hard as granite. “The son of a bitch deserved to die. He’s not worth all the worry he’s causing now. The only good that came of him are my two kids.” She closed her eyes to fight the tears brimming. “I couldn’t live without my kids.”
“I have an idea,” Lacy offered, desperate to relieve her friend’s hurt. “Why don’t we go pick up Chelsea and go out to dinner in Huntsville. It’s only an hour or so from here and we won’t have to worry about running into anyone who might say the wrong thing. Hey, we could drive all the way to Marion and have dinner with Chuckie.”
Melinda smiled. “That’s a good idea, but I think we’d have to call in advance to have dinner with Chuckie.”
The telephone rang, making them both jump.
“Christ.” Melinda pressed her hand to her chest. “That scared the hell out of me.”
Lacy let go a shaky breath as she stood. “It shaved a couple years off my life too.”
Melinda crossed the room and picked up the cordless receiver. “Hello.”
Lacy watched the turmoil of emotions that skated across her friend’s face as she tried as politely as possible to protest whatever the person on the other end of the line was suggesting. Already etched with grief, Melinda’s face turned an even whiter shade of pale. This wasn’t good. Lacy’s pulse leaped, sending the blood pounding through her veins. Surely nothing else had gone wrong.
Melinda pressed the disconnect button and braced herself against the counter.
“What’s happened?” Lacy was at her side in four strides.
“That was Mrs. Ashland.” Defeated, Melinda lifted her head. “She’s coming over to pack a couple of bags for Chelsea. She thinks my daughter will be better off with her and the senator until this is completely over.”
Rage erupted inside Lacy. Just because they were rich and powerful the Ashlands thought they could do anything. “We won’t let her keep Chelsea! The old man’s only a senator not a god. We can just say no.” Charles, Senior had always dabbled in politics, but just over a decade ago he’d launched a serious political career, culminating in his taking a senatorial seat.
Melinda made a sound, not quite laugh and not quite sob. “Tell me, Lacy, how do you stop an Ashland in his own town?”
All emotion drained from Lacy’s body, leaving her numb and weak-kneed. Melinda was right. You couldn’t stop an Ashland…not in this town.
Chapter 3
Gloria Ashland had always been one of the town’s beautiful people. Time hadn’t changed that. Lacy glared, welcoming smile plastered in place, at the woman for a long moment before stepping back and allowing her and her friend entrance into Melinda’s home. The idea that Senator Ashland had been asked to run on the Democratic ticket for the vice presidency in next year’s election was downright scary.
“Where’s Melinda?” Gloria asked sharply, skimming Lacy and immediately flashing disapproval.
“She’s in the family room.”
Gloria headed in that direction, a flurry of Gucci and Dolce & Gabbana. What a bitch, Lacy fumed. Well, giving Mrs. Ashland grace, Lacy released a weary sigh. The woman had just been forced to relive the loss of her son all over again. Lacy’s lips tightened into a grim line. But then, Gloria Ashland had always been a bitch, even when her son was very much alive.
“I’m
