Deceit

length brown hair. Her chin tipped up toward the preacher, a slight smile on her lips. Something about these two people pulled at Melissa. They looked like normal folk. Not powerful and engaging like the Jacksons, as if they could take over a room just by entering. But these people seemed…warm. Real. Like people you’d want to hug, and they’d hug you right back, harder.

Real. Melissa turned away, uneasiness brushing the back of her neck. She focused again on the preacher. Why had she thought that word? As if Baxter and Linda weren’t? She’d seen them together for four days now. Watched the way they gazed at each other, heard the way they talked. Of course they were real. More important, they were her family now. They had to be real.

The picture of Melissa’s mother, dead and bleeding on the dirty kitchen floor, flashed into her mind. Melissa pushed the memory into a dark corner.

She tried hard to block out the rest of the sermon. Focusing above the pastor’s head, she stared at the wooden cross hanging on the wall. Now and then some of his words slipped through. “A stained life made clean and whole…a weight off your shoulders…the burden of dishonesty and sin gone…” The words made her feel small and cold.

Coming here every Sunday wouldn’t be easy. Harder yet—pretending to like it.

After the service everyone gathered their purses and Bibles, then stood around talking. Melissa folded her arms, gaze cruising the room. Her eyes met Nicole’s, and the bubbly girl flashed her a smile. Melissa smiled back.

Call you this week. Nicole mouthed the words with animation, miming holding a phone, then pointing to Melissa.

Okay. Melissa nodded.

“Well, here she is.” A woman’s voice sounded on Melissa’s right. “What a beautiful girl you are.”

Melissa turned and found herself face-to-face with the woman and man she’d seen across the church.

“Melissa,” Linda slipped an arm around her shoulder, “I want you to meet my dearest friend, Joanne Weeks. And this is her husband, Tom.”

Dearest friend? Had to be at least ten years between them.

“So glad to meet you, Melissa.” Tom Weeks nodded at her, his mouth curving. His nod, the way he looked at her—even his smile seemed so matter-of-fact. As if Melissa Harkoff had every reason to be standing right here in this church. As if she belonged here.

Melissa allowed her face to soften. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here.” Joanne patted her arm. Up close, Melissa could see gold flecks in her brown eyes. “Linda’s really been looking forward to you coming.” Joanne blinked, as if catching her slip of the tongue. “So has Baxter.”

Melissa bit the inside of her cheek. “Thanks.”

Her focus trailed past the Weekses to land on Baxter, shaking hands with the pastor some ten feet away. Joanne turned her head, as if following Melissa’s gaze. They both looked at Baxter, then at each other. In Joanne’s eyes the truth flickered. She didn’t care much for Baxter Jackson.

How about that. Not everybody liked the man after all.

Melissa gave her a shy smile and allowed her focus to drift to the floor. Baxter had managed to sidle off when the Weekses approached. Maybe he didn’t like Joanne either.

What was that about?

An awkward silence pulsed.

“Your clothes look great on you,” Joanne said. “Linda said she was going to take you shopping. She’s quite the fashionista.”

“Yeah.” Melissa looked down at herself. “She helped me choose everything. She was great.”

“Well, I don’t know much about fashion, but I bet you’d look good in anything. Overalls, even.” Tom gave her a grandfatherly wink.

His kindness pierced Melissa. She’d never known her grandparents. Her mother had lived in an alcoholic bubble, floating far and wide from relatives. According to Melissa’s mother, her own mother “wasn’t worth spittin’ on,” and her father died young from liver disease—another alcoholic. Standing in the church with Linda and the Weekses, Melissa felt sure they could see the big, black hole of her heart.

Know what—the pastor’s sermon was a lie. God didn’t matter. He wasn’t the one who’d put a mansion’s roof over her head, bought her new clothes. The Baxters mattered. Tom and Joanne Weeks mattered, being Linda’s good friends.

Melissa turned a winning smile on Tom Weeks. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll wear overalls next Sunday.”

They all laughed.

Linda removed her arm from Melissa’s shoulders and leaned conspiratorially toward Joanne. “Hey, did you catch your guy?”

Joanne firmed her mouth in a satisfied expression. “Yup.”

“All right!” Linda grinned. “You always—”

“Linda.” Baxter called over. “Time to get going.”

She waved her hand, as if erasing her thought. “Coming!”

Linda hugged Joanne. “I’ll bring Melissa over this week—maybe late some afternoon, when you’re done working?”

“You bet; let’s do it.”

Melissa said good-bye and trailed after Baxter as he headed for the door. Linda followed.

Not until they were nearly home did the question pop from Melissa’s mouth. “What did you mean with Joanne—catch your guy?”

Linda half-turned in the front passenger seat. “Oh, I was talking about Joanne’s work. She’s a skip tracer.”

Melissa screwed up her face. “What’s a skip tracer?”

“She finds people who are missing. Tracks them down using all sorts of special ways on her computer.”

“Oh.” Melissa pondered her lap.

“Keep that in mind, Melissa.” Baxter flashed her a smile in the rearview mirror. “You don’t want to go running off from here—ol’ Joanne will hunt you down.”

Linda gave him a playful punch in the arm. “She’s not ‘ol’ Joanne.’”

Melissa shook her head. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

They’d have to chase her out of town before she’d leave this place.

FIFTEEN

FEBRUARY 2010

By 2:20 a.m. I was perched at my sister’s unfamiliar computer in her small guest room. My bag of sundry toiletries and a pair of pajamas sat untouched on the quilt-covered bed. The storm had lessened, giving me hope that by dawn it would wear out completely. Dineen had returned to her room to sleep.

In a bowl on my left lay a stash of Cafe Latte and Chocolate Pudding Jelly Bellies. I’d filled a large glass with water and brought it in as well. A yellow pad of paper and a pen sat on my right. I’d be taking some notes by hand, as well as logging them into a new file.

Before setting to work I’d checked every lock in the house. I’d even crept into Jimmy’s room, hearing the soft whoosh of boy-sleep as I tested his windows. Dineen was leaning against the wall in the hallway, arms folded, when I gently closed his door.

“You think you’re being followed or something?” She’d rubbed one eye, as if too tired to entertain fright any longer.

“I don’t know what to think anymore.”

Her computer was taking forever to boot up. I shoved a succession of Chocolate Puddings into my mouth, urging it to come on under my breath.

I’d left the bedroom door open. If someone came into this house, I wanted him finding me before Jimmy or Dineen. I’d be the one he was looking for anyway.