Deceit (6 page)

But something told me it had barely started.

“Why would somebody be in your house, Joanne?”

“I don’t…the door slammed. In the garage. I thought it was locked.”

“Have you checked out there?”

“No, I just now grabbed a flashlight.”

“Well, go. I’ll hang on the line.”

I know what she thought. It’s the wind. Just like she thought Baxter could be innocent. My generous sister—never wanting to believe the worst.

“Okay.” I set the phone down on the table, aimed the beam toward the garage, and opened the door. Light split across to the far wall and its window. I moved the flashlight around. Saw no one.

With one foot I forced down the door stop. Stretched to the table to pick up my phone. “Okay. I’m going into the garage.” I stepped over the threshold. The air chilled considerably. Heat didn’t run out there. The walls seemed so thin, as if they were mere cardboard against the storm.

I aimed the flashlight at my car. No one there. I searched the achingly empty other side, where Tom’s car used to sit. Ran the beam over the furnace and water heater, the garbage cans. No Hooded Man. No Baxter. Just suspicious-minded me, unable to imagine the length of this night.

“Joanne?”

“The garage looks fine. Checking the door.”

I edged over to it, shone the beam on its knob. Unlocked. I checked the bolt. Also unlocked.

I had not left the door that way. I
hadn’t
. It had been pouring when I left the house for Dineen’s. Why would I go outside?

“Is it open?” Dineen asked.

“Unlocked, if that’s what you mean. Both the knob and the bolt.”

“See? The wind probably just slammed it.”

Of course. No doubt.

I clicked both locks into place.

“You want to spend the night here, Joanne? It might take the power company awhile to fix broken lines in this storm. Maybe a whole grid’s out.”

What I wanted was to know if my house was the only one without electricity.

“Maybe. I’ll call you back.”

“Well, do it soon, okay? I’m ready to go to sleep.”

How easy for her.

My mouth opened to spill the whole story. Hooded Man on the road, his stunning words about Baxter. I was Dineen’s older, always-stable sister, for heaven’s sake. Didn’t it occur to her I might have a
reason
to be paranoid?

The words stuck in my throat.

“Sure. Thanks.”

I clicked off the phone, shivering. Too cold out here. Too close to the rain. I turned to head back into the kitchen, call 411 for the power company’s number. The flashlight beam raked over the width of the garage, bouncing against the double doors on the other side, hitting my car. The concrete floor nearby glistened beneath the light.

My hand halted. I aimed the beam downward.

Water droplets lit up like tiny stars.

I stared, moving the flashlight toward the front of the car…to the back. Water lined the floor. I jerked the ray down farther, tracing the concrete from the car to where I stood. More dribbled water. I jumped aside, checked by the door. Wet.

That last part was to be expected. If the door had blown open, rain surely whooshed in. But the trail leading across the garage…

I eased toward the door to the kitchen, heart thudding. Followed the telltale path with the light once more, from rear door to car. That dripped water couldn’t have come from me when I arrived home. The trail I’d left then, not yet dried, went from my car to the kitchen door. I hadn’t gone anywhere near the backyard door.

Someone
had
been here. Had come through that rear door. Which I’d left
locked.

What did he want in my car? Did he think I’d leave my purse in there?

Maybe I’d surprised him when I came into the garage. That was it. He’d run behind the SUV to hide.

Which meant he was crouching there
right now
.

I whirled and jumped through the threshold into the kitchen. Kicked up the bronze stop and shoved the door closed. Locked it.

Panic peeled away the layers of my mind. What to do? Reason had fled. Like a trapped animal, I pressed against the wall, trying to think. I couldn’t jump in my car to flee to my sister’s. But what if he
wasn’t
out there; what if he was in
here
? I’d just barricaded myself in a dark house with an intruder.

Palms sweating, I aimed the flashlight at my cell phone and dialed 911.

TEN

JUNE 2004

Baxter walked into the Vonita True Life Church like he owned the place.

The sanctuary had two long rows of pews with one central aisle. Purple and red carpet. A large cross on the back wall. A podium on the stage, and off to the side, instruments. A drum set, guitars, a keyboard. Melissa eyed them in surprise.

