Deceit, p.22
Deceit, page 22
A terrifying sequence shot through Melissa’s head. Linda would call Joanne Weeks. Or jump in her car and screech over there.
Melissa raced out of the room behind Baxter.
They hit the stairs. Melissa slipped at the top one and crashed into Baxter. He cursed, grabbed the banister. Melissa righted herself, and they tore down the rest of the way.
From the kitchen rolled the sound of Linda’s wrenching sobs.
“Linda!” Baxter raced across the hall and around the corner into the kitchen. He skidded to a halt. Melissa nearly ran into him a second time. She swerved to his right and stopped in her tracks.
Linda stood six feet away, both hands pointing a butcher knife toward her husband. Her feet were far apart, her teeth bared like a feral animal. “Don’t you come near me.”
Baxter raised his hands. “What do you think you’re doing? Put that down right now.” He stepped toward her.
“Don’t!” Linda’s cheeks flamed. She jabbed at the air, hands shaking.
“Put it down now, Linda. Or I promise you’ll be sorry.”
Fear stretched her expression. She held on tighter than ever. Melissa took in Baxter’s slitted eyes, the rock of his jaw. She’d never seen him so angry. She looked back to Linda, unpredictable and crazed. Melissa knew how sharp that butcher knife was. Many a time she’d watched it glide through meat. Panic bloomed in her head.
Four diagonal feet away from Melissa sat the butcher block of knives on the counter.
“Linda, put it down!” Spittle flew from Baxter’s teeth.
“I’ll cut you, Baxter, so help me.” Linda brandished the huge knife. “You and your perfect little Christian self.”
Nothing would be the same after this night, nothing. “You’re not going to win this, Linda,” Melissa spat. “Two against one.”
Linda sneered at her husband. “How cute. Now you have a sixteen-year-old protecting you. Were you that helpless in bed too?”
Baxter’s eyes shot fire. He lunged at his wife.
“No!” Linda carved the knife through the air. Baxter dodged to one side. The blade whooshed inches from his arm.
Melissa darted for the butcher’s block and yanked out a carving knife.
Baxter whipped upright and leapt for Linda again. She cringed to her right, fell into the counter. Her clenched hands sank, but she fought to keep hold of the knife. “Stay aw—”
Her husband balled a fist and smashed it into her cheek. Bone crunched. Linda’s head ricocheted. Her eyes flattened.
Linda’s stubborn hands thrust the butcher knife upward. Baxter swung away.
Melissa darted behind Linda, her own blade raised.
Keening moans spilled from Linda’s lips. She staggered a step toward Baxter, knife swinging. Her cries climbed higher, higher, until Melissa’s brain would explode with the sound.
Baxter jumped to the side and hit the stove. Linda closed in, screaming like a madwoman sacrificing on the altar. She raised her blade high, pointed down.
Melissa gritted her teeth, jumped behind Linda, and plunged the carving knife deep into her back.
The scream cut off with a gasp. Linda’s head rolled to one side, almost in slow motion. The butcher knife clattered to her feet. A strangling sound rose in her throat.
Melissa pulled shaking fingers from the knife handle.
Linda slumped to the hardwood floor.
FIFTY-FIVE
FEBRUARY 2010
Perry offered again to let me sleep in his guest room. He needed to get to his store, so I’d still be alone. “But maybe after all that’s happened you’ll feel safer at someone else’s place,” he said.
We’d just driven away from the Jackson house. I’d looked back twice, still seeing that hate-filled expression on Baxter’s face.
Justice, Linda. You’re finally going to have justice.
“Perry.” I squeezed his arm. “Thanks. But now that it’s done, I just want to sleep in my own bed—while I can.”
Dan and Slater were going to fight against bail for Baxter, but they couldn’t guarantee they’d win—especially if plans went awry and they didn’t bring in Melissa right away. Until she led them to Linda’s body and testified before the grand jury, they couldn’t add the charge of Linda’s murder to those Baxter currently faced.
If Baxter got out on bail, I would not be spending nights alone in my own house.
Perry gave me a wan smile. He looked tired too. “I understand. Check in with me when you wake up?”
“Count on it.”
On the short drive to my house I called Dineen. No answer. She was probably in the shower, getting ready for work. “It’s done,” I told her message machine. “Everything’s okay. I’m going to sleep now. Call you when I wake up.”
Perry insisted on coming into the house with me just to make sure all was well. As we walked past Billy Bass in the hall, the stupid thing went off. I nearly jumped to the ceiling. Perry watched Billy’s performance, chuckling. “I haven’t seen one of these things in years.”
I looked from him to Billy Bass, sudden awkwardness floating around in my chest. I rubbed my arms. “It was Tom’s.”
Perry gave me a long, searching look. Then nodded.
I turned away and made for the Jelly Belly drawer in my office. Popped a handful of myriad flavors onto my tongue and chewed like there was no tomorrow. My jaw seemed to move in slow motion.
“Want some?” I asked Perry, my mouth full.
He shook his head. “It’s more fun just watching you.”
