Deceit (7 page)

The throbbing red from the patrol car outside beat against their bodies, purpled their uniforms. The light reflected the rain running down my windows, pulsing the officers’ faces with translucent rivulets of blood. I pressed against the front door, shoulders taut, and prayed. I’d prayed countless times for comfort when Linda disappeared, countless more for strength when Tom died. I believed in Jesus my Savior. I believed in prayer.

I also knew being a Christian didn’t always keep you out of trouble. Look at Linda. Now look at me.

The officers directed their beams around the room, searching beyond the couch, behind the TV. All clear.

They brushed by me into my office. Beyond that, they would search the bedrooms and baths, the laundry room. I couldn’t see them anymore, but I heard closet doors opening, the ripping back of a shower curtain. I hung on to their every sound, hugging them to my chest as reminders these men could save me. My muscles tensed into rocks, each cringing second drawing out…out…as I braced for noises I didn’t want to hear. A long squeal of car brakes too often leads to the crunch of metal. Here it would be a sudden shout, the
blam, blam
of bullets.

The policemen ventured back up the hall, intact, whole. I drank in their vague shapes as they passed by toward the kitchen.

One of them gasped. Feet shuffled. Flashlight beams swung.

My fingers clutched each other.

“Oh, man.” Blasco’s voice. “It’s a fish.”

“Yeah.” Trent. “My light caught those eyes.”

Billy Bass. I let out a breath.

I heard the policemen move forward.

The kitchen had to be safe. I’d just been there.

Only one place left in the house.

“Watch out in the garage!” I called. “He could have been hiding behind the car.”

He
had
been there, hadn’t he? Whoever
he
was. (Hooded Man? A burglar?) Rational thinking insisted he would be long gone. But fear drowned out its voice.

The door into the garage opened. Closed with a
click.

I waited, heart tripping. The storm raged at my back, separated by a mere piece of wood that had never seemed so flimsy. In my mind’s eye I pictured the garage. My car, the furnace, water heater. So few places a man could hide. But enough. My fingers gripped the flashlight until they cramped.

No shots. No shouts.

The garage door opened again. Footsteps approached. Ron Blasco appeared in the entryway, the beam of my flashlight at his waist level. Mike Trent pulled up beside him.

“All clear, Mrs. Weeks.” Blasco gestured with his head. “We checked everywhere inside.”

I tried to swallow the stone in my throat. “Did you see the rain trail, how it led from the back door down to the car?”

“Yes. And we checked that rear door. It’s locked and bolted.”

“Like I told you,
I
did that. I found it open.”

“Understood. We saw no signs of forced entry.”

I knew that already.

“What do you think about the water trail?” I pressed.

The officers exchanged glances. Mike Trent spoke up. “We can see why you were suspicious. But it’s also very possible that the door was left unlocked and not quite latched. The wind forced it open and blew in rain, right in that line you saw.”

Yes, that was possible. Probable, even, if it hadn’t been on
this
night, after a hooded and masked stranger nearly caused me to wreck on the road. But I couldn’t tell them that.

Could I?

I surveyed the officers, Hooded Man’s warning in my head. How to tell them I’d been stopped on the road without telling them why? And without the
why
I would just sound paranoid.

“Yes,” my mouth said. “I suppose that’s possible.”

Blasco cleared his throat. “We’re going to check outside around the perimeter. If you’ll just wait here another moment.”

I moved away from the door. They stepped outside and down my two porch steps into the blistering rain. I stood in the doorway, the squall wrapping me in a cold drool. I couldn’t stand it. When the officers disappeared from sight, I shut the door, shivering.

A few minutes later they were back, freshly soaked.

Ron Blasco shook his head. “We saw no footprints, no signs of disturbance around your house. Granted, on a night like this…” He raised a hand, palm up. “Still, we’re satisfied that all’s clear.”

I nodded, numb. “You’ll make a report, though—that you came out? It’ll include what I told you?”

“Absolutely.”

I bit the inside of my lip. What more could I do? “Thank you for coming.”

“No problem.” Mike Trent offered a quick smile. “Don’t hesitate to call again if you need us.”

