Free Unspoken by Lisa Jackson

into the drive. A glance at her watch told her it was after three. A busy man, the Judge. He’d come in late last night and hadn’t bothered to tap on her door as she’d expected, though, tossing and turning, she’d heard him arrive. He was gone again at the crack of dawn.
    Shelby had been relieved not to have to deal with him, but she couldn’t put it off forever, nor did she want to. She was back in Bad Luck with a purpose, and her father was keeping secrets from her.
    Sliding into a pair of sandals, she scooped a rubber band from the bureau, snapped her hair into a haphazard bun and took the back stairs to the kitchen.
    “Niña.” Lydia, determined to fatten her up, had a tray of fruit, cheese and crackers sitting on the center island. “I was just fixing your father a drink.” She smiled widely, showing off a bit of gold edging one front tooth. “What would you like?”
    “I’ll get a glass of iced tea,” Shelby said, her sandals slapping as she crossed the terra-cotta tile of the floor to the refrigerator.
    “Let me slice you a lemon—”
    “Thanks, Lydia, really. I appreciate it. But I can do it myself.” Much as she loved the woman who had raised her from the time of her mother’s death, Shelby couldn’t stomach the thought of Lydia doting on her, as if she were a helpless child—or worse yet, the pampered, princess-daughter of a rich man. She’d been independent too long, lived alone and was used to taking care of herself. Ignoring the wounded look in Lydia’s eyes, she tossed a handful of ice cubes into a tall glass, poured tea from a chilled pitcher and sliced her own wedge of lemon before following Lydia onto the back verandah, where her father was already sipping a martini.
    “So you decided to stay,” he said, obviously pleased, as she took a chair on the opposite side of the glass-topped table and the paddle fans that whirred overhead.
    “I thought it would be easier to talk to you.” She swirled her drink.
    Lydia, grumbling about the gardener, pinched off a couple of wilted petals of the petunias overflowing from the huge pots standing near the back door, then hurried into the kitchen as a timer buzzed loudly.
    “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me.”
    “I didn’t.” She took a sip from her glass. It was lots stronger and clearer than the cloudy liquid Nevada had passed off as tea yesterday. “I changed my mind.” She stared at him over the rim of her glass as she took another bracing swallow. Never a shy child, she was nonetheless intimidated by her father. Some things didn’t change over the years. “I hope you can help me.”
    “I’ll give it my best shot.” Plucking a plastic toothpick from his drink, he sucked off one of the olives.
    “Good. Then you need to tell me about Elizabeth.” She was calmer this afternoon, though no less determined.
    “I don’t know anything about your child.”
    “Don’t lie to me, Dad. I’ll go to the police.”
    He chewed on the olive, then swallowed. “With what? A picture of a kid who looks like you? An anonymous note?”
    “Yes.”
    “You’d be opening a can of worms.”
    “Already opened.”
    He shook his head from one side to the other. “There will be lots of questions asked. Some of ’em you won’t like.”
    “I’m not worried. Get this, Judge. I’m not a scared, confused little girl of seventeen who was ashamed that she was pregnant and not married. Not anymore.”
    “This is a small town.”
    “Amen.”
    “It’s not like the city, where you can hide.”
    “I’m not hiding, Judge, and I want the truth. You know what happened the night I had the baby. You had to have orchestrated it. No one, including Doc Pritchart or anyone else in the hospital, would have had the guts to pull this off alone. You had to have bribed them or coerced them somehow.”
    “Bribery and coercion,” he said. “Tough accusations.”
    She wasn’t going to be derailed. “Look, either you tell me what you know and we save a