At the front door I hugged him, and he held me for a moment, chin resting on my head. He smelled slightly of men’s lime soap, even though we’d been up all night. His arms around me felt so…good. I didn’t want to let him go.
“I’ll never thank you enough, Perry.”
“Nah. It was nothin’. You need me again—‘Help Is on Its Way.’” He raised his eyebrows.
My brain wouldn’t work. “Chicago?” The tune played through my head. “No. Little River Band.”
“What album?”
“Greatest Hits.”
“Cheater.”
“I gotta get to bed.”
Perry smiled. “Next time, no excuse.” He stepped outside.
I closed the door and locked it.
On someone else’s legs I walked down the hall, into my room. I didn’t even take my clothes off. Just fell onto the bed. Vaguely I registered the time on my nightstand clock. Seven-forty in the morning. I’d been up for forty-eight hours.
As much as I needed sleep, my rebellious body fought it. Maybe it just didn’t remember how to rest.
I lay on my back, eyes closed, thinking of Melissa and Linda and Baxter. Wondering how all this would play out. Finding Melissa. The hearings, the trial.
So…
very…
much…
to…
The quicksand pit opened up, inviting. I stepped into it. And sank…
Sank…
As it opened its mouth to swallow me, Billy Bass started to sing.
FIFTY-SIX
AUGUST 2004
Melissa couldn’t move. She stared at Linda’s body, the blood leaking from the wound in her back. Linda lay on her side, fighting to breathe. Her eyes were at half-mast, her twitching hands outstretched. The butcher knife lay on the floor near her fingers.
Did I do that? Did I really stab her?
Baxter pulled himself upright, eyes wide. He gaped at Linda, all color draining from his face. Twice he blinked, as if to erase the nightmare before him. “No. No.”
He fell on his knees beside his wife. One of his hands knocked the butcher knife away. It scudded across the floor. Shaking, Baxter reached for Linda’s shoulder. “Linda, can you hear me? Linda!”
Her mouth yawed open, creaking in air.
“She’s not breathing enough. I have to give her CPR!” Baxter started to roll Linda on her back, but the knife still stuck out of her, angled high and to the left of her spine.
Had it gone all the way to her heart?
Baxter ogled the knife, helpless.
Linda wheezed and gasped. The horrifying sounds shot right through Melissa. She pressed her hands to her temples, trying to think.
“Can you do it while she’s lying on her side?”
“No!”
“Try it.”
“It won’t work!”
“Try it!”
“Melissa, it won’t work.” Panic gripped Baxter’s face. “We have to breathe hard. If her heart stops we’ll have to pump it.”
“Then take out the knife.”
Baxter’s mouth worked, as if the mere thought made him sick. “I—can’t. What if it hurts her more?”
Something hard and heavy settled within Melissa. Her mind cleared. “Hold her steady. I’ll do it.”
“I don’t—”
“Baxter, just do it!”
Air rattled in and out of Linda’s throat. Her eyes were now wide open and fixed, her skin beige.
Baxter crawled on the other side of Linda, facing her. One bracing hand slid behind her shoulder, the other at her lower back. He turned his head to the side, squeezed his eyes shut.
Melissa sank to her knees and grasped the knife handle with both hands. She pulled hard. It slid out with a nauseating, sucking sound.
Linda convulsed. Her throat rattled as if it were her last breath.
Melissa jumped to her feet and out of the way. Baxter eased Linda onto her back. The rattling intensified, then turned to a gurgle.
Melissa still clutched the knife. She edged to the sink and dropped it in. From behind her came the frantic sound of Baxter’s CPR. She turned to see his mouth pressed on Linda’s, puffing hard breaths. His fingers pinched her nose.
Her hands shot up, desperately clawing the air as if to scrape oxygen from it. Her eyes were wide with terror, the eyes of a dying woman.
Baxter pulled back, chest heaving. Blood bubbled from Linda’s mouth.
“No!” He wiped it away with his palm. Surged down and covered her lips again. This time her chest would barely rise, as if the air seeped out of her very pores. Baxter blew like a madman.
Sudden jealousy and anguish surged through Melissa. This was wrong. With all of Baxter’s shoving Linda around, what right did he have to act like this? Not to mention the man had been in her bed just ten minutes ago. Linda had tried to kill him. Melissa had just saved Baxter’s life, and now look at him. Look at him.
Huff, huff. Baxter continued his forced breathing. Melissa wanted to kick him. To scream, Stop it! She wanted to cut you open. She wanted to ruin you.
Melissa laced her fingers hard until her skin turned white. This wasn’t the first time in her life she’d had to pull herself in tight to protect her own sanity. She closed her eyes and pounded her anger. Beat it down, down into fine sand granules.
In her mind she saw herself sweep the granules away.
She opened her eyes, her jaw set.
Linda’s clawing arms slowed…sank to the floor.
Baxter jerked up again, frantically searching her face. Blood smeared his cheeks. “Linda? Come on.”
Her windpipe gurgled and choked. One more rasp—and the awful sound cut off. Linda’s facial muscles flattened. Her body relaxed.
Her eyes set in a cold, dead glaze.
