The Class Reunion: A psychological suspense thriller

by N L Hinkens

  Reagan pulled a face. “Lucy’s sick. Dave stayed home with her.” She glanced at her watch and let out a gasp. “We’d better get busy unloading my car. The prizes for the games are on the back seat. Josh, you can help me carry in the gift bags. Heather, put a pen and a button at each place setting.” She pointed to a small plastic tub on the check-in table. “Everything’s in there.”

  Heather lifted out one of the buttons and read the message aloud. “Hi, I can’t remember your name either.” She let out a snort. “Sounds like we’re hosting a dementia convention.”

  “They’re intended as an ice breaker,” Reagan retorted, cutting her a sharp glare. “Put one of the bingo cards on each chair too. Marco and Sydney should be here any minute to help.”

  Heather carried the box of buttons and bingo sheets to the front of the room and began working her way back through the tables. Reagan ran around directing traffic in her usual high-handed manner—a good reminder of why Heather hadn’t missed her in the past twelve years. On the other hand, seeing Josh again had stirred up some unexpected feelings. She hoped he hadn’t found her too standoffish. She was trying to be sociable, but the truth was her thoughts weren’t on the reunion. Being here had brought the reality of Lindsay’s death home. And her investigator brain was in overdrive. The hook she had found in the brush gnawed at her. Experience told her things like that were rarely coincidences.

  At the sound of footsteps, she lifted her head expecting to see Reagan and Josh returning with the prizes.

  “Heather! You made it!” a stocky, dark-haired man called to her.

  She set down the tub of supplies and greeted him. “Marco! It’s good to see you again.”

  He gestured to the portly woman at his side stuffed into an unflattering grape-colored silk cocktail dress. “This is my wife, Anna.”

  Anna held out a hand embellished with an assortment of expensive-looking rings. A glittering tennis bracelet slid down her wrist. “I’ve heard all about you. You’re the celebrity PI from LA.”

  Heather shook her hand, acknowledging the compliment with an abashed smile. “I make a decent living, but no movie deals yet.”

  Marco raised a dark, shaggy brow. “I didn’t expect you to come. Guess we have to die before you show up.”

  “Marco!” Anna hissed at him reprovingly. “Leave it alone.” She turned to Heather. “I’m sorry. This thing with Lindsay has messed him up.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Heather reassured her. “It’s messed us all up.”

  “Hey, gang!” a female voice called from across the room.

  Heather peered over her shoulder to see Sydney tottering into the room on four-inch heels, an elegant-looking man in a sports coat hovering protectively at her side.

  “No way!” Sydney exclaimed. “Heather’s here!” She minced over to her and enveloped her in a flimsy hug. Heather wrinkled her nose at the overpowering scent of perfume.

  “Reagan said you were planning on coming, but I didn’t really believe you would show.” Sydney motioned to the man at her side. “This is my husband, Steve.”

  They shook hands and exchanged a few pleasantries before Reagan barged back into the room, brandishing a clipboard. Josh was hard on her heels, pushing a cart laden down with gift bags, one-handedly attempting to hold the precarious load in place.

  “Great, everyone’s here now,” Reagan chirped. “Gather round and I’ll go over the tribute to Lindsay.”

  Sydney cocked an amused brow and whispered to Heather, “Bossy as ever, isn’t she?”

  “Parks and Rec has given us permission to plant a tree and erect a small memorial plaque along the trail in Lindsay’s memory,” Reagan began. ”I’m going to announce it right before dinner, then show a short tribute video and ask for a moment of silence. I figured it would be more respectful to do it at the beginning of the evening rather than at the end after everyone’s been drinking and hollering. Besides, I don’t want to end the night on a downer.” She reached into her oversized purse and pulled out some paper-clipped sheets. “This is the list of games I’ve selected. I’m counting on all of you to help me hand out any props needed, as well as to welcome people as they arrive, direct traffic—that type of thing. Any questions?”

  “Looks like you’ve got it all figured out, as usual,” Marco said. “Let’s grab a cocktail and toast Lindsay.”

