Melissa’s chin wavered and her lips pulled. She leaned against a cabinet and pressed both hands over her eyes. Drew her knees up to her chest. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, Baxter. She was going to kill you. I couldn’t let her do it!”
No response from Baxter, not one sound or movement. Melissa played out her crying. After a minute she sniffed and rubbed her eyes, knowing she was smearing her mascara. She fixed him with a dull gaze.
He met her eyes, his mouth curled. “Melissa, the girl who never cries. Not even at her own mother’s funeral, so they told me.”
Indignation seeped into Melissa’s veins. She fought to keep it from her expression.
Wait a minute.
Baxter couldn’t put Linda’s death all on her. She could cry rape. Linda had caught Baxter in the act and screamed she’d tell the world. He killed her to shut her up. A medical exam of Melissa would prove they’d had sex. Even if Baxter convinced them he hadn’t forced her, it would still be statutory rape. His reputation would be in the dirt. The town would turn against him. His real estate business would tank.
He knew this already. He’d thought this through.
Fine then. He wanted to play chess? Bring on the game.
Melissa straightened her shoulders and looked Baxter in the eye. “What do you want from me?”
Baxter’s face transformed from grieving husband to the hard ice of a glacial lake. Here was the Baxter Melissa knew. The king of Vonita, master of his castle. The man who could do whatever he thought necessary and get away with it.
He pushed to his feet. “Like it or not—and I don’t—we’re in this together. If one of us goes down, we both fall.”
Melissa rose too. She didn’t like looking up at him. “Of course we’re in this together.” She tinged her voice with sincerity—I’ d do anything for you. Maybe, just maybe she could win him back. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”
He ran a hand across his forehead. “Get dressed. In dark clothes. We have to get rid of the evidence.”
FIFTY-SEVEN
FEBRUARY 2010
“Don’t Worry, Be Happy” called to me through the quicksand. The voice echoed, mocking and full of portent. Abject fear sifted over me, caking my body.
What…?
I swam against the weight pulling me down. Broke the surface.
My eyes pried open.
Melissa Harkoff stood over me, a gun in her hand. Her mouth curled into a vengeful smile. “Hello, Joanne.”
No, this was a dream. I’d fallen asleep…
“Sit up.” Her tone pierced, a shard of glass.
Reality hit. Dull adrenaline prickled my limbs. I struggled to a sitting position and cringed back against the headboard.
I stared at Melissa.
She moved her jaw to one side. “You’re going to tell me what I need know.”
“What?” My voice shook.
“How to disappear.”
My mouth moved. No words formed. My brain, my body refused to function.
Melissa smirked. “Not nice feeling helpless, is it?”
I swallowed. “I’m not helping you get away, Melissa.”
“You tell me, you live. You don’t help me, you die.”
Melissa…a liar, a blackmailer. Now a killer?
A heavy rock sank in my stomach. How much had I misread this girl? Could anything she said or did be trusted?
Did she really even know where Linda’s body was?
The thoughts sickened me. I’d gone through too much to catch Melissa and ultimately, Baxter Jackson. If there would be any shred of reliability left in Melissa’s testimony against him, I couldn’t lose her now.
“You kill me, there goes your information.”
“I can start with your hand—how’d you like a bullet there? Or maybe your leg.”
She’d do it. She really would. Nausea roiled through me. “I don’t think well when I’m in pain.”
We glared at each other.
Melissa ran her tongue beneath her top lip. “We’re going to go to your computer. You’re going to type out each step for me. Print it.”
“How’d you get in here?”
“Broke the glass to your back garage door. Now get up.”
Glass? I hadn’t heard a thing. And I hadn’t seen a car. How’d she get to my house? She must have parked on a side road and been waiting for my return. Maybe for hours.
“Get up, Joanne.”
I pushed off the bed. My legs nearly gave way. I clutched the headboard, steadied myself.
“Go to your office.”
Melissa backed up, giving me room to walk past her.
I eyed the gun. “That another one of Tony’s? Did he bring you here?”
Anger pinched her face. “I’m the one wanting information. Go.”
My chin raised. I walked by her and out the bedroom door. Up the hall, into my work space. I sat in my swivel chair, flicked on the computer. “It’ll take time to boot up. No need to threaten it with a bullet too.”
Melissa snarled.
I stared at the monitor, my head still thick. Logic moved through it slowly. As far as Melissa knew, her timing was perfect. From here she’d go to the drop-off location. Get away with the money—for good.
Except that the money would never arrive.
My screen blipped on. Windows came up.
Sudden realization burned my head. What was to keep me from calling the police as soon as Melissa left?
She was lying. Again.
Melissa Harkoff would get her much-needed information. And then she would kill me.
FIFTY-EIGHT
AUGUST 2004
“We have to get rid of the evidence.”
Melissa hesitated only a second before hurrying out of the kitchen and up the stairs. When she hit the upper level she stopped, listening. All the TV crime shows she’d watched over the years chugged through her mind. On her left lay the master bedroom, lights on, its door wide open. Way down the hall, past two guest bedrooms and a shared bath, was her suite.
From downstairs rose the faint sound of the door between the kitchen and garage, opening and closing.
Melissa veered left.
Heart clutching, she ran across the master bedroom and into the huge bath area. Her frantic gaze scraped over the counter, taking in lotion bottles, a mirror, hairspray. Linda’s stuff.
Heat rose in Melissa’s body. If Baxter caught her here, all pretense would be off. No telling what he’d do.
Melissa yanked open a drawer. Inside it lay a man’s black comb.
She snatched it up and examined it. A few dark hairs stuck in the teeth. Perfect. She ripped off toilet paper, wrapped the comb in it, and stuck it in the waistband of her shorty pajamas.
Melissa sprinted to her room. She threw on jeans, a dark sweatshirt with zippered pockets. Shoved her feet into a pair of Vans sneakers. The wrapped comb went into her right pocket. Melissa zipped it up and ran downstairs.
In the kitchen Baxter was spreading an old blanket beside Linda’s body. The butcher knife was back in its holder.
“Did you wash it?” She pointed to the knife.
“No.”
Melissa slid it out, examined it. Looked clean. She rinsed it off anyway before replacing it.
Baxter knelt near Linda’s head. “Help me get her onto the blanket.”
Melissa sank down by Linda’s feet. Together they rolled the body onto the blanket about two feet from the edge. They both took one side of the thick fabric and folded it over Linda. Then they rolled her again, wrapping like a bulky cocoon until all the blanket was used up. Both the top and bottom had six inches of extra material.