“You’re right.”
“Mr. Melville, you wanted Ken to come to Black Oaks, and I understand that it has something to do with Corey Rockwell.”
“It does, but I’m not up to discussing it now. Let’s meet tomorrow, and I’ll tell you what I had in mind.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Something was off. Rockwell was sure of it. He’d always had a funny feeling about Melville’s film project, but he was desperate, and he had rationalized away any misgivings because he needed cash and craved the spotlight again. Melville really had him going until he mentioned Rose McIntire and Tony Clark.
Melville had tried to disguise his interest by concealing what he was really interested in with talk about screenwriters and research. It hadn’t worked. Melville showed his hand when he talked about freeing innocent people from prison. Rockwell was certain that Melville thought that Yousef Khan was innocent, and he was going to try to get him out of prison by proving Corey was the killer. That was why he needed to find McIntire and Clark.
Rockwell was sure he was right. But what if he wasn’t? What if the movie deal was legit? He couldn’t risk being wrong. So, he came up with a plan.
Dinner was at seven. Rockwell went down a little before and waited until Frank Melville, Nelly Melville, Sheila Monroe, and Justin Trent were in the dining hall. That accounted for everyone with a room on the third floor’s east wing.
Justin and Nelly walked toward the fireplace, and Frank and Sheila went to one end of the dining room table. Rockwell left the room while they were distracted and raced up the stairs. He paused before he reached the landing and listened for any sign that Lockwood, Alverez, or Breland were out of their rooms.
He was about to climb the rest of the flight when Lockwood’s door opened. He had made up a story about having to go to his room for his phone, but he didn’t have to use it, because Lockwood knocked on Alvarez’s door. Moments later, she was inside, and Rockwell was sprinting down the hall in the east wing and sneaking into Melville’s office.
It was dark in the office, and he didn’t want to risk turning on the light, so he used the beam from his cell phone. Melville had taken a thick file from a drawer in the cabinet behind the desk. Rockwell opened the drawer. There were several files in the cabinet, but he had no trouble finding a file with his name on it.
Rockwell opened the file and illuminated the pages. It didn’t take him long to figure out that Melville had no interest in making a motion picture. Melville wanted to put him in prison.
Rockwell returned the file to its proper place and opened the office door a crack. When he didn’t see anyone in the hall, he walked to the landing and down the stairs. Rockwell paused at the entrance to the dining room. Two waiters were circulating with hors d’oeuvres. When he was certain that no one was lookinghis way, Rockwell walked over to one of the waiters and took a cracker topped with brie and prosciutto and carried it over to the end of the table where Sheila Monroe and Frank Melville were talking.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Robin went to Jose’s room before going down to dinner. She knocked and he told her to come in. Jose had battled boredom on death row by reading. The longer the book, the more time he had with it, so he was attracted to any oversized tome regardless of genre. When Robin walked in, Jose was sitting in an armchair next to the window with a copy ofWar and Peace.
“They’re serving dinner,” Robin said. “Are you ready to go down?”
Jose put the book in his lap and shook his head.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Look, Jose, I understand how you feel about Mr. Melville, but going on a hunger strike isn’t going to make him feel any worse than he does already, and the food here is very good.”
“I know what you’re trying to do, but it won’t work. Please make my excuses.”
Robin was tempted to try and change Jose’s mind, but sherealized that he was now in a position to choose what he wanted to do after thirty years of someone else controlling his every move, so she left the room.
When Robin entered the dining hall, she heard the hum of the wind through the stone walls of the manor house and therat-a-tatof the rain as it beat against the stained-glass windows.
Frank Melville had hired a caterer, and a middle-aged man and a young woman dressed in identical white shirts and black slacks were crisscrossing the cavernous dining hall with trays of hors d’oeuvres. The moment Robin walked into the room, the man approached her, and Robin plucked a stuffed mushroom off his tray.
“Can I get you a cocktail?” the man asked.
“A screwdriver would be great. Go heavy on the orange juice and light on the vodka.”
The waiter smiled. “Coming right up.”
Robin surveyed the dining hall and saw Nelly Melville talking to a handsome young man near the fireplace on the other side of the room. Their heads were inches apart, and they looked serious.
Sheila Monroe was standing next to Frank Melville at the end of the long dining hall table. Her red dress set off her honey-colored hair, and a colorful shawl was draped across her shoulders. Corey Rockwell completed the trio.
Robin looked toward the door to the kitchen and saw Mrs. Raskin, the person she’d been looking for, talking to one of the other servers. Robin walked over to her.
“Can I ask you a favor, Mrs. Raskin?”