Deceit

He snorted. “ ‘Some kind’ is right. She got all weird on me and took off three days ago. Just—gone. All her clothes, everything. Have no idea where she went.”

I’d missed Melissa by three days? My expression froze. I covered my reaction by putting my wallet back in my purse. “You must have some idea. People don’t just…disappear.”

He scratched the base of his neck. “They do if they want to. Doesn’t matter, though, I’m better off without her.”

“Sounds like you’re not quite sure you believe that.”

He shrugged. “If I learned one thing from living with Melissa for four months, it’s that she’s hard-headed as can be. Nothing stands in her way.”

“Have you tried calling her? I’m assuming she has a cell phone.”

“Yeah, I called her.” He sighed. “She told me she had somebody new in her life and I was not to call her again. Then she hung up.”

“Wow. That’s…sudden. You had no idea?”

“None. I phoned the few friends of hers I’d met. They don’t know anything either.”

“What about going to her work?”

Tony snorted. “She didn’t show up after she took off. They don’t know any more than I do.”

This didn’t sound good. “You don’t think something’s happened to her.”

“Nah. She just…” Tony’s gaze roamed across the room. “That’s her other trait. Well, two traits. Independence and privacy.” His mouth twisted. “Except when she wants something.”

“I don’t…” I shook my head. “When I knew her she seemed unsure of herself, trying so hard to fit in.”

Tony spewed a mirthless laugh. “Like you said, that was a long time ago.”

“I guess.”

I desperately wanted to keep Tony talking. If only I could pry the name of Melissa’s “few friends” from him. If she’d moved in with some new man, one of them was bound to know, despite the denials to Tony.

“What kind of work was she in?”

“She answered phones at Whidbye Realty. That’s how we met. I had to call a realtor over there, and we got to talking…”

Real estate, how interesting. It fit.

Tony stood up straight and drew a deep breath, as if cleansing himself from the subject. “Enough talk about Melissa.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

My brain spun for something more to say, but the conversation had played itself out. At least I’d confirmed this Melissa was my gal. And she was still using the same cell phone number I’d uncovered.

But I didn’t expect to persuade her over the phone to end six years of silence. I would have to find a way to talk with her in person.

“Well.” I pulled myself up straighter, picked a flyer for the house off the counter. “I should be going.” I looked over the sheet in my hand. “Nice job here. Good photos to show my fiance.”

I took my leave of Tony, promising to call him back if my fiance was interested in seeing the place. I stepped outside to a sky bulging low and ominous, as if the clouds might crack any minute.

My watch read 1:10. In five hours it would be dark.

TWENTY-FOUR

As I drove away from Tradden Lane, I considered possible pretexts for my call to Melissa. My head was dulling by the minute, as if some drug had just hit my system. My body craved sleep. I sat up straighter, took a deep breath.

Didn’t help.

After about a mile I spotted a church parking lot and pulled into it. Cut the engine.

Maybe if I ate something. But I couldn’t be bothered with real food now.

I popped open the console and fished out a bag of emergency Jelly Bellies. It was a mixed bag, flavors for all situations, but I was beyond picking through them. I grabbed a handful, shoved them in my mouth, and chewed. Bursts of French Vanilla and Cotton Candy, Crushed Pineapple, and Jalapeno hit my tongue. I ate a second handful, and a third, reveling in the tastes, the sugar. An hour from now I’d probably crash. But I couldn’t think of that now.

When I’d had enough I stuffed the half-eaten Jelly Belly bag into the console and took a long drink from my water bottle.

There. I felt a little better. Emphasis on little.

From my purse I pulled out my regular cell phone. I dialed 411 and got the address for Whidbye Realty. Jotted it down.

I put that phone away and withdrew another from my purse—a prepaid cell with a blocked ID.

This was it. I’d better make it good.

I had one chance to contact Melissa and coax an address from her. Melissa could well be suspicious of anyone who called, knowing Tony was trying to find her. If this didn’t work, I’d be relegated to checking for new leads on my computer. But it could take days for her to apply for new credit or change her address on some bill.

Baxter’s hate-filled expression bloomed in my head. As long as that man walked the streets, I would not feel safe.

The prepaid cell phone felt heavy in my hand. I still felt so tired.

I got out of the car, paced around. Swung my arms and stretched. If anyone saw me they’d surely wonder. Mine was the behavior of a tired driver at a long-awaited rest stop, not someone in a church parking lot.

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 God’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 prickly heat through his veins. He snatched it up and pushed talk. “I’m here.”

“Just checking in like we agreed.”

“Where is she?”