Class Reunions Are Murder

by Libby Klein

  It was Barbie.

  And Barbie was dead.

  Chapter 10

  The body was lying at an awkward angle, as if someone had dragged it to this spot and left it. In front of my old locker.

  Well, this won’t end well.

  Barbie’s corpse reeked of perfume and tequila, and someone had stuffed a pompom in her mouth. Well, that part makes sense. We’ve all wanted to do that for years.

  Maybe she had just passed out. I suspected it wasn’t the first time she had drunk herself into a pickled coma. I grabbed the pompom and gave it a tug. A line of drool webbed from the plastic handle to her open mouth. Her head lolled to the side and I saw what looked like a giant infected hickey with a tiny black dot in the middle.

  Oh my God—a puncture wound. Ding dong, the witch was dead!

  Aaaaand I had just interfered with the murder scene. I shoved the pompom back in her mouth and tried to fluff it out. I quickly looked around and wondered if I had time to drag her a few more feet down to Joanne’s locker.

  No! That’s ridiculous. Get ahold of yourself, Poppy. “Help! Someone!”

  I fumbled in my purse for my cell phone to call 911, but before I had a chance to dial I heard a gasp from down the hall and quick footsteps.

  Joel Miller ran up from the other end of C hall. He had discarded his suit jacket and tie and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows like he’d been working out in the yard. He was sweating and breathing heavily. He leaned in and looked at the body, eyes wide with concern. Then they narrowed to slits and shifted my way, piercing me with accusation.

  I ignored his glare. “Do you know CPR?”

  He didn’t answer me. He stood, hands on hips, staring at Barbie, slowly shaking his head side to side.

  A piercing scream nearly shattered my eardrums, and Joanne ran up panting and fell to her knees. “What have you done to her!” she lashed out at me, sobbing. She grabbed the body and let out a racking howl.

  Good Lord. There was less mourning when Elvis died.

  Other footsteps were coming up the hall, probably summoned by Joanne’s five-alarm scream.

  Amber arrived and gently pulled Joanne off Barbie’s body. She checked Barbie’s pulse. Her lips tightened into a thin line and her brows knit together. She slowly turned to face me and coldly asked, “What did you do?”

  “Me? I didn’t do anything. I just got here.”

  Joanne’s eyes were bugging out and her face was scarlet with rage. “She’s lying! You know she is. You saw the way she attacked her in the cafeteria! She killed her! I saw her standing over the body myself.”

  “I was looking for Sawyer! Joel, you were the first one here. You know I didn’t kill her. Tell them.”

  Joel glared at me. “I don’t know how long you were here. I came because I heard someone scream for help. And there was Barbie . . . and there you were standing over her, gloating. You murdered her!”

  My heart thudded in my ears and felt like I was walking under water. I was most certainly not gloating. I can’t say I was heartbroken, but that about covered it for me. Things were turning in a bad direction, and I tried to catch my breath but my grip on reality was swirling around me like fireflies in July.

  “Poppy?” Sawyer called me from down the hall. She sounded a million miles away, but the sound of her voice caused tears to well up in my eyes and a sob caught in my throat. At least she was okay. “What’s going on—OH MY GOD! Is that Barbie?” She ran toward us.

  “Stay away from her!” Joanne shrieked. “Look what your murdering accomplice did!”

  “Everybody needs to settle down and tell me what happened,” Amber demanded.

  Her imperious attitude went right through me. I shot back, “We don’t have time for this, Amber. We need to call the police.”

  “I am the police.” Amber flashed a badge she pulled out of her little silver purse.

  Well, I did not see that coming.

  “Nobody leaves this area,” she sneered at me with a growl, “especially you, McAllister. And don’t touch anything. I’m calling this in.”

  Amber called for an ambulance and backup, while Sawyer and I huddled together for moral support. I couldn’t take my eyes off the body or Joanne sobbing next to it.