From the doorway I watched them trot to their car and slide inside. The flashing lights cut off. They drove away from the house, onto their next mission. Or maybe back to the station. For their sakes I hoped it had electricity.

I stepped inside, closed the door, and locked it. Checked the bolt twice. A third time. The black stillness of the house hovered over me, disaster waiting to strike.

Could my back door have just blown open?
Could
I have carelessly left it unlocked when I went to Dineen’s for dinner? Try as I might, I couldn’t believe that now, not after seeing that trail of water.

A shiver zigzagged down my back. The policemen had been nice enough. Diligent. But what were they saying about me now? Joanne Weeks, crazy lady, full of conspiracy theories. Thinks the chief of police is helping Baxter Jackson cover up two murders. Now claims a phantom broke into her home.

Bearing my flashlight I eased back into the kitchen, body still atingle. Yes, my dark house had been cleared, but try telling my nerves that. At the kitchen table I picked up my cell phone and dialed Dineen. She answered on the first ring.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. Except I’m at your house in ten minutes.”

“Okay.” Her voice read she wanted more but would wait until I got there.

If only I were with her already. Getting there meant going back out in the storm. Heading down Stillton’s curves. I wondered if I’d ever be able to drive that road with nonchalance again.

I shivered inside and out. My system desperately needed calming. Cream Soda flavor wouldn’t do the job. “You got any Strawberry Daiquiris in that paltry Jelly Belly stash of yours?”

“Joanne, one day your teeth are going to fall out from all that sugar.”

“
Do
you?”

“I have no idea.”

“Fine. I’ll bring my own.”

TWELVE

His special cell phone rang—the one not registered in his name. He jumped at the sound. Only one person had the number. He answered before the second ring, nerves zinging. “I’m here.” “

It’s done.”

“Really.”

“Yeah.”

He closed his eyes. “How’d she react?”

“Scared. Surprised.” The caller’s voice hitched. “I think she’s in.”

“We don’t have time to ‘think.’”

Another catch in the voice. “She’s in.”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothin’. It’s just wet out there.”

Sounded like more than that. He couldn’t afford to have anything go wrong. His stomach was already tied in knots. “Something not go right?”

“I told you—it went fine.”

He turned the words over in his mind. It had
better
be fine. “Okay. Keep on it. And keep me informed.”

“Yeah.”

He clicked off the line and stared at the phone, calculations churning through his mind.

THIRTEEN

Dineen and I stayed up past 2:00 a.m., talking and listening to the wind howl. Rain arrowed against her windows, refusing to quell. Noah must have felt like this.

The lights in the house were the warmest and loveliest I’d ever seen.

I sat against one end of my sister’s couch, legs drawn up and covered with a throw blanket. A small bowl on my lap held a dwindling supply of Strawberry Daiquiri Jelly Bellies. I’d had the sense to bring my bag of Orange Sherbets as well. They were number two on my list for calming nerves.

Dineen had settled at the other side of the sofa, bed-headed and clad in blue pajamas. She listened with ever-widening eyes as I related my insane story.
Don’t tell anyone
didn’t apply to my sister. God knew I needed
somebody
.

When I finished she stared at her light brown carpet, frowning. I knew the gears were turning in her head. Dineen liked to process everything before she spoke. I’d learned to wait out the silence.

She refocused on me, circles beneath her eyes. Her mouth held the same tightness as when she’d anguished over fighting her exhusband in court. Suddenly I was sorry I’d told Dineen. She didn’t need more stress in her life. She had Jimmy to raise.

“Joanne.
Do
you think that man was at your house tonight?”

For a moment I wavered toward saying
no
, offering my sister solace. Then I thought of Linda’s guarded tone the few times she’d talked to me in the weeks before she died.

“Somebody was. I’ve thought about it ever since the police left. On the way over here I remembered the last time I’d been through that door. It was yesterday, when I went out back to do some planting. I came in, my hands full of tools and plastic containers to throw away. I leaned against the door with my shoulder until it closed. Later I think I locked it. But even if I didn’t—that door was latched. It wouldn’t have blown open.”

