The Row Read online

  The imagery is nice and I cling to it like a cozy blanket in my mind. Wrapping my thoughts up within it to hide from all the nightmare-inspired fears of my father as a murderer with blood coating his hands and rage spilling from his eyes.

  “Now.” Mr. Masters leans forward and the new glint in his eyes warns me before his words even come. “Can you explain to me why such a flower would bring the son of the man who put her father in prison into my office?”

  “Why does who my father is matter?” Jordan jumps in before I can respond.

  Mr. Masters crosses his arms over his chest and leans back, turning his eyes to Jordan. “How could it not? Everything you’re invested in is everything we’ve spent over a decade fighting against. Isn’t it a son’s duty to defend the honor of his father’s position?”

  “Yes. Especially when there is every chance that he was right.” Jordan glances my way and I give him a quick shake of my head.

  This is a game from Mr. Masters, and I’m not afraid to play it … if I can just get Jordan to be quiet and let me. He leans back in his chair, eyeing my lawyer friend warily.

  Taking a breath, I try to remember more tips Daddy taught me so long ago. Panicking is bad, but letting your opponent know you are panicking is infinitely worse. Convincing your opponent you have the upper hand is the only upper hand to be had in many situations. Just as I’m about to open my mouth to respond, Jordan speaks up again, beating me to it, and I sigh in exasperation.

  “We need details from her father’s case. Shouldn’t she have access to his file?” Jordan’s words spill out over one another and he keeps looking at me and nodding like somehow if we both nod enough then Mr. Masters will be forced to agree with us. He both sounds and looks panicked—perfect.

  “As a minor she has no right to that file without signed parental consent. Does she have that?” Mr. Masters doesn’t even wait a beat before pouncing. He places the palms of his hands on the desk to either side of him. His stance is totally relaxed, his shrewd gaze anything but. Inclining his head only a few inches forward, he still manages to make Jordan swallow hard and look away when he asks softly, “And I don’t believe we’ve been introduced—not formally, anyway.”

  “Jordan Vega, meet Benjamin Masters,” I say before Jordan can dig himself any deeper. “Jordan likes spending time at the mall, building race car tracks with his little brother, and getting in over his head while trying to help people he shouldn’t. Mr. Masters likes being sneaky, playing mind games, and can really be helpful if we give him a chance.”

  Jordan blinks at me, then back at Mr. Masters, but this time he keeps his mouth shut.

  Masters’s grin turns a little wolfish and he chuckles before extending his hand down to Jordan. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

  As Jordan reluctantly shakes it, I decide it’s time to cut straight to the point. I stare directly at Mr. Masters. “I need your help. I have to find the truth before it’s too late. I know that what I do may not change a thing, but whatever happens, I need to find out for myself.”

  He watches me for what feels like forever and I try not to blink. Finally, he nods. “Okay. But will you explain why someone who claims not to trust cops is out spending time with the son of Chief Vega?”

  “He’s trying to help me,” I respond. When he sees me glance his way, Jordan gives me half a smile that I’m sure he means to be reassuring, but it only makes me feel guilty for even letting him get into this mess with me.

  Mr. Masters straightens and walks around behind his desk, taking a seat. He begins moving papers off his desk and into different piles. One of the folders I see is clearly marked with the name DAVID BECKETT. I slide forward in my chair, wanting to see more. A big red sticker is stuck to the front of the file—it holds the perfect word to describe Daddy’s current situation: PRESSING.

  Once his desk is relatively sorted, Masters leans forward. “I, of course, can’t let you take it, but what do you want to know?”

  I reply with the first question that comes to mind. “What was Daddy like before he went to prison?”

  “David was a different man back then…,” Mr. Masters starts.

  I get an instant chill at what those words could mean, but shake it off as Mr. Masters continues. “He was relaxed, much happier.”

  “Did you like working with him?”

  “Yes.” He hesitates, then speaks carefully. “He was always a hard worker, very devoted to his clients.”

  “Only telling me the good things won’t help me; you know that.” I raise one eyebrow. Jordan sits forward in his seat beside me, now engrossed in this question-and-answer session.

