Deceit: A Novel Part 12

In the kitchen he reached for one of the gla.s.ses 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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s.

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 pa.s.senger 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 pa.s.senger 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.

"h.e.l.lo 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?"

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 a.s.suming 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.