Deceit: A Novel Part 18

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 gla.s.s 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" b.u.t.ton.

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 pa.s.sed 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."

"n.o.body 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 eggsh.e.l.l 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."

"Should I take her food up to her?"

"Nah, she'll come down." Baxter popped the top of the soda can and took a drink. He eased over to the sliding gla.s.s door and gazed at the flower-drenched backyard. A look of satisfaction and ownership.

"It'll be too bad if she misses the fireworks," Melissa said. "She'll probably want to be in bed."

"She'll go."

"You sure?" Melissa wouldn't mind if Linda stayed home.

Baxter turned his head and surveyed Melissa. She met his eyes. "I'm sure. Because I say she's going."

Their gaze locked for a second too long. Melissa's spine tingled. It was the first time Baxter had said anything overtly about the power he wielded over his wife. Melissa turned back to the sandwiches, mind whirling. What was he really saying? That he could make her do whatever he wanted too? Or that no matter what happened in this house, Baxter could control his wife's reaction?

Melissa spread mayonnaise on a roll top and placed it over its prepared other half. Lately, even with all her strength and determination, she wondered if she could keep pace with this man. There were depths to him she couldn't fathom. He had years of experience on her.

"Those about done?" Baxter posed the question casually, as if knew he'd driven home a point and now chose to back off.

If only Melissa knew which point.

"Yeah." She put the second and third sandwiches together.

Baxter took another drink of soda and sauntered to the intercom on the far wall. Melissa heard the faint click of the talk b.u.t.ton. "Hey, babe, dinner's ready. Come down."

Once the talk b.u.t.ton had been pushed, the intercom line remained open for ten seconds, allowing the other person to answer hands-free. Half that time pa.s.sed before Linda's feeble voice responded. "I'm not hungry. You two go ahead." Sounded like she'd been sleeping.

Baxter compressed the b.u.t.ton. "You need to eat. It'll give you strength for tonight."

"I really don't want anything."

"Linda. Get down here."

Linda came down.

They were quiet around the table. Linda's eyes drooped, barely able to stay open. She chewed woodenly, eyes fixed downward.

Melissa sneaked an accusing look at Baxter. Really, what was the point of this? Did it make him feel good just to boss his wife around? Baxter's glance happened to cross Melissa's face, then cut back and hung there, as if he read her thoughts. Melissa felt her expression flatten. She lifted one corner of her mouth, then concentrated on her sandwich.

Baxter sniffed. "We'll leave at nine for the fireworks. They'll wait until it's good and dark-around nine thirty-to set'em off." He was looking at Melissa, but she knew his statement was aimed at Linda.

His wife stopped chewing and closed her eyes, as if mentally weighing her next move. Melissa could almost hear the laden wheels turning in her head.

Linda set down her sandwich and leaned back in her chair. As if bracing herself. "I don't want to go tonight, honey. I just need to go to bed." Her voice remained light, not at all in keeping with her body language.

Melissa couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Linda tried so hard to keep peace. Was a little rest too much to ask?

"You can't miss tonight." Baxter's tone sounded dismissive. "These are my fireworks, remember? I pay for them. What would it look like if you weren't there?"

Linda focused on her plate. Most of the sandwich remained upon it. "People know I'm sick. They'll understand."

"Well, I won't. You're going, and that's all there is to it."

Baxter's eyes remained on his wife, but somehow Melissa knew his attention still fixed upon her. Like he was testing her, daring her to interfere. The air around Melissa rumbled, as if a long-threatened earthquake approached. She sat very still.

Linda pushed back her chair and rose. Her face looked stretched, taut.

"Where are you going?" Baxter demanded.

"To bed."

"You're not done eating."

"I've had enough. If I'm going tonight, I need to rest now." Linda looked pointedly at me, then at her husband, as if reminding him their perfect little facade was looking ragged at the edges. She turned away.

Baxter's expression blackened. He jumped up and grabbed her arm. "Sit down! I didn't say you could leave."

She tried to yank away. He gripped her harder. "I said sit down!" With both hands he shoved her back into the chair. Her body hit with a heavy thump. The chair legs bounced against the wood floor.

Linda's face crumpled. She bent over, her shoulders jerking in a silent sob. Sick as she was, she clearly lacked the energy to pretend. Baxter stood over her, glaring, hands low on his hips. His mouth formed a tight line, one strand of his thick hair out of place. The fire in his eyes dared his wife to make one more stupid move.

"Stop crying." His words forced through clenched teeth.