Deceit

The door of the house opened as we piled out of the car. Dan stood silhouetted in his entryway, one hand low on his hip. We scurried up the short sidewalk, tense to be out in the open, even though no one could have followed us. Our host stepped back, ushering us in with a wave of his arm, as if hurrying along errant children. We stopped in the hallway. Dan closed and locked the door.

“Joanne.” He nodded at me. He was wearing jeans and loafers, a tucked-in long-sleeve shirt. His gaze moved to my companions.

“This is Melissa.” I touched her arm, feeling her stiffness. She muttered a hello, both hands clasping her purse in front of her. “And Perry.” The two men shook hands.

Melissa’s eyes darted from Dan to me, making comparisons. Clearly, we didn’t look a thing alike.

“Let’s go sit down.” Dan gestured toward his living room.

We followed him in. Dan and Perry settled in matching armchairs, Melissa and I on opposite ends of a couch, facing them. I made sure she took the side further into the room. We placed our purses on the floor. She cast me a look that read this better not take long. Her own agenda to glean from me all she could played out in the impatient shake of her right leg, her fidgeting fingers. Perry sat with back straight, large hands spread on his thighs. Alertness and keen curiosity shone in his eyes. He surveyed Melissa and her handbag, directly across from him, then focused on me.

A trickle of sweat itched the nape of my neck. Here we go. I didn’t know enough about the law to grasp exactly how my scheme would play out. But one thing I did know. Melissa was packing a gun that wasn’t registered in her name, not to mention that she didn’t even have a permit to carry it.

My dry throat swallowed. I desperately wanted Jelly Bellies. Wild Blackberry and Pina Colada.

“Dan.” I licked my lips and plunged in. “Melissa’s last name is Harkoff. She was a foster child in the home of Baxter and Linda Jackson when Linda disappeared. You remember that case.”

“Of course. Unsolved murder.”

Melissa swiveled toward me. “What’re you—”

“Melissa can solve it. She saw Baxter kill Linda. She knows where the body is buried.” I turned to Melissa. Her jaw was set and hard, her eyes boring into mine. “Melissa, this is Dan Marlahn. District attorney of San Benito County.”

Before Melissa could move, Perry shoved from his chair and snatched the gun-toting purse away from her feet.

FORTY-THREE

AUGUST 2004

The Jackson house of cards wasn’t going to fall. It was about to explode.

By the third week of August Melissa could barely sleep. Nightmares of her dead mother had returned with fury. And every minute of the day felt electrified. She and Baxter had so little time to be alone. Linda had attended two more church volunteer meetings at night—that was it. The rest of the time Baxter and Melissa were near each other, yet so far. Their presence in the same room became a live wire, her nerves thrumming with his every move. She knew he felt it too, maybe even more. In the office there was no privacy because of the large window looking out to the hall. When Melissa and Baxter were at home with Linda the sparks between the two of them popped wildly. One wrong move, one lustful look intercepted by Linda would be gasoline on embers.

Melissa quickly learned how to handle Baxter—the poster man for duplicity. She knew he admired her stubborn determination and strength, even as he needed to control the women in his life. Each day in the office she asserted herself a little more. Hadn’t she earned that right? It was all a balance. The more self-assured and poised she acted, the more he wanted her. The more he wanted her, the stronger she became.

Slow business didn’t help the situation any. Sales were down for the second month in a row. Some big house would nearly sell, then the deal would fall through. After losing five sales in a row Baxter accused God of cursing him.

“Oh, come on, Baxter, things will pick up again.” Melissa’s fingers poised over her computer keyboard. “That’s what you always say.”

He snorted. “They’d better pick up fast. Linda’s going to break me.”

“We’re not shopping anymore. I told her I have enough clothes.”

He swung around in his chair and surveyed Melissa under lowered brows. “Newsflash—she’s not waiting for you. What do you think she does all day?”

Melissa’s jaw loosened. “Why don’t you tell her to stop?”

“Because it keeps her busy and her mouth shut.” He shrugged. “Besides, she…needs it. Makes her feel better.”

Ah, the guilt again.

“Yeah, well, you need less bills.”

“The money will come, Melissa. Sales will pick up, like you said.”

How fast he changed his tune.

“But you’re right.” His expression twisted into a half tease. “I’d be better off financially without her.” His voice dropped into a mumble. “Not to mention her life insurance.”

“What?” Melissa eyed him with indignant surprise. “What’d you say?”

He waved a hand in the air. “Nothing. Just a bad joke.” He rotated toward his desk, ending the conversation. Melissa surveyed his back for a long moment before returning to her work.

Every day—the tension and desire. The tightrope walk. Baxter’s inner demons.

In church on Sundays Melissa sat next to Linda (she didn’t dare sit next to Baxter) and listened to the sermons about living a Christian life in the twenty-first century. Linda would nod and Baxter mutter his amens. Talk about a disconnect. Those hours in church formed Melissa’s most confusing moments. Pastor Steve’s words pierced her soul more than once. He spoke of Jesus’ love, his forgiveness, his burning desire to set each person free of the past, no matter how bad it might be. There were times when Melissa yearned for that cleansing with aching intensity. The pastor’s promises of wholeness, of a new and stunning purpose that no circumstances could take away shone upon the wreckage of Melissa’s life like a beacon in roiling dark waters. But every time, the Jacksons’ secrets would roll over her and drown the ache inside. They amened and nodded at the pastor’s every point. They projected everything the pastor talked about.

All lies.

How could Melissa stake her life on any of the pastor’s claims, no matter how bright they seemed, when she knew the truth about Baxter and Linda?

Sometimes Melissa wondered which one was the bigger hypocrite—the wife-beater or the one who covered it up? And how strange that Baxter should suddenly develop a conscience when it came to sleeping with Melissa. Why the remorse over cheating on his wife when he felt none about mistreating her in other ways?

Melissa knew one thing—it never feels good to face your own guilt. Much better to channel the energy into something else. Baxter practiced what he did best and took it out on Linda—worse than ever. He hit her almost every day now, the slightest anything from her setting him off. She spoke too loud, she spoke too soft. The meat was overcooked, the vegetables undercooked. She smiled too much, she smiled too little. Linda withdrew into a dazed and brittle shell. Alone with Melissa she cried, “Why?” Melissa gritted her teeth and comforted Linda, cursing the woman and her husband both. Linda was a wimp, Baxter too hot-headed. One of these days either one of them was bound to do something really, really stupid. And Melissa would find herself out on the street.

“You’ve got to lay off Linda,” Melissa accosted Baxter as they drove home one day. He hunched over the wheel, hard-eyed and tight-jawed. Melissa didn’t care that he was in a foul mood. The man needed to get hold of himself.

“Don’t tell me how to treat my wife.”

“Baxter, one day you’re going to hit her too hard, and she’ll really be hurt. Have some bruise she can’t hide. Then what?”

“I said lay off.”

Melissa pressed back in her seat, air pushing from her mouth. She made a face at the road. Sometimes this