Deceit, page 15
The more their bond grew, the harsher Baxter treated his wife.
Melissa did nothing to stop him. How could she? When he lashed out at Linda, Melissa somehow managed to fade from the scene. But she walked a balance beam. It was not in her best interest to lose Linda’s trust, even as Melissa built her loyalty to Baxter. When she and Linda were alone, Melissa oozed sympathy for the woman. As a result Linda began to lean on Melissa as the one person she could talk to, while she kept up appearances with everyone else.
Clever Baxter made his wife’s charade easy. Melissa soon saw his strategy: never punch where someone would see a bruise. It was always in the head, or Linda’s side or back. If he slapped her face it was a controlled hit, leaving red fingerprints that didn’t last long.
July roiled on.
The temperature was hot—high nineties. Sunny day after sunny day, beating down on Vonita. Melissa thrived in it. The days energized her, the sizzling outside matching her sizzling inside. She lay out in a bikini in the backyard on weekends, her skin turning a deep brown. Feeling Baxter’s eyes on her body.
Linda stayed out of the heat.
She didn’t see her friends much anymore, as far as Melissa knew. Linda had even drawn away from Joanne Weeks. Instead she read a lot. Found projects to do in the house. She remodeled the guestroom and bought expensive new drapes and a Persian rug for the dining area. She potted plants and set them around the kitchen and den, throwing out the old ones. Linda took Melissa shopping for clothes, both of them buying lavishly. Spending was the one way Linda could get back at her husband.
Not that Melissa could complain about that. By now she had a designer wardrobe to die for. Shoes and handbags to match. Her skin looked perfect, thanks to the expensive moisturizers and toners. Her makeup was all MAC, with just about every eye shadow color the company made. Linda had even bought her professional lessons on how to apply makeup. Melissa had never looked better in her life.
Baxter didn’t miss that fact either. He didn’t say it but Melissa knew.
“You know why he’ll never complain about my spending?” Linda told Melissa as they drove home from the mall one Saturday. Melissa was behind the wheel. She loved driving the BMW. “His own ego. How could Baxter Jackson ever admit he didn’t make enough to keep his family happy?”
Melissa nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” She focused on the road, picturing Baxter, how he looked at her. The man was being eaten alive inside. What a dupe Linda was. Baxter paid the bills out of sheer guilt.
At the real estate office Melissa’s job remained busy. She arranged open houses, answered phone calls, learned all she could. But Baxter’s sales were way down for the month, even as the other realtors did well in the booming housing market. No reason the streak of bad luck should last. Baxter kept telling her this was the way business went. You had your good months and your bad months. He’d been through the cycle plenty of times. Sales would start going up; he was convinced of that.
Better start going up fast, Melissa thought. Bills rising and income falling. Not a good combination.
Besides, Melissa knew better than to think rising sales would calm Baxter down.
And so the three of them played their game. Baxter walked his unsteady line between wife and foster daughter. Melissa trod her own between husband and wife. And Linda pretended to the outside world more than ever.
Melissa tried hard to keep her mind focused—and succeeded most of the time. But in her moments of doubt she told herself this house of cards couldn’t last.
One day it was bound to come tumbling down.
THIRTY-NINE
FEBRUARY 2010
By 8:40 Melissa and I had been waiting for Perry for over half an hour. We’d said little, ears attuned to any sound in the hallway. Melissa had resumed pacing. Her nervous movements were about to drive me crazy. I slumped on my bed, nerves humming.
Melissa turned to me abruptly. “I thought you called yourself a Christian.”
I blinked. “I am a Christian.”
“Then why do you lie?”
“I don’t.”
“You lied to me.”
“Well, I…Sometimes in my work I have to.”
“Uh-huh.” She shifted her weight, hands on her hips. “Is that what the Bible says—don’t lie except when you ‘have to’?”
I surveyed her, my tongue stuck out against my top lip. “I had to find you, Melissa.”
“Don’t rationalize. I hate that. People rationalized to me my entire life. My mother had a reason to drink. She beat me for good reason—I was in her way. My stepfather raped me with good reason—I was there. Baxter hit Linda with good reason—she took it.”
“But you’re talking about lifestyles. I don’t make a habit of lying. It’s only once in a while. To locate someone. For a good cause.”
“So the end justifies the means.”
Her sarcastic words dug into me. “How dare you put me in the same category as Baxter! Don’t forget he wants us dead. Do you know he came to my house today, with Pastor Steve as a witness, to try to make amends, like a good Christian man? He played his part to the hilt. He’s nothing but a total hypocrite.”
“Not total. He does help people in the church. He does help the town. And I worked with him, so I know how honest he is with his clients.”
What was this? What happened to Baxter ruining her life? “You’re forgetting the part about beating his wife. Hard enough one night that he killed her. At least I’m assuming that’s what happened.”
“He did hit Linda. I saw him. You can bet he hit his second wife too.”
“Then—”
“That’s his weakness. Control. And yes, he lies about it to the world. And Linda lied by covering up for him. So in the end she was no better. And you lie too.”