Melissa’s mouth opened, her throat cinched tight.
“Nnnno!” Baxter grabbed his wife’s shoulders and shook her until her body bounced off the floor. “Linda. Linda!”
Curses and prayers spewed from his mouth. He slapped both hands against her chest and pumped her heart with fury. He stopped for a second, checked for a reaction. Nothing. Baxter tried again, harder.
Melissa watched him with growing dread. Linda was gone. She wasn’t coming back. It was Melissa and Baxter now, and once he gave up trying to revive Linda, who knew what he might do? Silently Melissa screamed to herself that everything would be fine. Not because it looked that way, far from it. Because it had to be.
She reached deep within herself once more and crushed the fear into dust. A pale and chilling wind kicked up in her stomach, blew the dust away
Baxter rocked back on his heels, begging for a breath, a flutter in Linda’s chest. She didn’t move. He moaned, swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Started pumping again.
Melissa turned away. The knife lay red and bloodied against the white porcelain sink. Mechanically, she picked it up. Washed and dried it. Slid it back into the butcher’s block.
Behind her Baxter was crying. Grunting. Pumping.
Melissa examined her hands, beneath her fingernails, looking for blood. They were unstained.
She rinsed out the sink. Wiped it out with a paper towel. Buffed over the nearby area of granite countertop.
Baxter’s weeping increased, his prayers turning off-key and mumbling. Melissa faced him, palms together and pressed against her mouth. His cheeks were splotchy red, tear tracks through the smeared blood.
He raised his hands from Linda’s chest. They hovered above her body, helpless and trembling, as his eyes sought Melissa’s. “She’s dead.” His voice pinched. He shook his head, disbelieving. Baxter’s body leaned to one side until he slipped off his knees and sat down hard. His chin dropped, a sob wrenching from his throat.
Melissa moved to him and pressed her fingers into his shoulder. “Shhhh. It’ll be okay.”
His head jerked up. “What do you mean, it’ll be okay? She’s dead.”
“I know. I’m so sorry.”
Anger mottled Baxter’s face. “You killed her.”
“I—it all happened so fast.”
“You killed her!”
“She was about to kill you.”
Baxter’s lips twisted. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Linda out of your way.”
“Of course not.”
“You planned this all along.”
Melissa’s back straightened. “No I didn’t—it just happened. You’re the one who drugged her.”
“I didn’t put a knife in her back!”
“Baxter, she was going to cut you into shreds! What did you want me to do—stand back and let it happen?”
“You did this. You killed my wife!”
Baxter leapt to his feet, greedy hands stretched for Melissa’s throat. She stumbled backward, arms before her face, and swung away. He punched her in the kidney. Pain shot through Melissa’s lower back. She listed to one side, gagging for air.
He hit her in the spine. Melissa crashed down on all fours, tried to scrabble away, fighting for oxygen. He kicked her in the side.
“Stop it!” She grabbed his leg. Baxter went off balance and caught the counter to stay upright. He jerked his leg to free it, but she hung on tight. Baxter lunged downward, grabbed her hair, and pulled. Melissa yanked his leg. He toppled to the floor onto his side.
The fall seemed to crack him. In seconds all his fight spilled away. He pushed to a sitting position, then slumped against a cabinet, chin nearly touching his chest.
Melissa let go of his leg and scooted beyond his reach. Her open mouth sucked in oxygen. Her whole body burned.
Baxter dropped his face in both hands and moaned.
Melissa watched warily, her muscles tensed to spring away if he turned on her again. A minute passed.
Two…
Three.
With caution she crawled to his side. “Baxter. You know I didn’t mean this to happen.”
He raised his head, nostrils sucking in and out. Sweat trickled down one temple. He would not look at her. Instead he stared across the room for a long time, as if Melissa did not exist. When he finally spoke his tone had thinned to cold steel. “We have to figure out what to do.” He raised a shaking hand and wiped at his cheek, further smearing the remnants of Linda’s blood. Baxter’s gaze raked the floor as if an answer had been cut into the hardwood.
He swallowed. “We need to call the police.”
Melissa’s head drew back. “No way.”
He tilted his head and regarded her with disdain. “Just what do you suggest?”
“What would you tell them?”
“How about the truth? You killed my wife.”
Melissa eyed him coolly. “They’ll want the whole story. You want to tell them that too?”
He stared back at her, jaw tight. Calculations rippled across his face, as if the two of them had just begun a fatal game of chess.
Melissa’s body throbbed.
Baxter forced his eyes to his wife’s still form. “We can’t claim self-defense. Nobody’s going to believe she came at me with a knife.”
Melissa’s control faltered. For a crazy minute she imagined herself hanging from the corner of the ceiling, looking down at the surreal scene.
She’d done it now. She’d really done it, and there was no going back. Baxter could turn against her in a heartbeat. Say she killed Linda out of jealousy, and he had nothing to do with it. If she told the police he beat his wife, they’d never believe her. Any bruises on Linda’s body Baxter could attribute to her. She’d attacked Linda, hit her, knifed her. Baxter had heard the noise and come downstairs to find his wife on the floor…
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.