After crossing the threshold Melissa hung back behind Linda, suddenly shy and hating herself for it. What was the big deal? She could take care of herself just fine. Hadn’t she done that all her life? No need to care what the people in this church thought of her. As long as the Jacksons believed she was okay, she’d keep that beautiful big roof over her head.

“Come on, Melissa, it’ll be fine.” Linda extended an arm, ushering her inside the door. Her crooked smile mixed sadness and purpose, as if with this one church service she was determined to erase all the hurts of Melissa’s sixteen years.

Lots of luck.

“Barry. Steve.” Baxter shook hands with two men, then walked farther down the church aisle toward others. They all responded with overlarge nods and smiles, followed by gazes wandering toward Melissa. Linda placed a gentle hand against Melissa’s back and guided her toward the wives. “Sarah, Eileen, Sandy—this is Melissa.”

Melissa’s mouth curved up like some puppet who’d had its string pulled.

The women all made a big deal over her, smiling and saying how pretty she was, complimenting her on the clothes. “Linda’s been so looking forward to having you,” the one named Sarah said. She was a tall woman with short brown hair and small green eyes. Her eyes crinkled when she smiled.

“Oh. Yeah,” Melissa managed.

“You enjoying living in that amazing house with these amazing people?” one of the other women asked. Eileen, maybe.

“Yes.”

They all surveyed her, as if waiting for more.

The third woman smiled grandly. “Well, that’s great. I know you’ll enjoy it there. And in this town too. Everybody knows Baxter and Linda. Won’t take long before you see just how fortunate you are.”

More people came through the door, men and women and kids, everybody wanting to meet Melissa. Three of the girls Linda had mentioned—Heather, Belle, and Nicole—arrived together, chatting away as if they’d just come from some party. Melissa’s mouth went dry. Linda waved them over. Melissa straightened her back and watched them approach with a cool expression. Heather was blonde, with a sweet, round face. She shot Melissa a sparkling smile, as if she really meant it. “Hi. Nice to meet you. Last week Linda was real excited that you’d be here today.” Belle and Nicole nodded. Belle was a little overweight, with gorgeous long black hair. She looked…something. Maybe half Chinese?

“Thanks.” Melissa managed a smile. A hint of warmth touched her chest.

Nicole was short and tiny, like a bubbly cheerleader. “Isn’t it incredible, living with Baxter and Linda?” Her voice sounded almost tinkly, like she’d burst into laughter any minute.

“Yeah. Their house is beautiful.”

Nicole tilted her head. “Oh, I know. But I wasn’t thinking that. I’d live with them in a shack. Everybody in town loves them, you’ll see. This town wouldn’t have half the things it does if it wasn’t for Baxter.”

Melissa could think of no response. She tucked the information away in her mind.

“You want to sit with us?” Nicole asked.

Melissa’s eyes cut to Linda, who stood halfway across the sanctuary, watching like an anxious mother. Nicole followed Melissa’s gaze and raised her voice toward Linda. “Can she sit with us?”

Linda nodded, giving Melissa a reassuring look. “It’s fine if you want.”

A long second stretched out. Melissa eyed the girls, calculating. Would Linda be more disappointed if she said yes or no? Melissa’s mind flashed to the beautifully painted walls of her new bedroom, the designer clothes in her closet. The quietness and peace in the Jackson house. She couldn’t lose all that. She couldn’t.

“Thanks.” She gave the girls a winning smile. “Maybe next week. For my first time here I’d like to stick with Linda.”

The girls murmured their understanding. Melissa eased away and walked to Linda, noting the softened expression on her face.

Score one for Melissa.

A few minutes later the service started. Melissa didn’t know what to make of it. Guys in jeans played the instruments, a group of four guys and girls singing. A screen up front showed words to the songs. People sang and clapped their hands. Melissa stood by Linda, watching the words flip by on the screen, wishing she could melt into the floor. It was all so strange. Melissa hadn’t expected to participate in anything. She’d thought she could just stare at some preacher, pretending to listen. For her first week, maybe the second, she could get by with just standing there. But in time Linda and Baxter would expect her to join in. They’d probably expect her to believe just the way they did.

