Odette C. Bell - Ladies in Luck - An Unlucky Reunion Read online

  As Thorne had already confirmed this morning, the police of this district weren’t used to dealing with actual crimes. Lost tourists? Yes. The occasional emergency when a fire broke out in the mountains? Of course. But corpses in the rose bushes and threats on your toilet seat? Hell no.

  If they weren’t used to dealing with serious crime, how quick would their response be and how efficient? Would I be whisked away somewhere safe? Would they get me out of town? Would they hunt down the murderer with practiced efficiency? Would they solve this all in the blink of an eye before anyone else could get hurt?

  As I sat there listening to the tires crunch over the gravel, my grip around my bag became tighter and tighter. My fingers pushed hard into the leather, bending my nails back and threatening to break them.

  I didn’t care though.

  My thoughts were getting the better of me.

  I would have to change my whole life, wouldn’t I? If there were somebody out there who wanted to kill me—and the police of this district weren’t quick enough to catch them—I would always have a shadow hanging over my shoulder.

  No more staying out late at bars, no more peaceful walks alone in the forest—I would be in a constant and perpetual state of paranoia.

  I suddenly jerked up my hand, stuck my thumb into my mouth, and started chewing intently on the nail.

  Out of my peripheral vision, I could see that Denver turned to me. He had a careful and calculating expression, but he didn’t say a word.

  Instead, he drove silently and quickly away from the motel and towards the main road of town.

  It wasn’t until we actually arrived at the police station that Denver deemed to speak to me. Clambering out of the car, he paused with his hand on the door and stared down. “Don’t get flustered, don’t get startled, and don’t get scared. The police are going to do everything they can. As long as we are smart and quick, there will be no threat. Have you got that?”

  Though he was clearly trying to reassure me, he was doing it in a particularly belligerent and arrogant way.

  It seemed that Denver was a jerk no matter what he did. But right now, I chose to see through the arrogance, and I gave him a short nod.

  Despite my nerves and his perpetually gruff attitude, I could still appreciate he was handling this well.

  He wasn’t leaning in, grabbing my hand, and simply telling me everything would be okay. No, he was telling me how it would be okay. If we were smart and we were quick, then there would be no threat. If we managed the situation with the resources at hand, then we’d manage the danger.

  Feeling exceedingly queasy and in good need of a lie down, I finally got out of the car.

  I was dressed in a pair of track pants and a T-shirt and the jacket Denver had grabbed out of my suitcase. It was warm, it was comfortable, but it wasn’t exactly flattering.

  I wasn’t in leopard print and high heels, and my cashmere shawl was all the way back at the motel.

  But hell, I didn’t care. There was a time to look good, and there was a time to get the hell into Wetlake Police Station and tell them there was somebody out there who wanted to kill me.

  As I walked with Denver up to the front door, I unashamedly took several steps closer to him.

  I liked to think I was the kind of girl who could handle my own problems, but then again, nobody had threatened to kill me before.

  “They are just going to ask you some questions. We’ll give them the postcard; it will be checked for evidence. Then we’ll figure out what’s best to do next,” Denver once again spoke with that calm authority. It let me know that he’d done this before. Even though I was floundering, if I stayed in his wake, then maybe I could make it to shore.

  Somewhere out there was a murderer who had already put paid to James Wood. If the postcard was to be believed, then perhaps I was next on their to-do list.

  As we wandered up to the front desk of the police station, my mind began to whirl.

  James Wood had been the most successful person to graduate from my class. Not that I’d known that before Denver had mentioned the Times’ article, but if James had programmed some app that had made him a millionaire, then he really was a cut above the rest. Sure, I was wealthy, but I’d never made it into Times magazine.

  Could somebody be… ? God, it sounded terrible, but could somebody be going through the reunion class and picking off the most successful?

  If so, why? What kind of twisted mind would do such a thing? What would they get out of it?

