Deceit: A Novel Part 13

As I walked I mentally practiced my spiel. Finally feeling a little more alert, I got back in the car-and punched in Melissa's number.

While waiting for the connection I asked G.o.d's help on this one.

"Please enjoy the music while your party is reached," said a woman's canned voice. Some horrible rap begin to play as a ring-back tone. I held my cell away from my ear. Come on, come on. The tune-if you could call it that-seemed to go on forever.

This was the downside of a blocked ID. Melissa would most likely ignore the call and let it go to voicemail.

The rapper sang a few real notes-then cut off.

"Hi, I'm not here. Leave a message." Beep.

Even though I hadn't heard her speak in six years, I knew it was Melissa. Skip tracers tend to become quite astute at recognizing voices.

"This is Janet White with UPS." My tone sounded clipped, professional. "I have a package for special Sunday delivery from Whidbye Realty for a Melissa Harkoff at 820 Willmott, San Jose. The owner there refused the package and could give me no forwarding address. If you call with that information, I'll reroute the package. Otherwise it'll need to return to sender."

I rattled off my number and hung up.

Now-the waiting game.

I leaned back against the headrest and closed my eyes.

TWENTY-FIVE.

The ringing of his special cell phone shot p.r.i.c.kly heat through his veins. He s.n.a.t.c.hed it up and pushed talk. "I'm here."

"Just checking in like we agreed."

"Where is she?"

"In her car, sitting in a church parking lot in San Jose."

"Why? What's she doing?"

"Sleeping."

His head drew back. "Sleeping."

"Looks like it."

His jaw pulled to one side. He took a long, slow breath. Exhaled. "Tell me, is that what we want her to be doing? With time running out?"

"No."

"Think maybe you should do something about it?"

"Yeah. Sure."

His teeth clenched. "That would be most helpful."

He punched off the line before the idiot could reply.

TWENTY-SIX.

JUNE 2004.

"You look stunning tonight."

The compliment rolled through Melissa's head as she followed Baxter to the living room, carrying the white wine for the police chief's wife.

More guests were still to come. Now it didn't matter what any of them said. Melissa would cling to Baxter's words.

"Here you go." She handed the wine to Mrs. Eddington with a charming smile.

The third couple soon arrived at the dinner party-the Brewers. Mrs. Brewer looked twenty years younger than her husband. Around Linda's age. She was dressed in black, with s.h.i.+ny black hair and big brown eyes. Her eye shadow and liner were in shades of purple and looked like a professional had applied them. Melissa watched her eyes as she blinked, trying to figure how to duplicate that look. Mr. Brewer's thick, gray hair, tanned face, and piercing blue eyes made him appear like some big-shot criminal lawyer on TV. He even had the voice. He was a lawyer, Linda informed Melissa in the kitchen. But not on the criminal side.

"I thought all lawyers were criminals." Melissa deadpanned.

Linda smiled. Either she was really enjoying herself or she deserved an Oscar. Melissa had heard that hearty laugh of hers more than once tonight.

Maybe Baxter had made it up to her, promised never to hit her again. Who wouldn't want to believe Baxter? Despite the argument Melissa had heard, despite the new bitter suspicion of his hypocrisy, she couldn't dislike him. Every day since that argument he'd warmed to her even more. He'd been nothing but nice and encouraging, and she'd seen him and Linda hugging more than once. Some moments Melissa told herself she'd imagined the slap. Every couple argued now and then. That's all she'd heard. Now, after Baxter's kindness to her in the middle of a dinner party of important people, she found herself even more convinced of that.

"You look really great tonight," Melissa told Linda. They stood side by side, Melissa watching as Linda poured two gla.s.ses of white wine. Linda herself never drank. Only fancy bottled water for her.

"Thanks, hon. So do you."

Melissa looked down at her new clothes. "Yeah, well, thanks to you."

Linda set down the wine gla.s.s and turned to face Melissa, her expression turning serious. "No, thanks to you. You're beautiful no matter what clothes you're wearing. True beauty comes from the inside. And you are beautiful on the inside, Melissa Harkoff."

Melissa stared. No one had ever said anything like that to her before. For a crazy second she wanted to throw her arms around Linda. But the feeling blitzed away like fairy dust. Was this for real? Maybe Linda was aware she knew Baxter smacked his wife around in their bedroom. Maybe this was some silent plea for Melissa to keep her mouth shut.

"You're beautiful inside too," Melissa said. A calculated answer, meaning anything Linda needed it to mean.

Linda's smile etched itself in pain. She gave Melissa a tight hug, as if the words meant more to her than Melissa could ever know. They stood there for a moment, Melissa trying not to feel too stiff. With an audible breath, Linda let her go. "Well. Better get back to those guests." Her voice held that overbright ring Melissa had heard before. Linda picked up the wine gla.s.ses. "Bring in some c.o.c.ktail napkins, okay?"

Melissa followed like the good foster daughter she was.

The fourth and final couple arrived a few minutes later. "So sorry," Mrs. Drake breathed, raising both hands and spreading long fingers. Her hair was brown and curly. Her eyes looked tired, even though she couldn't be much older than Linda. "Harry got a business call while we were walking out the door-on a Sat.u.r.day. But you know how that goes."

