Deceit

I cringed behind the cooking island. In my mind’s eye I saw Melissa fall, the gunman come for me next.

A grunt of pain burst from the dining room doorway. Followed by Melissa’s footsteps at the sliding glass door. I twisted my head to see her escaping into the night.

I sprang up and raced after her.

Something whizzed by my ear as I flung myself outside.

Bullet.

I ran harder.

I found myself swerving left across a patio, Melissa before me. We careened around the corner of the house and down the side. Across the front yard toward the sidewalk. A street lamp two houses up sprayed far too much light—our pursuer could easily see us.

Gritting my teeth, I sprinted to catch up to Melissa, thumped her on the shoulder blade. “To my car.” I spun left.

We sprinted down the sidewalk, my right hand scrambling within my purse, seeking my car keys. My legs ran of their own accord, my mind spinning new fatal images. How far was the man behind us? How badly was he hit?

We reached my SUV. I angled off the curb, toward the driver’s side. My hand closed on metal, the plastic of my key ring. I yanked it out, frantically pushing the “open” button.

With a blessed click, the locks released.

Melissa and I threw ourselves into the car. I thrust the key into the ignition, casting desperate glances up the street. No one.

The car started. I gunned the motor, surged through a U-turn, and sped down the street. Melissa perched forward in her seat, hands gripping the dashboard. At the next block I veered right. Two more blocks, then left. I zigzagged through residential streets until I knew we hadn’t been followed.

“Where can we go?” My words pushed through clenched teeth.

“I don’t know.”

“You have to know someone.”

“You did this to me!”

What?

We hit a stoplight at a major intersection. A sign read “Left to 101.” I turned onto the busy road and hit the freeway a half a mile up. Took an exit heading south.

Melissa pushed back in her seat, cursing under her breath.

“Did you kill him?” I asked.

“I think I hit him in the thigh.”

The thigh. Enough to slow him down. He’d have to go to the hospital.

Would someone soon take his place?

“Melissa, where’s your gun?”

“It’s not mine; it’s gun-crazy Tony’s,” she spat. “I just borrowed it.”

“I don’t care whose it is. Where is it right now?”

“In my purse!”

It’s Tony’s. “He know you have it?”

“Would you stop with the questions!”

“I just want to know, Melissa.” Ice layered my voice.

“Shut up! He’s not going to miss one little handgun!”

I drove on, both of us fuming.

Two exits down I got off the freeway and drove down a street until we passed a housing development on our right. I turned into it, zigzagged through streets again. Nice two-stories, well-kept lawns. A quiet neighborhood.

At an empty lot I pulled over to the curb and cut the engine. For the moment we were safe. No car had followed us. I knew that. “Who—”

“You almost got me killed.” Melissa’s voice spewed venom.

“Me?”

“Somebody obviously followed you to that house.”

“Nobody followed me. I’ve been out looking for you all day. I’ve been all kinds of places. No one followed me.”

“Yeah, right. It just so happens the minute you show up, so does a gunman.” She blazed me with a look. “Who told you I know about Linda’s death? That I know where she’s buried?”

My eyes closed. “I don’t know. A hooded man in a mask. On the road at night.”

“What?”

“He told me to look for you. That you could bring Baxter to justice.”

Melissa snorted. “And you just believed him? Just did what he told you, without even knowing who he was?”

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it! You know where Linda’s buried!”

She cursed under her breath.

“I wanted Baxter to pay, Melissa. I’ve wanted that for six years. When the man told me you know how she died—that you saw it—I had to look for you.”

Melissa thrust her hands in the air. “Don’t you get it? Baxter sent that man!”

THIRTY-FIVE

JULY 2004

On the Fourth of July Melissa stood at the kitchen counter, making sandwiches and a salad for dinner. Neither she, Baxter, nor Linda needed much to eat after pigging out at the town-wide holiday lunch picnic. Linda was now in her bedroom, nursing a bad cold that had turned worse after being out all afternoon in the hot sun. She had obviously tried hard to be cheerful and social with their friends, even managing a couple of her deep-throated laughs. But Melissa knew she felt miserable. By the time they made it home Linda was coughing and looked flushed. The thermometer said she had a fever of 101.

It had been a week since that pulse-stopping moment between Melissa and Baxter at the office. The moment when nothing happened, and everything did. Since then Melissa had felt…different. Shaky and excited and fearful all at once. Like amazing new things could appear just over the horizon, but she wasn’t sure she dared look.

Things hadn’t been the same at home since then.

Today at the picnic where he reigned as king, Baxter had been his typical Mr. Social. He’d hidden his sour mood that showed at home. Melissa attributed it to sudden problems at work. Just days before the papers were signed on the sale of a large office building, the deal had fallen through. Baxter lost a lot of money. He was not happy. No one at work would have known, and Baxter still acted fine toward Melissa. But at home with Linda he prowled around like an edgy tiger, practically daring her to set him off. She’d been extra careful around him all week.

This bomb couldn’t tick forever. Something was going to blow. Melissa had sensed the countdown more strongly in the last two days. She walked around nerves tight, waiting for the explosion. Wondering what pieces she’d have to pick up.

Meanwhile Linda apparently believed she was hiding her eggshell walk from Melissa. How naive, as Baxter seemed to care less and less about keeping up a front for Melissa regarding how he treated his wife. As if their tie at work weighed enough to outbalance anything he did at home.

Baxter entered the kitchen as Melissa laid thin-sliced roast beef on the bottom halves of three large sourdough rolls. He headed for the refrigerator and pulled out a diet soft drink. Without turning to look at him Melissa was aware of his every move.

She laid Monterey jack cheese on top of the roast beef. “How’s Linda?”

“Feeling lousy.”