  “No one’s perfect, Riley,” Mr. Masters responds, his voice softer now. “I assume you know about Hillary Vanderstaff? And how he always spent a bit more time with female clients and co-workers than men?”

  “Hillary Vanderstaff?” I remember the name, but little else. “Isn’t she one of the victims?”

  “Oh…” Mr. Masters’s face falls and he closes his eyes slowly. “Maybe this is something you should ask your parents about.”

  “If my parents were willing to tell me, I’d already know.” I groan as I wait for him to go on.

  “She was one of the victims—and a previous client of your father’s. She is how they tied him to the victims.”

  A sudden flash of clarity hits me. “Right, she was the one they falsely accused him of having an affair with. Was she his client at the time of the murder?”

  “No, he represented her in a case almost one year before.” Masters is very focused on his desk. He straightens Daddy’s file before looking up.

  “A year? And that’s all the link they had?” My voice is incredulous. That tie-in is tenuous at best.

  He sighs and his shoulders droop forward. It strikes me that for the first time since I’ve known him, Masters doesn’t seem to be putting on a show. “I don’t want to be the one to tell you this.”

  My heart, my lungs, and my stomach all seem to lock up in response. I’m terrified of what he’s going to say next, and it must show in my face because I feel Jordan’s eyes on me.

  In the silence I press my teeth together so hard that it hurts, afraid that I can’t trust myself to speak. Scared that if I open my mouth, my words may betray me by telling him the absolute truth that is burning in my soul—that maybe deep down I truly don’t want to know. If I open my mouth, I might beg him to please tell me another sweet lie instead of the bitter truth so that I can continue to live in oblivion.

  Truth is for the brave, and I’m not sure I fall into that category anymore.

  “The affair was real. Your father was cheating on your mother with Hillary.” His eyes fill with pity. My ears seem to ring with his last word. I sit perfectly still, gripping the chair arms tight. I close my eyes and try to understand how the lies of everyone I ever trusted had come back to bite me again.

  22

  “THEY LIED. THEY LIED TO ME,” I repeat, this time just trying to be certain that I heard him right. Then I turn on Mr. Masters. “You lied to me.”

  When Mr. Masters doesn’t say any more, I jump up from my chair and hold my hand out for the file. The lying isn’t the worst thing that happened here. If what he’s saying is true, then Daddy betrayed our family.

  Mr. Masters just looks at me. He doesn’t move. “Miss R—”

  I rip the file out of his hand. My fingers have gone so cold that I almost drop it. My ears ring strangely loudly and I almost wonder if other people can hear them. What Masters is saying doesn’t make any sense. Not Daddy. He wouldn’t do something like this to us … would he?

  No. If I’m supposed to believe, I have to see proof of it for myself.

  As I open the folder on the desk and my fingers move, my body starts functioning at a more normal rhythm again. “Why this Hillary person?”

  “Hillary Vanderstaff.” Mr. Masters’s voice is barely a whisper as I flip through, looking for a victim profile sheet that bears her name. “I don’t know why. She was very
beautiful.”

  Jordan turns his eyes on Mr. Masters, his expression reflecting a darkness that surprises me. “You’ve been lying about him cheating for over a decade. Why would you cover for him like that?”

  “Her father asked me to stick to his story long ago. I assumed that Amy had agreed it was the best choice. It wasn’t my business to decide otherwise. Telling Riley the truth now is not a choice I make lightly.” Mr. Masters draws himself up to his full height and I can hear a hint of the courtroom theatrics come back into his tone. “She says she wants the truth. In order to have any chance at finding it, she needs all the facts.”

  I finally locate the correct grouping of papers and draw them out. The picture attached is different from the one I’d seen online. She’s beautiful here, smiling and vibrant. Farther down the sheet, I find a paragraph outlining the evidence of their affair, and my heart sinks. They’ve listed out dates, times, and lengths of many phone calls; receipts of purchase; and a catalog of various gifts. And at the very bottom, it lists twenty-two letters between them and the words copies attached.