“What would he want in your house?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe it wasn’t him at all. Could have been a burglar, and when the door slammed loud enough to alert somebody in the house, it scared him off.”

“Yeah, sure. Burglars always pick wet nights like this to go out. Leave less trail in a house that way.”

“You watch too much
CSI
.”

“I don’t watch
any CSI
. I’m a skip tracer, remember? I deal with bad guys all the time. After awhile you get to thinking like they do.”

The wind groaned. Dineen shifted her position on the couch. “So are you going to look for Melissa?”

I stared at her. A world of difference hung pendant between my sister and me, as much as we loved each other. She would never understand the guilt I’d felt over Linda’s death. If only I’d told the police what I knew of Baxter Jackson
before
she disappeared. If only I could have persuaded her to talk. Once she was gone it had been my story against the world’s. By then it was too late.

“I have no choice, Dineen.”

She sucked her lower lip between her teeth and looked away. “You do, though,” she murmured. “You could just drop it. That man in the road can’t do anything to make you. And what courage does he have?” She made a
tsss
sound through her teeth. “Hiding behind a mask while you do the work.”

I made no reply. She had a point.

“If you do find Melissa, what then? She’s likely to deny knowing anything.”

When I find Melissa, not if.

A blaring realization hit me—one I should have thought of before. The idea lifted me off the couch, sent my veins swimming.

It didn’t make sense that Hooded Man would come to my house. Why would he? But what if it was
someone else
connected to this case? Someone who’d already found out what Hooded Man had said—and wanted to stop me?

I paced to the television and leaned over, pressing my palms on its top. My head dropped between my arms. “I don’t know how to convince her to talk.” My tone sounded off-key, distracted. “I’ll figure that out when I get there.”

I thought of Baxter Jackson, the long arms of the King of Vonita. He palled around with the mayor and city council members, the chief of police, judges, powerful businessmen. Could he have secretly forged ties with the underworld as well? With people soulless enough, money-hungry enough to kill some woman just because he wanted her dead?

A guttural moan escaped me. If Baxter Jackson had sent whoever broke into my house, how could I stay there at all, even in the daytime? Much less for a night. I didn’t even own a gun for protection.

“Joanne?” Dineen’s voice twisted with worry. “What?”

I was up against a wall. I couldn’t rest until this was done. Not until I found Melissa, and she led authorities to Linda’s body. Then it would be too late—and too obvious—for Baxter to come after me. But until Linda’s body was discovered I wasn’t safe at all. Maybe not even here at my sister’s house. If someone was after me, this would be the first place he’d look if they didn’t find me in my own home.

“Jo-
anne
. Talk to me!”

My eyes pressed shut. How to tell my single-parent sister I may have brought danger to her home—the safe haven she’d created to raise her son?

I pushed away from the TV and faced Dineen, a slow fire spreading beneath my skin. Fear had gripped me in its jaws long enough tonight. Truth was, it would clamp down again if I let it, like the rain outside, chewing the walls to get in.

Forget Strawberry Daiquiris and Orange Sherbets. I’d need a different supply of Jelly Bellies to keep me awake: Café Lattes and Chocolate Puddings. This would not be a night for sleep in my sister’s guest bedroom. Not a night for sleep at all.

“Dineen, I need to use your computer.”

FOURTEEN

JUNE 2004

Strange, how the sermon in that first church service seemed to be spoken straight to Melissa. She had to fight against squirming in her seat. The preacher, Pastor Steve, was tall and broad-shouldered. Reminded Melissa of a linebacker. He had a deep, penetrating voice, and he roamed the stage while he talked, a mic like singers used hooked to his ear. Pastor Steve spoke of trustworthiness deep inside a person, not on the surface. How God always saw straight to the heart. Linda made agreeing noises in her throat now and then, and Baxter nodded a lot.

Melissa felt herself shrinking.

She didn’t fit with these people who were so into God. She didn’t fit with Linda and Baxter, who were so picture perfect. Even the teenage girls in this church said how great they were. Give it a few days, maybe a few weeks, and the Jacksons would see right through Melissa. That she was bad to the core.