  Barbie had changed into her old cheerleading uniform, probably for some hoopla Missy had planned for later. Her hair was disheveled like she’d been out in the wind and her arms were lying straight at her sides. I didn’t see any signs of struggle or blood in the hall. Everything looked perfectly normal, except for, well, the dead body.

  It was only moments before I heard the wail of sirens approaching from outside. Word had obviously gotten out that there was a body in the History wing, because a small crowd had formed at the end of the hall. Amber tasked Joel with pushing the gawkers back to keep the evidence intact. I overheard him say something about respect for the deceased. Before we knew it, backup crews were pushing their way through the half-drunk gaping onlookers. Every cop in South Jersey seemed to have dropped their Wawa coffee and responded, because they were swarming the area, decorating the hallway with more yellow crime-scene tape than the homecoming dance.

  When the crew with the stretcher rolled up, the hall suddenly went quiet, except for the crackle of the police radios and Joanne’s snorts and whimpers.

  Amber was all brusqueness and business, directing several teams of officers. “Shut down all the exits. No one leaves without giving a detailed statement.”

  An officer placed a plastic sheet over the body, which sent Joanne into shock, and she sat on the floor against the lockers staring into space and rocking back and forth.

  “Sawyer, this is Officer Benson. Go with him to give your statement.” Then she turned a cold eye in my direction. “Poppy, you come with me.”

  Sawyer’s grip on my arm tightened. “Can’t we stay together?”

  “No, I’m sorry, it’s protocol.” Officer Benson led Sawyer into the Psychology classroom, and she gave me a frightened look over her shoulder before she disappeared into the dark room.

  “Come with me, McAllister.”

  Obediently I followed her into the Spanish classroom. She flicked on the lights, which came to life in stages of buzzes and clicks. Then she shut the door behind us and motioned for me to wedge myself into one of the tiny desks at the front. The room was cold and smelled like chalk dust and Doritos. Posters of Spanish-named items were decorated around the room. Someone had scratched the conjugation of “morir” on the top of my desk. Probably test answers.

  Amber half-sat, half-leaned on top of the desk next to me.

  “Look, I don’t know anything,” I jumped in. “I was looking for Sawyer and just happened upon Barbie. She was already dead when I found her.”

  Amber’s eyes were cold and bore into mine. “This will go a lot easier if you just tell me the truth now. Everyone in the cafeteria witnessed the fight between you and Barbie and heard what you said about dropping a house on her. Now she’s dead, and you were seen standing over the body by two eyewitnesses. It looks really bad, McAllister.”

  “I know how it looks, but I’m telling you I didn’t kill her. The last time I saw her, you were taking her to the nurse’s office for an ice pack. I was just looking for Sawyer, who said she needed a minute alone.”

  Amber had started writing notes in a little steno pad she’d pulled from her purse. “So Sawyer left the cafeteria alone?”

  The minute she asked me that I knew I had made a terrible mistake. “No, it’s not like that. Sawyer had just had an unpleasant run-in with her ex-husband and she needed a minute to collect herself.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I was looking for her.”

  “Did you see her anywhere in the vicinity of this hallway?”

  “No! Not at all. Sawyer would never do anything like this to anyone. She couldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “That’s not what I saw in the cafeteria. She was beating the snot out of Barbie u
ntil you pulled her off.”

  “There is no way you could possibly think Sawyer could have had anything to do with this.”

  “I don’t know. You tell me. I know Barbie was pretty mean to you all in high school.”

  Uh, what’s with this “Barbie was mean” business?—Hello!

  I shot back, “I seem to remember you both calling us names. Bullying us. Spreading lies about us. You both made our lives miserable.”

  “I’m not the one who was found standing over a murder victim.”

  There was a knock on the door, and then it opened a crack. Amber gestured for whoever it was to enter. An officer came in and whispered something to her, then left.

  “A testimony just came in that the body is lying in front of your old locker. You want to tell me that’s a coincidence?”

