Reluctant Dad Page 7

  Chapter 6

  Melissa stood by the grave site, flanked by Samantha and Tyler, who looked like two somber guards as the minister spoke about Bill.

  Dominic stood across from them, slightly away from the small crowd that had turned out for Bill’s funeral. It was a beautiful spring day. The scent of fresh grass and newly budded flowers rode the warm breeze, and birds chirped merrily in the nearby trees. But Dominic didn’t pay much attention to the beauty of the day. He concentrated on watching the people in attendance.

  Detective Mawlins stood off to one side, his gaze focused intently on Melissa. A wave of dislike swelled up inside Dominic. The detective had spent three hours the previous afternoon grilling Melissa. He’d asked about her actions the night of the murder, and about the status of the Newman marriage. He’d implied guilt; had badgered and bullied her until her lawyer had protested and ended the interview.

  Within minutes of returning to the house, the security company had arrived, and the evenings hours were eaten up by the installation of the house alarm system.

  They’d begun this morning with a trip to the office of Bill’s heating-and-cooling business, where they’d retrieved any files they thought might yield some clue as to who had killed him.

  Thankfully, Bill had been meticulous about keeping records. They’d found detailed reports of work performed and people interviewed for jobs. So far, Dominic had only managed to find time to give them a cursory look. He was hoping to examine them more thoroughly this afternoon.

  “Hi, son.”

  Dominic turned at the familiar male voice and smiled at his father. He’d known Jeb would be around somewhere. As cemetery caretaker of the Chapel-woods Cemetery, he was rarely anywhere else.

  “Dad.”

  “Looks like you’ve gotten yourself caught in another tough case,” Jeb observed.

  Dominic nodded. He took his dad’s arm and moved several paces back from where the minister still spoke, obviously loving the sound of his own booming voice. “Does she look like a killer?” Dominic asked his father as he gestured with his head toward Melissa.

  Samantha held Jamison, leaving Melissa’s hands free to clutch the skirt of her navy dress. Her face was unnaturally pale, her eyes unusually large as she stared straight ahead.

  There was an air of bewilderment about her, as if she’d awakened to find herself in a group of strangers, at a solemn ceremony being conducted in a foreign language.

  “Hell, I know Melissa would never do anything like this,” Jeb said. “Now, if it were Samantha...” The old man grinned and looked at Samantha fondly.

  Dominic remembered when he’d been young how Samantha would run away from home, run away from her father’s strict rules and always find her way to Jeb here. Jeb had been her surrogate father, like a beloved uncle who never judged, only accepted.

  “Now that one is full of spit and vinegar,” Jeb exclaimed, then frowned. “But Melissa?” He shook his head. “She always struck me as a timid, captured bird. She always did exactly what was expected of her, never rocked any boat in any way. She’d never do anything like this—not in a million years.”

  Even though Dominic felt the same way on an emotional level, intellectually he was confused and didn’t know what to think. Still, it felt good to have his dad proclaim his belief in Melissa’s innocence. He put an arm around Jeb’s thin shoulders. “You doing okay, Dad?”

  Jeb smiled. “I’m doing fine, son. It’s you I worry about. You be careful, hear? Somebody murdered that poor man while he slept. I hear you’re staying in the house with Melissa. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Dad. I’ll be fine.”

  “I can’t help but worry about you, that’s what fathers do.” The old man flashed Dominic a grin, then he scanned the crowd. “You think the man who killed Bill might be here?”

  “It’s possible.” Dominic followed his father’s gaze. He recognized some of the people, but there were several men he didn’t know. He assumed the band of three men who stood together were the men who worked for Bill. They appeared to be the approximate ages of the employees Melissa had told him about.

  Gary Watters stood off by himself, also observing Melissa and the crowd. As he and Dominic locked gazes, Gary grinned and acknowledged Dominic with a nod of his head.

  Dominic had been pleased to open the paper that morning and find no article written about his and Gary’s scuffle the night before. The paper had contained a small follow-up, simply stating that nobody had been arrested yet in connection with the crime.