My spine wrenched straight. “And what exactly have you done for six years? Lied by your silence. You’ve let a cold-blooded killer get away with Linda’s death!”
Melissa’s eyes grew hard. “There’s one difference, Joanne. Between you and Baxter and Linda—and me. I don’t call myself a Christian.”
Her accusation stung me to the core. I stared at her, open-mouthed, wanting to defend myself. No words would come.
Melissa watched the emotions play across my face, her mouth twisting in grim satisfaction. With a shake of her head she turned away and resumed pacing. “Little wonder I rejected everything I heard in that church.”
That was a rationalization itself, and she knew it. “Christians aren’t perfect, Melissa. God is. Don’t judge him by our shortcomings.”
She threw me a look—yeah, right.
I dropped my head into one hand. Rubbed my temple. Her words still burned.
Long minutes ticked by. Melissa and I did not speak. Eventually she sank onto the edge of her bed. She stared at the wall, the blank TV. Who knew where her thoughts now took her?
Mine remained on my seared conscience until I wrenched them away.
They eventually cycled back to the gunman. Was he at the hospital? If his shot was a flesh wound he could be here by now, just waiting for us to show ourselves. Or did Baxter have other people working for him?
Why was he pursuing Melissa now, after six years?
“Where is she, Melissa? Where’s Linda?”
Melissa shook her head, stubbornness thinning her mouth.
“You need to tell me! Don’t you care what happened to Linda? Don’t you want him to pay?”
She whirled on me. “No, I don’t care! Like I told you, I just want to live my life!”
“You have to care. You can’t be that hard.”
“Don’t you judge me.” Her voice steeled. “You have no idea how that night has haunted me. If I’m hard, it’s because life’s made me that way.”
“It’s haunted you because you’ve run from it. Deal with it. Tell what you know. Your conscience will be clear.”
“If I live that long!” She turned away from me, furious. Seconds later, the anger seemed to seep right out of her, air from a pricked balloon. Her shoulders slumped, and she dropped her head.
“Going to live with Baxter and Linda was the one break in my life.” Melissa spoke to the floor. “When I started working in his office, I thought I could take on the world. I’d be an agent too someday. I’d make millions. Be somebody. Then it all fell apart. Linda was killed, and Social Services took me away. They sent me to a horrible foster home. I lasted there one week before running. I’ve been on my own ever since, just trying to make it. Couldn’t even graduate from high school. Living with this man and that one just so I could have a roof over my head.” Melissa shifted on her bed and looked me in the eye. “I thought the world of Baxter.”
My voice softened. “But how could you, when you knew he was hitting Linda?”
She shrugged. “I got beat all my life. It’s what men do.”
I thought of Tom. His smile, his quiet strength. The comfort of his arms. Not all men, Melissa.
“Baxter turned on me after Linda’s death,” Melissa said. “Like everything was all my fault.”
“Probably because he knew you were a witness. Deceivers don’t like anyone who knows the truth about them.”
“I guess.” Another lift of her shoulder. “He made me hate him. For six years I’ve hated him. And now he’s trying to kill me. I won’t give him that satisfaction.” She pushed from the bed and went back to pacing. “Where is Perry?”
The clock read 8:55. “He’ll be here soon.”
I hoped.
Exhaustion washed over me. I wanted to curl up on the bed and sleep. Forget everything. What was I even doing here? Melissa was not going to change her mind about talking. Now with her life on the line she was more adamant than ever. Bottom line, she didn’t trust anyone to keep her safe until Baxter was behind bars. I could hardly blame her. Tonight, the minute Perry and I got her to safety, she’d run. And she’d go far, maybe even out of state. I wouldn’t be able to find her so easily next time.
Why should I even try?
Because if Baxter managed to find her first, he’d kill her.
My head lowered into my hands. So it had come to this. I’d started out with dreams of bringing Baxter to justice. Now I had to worry about keeping Melissa alive.
I stared at my lap, frustration and fear zinging my nerves. Then, out of nowhere, a new thought landed like an errant ball in my dull brain. I picked it up, turned it over. Examined its every side. It was a dirty ball, scuffed. One that would make you want to wash your hands after touching it.
I closed my fingers around it.
Voices sounded in the hall. My head jerked up, and Melissa stilled. We cast feverish looks at each other. The voices grew close, passed the door, then faded.
My muscles refused to relax.
I checked the clock. 9:05.
What if Perry never showed? My plan would fall apart.
I watched the clock turn 9:10. Then 9:15.
A soft knock rapped at the door.
Melissa gasped. Heat shot through my veins. I pushed off the bed and scurried on silent feet to the door. “Who is it?”
FORTY
“It’s Perry.”
I unlatched the bolt and eased open the door. Perry pushed inside and bolted all the locks behind him. He looked out of breath and tense, wary. A strand of his gray-black hair stuck out from the side of his head. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“You okay?”
“Looks like it’s going to be ‘One of These Nights.’ Like the Eagles’ album.”
His dark brown eyes searched mine.
“Track five,” I said.
Knowledge flicked across his face. He gave me a slight nod.
“What are you talking about?” Impatience rolled off Melissa.