  High school was full of bitching, backstabbing, and bullying, but what was going on here was psychotic.

  I stood behind Denver as he spoke to the officer at the front desk, and I continued to chew on my fingernails. By the time this weekend was over, I wouldn’t have any left. Then again, by the time this weekend was over, I could possibly be dead anyway.

  “Patti, you’re early,” someone said from behind me.

  I turned to see Thorne walking in through the front door.

  There was that rugged smile of his and those beautiful cheekbones and that handsome sparkle in his eyes.

  It reminded me about our date tonight.

  A date we would likely cancel on account of me running for my life.

  His expression quickly changed, and his eyes flicked to the left and locked on Denver.

  Denver turned slowly.

  “What are you doing here? I already told you we have this investigation under control,” there was an edge to Thorne’s voice. It wasn’t particularly friendly, and it sure as hell wasn’t brotherly.

  It was challenging.

  I had two brothers of my own, and I knew fully well that while they could be best friends one moment, they could lock horns the next and tear up the living room carpet as they fought to the death.

  “I remember,” Denver answered plainly, “but I think we have more evidence for you.”

  “And I think I’ll be the judge of that,” Thorne walked straight past Denver and behind the front desk.

  I very much felt like I was suddenly being squeezed between a rock and a hard place, or at least a Thorne and Denver.

  I shifted my gaze down to my feet, and then I locked my hands against my stomach and twiddled my thumbs over my wrists.

  “Patti Smith found this in her room,” Denver carefully brought the postcard out of his pocket. He’d found a plastic bag in his car, and he’d already wrapped it up in there. The scrunch of plastic wasn’t that loud, but in that moment, I felt it filled the room.

  Neither Denver nor Thorne said a word, and the other officer and I were obviously smart enough not to get involved.

  There was clear animosity sparking between the two brothers, and anyone intelligent enough would know not to be caught in the crossfire.

  “What is it?” Thorne grabbed up the piece of plastic.

  “It is evidence, so treat it carefully.” Denver clamped one hand on his hip and rested the other on the counter. “She is ready to give a statement,” he added.

  I was? I didn’t feel ready to give a statement. In fact, what I wanted to do was get the hell out of this room so Thorne and Denver could have it out between themselves. Instead, I stood there and stared mutely at my hands.

  “About what? What’s going on?” Thorne nodded down at the plastic bag.

  “Why don’t you open it and have a look?” Denver suggested.

  As Thorne plucked open the plastic and picked the card out, I gave an unpleasant shudder.

  Though I really liked to think I was over that damned football game, I didn’t like the idea of Thorne staring at a postcard of my most accursed moment.

  Fortunately, he didn’t stare at it. He took one look, his eyebrows crumpled down, and then he turned it over.

  His lips thinned and tucked down into a frown in a move that was instantly recognizable. Denver had done the exact same thing upon reading the back of the card.

  Thorne looked up sharply, glanced only at his brother for a second, and then turned to face me.


  “What happened? How did you come across this?”

  “Somebody put it in her bathroom while she was in the shower. The window was open, and they could have easily lowered it down.” Denver answered for me. Even though I was fully capable of answering the question, I was quietly thankful he’d taken the lead. I was in no mood to discuss facts now; all I wanted to do was sit down, bury my head in my hands, and pretend Wetlake didn’t exist.

  Oh why, oh why, had I listened to my mother? I should never have come back here, because if I hadn’t come back here, then presumably this wouldn’t have happened… or maybe it would have. I had no idea who the killer was, and I had no idea if they were actually after me. Yet if for some reason they genuinely wanted me dead, then not showing up to the reunion probably wouldn’t have been much of a deterrent.

  At least this way I’d been warned, and I’d had help on hand when I had needed it most.

  Fortune had seen a real FBI Agent book a room at the motel I was staying at, and chance had booked me a date with the local police officer. If there were ever a time to be a victim of crime, now was it.

