Deceit

“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: Cafe 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.

Maybe they’d taken her on because they already knew that. She was their social project. They were out to change her, raise her out of her miserable life. Sort of like adopting a beaten dog from the pound.

Were they in this because they really cared about her? Or did they just want to make themselves feel good?

Pastor Steve strode to the simple podium and flipped through a Bible. “Psalm 51:6 says about God, ‘Surely you desire truth in the inner parts; you teach me wisdom in the inmost place.’ This”—he thumped his chest with his forefinger—“is where it counts. Right here. You think you’re fooling everyone else? You’ll never fool God. And in the end, he’s the only one who matters.”

“Amen,” some man across the church said. Melissa’s eyes cut in his direction. He looked about fifty, with graying hair and a tanned face, a deep groove down the side of his cheek. He sat close to a woman with shoulder-