  I should have moved that body when I had the chance. I took a deep breath before answering. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence, but I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Why should I believe that?”

  “Think about it, Amber. If I was going to kill Barbie, I wouldn’t do it in front of my locker.”

  “Where would you do it?”

  With a sudden chill it occurred to me that her questions were just a formality. Amber was already determined to zero in on one suspect. Moi. Or, I guess out of respect for the Spanish class, I should say Yo.

  “I wouldn’t do it at all!”

  “I have a hundred eyewitnesses that will say otherwise.”

  “I think it’s obvious that someone’s trying to set me up.”

  “Someone like . . . Sawyer?”

  “No! Of course not!”

  There was another knock on the door, and this time it was a young officer and he was carrying something. He whispered to Amber and gave her the item, which she flashed in my face.

  “Do you recognize this?”

  “Yes, it’s my purse. I must have dropped it in the hall.” She put on a pair of rubber gloves the officer handed her, opened the silver clasp to my clutch, and carefully dug around the lining. Her eyes went from cold to icy.

  “You want to explain to me why you have a hypodermic needle and alcohol pads in your purse, McAllister.”

  I felt panic rising in my chest like a bird trapped by a hungry cat. Oh, no-no-no-no-no, this can’t be happening.

  She pulled out one of the needles I’d used to administer pain medication to John when he was undergoing chemo. It must have been left in the inside pocket from the last black-tie event John and I had attended.

  I stared at the needle in a dumbfounded stupor and tried to come up with the perfect response that would cause Amber to see that I was honest and worthy of her trust. Instead I blurted out, “Don’t you need a warrant to go through my stuff without asking?”

  “Not if there’s reasonable cause. And we have a whole mountain of reasonable cause out there. So now do you want to tell me about the syringe?”

  “I can explain that.”

  Amber’s radio crackled that she was needed in another room, and the young officer who brought in my purse stood guard over the door while she was gone. He didn’t acknowledge me. I was left alone with just my misery to keep me company.

  Why did I come up here? Nothing good ever happened for me in South Jersey. But not in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine this scenario. I severely disliked Barbie. I can’t say I’d be devastated to hear she was pecked to death by a flock of angry chickens, but I didn’t hate her enough to kill her.

  This was bad. Muy mala. When Officer Amber returned, I would have to make her listen to reason. I could have this cleared up and be on my way home to Waterford first thing in the morning.

  Amber returned with two other officers.

  “Listen, Amber, I don’t know what is going on but I can tell you that I had nothing to do with it. And I want you to know that I’m willing to cooperate fully to help the police find out who did.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, McAllister. But you’ll have to do it at the station. The medical examiner has found a puncture wound in the victim’s neck that is consistent with the syringe that was found in your belongings. You’re under arrest for the murder of Barbie Clark. You have the right to remain silent.”

  The young cop who brought my purse in put his hand on my elbow to pull me up. He closed a cold metal ring on my wrist and brought my arm behind my back.

  I couldn’t believe what was happening. I could hear Amber talking about my rights but I couldn’t focus; everything was hazy. I was handcuffed and led out into the hall, where a photographer was taking evidence pictures of Barbie’s body. At the end of the hall I could hear a cacophony of muttering and the sound of cell phones documenting my shame and uploading it to social media.

  In the crowd I heard Creepy Carl say, “Too bad ‘dead body’ wasn’t on the scavenger hunt list.”

  I couldn’t process any coherent thoughts. The events were too surreal. I was led out the main doors through a sea of judgmental faces toward a waiting cruiser.

  Outside, the sky had finally opened up and a powerful rain was pelting the earth. Hurricane Mavis had arrived.

  Chapter 11

  I was taken down to the police station and processed. A sergeant confiscated my Swarovski hair clip and jewelry. My picture was taken and I was fingerprinted.

  Then I was led to a holding cell, where two other women were already seated inside.