Melissa’s fingers curled around the pew in front of her. She could do that. She could pretend anything they wanted. As long as they kept being so nice to her. As long as they didn’t turn out to be something totally different than what they seemed.

ELEVEN

FEBRUARY 2010

My wait for the police to arrive unwound in an endless spool, teeming with imagined noises. I huddled in the corner chair at my kitchen table, the end of the flashlight pressed against my chest. Its strong beam penetrated the viscous air, daring some malicious form to appear. The 911 dispatcher had told me electricity was off in over half the town.

Small comfort now.

She wanted me to stay on the line, but my trembling fingers hit the wrong button and cut us off. Immediately the phone rang. It was Dineen.

I told her the police were on their way. That someone must have jimmied the lock on my rear door.

“You’re kidding.” Her tone collapsed, as if reality had just slapped her with the fact she’d been nonchalant while her sister faced danger.

I didn’t want to tell her I may have surprised the intruder in the garage. Couldn’t find the energy to launch into the grimness of Hooded Man. I simply breathed into the phone, gripping my flashlight like a fatal weapon.

“Maybe I should call 911 back.”

“No, stay with me until they arrive,” Dineen declared. “Then you’re coming over here.”

Fine with me. No way could I imagine staying in this house alone all night. “Hey, I’m the big sister. I’m supposed to give
you
orders.”

“Now you see what the other side’s like.”

The wind’s fitful dirge lowered a key, although not from losing power. It was merely changing tactics. Like the big bad wolf, it wanted nothing more than to blow this house down.

“You need some Cream Soda Jelly Bellies, Dineen. Help you chill out.”

My imagination wanted to bounce off the darkling walls. I clutched the phone, pushing my thoughts back to skip tracing.

Where had I left off with Melissa? Two Melissa Harkoffs with different birthdays, that much I remembered, although I couldn’t recall the dates. I was just about to google them to search for photos when my computer blipped off. Had I failed to note anything in my file? If so that data would be lost. I’d have to reconstruct it.

“Joanne?”

“I’m here, Dineen.”

Where
were the policemen? Were they taking their time responding because of that article in the newspaper? Surely their loyalties lay with Chief Eddington. Were they driving over here in shared smugness—
that woman deserves any trouble she gets
?

I couldn’t see a front window from where I sat. I should move into the living room or my office—areas now unchecked. From there I could watch for police lights. Even though I didn’t believe anyone was in those black rooms, the mere thought of entering either one sizzled my skin.

“Dineen, I’m going to move where I can watch—”

The doorbell rang. I jumped so hard my veins rattled.

“They’re here.” I shoved from the chair. “Call you back.”

I tossed down the phone and made for the front door, my blessed ray of light cutting a swath through the darkness. In the hallway I could see red flashing lights through my living room windows, pulsing the furniture like a macabre disco. I threw back the door. Two policemen stood on my covered porch, hulking wet shapes against the raging night. Both of them carried flashlights.

“Thank you for coming.” I stepped aside, let them in. The door banged closed behind the last one.

“Sorry,” he said, and I thought of my garage rear door, how it could have slipped from someone’s hand…

Water dripped from the men onto the floor. My overworked mind blipped the surreal thought that the rain was winning. It wanted nothing more than to overtake my house, drive me crazy.

The officers’ badges read Mike Trent and Ron Blasco. They shone their flashlights around the hall, their faces looking bloated and shadowy in the umbra of beams. Trent looked in his late twenties. I’d never seen him before. Blasco, a father in his early forties, used to attend my church, although I hadn’t seen him there in months. He’d known Tom. Even fished with him on occasion.

“Mrs. Weeks.” He nodded. “We hear you may have had a break-in.”

I spilled my story, one hand at my neck. I told them nothing of Hooded Man. Only of the garage door slamming, the trail of water across the floor.

“Okay,” Blasco said. “Stay right here. We need to clear the house.”

They pulled their guns, aimed and ready. Together they entered the living room in the steely half crouch I’d seen so often on TV. Now it was real. Now it was my life.