  “Alright, come on in. We’ll make you a cup of tea and get your statement.” Thorne nodded my way and gave me a commiserating yet still strong smile. “It’ll be okay.”

  I damn well hoped he was right, but I found myself flicking my gaze over to Denver nonetheless.

  While Denver hadn’t held my hand and promised me everything would be fine, he had told me not to get startled and not to get scared. And while Thorne’s smile was something you could get lost in, Denver’s advice sounded like it would keep you safe.

  Realizing I was possibly slipping into a love triangle without noticing it, I finally followed Thorne through a door into the rest of the police station. When Denver moved to follow, Thorne turned on him and offered him a steady and challenging look. “Thank you, Agent, but we’ll take it from here. It is the jurisdiction of the Wetlake Police Department, after all.”

  “Yes it is,” Denver agreed, and then he turned. Shifting his head slightly over his shoulder, he added “for now.”

  Thorne shot him a deadly look.

  “I’ll hang around in my car, Patti, and I’ll drive you back to the motel once you’re done,” Denver called out to me.

  “That’s fine,” Thorne jumped in, “you go ahead and leave. I’m more than happy to take Patti home afterwards. Plus, we might just head out to Vietnamese after this—bring our date a bit forward maybe?”

  Denver turned slowly at that.

  Eyes narrowed, he glanced at me then over to Thorne.

  “So you go on and head home. I hear they’re having drinks at the local pub. It’s an informal reunion. Though it will probably turn formal as soon as Annabelle hears about it. Why don’t you head there and catch up with the people you left behind?”

  With that, Thorne turned around and ushered me on.

  Christ. If I’d had the inkling I was slipping into a love triangle before, it had just been confirmed in style.

  Thorne had brought up dinner at the Vietnamese restaurant with such a pointed tone that it was obvious what he was doing.

  It was also a bit… presumptuous.

  Yes, of course I wanted to go out with the guy; we got on well, and he seemed genuinely nice while being absolutely smack-down attractive. However, I didn’t see how going out to dinner was going to fix anything. Hello, I’d just come across a potential murder threat on top of my toilet, and right now, going out on a date was the least of my concerns. I wanted someone to do something; I wanted someone to assure me that everything was under control. More than that, I needed someone to take steps to assure my safety right now. Vietnamese could wait.

  “Sorry about my brother,” Thorne said under his breath once Denver had trundled out of earshot. “He can be kind of a jerk sometimes.”

  I didn’t answer.

  I didn’t know whether I should be pissed off at the fact Thorne had brought up our date in front of Denver, or just wholly and entirely concerned at the possibility someone was out there trying to kill me.

  I felt itchy, hot, scared, and irritated all at once, and it was a volatile mixture.

  Thorne led me into a room, sat me down, got me a cup of tea, and talked me through what had happened.

  There wasn’t much I could add. I didn’t have the eagle eyes of Denver; I hadn’t noticed the pinhole in my yearbook photo. All I knew was that the postcard had arrived on my toilet while I’d been in the shower.

  I had no insight, no hints, and no leads. When Thorne delicately asked me whether I had any enemies, I snorted, unattractively, and snapped at him that of course I didn’t.

  We were done quickly, and soon enough Thorne gestured to the door, and he told me I could leave.

  I stood up nervously, putting my hands onto the table for support.

  We couldn’t be done.

  I needed to be told exactly what was going on. I wanted Thorne to share every single detail of the ongoing investigation with me, because I needed to be assured everything was under control.

  “We’re going to do everything we can, Patti; you’re going to be absolutely fine, trust me.” He nodded my way.

  This wasn’t a matter of trust; I already thought Thorne was a genuinely nice and affable man. This was a matter of security. This was a matter of somebody doing something now.

  “It will probably turn out to be nothing at all,” he tried.

  Nothing at all?

  Denver appeared to think it was something.

  The more I thought about the situation, the less I could convince myself it was nothing. So I didn’t like the idea of Thorne trying to dismiss it so readily.