"I sure do." Baxter grinned. "Come in, come in."

Mr. Drake shook hands with Baxter, a smile stretched across his narrow face. Melissa tried to guess what he did for a living. Doctor? Another attorney?

Owner of a concrete company, Linda whispered.

Melissa had gone through the drill with Linda. Present plates from the left, remove from the right. Serve women first. Keep the wine flowing. Apparently Melissa did so well Linda had more time to sit and enjoy her guests than she usually did. Which left Melissa alone in the kitchen, ear c.o.c.ked toward the dining room conversation as she rinsed dishes from each course.

"How's the Enclave development going?" Sounded like Mr. Brewer's voice.

"Fine, fine." Mr. Sanyon. "No slowing down for us. So many people are wanting to move farther and farther out of San Jose. Vonita's looking great to them, and so are the prices. Half the houses are sold already-most of'em by Baxter. And phase one won't even be done for another three months."

Melissa felt a swell of pride for Baxter. Probably no realtor in fifty miles came close to his sales.

"You developers, messin' up my town," Chief Eddington said. "More people will just mean more crime."

"Ah, you love it, and you know it." Baxter laughed. "Gives you something to do."

"I'd rather retire."

"Retire! You're not even fifty yet."

"All the more years to play golf."

Mrs. Eddington chimed in. "As long as you finish playing by five and make me dinner."

"Make dinner? That's your job."

"Not when I'm working and you're not."

Good for you. Melissa smirked.

Mr. Eddington huffed. "Guess the town's stuck with me as police chief, then."

Mr. Brewer talked about some lawsuit he was leading against a San Jose real estate developer. People had bought homes that were never finished or built badly. Floors sagging. Front sidewalks cracking.

"Should've used Harry for those sidewalks." Mrs. Drake's voice.

"And if Ken were the developer, you wouldn't be suing in the first place." Another woman-Mrs. Sanyon. Ken must be her husband.

"Well, if the likes of present company ran this world, I'd be out of clients." Mr. Brewer chuckled.

"Here, here," Linda said.

Gla.s.ses and silverware clinked.

Interesting, the way all these people interconnected, Melissa thought as she set plates in the dishwasher. She'd pulled on a pair of rubber gloves. Never figured she'd wear such ugly things, but as long as she was playing slave she didn't want to ruin her manicure. Mr. Sanyon built the homes that Baxter sold. Mr. Drake probably did the concrete. Mr. Brewer was suing some compet.i.tor of Sanyon. And Sanyon's development was drawing people to Vonita-which made Eddington chief over more people.

Was this the way the business world worked? The way adults with money worked? People helping others to help themselves. Do for me, and I'll do for you.

Melissa wanted to be part of that world. Somebody with a good career who made lots of money. Somebody everyone would want to invite to a fancy dinner party. She'd show up in her silk dresses and diamonds. She'd throw around important names and projects between bites of honey-shrimp salad and prime rib au jus.

At that moment, her yellow-gloved hands holding a dirty plate, Melissa felt something crack within her. A feeling, a knowledge trickled out.

She was better than this.

Melissa stilled, caught by the sensation within herself. Yes. She was better. She really could forget her past. Forget her abuse and the ratty trailer and her mom's live-in men with roving hands. Staying in this house as a lowly foster child wasn't enough, even if the house belonged to Baxter Jackson. Melissa could be somebody. She'd be better than Linda. Not just some wife of a rich man who claimed she saw beauty on the inside. Melissa would make her own money. Live in her own place.

Maybe Baxter would help her go to college. She got good grades in high school. Why shouldn't she pursue a higher education?

Melissa put down the plate and turned off the water. Voices chirped and chuckled from the dining room, but now she barely noticed. She focused out the window into the gorgeous backyard full of flowers and trees and green, green gra.s.s. A backyard tended twice a week by gardeners.

"You look stunning tonight."

Baxter had seen something in her. She was born to live in a place like this. To live this kind of life.

Hope flamed within Melissa, so blazing and sudden she clutched the counter tile, barely able to breathe. For the first time she saw her childhood as a mere blip on the screen. It hadn't ruined her. None of it, not even the death of her mother. It had strengthened and prepared her for the big world out there. She really could do anything she wanted. She could make things happen. All she had to do was go after it.

Tears biting her eyes, Melissa made a promise to herself. From this day forward no one, no circ.u.mstance, no setback would ever stand in her way.

TWENTY-SEVEN.

FEBRUARY 2010.

A cacophony of hammers startled me from sleep.

My body jerked. My bleary eyes flew open to behold my car winds.h.i.+eld sheeted with rain. Some distance across the parking lot, my view of the Baptist Memorial Church warped and wavered. Drops pounded the roof of the SUV.

"Unh." I blinked hard and checked my watch. Almost 3:00. What in the world? How could I have fallen asleep?

Sinking back against the headrest, I vaguely remembered doing that same thing after leaving the message for Melissa. I'd laid the prepaid cell phone on the pa.s.senger seat...

My head swiveled. The phone was still there. Along with the yellow pad and pen.

My body felt like a truck had hit it. I had to eat something. Real food.