  Taking a deep, shaky breath, I flip to the attached papers. The first is written in flowery feminine writing and I deliberately don’t read a word. When I move on to the next one, one glance tells me everything I need to know. I don’t want to actually read anything my father sent to his mistress. My stomach sinks and I close the file. There is no doubt. That is Daddy’s handwriting. I’d know that better than anyone.

  Apparently, I wasn’t the first girl he’d written letters to.

  Handing the file back to Mr. Masters, I fight to keep my voice steady. “How can this possibly help Daddy now?”

  It’s clear from the look in Masters’s eyes that he’s having second thoughts about telling me. He looks like he wishes he could make this all better, but he can’t.

  He massages his forehead with his fingers. “I’ve been wondering for a long time if this affair could give us proof of innocence instead of proof of guilt. Hillary was the final victim back then. If they were together during either of the other murders, maybe we can find some kind of documentation to provide him with an alibi.”

  I frown and walk back over to slump down in my old seat. “I can’t believe that if she’d been with him that he wouldn’t have mentioned this sooner. We’re talking about his life here.”

  “Your father’s family life was not—healthy—when he was growing up. He cares very deeply about protecting this family ideal that he believes you have, maybe more so than any of us know. When I found out about the affair—” Mr. Masters clears his throat, but I can see a flash of fear in his eyes before he continues. “Admitting to the affair himself during the trial was just something he was unwilling to do.”

  “He never admitted it?” My voice is so soft I see both Jordan and Mr. Masters lean forward to hear it.

  Mr. Masters sighs, looking both smaller and infinitely sad. My stomach roils in fear of hearing any more things I’m not prepared for tonight. “You’ve seen the file. The prosecution had compelling evidence that your father had an affair, and not a short-lived one. They didn’t need David to admit anything.”

  Daddy always seemed so devoted, so loyal. Up until this moment, if I’d been forced to pick which parent would eventually cheat on the other, I would’ve chosen Mama without hesitation. It’s hard to accept the idea that this situation has flipped on me completely.

  Mr. Masters walks around the desk, pulling a chair up next to mine and holding my now frigid hand in both of his. “But unfortunately, men who cheat aren’t an unheard of breed, and most men who’ve cheated don’t suddenly become murderers. This fact ties him to one victim, but as far as they could find, he didn’t know the others. There was no evidence left on the victims and no way to irrefutably tie him to being at any of the crime scenes.”

  “But he had no alibi…” I whisper in response.

  “True.” Mr. Masters grinds his teeth together. “And they used that to their fullest advantage.”

  A new thought occurs to me and I can’t decide whether to be protective of Mama or angry at her. “I assume Mama knows the truth?”

  Mr. Masters gives me a troubled look. “You know your mother, Miss Riley. She’s tough to read. She never talked about it. She deliberately avoided the trial whenever she knew they were going to discuss it. I even saw her bring a book out if she was there and it unexpectedly came up.”

  “Wait. What do you mean?” I shake my head in confusion. “She has to know, right? Even if she pretends she doesn’t, she has to know the truth.”

  He shrugs. “Somewhere inside she must, but denial is a powerful beast when used by the right master. And God knows your mama has become proficient at looking the other way over the years.”

  I’m silent in response. There is nothing to say. This conversation with Mr. Masters has confirmed my fear that both of my parents are complete strangers to me now—possibly unstable and dangerous ones at that.

  “What have you heard about this newest murder?” Jordan speaks up from beside me. When I glance over at him, the clear worry in his eyes tells me that now I’m the one whose skin is extremely pale.

  “I’d imagine, while this case is ongoing, your father would have much more information on it than I do,” Mr. Masters responds with a sharp edge. “But since I’m assuming that he isn’t sharing that information with you, I will tell you that I heard from an insider about a breakthrough today.”

  I whip my head up. “Breakthrough?”

  “With the original victims, there was a detail deliberately kept out of all media coverage. And it wasn’t mentioned much at the trial because it didn’t help the state’s case. There were souvenirs taken from each victim.” The voice that has comforted me for much of my life suddenly sounds sinister with those words.