  As the room began to fill up, Heather found herself mingling with her former classmates and catching up on lives she knew next to nothing about—full and varied lives, littered with weddings, births, and growing families. Everything she had missed out on—held out on, if she was being honest. Over it all, hung the cloud of Lindsay’s untimely demise. It was just so shocking and bizarre. Inevitably, every conversation turned to it at some point. If only she hadn’t gone biking alone. They ought to have more park security on the trails. Her poor mother. My kids are having nightmares about rattlesnakes. They say our county has an infestation problem.

  Heather dutifully made her rounds among the tables, clutching a club soda and cranberry. Alcohol had played a pivotal role in what had happened to Violet that night, and Heather had never had any desire to partake of it since. Besides, her PI job required her to keep a clear head—she never knew when she might have to jump in her car and conduct a last-minute surveillance assignment.

  Once everyone had taken their seats, Reagan picked up the mic and officially kicked off the evening by welcoming everyone. After sharing her plan for a tribute tree and memorial plaque, she raised a glass to toast their fallen classmate. The room fell silent as they viewed a short slideshow featuring high school pictures of Lindsay and more recent shots of her holding up trophies as she sat astride her bike, her racing helmet fastened beneath her chin.

  Heather bit back tears as she glanced across at the empty chair they had left at their table to honor Lindsay. She should be there with them. It was all wrong—all wrong like the hook Heather had found near the trail and tucked away in her suitcase. Something about the accident didn’t sit right with her. Could it have been deliberate—teenagers messing around? Trying to trip someone up for the fun of it, a dare gone horribly wrong? Or something more sinister?

  “All right, everyone,” Reagan crooned into the mic, “Let’s get things rolling with our first game of the evening: Team Jeopardy!”

  Before long, the atmosphere became more jovial and the crowd grew more raucous as they competed to answer trivia questions from 1998, yelling out song titles to match video clips on the screen overhead, and racing around the room trying to pair baby photos to their classmates.

  “I think it’s going well, don’t you?” Reagan said, beaming proudly around their table.

  “Everyone seems to be having a blast,” Josh agreed.

  “The photo booth with the 1998 wardrobe and the wigs is a huge hit,” Sydney chimed in. “I posted a few pics to Facebook already.”

  “Food’s not bad either,” Marco remarked, apprising the half-eaten plate of succulent steak, seared asparagus and garlic mashed potatoes in front of him.

  “That’s a winning endorsement, coming from you,” Josh said.

  Reagan turned to Heather. “Did you know that Marco owns three restaurants now: The Sardinian, Bella Calabria, and Veneto?” She reached over and grabbed Anna’s hand. “See all those rings? Marco’s culinary skills paid for every last one of them.”

  Anna smiled stiffly as she jerked her hand away.

  Heather threw a furtive look at Marco. Judging by the dark expression on his face, he hadn’t missed the barbed tone in Reagan’s compliment. What was that all about?

  Heather glanced up as a waiter approached carrying an enormous floral arrangement of delicate blue flowers.

  “Delivery for the student council table,” he announced. He set the flowers down with a flourish and scurried off, his face gleaming with sweat.

  “How thoughtful!” Reagan preened. “Someone must want to thank me for all the hard work I put in organizing the reunion.”


  “Those are forget-me-nots,” Sydney said, rubbing a petal between her fingers. “Unusual choice for a flower arrangement. I wonder who it’s from.”

  “Let’s find out.” Reagan reached for the attached envelope, slipped the card out, and gasped.

  5

  Reagan dropped the card on the table and pressed her trembling fingers to her lips.

  Heather laid a hand on her arm. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Tell us what the card says!” Sydney demanded.

  Reagan gulped, her face washed out and pale beneath her carefully applied make up. Wordlessly, she slid the card across the table. Sydney snatched it up and read it aloud. “You deserve to die!” She frowned and turned it over. “That’s rich! This has got to be some kind of sick joke.”

