Deceit: A Novel Part 5

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 rea.s.suring 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, wis.h.i.+ng she could melt into the floor. It was all so strange. Melissa hadn't expected to partic.i.p.ate 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. .h.i.t the wrong b.u.t.ton 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, pus.h.i.+ng 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 flas.h.i.+ng 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.

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 pa.s.sed 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 Ba.s.s. 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."