Class Reunions Are Murder

by Libby Klein

  “Yep.”

  “Who was there next?”

  “Joel, then Joanne.”

  “Joel Miller? That’s interesting,” Sawyer noted.

  “Why is that so interesting?”

  “Joel is Kristen’s husband, and he volunteers as a part-time coach during basketball season. So he would have had a lot of alone time with Barbie before and after team and cheerleading squad practices—if you know what I mean.”

  “Where are you going with this?”

  “We all know Barbie was a man-eater. Maybe Joel was coming to meet Barbie for a little rendezvous and Kristen found out about it and killed her. I mean, he did show up quickly. Why?”

  “Sorry. I just can’t see an eight-months pregnant woman killing someone and dragging them through the hall, can you?”

  Sawyer’s face fell. “No, I guess you’re right. But Kristen was pretty upset with Barbie at the reunion, and she was one of the last people to see her alive.”

  “That’s mighty fishy,” Aunt Ginny said. “Write that down.”

  Sawyer wrote down “Joel,” and drew a fish next to his name. “Maybe Kristen and Joel are in it together.”

  “I would move them to the top of the list.” Aunt Ginny tapped Sawyer’s notebook with her fork again.

  “I agree.” Sawyer made a notation to move them up due to “greater fishiness.”

  “So our prime suspects are Billy and his fiancée, Kristen and Joel, a mystery jealous wife, and Barbie’s husband, Robert. Is that right?” Sawyer asked.

  “It’s a start at least,” I agreed.

  “You should go to that school tomorrow and see if they have security tapes that could have caught the whole thing,” Aunt Ginny suggested.

  “Ooh, that’s a good idea.” Sawyer wrote it down in her notebook.

  “Okay, I’ll see what I can find out,” I said.

  “I wish I could go with you but I have to cover the bookstore tomorrow,” Sawyer said.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll come and have coffee with you after and tell you everything I find.”

  “And while you’re there maybe try to question Kristen,” Sawyer added.

  “She’s not going to talk to me,” I protested.

  “Then we’ll make her talk!” Aunt Ginny kicked the coffee table and some of my coffee sloshed out of my cup.

  Sawyer and I stared at Aunt Ginny for a minute before going back to the list to finalize our plans. Sometimes I wondered if Aunt Ginny just might be crazy after all.

  Chapter 15

  The next morning, after Aunt Ginny and I had coffee—and after I dug Figaro out of the trash can where he was licking plastic cupcake wrappers—I powered up my cell phone for the first time since the reunion.

  I had forty-six voice messages. Half of them were from a distraught Sawyer. Most of the rest were from Connie and Kim. One was from Georgina asking me where I was, when would I be home to help her coordinate the swag bags, and had I lost any weight yet. One voice message was from Aunt Ginny who said, “Poppy, it’s Aunt Ginny, pick up. Pick up, Poppy. I can’t tell if this dang doohickey is working or not. Poppy! Pick up!” And then twenty minutes of Aunt Ginny muttering to Figaro about how much she hated newfangled technology.

  I texted Connie and Kim that I was okay and we should get together later and I would fill them in on everything. I ignored Georgina.

  I called the referral Frank had given me for a company to begin cleaning up Aunt Ginny’s yard. Shorebird Landscapers were coming out to trim the bushes, prune the trees, collect the leaves, and mow and winterize the grass. Aunt Ginny was worried that they would dig up her peonies, but I assured her that her peonies were safe.

  Then I placed a call to Handyman Haven to arrange for a contractor to come out and repair the front gate and a broken window on the second story, and replace the rotten wood around the porch. Frank was going to get some estimates for me by next week for having the outside of the house painted.

  Aunt Ginny handed me a slip of paper with a phone number scrawled in purple ink. “I have one more call I want you to make.”

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “Well now, don’t get mad.”

  “Why would I get mad?”

  “I asked my friend, Mrs. Dodson, to give me the number of a doctor her daughter goes to for the depression.”

  “A psychiatrist?”

  “No! Not a headshrinker. I can do that for you myself.”

  “You can shrink my head?” I said with mock horror.

  “Quit being fresh.” She swatted me on the arm. “This is a different kind of doctor. One that doesn’t use traditional medicine unless you really need it. She uses herbs and potions and stuff.”