  “I’d better get going,” Jeb said, and Dominic realized the minister had finally finished the service and people were dispersing.

  “I’ll see you later, Dad.” He gave Jeb a quick hug, smelled the familiar scent of cinnamon chewing gum, spice aftershave and menthol muscle rub. It was a fatherly scent that always evoked feelings of warmth, of security...of love.

  Dominic watched as his father walked across the lush grass, his crippled leg making him cast heavily to one side. Love swelled in his heart for the man who’d raised him, the man who had given him a sense of strength, of values.

  Dominic looked back to where Melissa now held her baby, a little boy who would never know the joy of a loving father. Jamison was the real victim in all this. He would never know the utter commitment of a father’s love. And if Detective Mawlins had his way, the child would never know his mother’s love, either.

  Dominic couldn’t let that happen. Somehow, some way, he had to make sure Melissa didn’t go to prison. If she wasn’t the murderer, then they had to find out who had killed Bill Newman. And if she was...he refused to take the possibility further. He pulled himself from his thoughts as Melissa, Samantha and Tyler approached him.

  “It was a nice ceremony, but I’m surprised the crowd wasn’t bigger,” Samantha said as they joined Dominic.

  Melissa shrugged. “Bill and I weren’t particularly social. We didn’t have a lot of friends. Besides, it’s a weekday. Lots of people are at work.”

  Samantha nodded. “Still, you’d better expect a big group at the house. Those who couldn’t make it here will want to stop by and pay their respects.”

  “You mean gawk at the murder suspect.” Two spots of high color dotted Melissa’s cheeks.

  “That, too,” Samantha agreed, not contradicting Melissa’s assessment. She leaned over and kissed Melissa on the cheek. “We’ll see you at the house.” The couples parted ways; Samantha and Tyler headed for their car, while Melissa and Dominic walked toward his.

  “Everyone is going to be talking about the fact that I didn’t cry,” Melissa said when they were on their way back to the house. “I tried. I knew I should, but I couldn’t.”

  “Everyone reacts differently at funerals,” Dominic said. “I’ve heard of some people who burst into hysterical giggles.”

  Melissa smiled faintly. “At least I didn’t do that. That would have had people talking for years.”

  “Melissa, you’re under a lot of scrutiny right now, but it will eventually pass. People will find another scandal to occupy their minds, new dirt to talk about.”

  “How did you handle it? All the sly looks, the questioning stares?”

  “For the most part, I ignored it. Although my case was a little different. I was arrested so quickly, I didn’t have a chance to feel the town judging me until after I was released.”

  She turned her head and stared out the window. “I’m going to get through this. I’ll do whatever it takes to find the real killer.” She looked back at Dominic and for the first time he saw a steely strength radiating from her eyes. “If Detective Mawlins thinks he’s going to railroad me for a crime I didn’t commit, then he’d better think again.”

  A touch of anger deepened her voice and the blush of her cheeks intensified with the emotion. “This evening, after everyone leaves, we’ll go through Bill’s files. If Bill was killed by somebody he knew, then we’ll find out.”

  Dominic nodded, again
confused by her and the situation. If she was guilty, would she go to such lengths to pretend to look for another guilty party? And if she had killed Bill, how far would she carry the pretense of innocence before something inside her snapped?

  One thing was certain. She didn’t look so vulnerable anymore; she didn’t look like a victim. She looked like a fighter, readying herself for the fight of her life.

  Melissa carried Jamison into his bedroom and pulled the shade against the late-afternoon sunshine. Drifting down the hallway from the living room came the sounds of people talking, the clink of silverware and an occasional burst of laughter.

  Samantha had been right. The afternoon hours had brought an influx of people to the Newman home. Bearing casseroles and cold cuts, macaroni salads and baked ham, they came on the pretense of paying their last respects to the widow and her newborn son.

  Melissa supposed some of them had come as friends, offering emotional support, but most of them were there to see how she was doing, to speculate on what had really happened within the walls of her house on the night of the murder.

