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She picked another name at random.
A receptionist said she thought Mr. Ochoa might be available. He was and sounded interested in what she told him. “I’d like to help, but I’m due in court in fifteen minutes,” he said. “Can we put the interview off until one-thirty?”
Hoping for courage, she promised to tell the detective he had to wait until her father’s attorney could make it. Then, panicked, she tore out of the house and exceeded a few speed limits on the way to her father’s.
An unmarked police car was already parked at the curb. Beth ran across the lawn and let herself in, following voices coming from the family room, where she found the two men were already seated.
The flash in Detective Navarro’s dark eyes told her how unwelcome her intrusion was. He rose to his feet. “I thought I made clear that you can’t be here for this interview.”
She lifted her chin. “I don’t plan to be. However, my father’s attorney will be. Mr. Ochoa can’t make it until one-thirty, so you’ll need to come back then.”
Her father was gaping but didn’t intervene. He usually did what she told him to.
The knotted muscles in the detective’s jaw told her how mad he was. He looked at her father. “Mr. Marshall? Are you willing to speak to me without an attorney present?”
Dad looked at her. “Bethie? Do you think I need a lawyer?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “Talking to an investigator at this point without an attorney present wouldn’t be smart.” She probably hadn’t been smart yesterday. She hesitated. “Did he tell you—”
“I did,” Detective Navarro said.
Tears formed in her father’s brown eyes. “I wondered why we never heard from her, but I never dreamed…” He swallowed. “To think she was here all this time.”
She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I know. Let me see the detective out, and then I’ll come back.”
His head bobbed. She stared a challenge at Detective Navarro, who gave a choppy nod and headed for the front door. He opened it but turned, looming over her.
“He only looks guiltier, insisting on an attorney instead of being willing to talk to me.”
Beth huffed. “Does that argument convince many people?”
“I’d think you would want to know who killed your mother.”
“I do.” She couldn’t falter, not now. Not in front of him. “But I know it wasn’t Dad, and I won’t let you bulldoze him.”
“Because that’s how I do my job.” His pissed gaze held hers long enough to sting before he shook his head. “Good day, Ms. Marshall.”
Feeling as if she’d lost something, she had a lump in her throat as she shut the door. Maybe…maybe this was the mistake.
But almost immediately, she shook her head. She’d done what was best for her father. Detective Navarro—she couldn’t think of him as Tony now—had been nice yesterday. He’d really seemed to feel protective where she was concerned. But even if he had been sincere, it wasn’t as if there was anything personal between them. With her mother’s identity confirmed, he had gone straight for the obvious, and convenient, suspect: Dad. With a side thought for Matt because he’d lived here, too.
Beth understood, but she knew her father.
She couldn’t believe a teenage Matt would have done anything that horrible either, but he wouldn’t appreciate his sister interfering. Maybe she should call to warn him…but the stuff he’d said yesterday still rankled, as did his willingness to believe the worst about his own father.
Who else, Beth? Use your head, for once. And not to forget his additional digs. You live in your own damn dream world, just like he does. Everybody is nice. Well-meaning.
As if not sharing his cynicism made her stupid.
She’d always sensed his underlying contempt. It had to be tied to the anger at Dad that she didn’t fully understand. Matt didn’t have much respect for Emily, either. Did he feel that way about all women? Beth had wondered, unable to tell despite watching him closely when he was with Ashley.
Most of the time, she tried to pretend their family was normal. What family didn’t have tensions? But she’d been kidding herself, of course. So maybe Matt was right.