  Heather darted a glance around the room on the off chance she might catch someone watching their shocked reactions with a satisfied smirk on their face, but everyone appeared to be engaged in conversations of their own, oblivious to the drama unfolding at their table.

  Marco held out his hand for the card, studying it with a scowl before tossing it aside. “My guess is it’s someone who had it in for the student council back in the day. Didn’t like all the power we had.” He looked directly at Reagan. “Let’s face it, you rubbed a lot of people the wrong way.”

  She shot him an indignant glare. “Are you saying this is my fault?”

  He glowered back at her. “You need to chill, it’s just a prank. Someone’s trying to wind us up, and you’re falling for it.” He glanced around the room. “They’re probably splitting their sides right now, telling the rest of their table not to look over here. Ignore the card. Don’t let them rattle you.”

  “Easier said than done,” Josh chimed in. “It’s a tough message to ignore.” He turned to Heather. “You’re the investigative expert. What do you think?”

  Heather cleared her throat, selecting her words with care. She was thinking a lot of things—like maybe someone had deliberately caused Lindsay’s biking accident and was trying to intimidate the rest of the student council too for some inexplicable reason. If Lindsay’s death had been a prank gone wrong, then it was unlikely the card was connected to it. But what if someone had wanted Lindsay dead—wanted them all dead? As shocking a thought as it was, there was no denying the fact that the message read like a threat: you deserve to die. Who did you refer to? All of them, or one of them?

  “Heather?” Josh was peering at her, his brows scrunched together.

  “Sorry! My PI instincts are in overdrive. I was thinking through all the possibilities,” she said. “I agree with Marco. It’s most likely one of the other clubs yanking our chain. Let’s face it, we weren’t popular with everyone. Granted, it’s in extremely poor taste, considering what happened to Lindsay, but maybe someone set up the flower order before her accident and forgot to cancel it.”

  “People need to get a life,” Sydney huffed. “This isn’t the least bit funny. I feel like reporting it to the police.”

  “They’re not going to do anything about it,” Marco scoffed. “A prank flower delivery at a class reunion isn’t exactly a high priority weekend call for the cops.”

  “I wonder what the significance of the forget-me-nots is,” Anna mused, tapping a polished fingernail on the table as she studied the floral arrangement.

  “Maybe someone’s letting us know they haven’t forgotten what we did to tick them off,” Josh said. “Although I’ve no idea what that could be.”

  “Could be anything,” Marco added. “It was one drama after another back in the day.” He fired another dark look Reagan’s way as he reached for his wine glass.

  Heather scanned the room again. It was possible this was nothing more than a tactless practical joke. As class president, Reagan had been overbearing in the way she handled things—steamrolling over anyone who stood in her way. And it never ceased to amaze Heather how long some people could harbor grudges. Still, it was particularly vindictive, considering the fact that tonight had been dedicated to Lindsay’s memory.

  “We need to get to the bottom of it,” Sydney said. “It makes me uncomfortable to think there are people out there who hate us to this very day.”

  “It shouldn’t be too hard to track down the company that delivered the flowers,” her husband, Steve, piped up.

  Heather nodded. “That’s the easy part. But there’s no guarantee the florist will have a record of who placed the order. They could have paid in cash.”

  Reagan furrowed her brow. “I could grab the mic right now and ask who sent it—pretend we want to thank them. Maybe I can embarrass them into admitting to the stunt and force them to apologize publicly.”

  Josh smoothed a hand over his jaw, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “That’s probably not the best way to handle it. You’ll completely kill the atmosphere you’ve worked so hard to create. And what if no one admits to it? That would be even more awkward. Everyone will be viewing each other with suspicion. That’s all they’ll talk about for the rest of the evening, if they even stay after that. Besides, we don’t know for sure that someone here was behind it.”

  Sydney threw him an alarmed look. “Who else could it have been?” She glanced around the table in bewilderment.

  “Josh is right,” Heather said. “We can’t stand up and accuse someone here of pulling this stunt without being sure of our facts. We’re only going to tick off a lot of people.”