  I shudder, asking reluctantly, “Souvenirs?”

  “Yes, a trophy of sorts. But nothing too terrifying, my dear.” Mr. Masters pats the back of my hand. “It was always a piece of jewelry. With Hillary it was a necklace, with Sarah Casey a ring, and with Maren Jameson it was a watch.”

  “Oh,” I say. This is news to me. I’m certain I’ve never heard this detail.

  “I brought it up during trial because it was a big flaw in the state’s case that they were never able to find the trophies.” Mr. Masters speaks louder and I can hear the puzzle and intrigue in this case drawing him in like a moth to the flame. “If David was the murderer, how come they never found them? The state presented witnesses who claimed he seemed nervous and skittish the last couple of days before Vega showed up with his warrant. They said that he knew they were closing in, and he got rid of the trophies.”

  I see Jordan nodding slowly out of the corner of my eye and send him a withering glare.

  “What?” he asks, but his expression looks guilty, and he mutters after I turn away, “It does make a certain amount of sense…”

  I ignore him, waiting for Mr. Masters to go on. “He’s right. It was a worthy argument—until now.”

  My eyes widen, and Mr. Masters answers my unspoken question before I even have a chance to ask it. “The newest victim also had a souvenir taken, a pair of diamond earrings.”

  I suck in a quick breath. “And since they never revealed that information to the public…”

  “It’s not likely to be a copycat,” Jordan whispers softly. This has been a lot of information to process and my mind is still whirling from it, but I feel a distinctly different sensation from earlier today rising in my chest.

  I feel hope.

  Mr. Masters pats my shoulder before climbing to his feet. Walking around his desk, he slips Daddy’s file into his briefcase. He hooks his index finger under the suit coat and lifts it off of his chair, draping it across the expensive leather case.

  Turning to face us, he places both hands palms down on the desk with a soft thump. “This is what’s going to happen. I’ll answer all of your questions, Riley. Any question you have, anytime. And I’ll keep you in the loop on
anything new I uncover in my research to prepare for any further appeals on your daddy’s case.”

  “You will?” I move forward to the edge of my seat, barely daring to hope that someone is finally willing to tell me everything.

  “Yes. You aren’t a kid anymore, unfortunately.” Mr. Masters gives me a sad glance and continues, “But I have a condition. You come to me first with your questions. And you talk to me before doing anything stupid. No more sneaking around crime scenes or anything remotely like that. Do we have a deal?”

  I nod and get to my feet, walking over to give him a hug. “Thank you.”

  “This isn’t going to be easy, but I think you’re strong enough to handle it. Whatever happens, you deserve the chance to find your own truth.” Mr. Masters turns his gaze fully on me and a genuine smile curves up one corner of his mouth. “God knows it can be hard enough to find that in the courtroom sometimes.”

  “I’d also like you to promise me something,” Mr. Masters continues, giving me a pointed look. “You need to come stay with me for a few days if you and your mama have any more discussions. I’m certain your daddy would stop that immediately if he were there to watch out for you. I owe you both that much.”

  “We won’t—” I feel my face redden and slowly raise my hand to my bruised cheek. “It’s never happened before.”

  Jordan sends me the same concerned glance from earlier, and I simply nod. “But okay, I can agree to that.”

  “Good.” Mr. Masters looks from me to Jordan and I have a hard time reading his expression. “And keep an eye on that one.”

  I lean against the arm of my chair and face Jordan, chuckling at his offended look. “I will.”

  Mr. Masters puts an arm around my shoulders and walks me out with Jordan in my wake. Back down in the lobby, Mr. Masters gives me a quick squeeze before shaking Jordan’s hand. He whispers something into Jordan’s ear before winking at me and then walking briskly away.

  As we make our way through the now rapidly dimming streets of downtown Houston, I notice that Jordan seems deep in his own thoughts. I can’t complain, because I am, too. Mr. Masters has an ability to throw people off balance, which is part of what makes him such an amazing lawyer.