A Deadly Reunion Page 4

  When I didn’t answer immediately, he nodded his head down at my hand. “Why were you out on your porch... in your pajamas, at this time in the morning?”

  There he went again, with all of his darn questions. While Denver had the kind of looks that could have seen him land a career in film or modeling, he did not have the personality to match. His persistence was as irritating as it was childlike. No doubt when he’d been a kid, he would have been the kind to pester his parents every moment of every day with questions about why the Sun was round and why you couldn’t eat dirt.

  “Patti?”

  “Someone knocked on the door.” I had no real reason to lie to him. Plus, I got the distinct impression that if you lied to Denver, he would just pester you even more. The only way to make him go away was to tell the truth and run.

  “Who was it?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “They seemed pretty darn insistent. They woke me up. But when I got to the door, they weren’t there. Maybe... I wasn’t quick enough. They must’ve got bored and walked off.”

  His eyebrows descended right down to his eyes. He did not look convinced. “What’s in your hand?”

  I clenched my teeth. For a brief moment, I wondered why on earth I had ever found this man attractive. All of those classes spent scribbling out his likeness on my pencil case. They had clearly been a waste of time. For my teenage self had obviously not been intuitive and wise enough to see Denver for what he was: the world’s most irritating man.

  “Patti?”

  “A pin,” I opened my palm. “A blue pin.”

  “Like the one you found behind your motel room,” he pointed out immediately. “Did you go around to pick it up again?”

  I shook my head. “When I opened the door, there was no one there. But there was this pin. I’m not entirely sure how it got there. It’s probably some coincidence. Maybe one of the motel guests had a whole box of pins... and they dropped them,” I trailed off. My excuse was lame, after all.

  Again he didn’t look convinced. Instead he jutted out his hand. “Let me have a look.”

  It wasn’t “can I have a look,” or “could you please show me the pin.” No, Denver just pushed out his hand and looked ready to wrestle it out of my grip if I didn’t give it up willingly.

  I handed it to him, and then promptly crossed my arms in front of my chest. It was for more reasons than one. I wasn’t wearing a bra, my singlet was pretty old and threadbare, and goddammit, I was feeling suitably defensive. Who did this guy think he was running around asking questions and harassing women early in the morning?

  A Federal Agent, a rational part of my mind replied at once. And it was a pretty good answer.

  Feeling irritated at myself and everything else in this blasted town, I pressed my fingers into my brow and pushed them up and down as I let my eyes flutter closed.

  When I blinked one eye open, it was to see Denver still staring at the pin, rolling it around his hand, and poking at it with one of his fingers.

  I doubted it held the secrets of the universe, but considering the fixed attention Denver was now giving it, you would be forgiven for thinking it did.

  “Can I go back to bed now?” I asked quickly.

  Denver glanced up at me. “You do what you want, Patti Smith.” With that, he waved at me briefly, turned, and walked off with my pin in his hand.

  I stared at him as he wandered off. From his shined shoes to his pressed pants to his particular stride, he was every inch an FBI agent, and in no way the dreamy high school crush I’d once remembered so fondly.

  That being said, he had a certain authority about him, and in just the right light, and at the right time, it was dammed attractive.

  Now was not the right time unfortunately.

  I promptly turned, walked back inside my motel room, closed the door, locked it, and flopped face-first onto my bed.

  Chapter 6

  At some point I drifted back to sleep. I spent a few fitful hours rolling about in my pile of sheets and blankets until I forced myself up. By that time, it was mid-morning, a point my belly reminded me of by letting out a resounding rumble.

  Shifting around until my arm was on the pillow and my fingers trailed through my hair, I briefly stared up at the ceiling before I forced myself out of bed.

  It wasn’t until I bothered to get a glass of water that I realized there was no longer anything keeping me in Wetlake City.