  Jamison was unusually fussy, flailing his hands and bleating cries of irritation. She suspected he’d been cooed over and held by too many strangers, stroked by too many hands. She paced the close confines of the nursery, gently rocking Jamison in her arms.

  It was odd, but somehow the funeral had evoked a renewed strength in her. It was as if the pall of Bill’s shadow over her had finally been dispersed. Along with the strength had come the first blossom of anger—anger at herself for remaining for so long under his control, and anger that his killer had placed her in the position of needing to defend herself.

  She put Jamison in his crib and covered him with a soft blue receiving blanket. Staring down at her son, she felt strength flowing through her, filling her. She’d been her father’s victim for years, then had become Bill’s victim. No more. As of this moment, she intended to put the past behind her and rediscover who exactly Melissa Dark Newman was. She owed it to herself. She leaned down and gently patted her son’s little bottom. “I owe it to you,” she whispered to the sleeping infant.

  She straightened as the door to the nursery opened and Dominic peered in. “I thought this might be where you sneaked off to,” he said. “Everything all right?”

  She nodded and joined him at the door. “He was getting fussy.” She stepped out into the hallway and pulled the nursery door closed behind her. “I asked the guys who worked for Bill to stay for a few minutes after everyone else leaves,” she explained. “I’m sure they’re worried about their jobs and I want to assure them I don’t intend to do anything rash.”

  “Good. Perhaps we can get some useful information from them at the same time.” His expression seemed to hold a hint of speculation as he looked at her.

  She wasn’t sure what had caused it, what he was fishing for, and so she said nothing. Useful information . None seemed to be forthcoming so far, Melissa thought as she followed Dominic back to the living room, where the crowd appeared to have thinned out somewhat. Samantha walked over to her. “Jamison all right?” she asked.

  Melissa nodded. “He’s sleeping.”

  “You’ve got enough food in the kitchen to last you for the next month,” Samantha said. “At least people have been generous.”

  “A ham or a casserole is a small price to pay to get a glimpse of a husband-killer,” Melissa replied sarcastically, then grimaced. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You have a right to be angry. I’d say it’s a healthy emotion under the circumstances,” Samantha said. “Damn Mawlins and his ineptitude.”

  “Dominic told me he’s looking to make chief.”

  Samantha raised her gaze upward in an exaggerated gesture. “If that happens, heaven help the good people of Wilford.”

  At the cemetery, Melissa had felt the detective’s gaze focused on her for the duration of the service. Dark, full of suspicion, his eyes had played on her with an enmity that had sent a chill up her spine. God help her if Mawlins learned that Bill had been an abusive spouse. He would have his motive and she would be sent to prison.

  She remembered what Tyler had said, about Mawlins hating her father. It would somehow be easier to accept his suspicions if she didn’t believe that his personal feelings were coloring that suspicion.

  “Uh-oh, don’t look now but Mabel Harrison is coming our way,” Samantha whispered.

  Mabel Harrison was the seventy-year-old president of the Wilford Ladies’ Club, a group that gathered once a month to discuss civic projects and raise money for charity. Melissa’s father had always accused the female group of being a pack of hens, squawking gossip and pecking up trouble. Melissa braced herself as the slender gray-haired woman descended on them.

  “Darling girl,” she oozed as she hugged Melissa to her bony body. The scent of lavender that wafted from her nearly suffocated Melissa. Mabel finally released her. “Your daddy must be spinning in his grave with all that’s happened.”

  “Yes...I...” Melissa struggled to find a reply, but was cut short by Mabel.

  “Now you know, my dear, I’d never criticize you in your time of grief,” Mabel continued. “But do you really think it wise to have a man like Dominic Marcola staying here with you so soon after your husband’s death?” Mabel’s eyes glittered with the hunger for gossip. “I mean, it’s rather scandalous.”

  “A man like Dominic?” Melissa gazed coolly at the woman. “You mean because he’s single, or because he was an innocent man falsely charged in Abigail Monroe’s death?”