  Marco picked the card back up and flicked his nail against it. “You deserve to die. Is that all of us or one of us? What if this has nothing to do with high school? I’m willing to bet we’ve all ticked people off since then.”

  “It could be a disgruntled employee,” Anna interjected. “You’ve had a few troublemakers.”

  “The question is, what are we going to do about it?” Sydney asked.

  “I can raise the matter in a follow up email after the reunion,” Reagan suggested. “Maybe someone will respond.”

  “Or we could simply ignore it,” Marco said.

  Josh nodded. “As disturbing as it is, it’s most likely a prank. I vote to ignore it. Don’t give the moron behind it the satisfaction of a reaction.”

  He looked around the table expectantly. One by one, the others nodded in dubious assent. Heather did likewise, but she snapped a quick picture of the handwriting on the card, nonetheless. She didn’t want to needlessly fan the flames of fear. But she couldn’t ignore the message entirely. Just like she couldn’t ignore the hook. She didn’t know how, but her instincts told her the two were connected.

  6

  Back in LA, Heather threw herself into her work with renewed vigor. After wrapping up her surveillance duties for Karan Patel, she sent him a hefty invoice for the juicy evidence of his wife’s extra-marital shenanigans. If nothing else, it would ensure that the gold-digging, party-hopping, substantially younger, and soon-to-be-ex Mrs. Patel wouldn’t walk away with half the fortune Karan’s decades of hard work and ingenuity had amassed.

  In between cases, Heather had taken the time to contact her sister, Violet, and asked her to make a few inquiries at local florists back in Iowa. She had been able to nail down the business that had fulfilled the order for the forget-me-not arrangement and delivered it to the reunion. But, as Heather had suspected, the customer had paid in cash. The florist was unable to give Violet much of a description other than that it was a woman with long, brown hair and glasses—either or both of which could easily have been part of a disguise. The woman might even have been hired to place the order on someone else’s behalf. Heather had reluctantly retired the whole unsettling affair to the back burner while she focused on more pressing matters that paid the bills.

  She was returning home from a rare trip to the grocery store one morning when her phone rang. Reagan’s number came up on the screen. She placed her bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and perched on a barstool, with Phoebe in her lap, to take the call.

  “Hey Reagan, how’s it go—”


  “Someone tried to kill Marco last night!” Reagan blurted out. “They set fire to one of his restaurants!”

  Heather stiffened, pressing the phone tight to her ear, while ruffling Phoebe’s ears. “Are you sure it was arson?”

  Reagan gulped back a sob and continued talking, seemingly oblivious to the question. “And two days ago, someone cut me off on the freeway. They tried to kill me too! I knew we should have taken the card at the reunion seriously. It was a real threat. I should have confronted everyone that night. We shouldn’t have let them get away with it. I’m telling you, one of our former classmates is a psycho.”

  “Okay, calm down and take a breath,” Heather soothed, slipping into professional mode. “Let’s talk this through. Which restaurant was it?”

  “Bella Calabria. It’s on the west side of town.”

  “How do you know the fire wasn’t accidental?”

  “The fire investigator found accelerant at the scene. He said it was definitely arson—an amateur. Apparently, they didn’t make much of an attempt to hide their tracks.”

  Heather rubbed a hand over her temples digesting this information. “Maybe Anna was right that Marco has a disgruntled employee.”

  “But what about me?” Reagan cried. “Someone’s after me as well. I almost crashed when they cut me off. Everyone on the freeway was laying on their horns.”

  “Did you get a look at the driver?”

  “Not really. It all happened so fast. I was concentrating on trying not to hit anyone.”

  Heather thought for a moment. “Could you tell if it was a man or a woman?”

  “No, they were wearing a hoodie—probably trying to hide their face.”

  “We can’t be sure the two events are connected,” Heather said, trying not to sound overly dismissive of Reagan’s fears. “I get cut off on LA freeways almost every day. The arson is another matter. Let’s focus on that. Did Marco tell the police about the flower delivery at the reunion?”