  Though the drinks on the lawn had only been the first stage in my high school reunion, the rest would have been canceled now, right? Annabelle had planned a whole weekend for us, replete with drinks, lunches, and a final proper reunion dance at the old school hall. Well, now a dead body had cropped up in the rose bushes, and that had a way of really ruining a party mood.

  Placing my glass of water down on the table, I turned, walked back towards the bed, and poked my suitcase with my foot.

  I could go.

  So why the hell wasn’t I going?

  I’d come back for the reunion based on my mother’s manipulation, but now I’d seen what I had to, and I was within my rights to go home.

  Plus, I wanted to get as far away from this place and that murder as I could. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the blood trailing through the gravel and dappled over the green leaves and white petals of the roses.

  With renewed energy, I started to pack. And by pack, I mean I shoved everything into my suitcase. I didn’t care if it was expensive. I didn’t care if I would have to iron the garments for a week to get the creases out. I crammed them in with all my force, chucked my suede high heels on top, and made an effort at neatening the bed, considering it looked like someone had performed an exorcism on top of it.

  With suitcase and bag in hand, I opened my door and walked out.

  It was a strangely sunny day for Wetlake. There were barely any clouds in the sky, and there wasn’t even a fell, chill wind racing off the mountains behind the motel.

  I took this all as a sign that it was high time to leave. The gods obviously agreed with my decision, otherwise they wouldn’t have made a break in the weather for me to escape.

  Allowing the briefest of smiles to curl my lips, I shoved my luggage in the car, locked it, and wandered over to the front office to hand back the keys.

  In my mind, I was already halfway across the country. I wanted to be home so bad. I wanted to crawl in the door, call my dogs to me, and flop on the couch to watch romantic comedies for an entire week.

  Opening the door to reception, I was met with a peal of high-pitched laughter.

  I knew who it was way before I saw a flash of ice-blond hair.

  Nancy.

  She was standing there, leaning on the reception counter, one elbow pressed flat into the old, chipped wood, as her bosom practically covered the guestbook.

  She was dressed in an extremely small and tight leopard-print dress. I mean, I called it a dress, but in reality it was a handkerchief with a seam.

  She had killer black stilettos on, and one of her legs hooked over the other as she continued to lean further into the counter.

  There was a surprised, spotty teenager behind it, who was at eye level with nothing but leopard-print-encased cleavage.

  Adjusting my bag high onto my shoulder and feeling extremely proper – even though I was in tight jeans, boots, and a close-fitted blouse – I waited.

  Then I waited some more.

  And then some more.

  I couldn’t exactly tell whether Nancy was flirting with the guy or just trying to waste everybody’s time. I wanted to call what she was having with the teenager a conversation, but it wasn’t. Every now and then the poor kid would chuckle or laugh or even nod his head in agreement, but that was it.

  I cleared my throat. When that didn’t work, I cleared my throat again. Yet no matter how politely I tried to get their attention, they wouldn’t look my way.

  Slowly I started to get extremely irritated. Okay, who was I kidding? Almost immediately I felt exceedingly pissed
off. Not only was Nancy wasting my time and using her leopard-print cleavage to stop the kid from doing his job, but this was... inappropriate.

  I was a self-confessed romance junkie – so I certainly wasn’t a prude – but for crying out loud, yesterday Nancy had attended a school reunion where a classmate had wound up dead in a rose bush. Barely eighteen hours later, she was laughing, flirting, and continuing her life without a hint or sorrow or remorse.

  “Excuse me,” I interrupted, “but I’m trying to hand my keys back here.”

  The kid jumped up, and Nancy turned on me slowly. Really, really slowly. She arched her back, shifted her shoulder to the side, waited for her hair to trail across her cheek and neck, and then flicked her eyes my way.

  She was not trying to seduce me; she was shooting me the most languid, sultry warning I’d ever received.

  I stared back at her, my expression a crumpled, irritated mess.

  Without another word, I marched up to the counter, slammed my keys down on the wood, and nodded politely at the kid. “You have my credit card details; charge me for two nights.”