  “But what about the message on the back? What about the pinholes in the yearbook photo? What about the blue pins I’ve been finding everywhere?”

  “I’m sure they’re just a coincidence. And I can guarantee you that that postcard is probably just some jealous old schoolmate fooling around.” Thorne walked up to the door and opened it, and all the while, he offered me the kindest of smiles.

  I didn’t smile back.

  “But what about the… the… Kill Board?”

  “Kill Board?”

  “Denver said that in the school there had been a pin board with James Wood’s yearbook photo attached to it and then an excerpt from a Times magazine interview. Doesn’t the fact that I’ve been finding all those pins around mean something? And what about my… success?” I asked uncomfortably. “James was a bloody millionaire; he was clearly the most successful person to have graduated from our class. What happens if the killer is going through people that are successful? What happens if I’m next?”

  “Like I said, I’m sure it’s all fine. I will look into this. I will keep an eye on you. I will do everything by the book. Patti, you don’t have to be stressed by this.”

  Stressed? Was he serious? I was going nuts.

  “But Denver thought—” I began.

  “I’m sure Denver thinks a lot of things, but this isn’t his jurisdiction. This is an Wetlake Police case. And we know more than enough to get this solved.”

  I really wanted to point out that only just that morning he’d told me there was hardly any crime in Wetlake, and he spent most of his time plucking lost tourists out of the ranges.

  I wasn’t that rude though. Instead, I let him lead me out to the front desk.

  I stood there while he had a conversation with the other officer, and then Thorne walked me out to his car. “I’ll take you back to your motel, and I’ll have a look around while I’m there.”

  I nodded at him silently.

  I didn’t want to go back to the motel. I wanted to go home. I wanted to get out of Wetlake right now. In fact, as Thorne drove me home, I genuinely considered whether that would be the best plan. Then again, would I just take some wrong turn down a winding, dark track only to have a set of bright headlights zip in behind me? Would the murderer jump gleefully out of the car and do away with me in the sil
ent woods?

  Jesus, any more of this and I could go insane. I was a self-help writer, so I already had a developed imagination, and I could easily let it run away with me.

  Far from offering me any assurance, I found the ride home with Thorne to be a thoroughly awkward one.

  I didn’t want anyone to chat to me about the old days, and I certainly didn’t want to talk about the reunion. I just wanted to feel safe again.

  We arrived at the motel around five o’clock. Even though it was late summer, there were already long shadows pooling in from the forest behind.

  I could hear the bugs and crickets and the chirps of the birds as they played in the gutter and over the grass.

  It should have been peaceful.

  Yesterday had been cold and blustery; today was beautiful. It wasn’t too hot, and there was a gentle breeze and some nice warm sunshine to filter through your clothes and warm your back.

  I loved days like this. My ideal night would have involved a picnic in the woods followed by a short, twilight walk.

  Well, that would have been my ideal night; now I could only think of murderers running around rampant with chainsaws and guns and knives and old postcards of me with no pants on.

  I closed my hands around my face, blinking hard into my fingers as I forced a breath.

  I wasn’t exactly on the verge of tears, but with a push, you could get me there pretty quick.

  I was freaked out. I was usually a calm person, but the body in the roses and the postcard on the toilet had burned up calm.

  “You can head into your room while I check out back.” Thorne nodded at me and flashed me yet another one of those smiles.

  I tried to look friendly in return, but I couldn’t quite manage it.

  With a short wave, he left me and headed out behind the motel. His boots crunched over the gravel and then thumped softly over the grass as he walked confidently and quickly away.

  I watched him go. As I did, I instantly shuddered from the nerves escaping over my back. I felt exposed.

  I straightened up. Taking a small step away from the squad car, I turned around in a circle and checked the motel, the car park, and the grounds. While I certainly didn’t see any ax men wielding bloody blades and running my way, there were a few cars and a couple of people dotted here and there.