  Everything was out of focus. I was in a state of shock, oblivious to my surroundings. When the barred door slammed shut with a loud clank, my knees gave out and I stumbled, nearly falling to the floor. One of the women put out her hand to steady me.

  “Be careful, honey. That floor is concrete, and no one will come to give you first aid until your lawyer shows up.”

  A strong hand helped me to a cold metal bench that was bolted to the floor, and hopelessness washed over me like a tidal wave. This was not the life I had signed up for. How I desperately missed John. He was my anchor. Now I was just bobbing aimlessly in an ocean of apathy. I let the tears fall freely. My husband was dead. I never accomplished anything with my life. And now I was in jail for a murder I didn’t commit. I’d probably be put away for the remaining good years I had left. Why hadn’t I taken that stupid syringe out of my purse six months ago?

  “You want some Juicy Fruit, honey?”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “You want some Juicy Fruit gum? I keep it hidden in my bra. The cops don’t wanna look for it there, so they never confiscate it.”

  I looked up and for the first time began to take in my surroundings. The holding cell had two long metal benches, both bolted to the floor. The walls were painted in suicide-watch green. And, oh-my-God, there was a metal toilet just sitting in the open at the back of the room for all the world to see you do your business. I died a little inside.

  I looked at the woman next to me who had offered me the Juicy Fruit. She was an older woman with beautiful long silver hair, long silver fingernails, and the longest, thickest eyelashes I’d ever seen. She was dressed in a bubblegum pink minidress and thigh-high silver stiletto boots, one leg crossed daintily over the other and she was gently swinging her top foot. She was watching me with eyes full of concern and popping a mouthful of gum.

  A woman on the other side of the cell snorted. “Gum. That’s all you got in that bra.”

  I looked across the cell and saw a dark-skinned African-American woman who appeared to be a few years younger than me. She was dressed in beat-up jeans and a stained gray hoodie. She leaned forward on the metal bench, her elbows resting on open knees.

  “Can it, Tawnika,” the woman next to me said to her, then turned back to me. “Maybe it’s because I’m getting away with something but Juicy Fruit always makes me feel better when I’m arrested.”

  I could hear the words coming out of her mouth but they weren’t making any sense. I shook my head no. She shrugged her shoulders and went back to popping her gum.

  How did my life
get here? I was so full of promise. I had plans. Four-year college. Summer study abroad in Paris. Then a posh apartment in New York City, running my own bakery. I was going to call it Sassyfrass. Marriage to Tim. Two kids and a cat. Somewhere I got off track and could never seem to get back on. I never envisioned my life being this . . . disappointing. This empty. This worthless.

  “What’d you do?”

  “What?”

  “I said, what’d you do?”

  From the other side of the cell, the inmate was watching me with a mixture of curiosity and defiance.

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  She rolled her eyes and jerked her head to the side. “Oh, yeah. Us neitha. Right, Bebe?”

  “I never do anything,” the woman next to me said in a sweet, lilting accent. “The cops in this town just have it out for me.”

  “I was set up again. Ima kill that beast when I get outta here.” Tawnika kicked the metal bench and it made a loud clang.

  Somewhere in the distance a man’s voice called out, “Knock it off in there!”

  Hot tears filled my eyes. What am I going to do? What I wouldn’t give to have a time machine to go back and undo some of my mistakes. I wouldn’t go to that stupid reunion, that’s for sure! I wouldn’t get pregnant in college or let my mother-in-law trap me in Virginia. All I want is to have a chance at some happiness. To do something with my life, to make something of myself. I’m tired of being a victim.

  “Are you okay?”

  “What?”

  “I said are you okay, honey? I’m Bebe.”

  She put out her large hand and I shook it and that was when I noticed that she had the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow peeking through a thick application of makeup.

  “This is your first time, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “First time for what?”

  “Poor thing, she’s still dazed,” she said to the woman on the other side of the cell. “That’s Tawnika. She has connections in the Crest if you need anything . . . medicinal.”