Perry looked past me to her. “This would be a good time to thank me for putting my life on the line for you.”
“Thank you. Unless you’ve got the police waiting outside the door.”
His jaw tightened. “I don’t.”
She nodded, her forehead creasing until once again she looked like a frightened child. “How do we do this?”
“I cruised the parking lot before coming in. I didn’t see anyone lurking around. Granted, I may have missed someone. But my car’s unlocked and parked right near a side door. We hop in and take off.”
“And what if it doesn’t work?”
“You got a better idea?”
“I had my own ideas. Then she came along.” Melissa gestured toward me with her chin. “Now look at me. Running for my life.”
Perry flexed his forehead, and his entire scalp moved. He and his wife had raised two daughters. That experience now played across his face. “You listen to me. Joanne’s trying to help you, and so am I. But I’ve had about enough of your attitude. So tell you what—she and I are leaving. You want to stay and fight this thing on your own, have at it.” He focused on me. “Let’s go.”
No way was I leaving Melissa. Either Perry’s frustration was getting the best of him, or he was bluffing. I hurried over to get my purse, then planted myself in front of her. “I have a plan.”
“Really. Better than your last one?”
“Let us get you out of here. Once we’re safe, you and I will have a long talk. I’m going to teach you how to disappear—for good.”
Melissa blinked.
“I know how to find people. Which means I also know what they can do to not be found.”
Perry stood behind me. I prayed he kept silent.
Melissa’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you do that?”
“I don’t want to. I want you to tell authorities what you know. Once Baxter’s put away, you’ll be safe. You won’t have to hide.”
“That’ll never happen, and you know it, Joanne. Somehow he’ll go free. And he’ll come after me. I wouldn’t even live to see the trial.”
I nodded, defeat in my expression. “Then you’re going to need my help.”
Melissa’s gaze roamed from me to Perry and back. “You’ll really do that?”
“Yes.”
She surveyed me a moment longer, then walked over to pick up her handgun from the bed and placed it in her purse. “Okay.”
Perry eyed her handbag. “That thing legal?”
Melissa shrugged.
“No wonder you don’t want to face the police.”
She threw him a withering look. “So where are you taking us?”
“Let’s just get out of here.” I waved a hand. “We’ll talk about it in the car.”
We gathered at the door, animosity and grudging kinship vibrating between the three of us.
“I checked around before coming to the room.” Perry kept his voice low. “There’s a stairway to our left. It leads to a side fire exit. My car’s parked right by it.”
My heart fluttered. We were really going to do this. “What if he’s out there, watching for us?”
“It’s a chance we have to take. If anything, he’s probably watching the front door. Once you’re in the car, duck down in the seat. But remember, he’s wounded. He may not be here at all. Yet. So the sooner we get going, the better.” Perry raised his eyebrows. “Ready?”
I nodded. He looked at Melissa, patted his waistband. “I have a gun too.”
He did? Maybe I should have known. Perry and his detective novels. I managed a smile.
“But we can’t go walking through the hotel with weapons drawn.” Perry pulled back the bolt latch. “Keep yours in your purse.”
He opened the door, stuck out his head, and checked both directions. Stepped out, waving us to follow. We scurried in a tight group down the hall and came to a stop at a corner. Perry peered around it, then urged us on. On our right was the stairwell. He went through the door first, peering down toward the first level. Melissa and I followed close behind.
My legs trembled. Quiet as we tried to be, our breathing seemed to echo up every level. My palms were sweating. I glanced at Melissa, saw my fear in her face.
We reached the bottom. The door sat straight ahead.
My throat dried up. An image of the gunman dressed in black flashed through my mind. He was out there, wasn’t he? The hunter waiting for his inevitable prey.
Perry pulled car keys from his pocket and put them in his left hand. Leaned in close to Melissa and me. “Once we go through the door, move fast.”
We nodded.
He lifted his shirt and withdrew his gun from its waistband holster. Inched the door open and peered outside. He glanced over his shoulder. “Now.”
Perry pushed out into the night, Melissa and I right behind. Perry’s car faced us. I scurried to the passenger front, Melissa to the rear. In peripheral vision I saw a few parked cars, a tall parking lot light. No one lurking. No gunman.
We threw ourselves inside the car. Melissa and I slid down in our seats. Perry put his gun in the console. He backed out, braked hard, and lurched forward toward the street. I sat half on the floor, the edge of my seat digging into my back, watching the streetlights slide by the window. The night sky hung starless and gray-curdled, threatening more rain.
We stopped again, then turned right. I squirmed to look over my shoulder. The hotel faded in the distance.
Perry’s eyes flicked from road to rearview mirror. He drove straight-backed, headlights from oncoming cars washing over his face. “Don’t see anyone following. But stay down.”
He went right. Then left. Right. Left. My mind flashed back to my own white-knuckled drive away from 264 Anniston. “See anybody?”
“No.”
Clothes rustled from the back seat.
“Stay down, Melissa,” Perry barked. “Don’t get up till I tell you.”
He made more turns until I lost all sense of direction. Out the window, commercial buildings gave way to houses. I could no longer hear sounds of traffic.