  “Ah, yes, of course. Hold on,” the kid – looking particularly nervous, flushed, and sprung – typed something on the computer behind the desk, and then cleared his throat, “aren’t you meant to stay for another two nights? We have you down on the system as staying until Monday morning.” He coughed quickly.

  “I have to cancel,” I gave him a polite smile.

  Though I could have gone on to explain exactly why I had to cancel, no doubt he knew the story. Wetlake City was a small town. It had been a small town back when I had been in my senior year. In many ways, it felt even smaller now that I had seen how big the rest of the world was in comparison. News spread around a place like this like wildfire through dried scrub. Every single person would know what had happened at the school. Though Denver had assured me this was a police matter, it wouldn’t stay that way. Someone would tell their mother, who would tell their sister, who would tell their neighbor, then – hey presto – everyone would know. So rather than explain myself, I nodded at him one last time and turned to walk away.

  “Oh no now, you can’t be leaving, not yet anyway; the reunion weekend is meant to last, well, the whole weekend,” Nancy said as she flopped a hand my way. Straightening up, she towered a good few feet above me, helped by her ridiculously high and unsafe stilettos.

  I arched an eyebrow and looked back at her.

  Was she really that clueless? Had she blanked from her mind what had happened yesterday?

  “Your name is Patti Smith, isn’t it? We had a lot of classes together. Now you must remember me; I’m Nancy,” she shoved her hand at me.

  I was repulsed by it, because right now, I was repulsed by her. But considering my mother had brought me up to be ceaselessly polite, I found myself accepting the hand and letting her do all the shaking. Then I let my hand drop to my side, and not so surreptitiously, I found myself wiping my palm and fingers on my jeans. “I know who you are,” I forced myself not to be sarcastic, but it was exceedingly hard, “unfortunately I’m afraid I still have to go. I assume the reunion has been canceled, and I really need to get back to work.”

  “Get back to work? Now, now, I thought you were rich, Patti Smith? Surely you can afford to have a weekend off?”

  I stiffened. Wouldn’t you? It wasn’t just the tone, and it wasn’t just the way she rested her elbow on the counter, leant her head to the side, and smiled at me. It was everything. It was the fact she was mentioning I was wealthy in the first place. Clearly Annabelle had spread the news around.

  “It was nice to see you, Nancy.” I turned to walk away.

  She put a hand on my shoulder. I say put – it was a sharper move than that. Her French-manicured fingernails dug into the fabric of my blouse.

  “Patti Smith, you can’t have come all the way over to Wetlake for your reunion, only to leave halfway through.”

  I turned on her. I was done with being polite. “The reunion will have been canceled, Nancy,” I said, moving my lips slowly and making my voice as clear as I could. “James Wood was found dead in the rose bushes. You do know that, right? So you’ll forgive me if I’m not in a mood to reminisce anymore.”

  “Oh no, you’re quite wrong; the reunion hasn’t been canceled. It’s just been moved.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  “Annabelle is holding a memorial for James, and everybody who cared about him will be there,” Nancy smiled.

  It was a challenge, and it was a relatively clear one. Everyone who had cared about James Wood would be at his memorial. Meaning that everyone who didn’t give a shit about James and hardly remembered him would be callous enough to leave beforehand.

  “It is being held later today, and now you can’t tell me that you’ve got to rush off to get back to your work when this might be your last chance to respect the memory of one of our classmates.” As Nancy stood there, her countenance changed. She no longer looked so fake. She looked calculating. And it was a wholly scary thing to witness.

  Knowing full well I was being manipulated, I casually glanced at the kid and saw that he was watching the two of us with obvious interest. Presumably, it wasn’t every day that a leopard print cleavage had an argument with a customer.

  Knowing I was being indecently sarcastic and mean to Nancy in my mind, I found myself doing something I shouldn’t. I gave a nod. “I will see if I can be there.”

