Deceit

“Yes, sir. I’m very happy here.”

A smile twitched one corner of the chief’s mouth. “Can’t imagine who wouldn’t be, living in this mansion.”

He held Melissa’s gaze for a split-second too long. She turned away, uneasiness worming through her gut. She’d never liked policemen. Had no trust of them. What had they ever done for her? And she’d never forget being questioned by some cop after her mom’s death.

Baxter caught Melissa’s eye. Something in his expression told Melissa he read her thoughts. Defensiveness rose within her. But then Baxter gave her a reassuring smile. Her insides settled.

As the Eddingtons joined the others in the formal living room, Baxter asked them what they wanted to drink. A gin and tonic for the chief, white wine for Mrs. Eddington. “Linda, honey, you stay.” Baxter squeezed his wife’s arm. “I’ll help Melissa get these.”

Surprise flicked across Linda’s face. She covered it with a smile. “Okay.”

With a glance at the chief, Melissa scurried after Baxter.

In the kitchen he reached for one of the glasses already set out on the counter. “I’ll make Wayne’s drink. You can pour the wine.”

“Sure.”

Wayne. Baxter said the name so easily. Melissa watched from the corner of her eye while he poured the gin with expertise. He looked good tonight in blue slacks and a dress shirt. But then Baxter always managed to appear in charge of every situation. As if the air itself in the house, at church, everywhere swirled around him.

Melissa pulled a white wine bottle out of its ice bucket. “So does Mrs. Eddington do anything? I mean, work?”

“She’s the only wife here tonight who does.” Baxter set down the bottle of gin and reached for tonic water. “Front desk for Dr. Bedrey, a dentist in town.”

“Oh.” Melissa poured wine into a glass until the bottle emptied. She pushed the bottle toward the back of the counter. She faced Baxter as he turned toward her.

One side of his mouth curved. “Wayne can come across sort of hard sometimes. It’s just his way. Doesn’t mean anything.”

Melissa’s lips firmed. Part of her wanted to deny. She never let anybody see her vulnerability. The other half warmed at the thought that Baxter had noticed.

She shrugged. Turned to pick up the wine glass.

Baxter lifted the gin and tonic. His eyes were still on her. “By the way, you look stunning tonight.” He said the words as a proud father would speak to his daughter.

Stunning. The very word she’d thought about Linda.

Melissa cast a demure glance at the floor. “Thanks.”

TWENTY-THREE

FEBRUARY 2010

I arrived at the Tradden Lane address without getting lost, courtesy of the GPS system in my car. It was shortly after noon. I saw one car in the driveway of the house—a blue Mercedes. It looked new.

Interesting. Tony’s name had come up on a credit header just two months ago. From buying this car?

A RE/MAX “Open House” sign had led me to turn onto Tradden Lane. A matching red “For Sale” sign stood in the front yard, Tony Whistman’s name and picture on top. His sign dripped water. The rain had stopped only in the last five minutes.

On the passenger seat of my car lay a manila folder containing a printout of my HM file. I set it on the floor. I’d also brought a yellow pad and pen for quick note-jotting. It lay on the passenger seat.

I took a drink from the water bottle I’d brought along and got out of the SUV. My gaze swept the wet yard and two-story house. Too bad I wasn’t really in the market for real estate. This was a lovely home.

No other cars lined the curb. The rain couldn’t be helping the attendance at Tony’s open house. Good news for me. I hoped to talk to him alone.

My knees wobbled as I closed my car door. The lack of sleep had plagued me during the entire drive. A slow-moving brain I didn’t need. I took a couple of deep breaths, leaning against the 4Runner. I could only hope Tony wasn’t watching through a window.

A moment later I entered the house and closed the door behind me. Straight ahead lay a kitchen. I could see the edge of a black and silver granite counter top, a stack of flyers about the property upon it.

“Hello there,” a voice called out. Tony’s. A second later he appeared in the kitchen threshold. Tony stood under six feet, with a short torso and long legs. He smiled, but I could feel his gray eyes calculating my worth as a potential buyer. The vibes he gave off didn’t sit right with me, the sense I’d gotten from his picture only flowing stronger from the real person. Tony impressed me as a man who’d be hard to live with. Someone who knew what he wanted and viewed compromise as a failure.

If that trait spilled over into his business, he wouldn’t be selling many houses. Especially in this market.

“Hi. I’m Sarah Blair.”

“Oh, yeah, you called. Glad you made it.”

I smiled. “Nice car out there. New?”

“Got it two months ago. It’s a fine specimen.”

“That it is.”

I cast my gaze up the staircase, pretending to survey the wall colors, the carpet.

“Go ahead and look around, Sarah. I’ll be in the kitchen if you have questions.”

“Thanks.”

I started with the second level, taking my time, opening closet doors. Tony would expect to hear such sounds. Back downstairs I perused the living room, the den, a small office. By design I ended in the kitchen.

No one else had yet entered the house. I didn’t want to push my luck. All the same, a woman in search of a house checks out the kitchen with a detailed eye. I went through the motions, looking in cabinets, noticing the appliances and size of the sink.

Tony and I talked about the home, its square footage, and “fair” price. I told him I was getting remarried soon, my fiance living in San Mateo. I wanted to move down to the San Jose area, closer to his job. Of course he’d have to check out whatever place I was interested in.

“Sure.” Tony leaned casually against the counter on one elbow, one foot crossed over the other. “I can show it to the two of you any time. Just give me a call.”

I ran my hand over the smooth, swirled granite, my body language saying I was in no hurry to leave. Open houses could be lonely, boring events. A good realtor without other customers would always be up for a chat.

“So who was this friend of Melissa’s who told you about me?” Tony asked.

Bingo.

I faced him, head tilted, frowning. “I’m trying to remember. It was some time ago. Maybe my friend Ellie, who used to work with her at Macy’s?”

Tony screwed up his face. “When did Melissa work at Macy’s?”

“I…are we talking about the same person? Brown hair, pretty. About twenty-two?”

“Sounds like the one.”

My heart turned over. Please let it be. “Guess that was before you knew her.”

“Guess so.”

“Know what, I think I may even have an old picture of her with my friend.” I set my purse on the counter and pulled out my wallet. “Let’s see…” I flipped through a few pictures. “Yes. Here.”

I held the wallet out to Tony, my thumb half covering Linda’s face. He leaned over and checked out the photo. “Yup, that’s her. Wow, she’s young. Look how long her hair was.”

He stared at the picture a moment longer, wistfulness flicking over his face. Then straightened, his jaw firming.

I gave him an empathetic look. “I haven’t seen Melissa in a long time. You two have some kind of break- up?”