  “Well, you must admit, Melissa. It isn’t exactly proper for a young widow to have a single man staying in her home.”

  “Perhaps you’d find it more acceptable if Melissa stayed here alone and left herself as a target for Bill’s real killer,” Samantha said in clipped tones. “Dominic Marcola works for me. I hired him to stay here for Melissa’s and Jamison’s protection.”

  “Oh, my, we never considered that Melissa might be in danger,” Mabel replied, her gaze shifting from Melissa to Samantha, then back again. “Well, then, I guess that explains the situation.” She pursed her thin lips together and nodded, as if satisfied that the morals of the town weren’t being corrupted. “You let me know if there’s anything the ladies’ club can do for you.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned and hurried back to a group of women standing by the front windows.

  Melissa shook her head and cast a small smile at her sister. “Amazing. What did she think was going on here? That Dominic and I were carrying on a torrid affair, making love in the middle of the bed where Bill was murdered?”

  “As far as that bunch of women is concerned, that would be more of a moral outrage than you killing your husband. Killing a man might be understandable, cheating on your marriage vows is something else.”

  Melissa looked over to where Dominic stood near the television, talking to Roger Canon. Roger owned a small Italian restaurant where Melissa and Bill had occasionally eaten.

  Dominic was clad in charcoal dress slacks. He’d taken off the matching jacket as soon as they’d come back from the funeral. He looked handsome and virile, with his shirtsleeves shoved up, exposing strong forearms. His face was animated as he spoke with Roger. He turned his head suddenly, as if made aware of her gaze on him.

  For a moment their eyes locked and he smiled. It was an unguarded, easy smile that stole her breath away.

  A torrid affair. It sounded sinful, ugly, and yet as she gazed at Dominic, she couldn’t imagine anything ugly or wrong about being held in his arms, kissed by his sensual lips.

  “Melissa, Tyler and I have to go,” Samantha said, forcing Melissa’s attention away from Dominic. “I’ve got a deposition to be at in half an hour. It shouldn’t take long. You want us to come back later and help with the cleanup?”

  Melissa shook her head. “That’s not necessary. Dominic and I can handle it.”

  Samantha looked at Melissa for a long moment. “This working out okay? I mean, with Dom
inic staying here?”

  “Sure. He’s easy to be with.” It was true. In the three days they’d been sharing the house, Dominic had demanded nothing from her, had accepted both her company and the time she spent isolated in the baby’s room.

  “Yes, he’s a good man. I hope someday he’ll find some woman who will chase the shadows from his eyes.” She hugged Melissa. “In the meantime, I feel better knowing he’s here for your protection.”

  Melissa nodded, although she was beginning to wonder if perhaps they’d overreacted to the implied threat to her. It had been six days since Bill’s death, and she’d not been threatened in any way.

  The next hour flew by in a haze for Melissa. Finally, the only people left in the house besides herself and Dominic were the three men who worked for Bill’s company.

  Sam Jacobson sat on the sofa, his face looking more lined and creased than Melissa remembered. Next to him was Neal Cook, a fair-haired man who appeared to be in his early forties. Mike Withers paced the living-room floor. The youngest of the three, in his early twenties, he looked both bored and impatient at the same time.

  “Thank you for staying,” Melissa said to the three. She sat in the easy chair across the room. Jamison, who’d awakened a few minutes before, was in his baby carrier at her feet. The little boy waved his hands in the air, as if trying to capture the waning sunbeams that danced through the window.

  Dominic stood just behind her, his presence silently supportive. She was grateful he was here as she faced the three men who’d been an integral part of Bill’s life, but not of hers.

  “Mrs. Newman, we’re all real sorry about what happened to Bill, but I’d be lying if I told you we weren’t worried about our jobs,” Sam Jacobson said.

  “Yeah, we’ve got bills to pay and no money coming in at the moment,” Mike said, his darkly handsome features twisted in frustration. “So what happens now?” He looked at Melissa, as if she were personally responsible for his finances. “Should we start looking for new jobs?”