  Reacting almost immediately, Nancy leaned over the counter and snatched my keys up. Handing them over to me, she dangled them in her fingers a few inches in front of my face.

  Raising both my eyebrows, I didn’t snatch them back from her.

  “You’ll be needing these, sweetie,” with that, she dropped them into my hand and turned back to distract the kid again.

  My cheeks were hot, my heart was beating hard, and my teeth were so clenched that I would need a team of dentists to pry them open again. Yet without another word, I walked out of reception with my keys and handbag.

  Though I wanted to throttle something, and that something was Nancy, I held myself together until I got all the way over to my car. I opened the door, sat inside, rested my hands on the steering wheel, and gave out a low, barely audible scream.

  I should never have returned to this stupid little town, and be damned if I would ever come back here again.

  My mother had convinced me to attend my reunion, based on the allure of finding out what all my old classmates had grown into. Well the allure was gone; the mystery had dried up. The most popular girl in school had gone on from being a mild bitch to being a world-class one, and my teenage crush had dropped from being the best thing since sliced bread to being an exceedingly irritating source of questions wrapped up in fine muscles and a cheap suit.

  Striking the steering wheel softly, I fumbled in my bag, grabbed out my keys, stuck them in the ignition, turned it on, and began to drive.

  I was in half a mood to just leave and mail the keys back to the motel with a trite note explaining that I had been incapable of handing them back on the day because a staff member had been inappropriately distracted.

  I ordinarily didn’t like to get people in trouble, but today I was not myself.

  Yet instead of driving back to the highway and heading on out of town, for a while there, I just toured the streets. I was usually the kind of driver who wanted to know exactly where I was going beforehand. I hated the idea of turning down an unknown street to find myself in some dark side alley. And when it came to Wetlake City, while it didn’t have side alleys, it sure did have creepy dirt roads that led to abandoned huts and cabins in the woods. Yet today was different. Today I just needed to drive. So I did.

  I was surprised by how much of the town came back to me while I was touring around the streets. A glimpse of a house on a distant hill would bring up a memory of a time I’d been walking with my father, or the old sign of a shop would remind me of some winter’s day spent trundling through the snow-
covered streets, rugged up in every scarf and sweater my mother had managed to cram over my head.

  With the stereo on low, I quickly realized I was driving to an old track that wound up into the ranges behind Wetlake. I hadn’t been hiking for years – I lived smack bang in the middle of a bustling metropolis – but the memory of the fresh air and the forests suddenly got to me with a pang of powerful nostalgia.

  Even though I wasn’t prepared in the least, didn’t have proper walking shoes, and only had a half bottle of water in my car, I quickly reached the old dirt road where the track started from, pulled over under the trees, and jumped out of my car.

  Muscling my suitcase into the trunk, I grabbed my phone, shrugged into a jacket, and picked up my bottle of water. Zipping my keys into my pocket, I hid my bag underneath the front seat, and headed off along the track.

  I was well aware of all the risks. Clearly the track hadn’t been well maintained, I was walking on my own, there were always concealed dips and holes just waiting to break your ankle, and hell, that wasn’t even to mention the wild animals. Yet right now, I needed to get away.

  So I did.

  Enjoying the sound of my shoes crunching over the dirt and twigs and stones and bracken, I took a deep breath of air and let it push hard against my chest.

  There was always a musty, wet smell in the air, and it was something you never appreciated in the city. Sure there might be a park or two, and if you were lucky enough, you could have a few plants in a window box outside your kitchen window, but there was something about being out in a forest that could not be replicated.

  In a suitably nostalgic and dazed mood, I continued to walk. Though I fancied I could have tackled at least the first section up to one of the smaller lakes along the mountain range, I wasn’t that stupid, and within an hour, I turned around and headed back to my car.

  The walk was uneventful and exactly what I needed. I didn’t pass another soul, and though I occasionally heard the shuffle of leaves and the shake of a bush as some woodland creature darted away from me, fortunately I wasn’t set upon by bears or cougars or ax men.