“…took me to the district attorney’s house.” That’s just the kind of stunt Joanne Weeks would pull.
On the other hand, any word that came out of Melissa Har-koff’s mouth was most likely a lie.
“Just how would a visit to the DA fit in with your plans to blackmail me?” Baxter spat. “You tell them your story about how I killed Linda—and your money goes up in smoke.” Not that he ever intended to pay it in the first place.
“She tricked me. Told me she was taking me to her brother’s house to hide out.”
Joanne didn’t have a brother.
“Once we got there the DA—his name is Dan Marlahn. You know him? He lives in Hollister, on Maxley Lane.”
The heat in Baxter’s spine flickered into a burn and spread down his limbs.
“Anyway, Dan the DA told me I’m a ‘material witness.’ And I can’t refuse to say what I know or he’ll put me in jail.”
Baxter’s knees weakened. He dropped into a kitchen chair. Material witness? That sounded too knowledgeable of the law. Not something that would come solely from Melissa’s devious mind.
“I kept refusing to talk. You know I don’t want to tell them how you killed your wife. But Dan the DA wouldn’t budge. Said it was jail time for me—right on the spot. I told them ‘Okay, I’ll do it’ because—what choice did I have? Then I went to the bathroom and escaped out the window.”
Baxter breathed into the phone, his heart grinding into an erratic beat.
“So, dear Baxter, your deadline has just moved up. Tuesday won’t do. I’m not sure I can stay on the run that long. Now I have both you and the law after me. Any cop who finds me will haul me in, make me talk. Do you understand, Baxter? I have no choice.”
He stared across the kitchen floor to the place where Linda had fallen six long years ago. The exact spot where he’d been forced to make the horrific decision that had led to this moment. “There’s always a choice, Melissa.” The words dripped with meaning.
“Not this time. I’m not going to jail.”
“So run. You’re good at that.”
“I’ll have the law on me wherever I go. You want that hanging over your head, Baxter? The day I’m found is the day you go down.”
He fixated upon the infamous spot, hatred churning in his gut.
“Go ahead, Melissa, tell them your story. I’ll tell them you must have killed Linda and buried her all by yourself, while I slept. I didn’t know a thing about it. It’ll be my word against yours. Who do you suppose the jury’s going to believe?”
“Interesting story. Not quite sure it fits with your original one. You know—Linda went to the store for aspirin and never returned?”
Baxter seethed but could think of no reply.
Melissa laughed. The sound drove Baxter’s heels into the floor. “There are things you still don’t know, Baxter. Besides, you want to take the chance on who they believe? You want to go through an arrest, a trial? Your name dragged through the mud? And let’s not forget the strange death of wife number two. What if they reopen that case?”
Rage coursed through Baxter. He hunched forward and gripped the phone, his throat tightening at the too-recent memories. It wasn’t his fault; he hadn’t meant for any of that to happen. If Cherisse hadn’t mouthed off in their bedroom at the end of a long day as he was inserting a wooden stretcher into his shoe. If she hadn’t run out the door when he ordered her to stay, and if he hadn’t followed, that stretcher still in his hand, and if she hadn’t reached the top of the stairs as his arm pulled back and whammed that solid block of wood into the side of her head, and if she’d fallen sideways instead of forward—
“Don’t you talk to me about Cherisse. Don’t you dare.”
“I don’t care about Cherisse,” Melissa shot back. “What I care about is the money. The price has just gone up, due to my circumstances. Which you caused. I want $300,000. And your deadline’s been pushed up. Now it’s Monday, ten a.m. That gives you time to get to the bank.”
“I’m not giving you a cent.”
“Fine. Then count on being arrested Tuesday. That’s about how long it’ll take them to dig up Linda’s body. I know, because I asked. Don’t think I won’t talk, Baxter. Between you trying to kill me and the police looking for me, I’ll have no choice. If your deadline passes and you haven’t paid the money, I’m going straight back to the DA.”
Baxter’s eyes closed. He knew she meant it. She’d called him out of the blue last week after six years. Said she’d heard about Cherisse’s death through happening to read the Vonita Times online—the issue with Joanne Weeks and her big mouth as the cover story. Melissa wanted money by Monday or she’d tell the police he’d killed Linda. Now pushed to the brink, if she didn’t get her way, vindictive Melissa would pile it on. The tears, the manipulation, the wide-eyed innocence. The lies. Their affair would turn into his seduction. Or worse, statutory rape would become forced rape. And Linda’s death…
Baxter straightened in his chair. His gaze roved through the glass doors to his beautiful backyard. The yard he’d enjoyed with two equally beautiful wives. How he’d missed Linda. How he now missed Cherisse.
He’d lost enough. He would never lose his freedom. His reputation, his life. Never.
“All right.” The words lay bitter on his tongue. “Monday at ten. Three-hundred thousand.”
He could hear the smirk over the phone line. “I knew you’d come around, Baxter.”
They discussed drop-off details. He was to put the money in a box, taped up. Write the name “Ann” on top. Melissa gave him specific instructions to a place in the woods on the west side of 101.
“Leave it there, then get in your car and drive away,” Melissa commanded. “And don’t think I haven’t thought through how it’ll be picked up safely. I won’t be such an easy target this time.”
This was the scenario Baxter had so wanted to avoid. Better to trick Joanne Weeks into leading him to an unsuspecting Melissa than to try killing Melissa when she was on the alert. And that’s exactly how she’d be when picking up his package. All the more now, thanks to his scheme being uncovered.
What a backfire. He never should have done it this way. He should have gone through with a fake drop-off, stayed around, and killed Melissa himself. But that would have involved buying a gun. Getting rid of another body. Too many trails.
“I don’t ever want to hear from you again.” Baxter’s tone would freeze steel.
“Have a good life, Baxter. Just get me the money.”
Melissa hung up.
Slowly, Baxter rose and replaced the phone. Anger surged through him. He couldn’t even tell who he was more mad at—Melissa or his hired man. If they walked into his kitchen right now he’d strangle them both—with a smile on his face.
Wait.
What if Melissa’s call was a ruse? Maybe she and Joanne were still trapped in the hotel and cooked up this story so he’d pull his man away from Joanne’s car…
But if he did pull off his man, how would they know it? They couldn’t be sure it was safe to leave.
Baxter paced to the refrigerator and back, shoving down his emotions, forcing himself to think logically. He pulled up short in front of the sliding glass door.
No. That kind of ruse would be too open-ended. Joanne was smarter than that.
For once Melissa had to be telling the truth. They’d escaped the hotel. As for the DA part, Joanne could have fed Melissa that information…