  “So—a witch?” I teased.

  “Girl, don’t make me get my yardstick to your behind.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now, this doctor did a lot of good for Charlotte, and I think she can do a lot of good for you, too. I want you to give her a call.”

  “Okay.”

  “I want you to call today.”

  “Today?”

  “Yes, today. With all the stress that’s been added to you with taking care of me and this house and now the murder charges you’ll probably need a potion to keep yourself from falling over dead.”

  “Well, no one wants to fall over dead.”

  “Poppy Blossom McAllister—I’m serious. Now please give her a call.”

  Ooh, pulling out the middle name. “Okay, I will. But don’t get your hopes up. It takes time to get an appointment with a doctor.”

  Well, I was wrong about that. It turned out that Dr. Melinda was not a witch but in fact a holistic naturopath who could also prescribe medical tests and prescription drugs when needed. At least that’s what her receptionist told me.

  “I guess I’ll give it a go.”

  “You won’t be disappointed.”

  “When is your next available?”

  “How about this evening at five o’clock?”

  “This evening? As in tonight?”

  “You are Ginny Frankowski’s niece, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said with growing suspicion.

  “Your aunt called in this morning and said it was an emergency.”

  That sneaky little devil. No wonder she told me not to get mad. “I can be there at five, no problem.”

  “Okay, we’ll see you then.”

  Aunt Ginny had mysteriously disappeared.

  Before leaving, I left her a note that I was going to the high school and would be back tonight to glare at her menacingly.

  Chapter 16

  I pulled up in front of Caper High and parked in a visitor spot. School was canceled for the students on account of the incident over the weekend. I signed in with the security guard at the door and he gave me a temporary pass. I was about to enter the office, when I heard a ruckus down the hall.

  “What’s going on down there?” I asked the guard.

  He rolled his eyes. “Some nutcase is trying to set up a memorial where that woman got killed the other night.”

  Well, this I gotta see. I walked down the hall and found a shrine laid out in Barbie’s memory. Battery-operated candles were lit everywhere. A spray of flowers in the shape of a cross sat in front of a row of lockers and a portrait of Barbie hung on the door to the Spanish classroom.

  Missy was frantically trying to wrestle a three-foot-tall teddy bear away from Joanne. “You can’t leave this here. The kids will be back in school soon!”

  “Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t do! This is where Barbie died, and this is where I’m setting up a proper tribute in her honor!”

  Joanne saw me standing there. Instantly she lunged for me, but her foot caught on the cross and she tripped. “You! This is your fault! Returning to the scene of the crime!”

  Missy grabbed the teddy bear and tucked it under her arm. “Joanne! I will have you banned from this school if you don’t calm down.”

  “Under whose
authority?!” Joanne snarled, picking herself up.

  “I am acting chair of the Alumni Association and liaison to the principal. You don’t want to push me, Jo.”

  I raised my hands in surrender. “I had nothing to do with Barbie’s death, Joanne.”

  She started to cry. “You’re a liar! I will see to it that you’re put away for life for this.”

  Missy gave me an exasperated look. “It’s probably best that we get you to the front office right now.”

  With a backward glance to Joanne, who was resettling her candles, I followed Missy to the office.

  Colorful posters advertising lunch menus and school activities hung on a bulletin board, while a large portrait of the school superintendent graced the opposite wall. Missy deposited the stuffed bear behind the long counter that separated the waiting room from the administrative area in the back.

  “Joanne’s having a tough time with Barbie’s death. They were very close.”

  “Sure.” Some would say too close.

  “I’m surprised you’re here. The last time I saw you, Amber was putting you in a police cruiser.”

  “Well, I wasn’t charged with anything and it’s still an open investigation. I’m looking for evidence that will prove my innocence.”

  She thought about that for a minute. “I understand. I would probably do the same thing in your position.”

  “That’s why I’m here. I was hoping to see if there are security tapes from Saturday night that might have caught something.”

  “I think the police already have them, but you can ask Mrs. Wyatt, in the office. If anyone knows what’s going on around here, she does.”

  “I’ll do that, thank you.”

  Missy gave me a long, appraising look. “I’m a pretty good judge of character and you don’t strike me as a killer.”

  “I’m not. Well, except for spiders. They give me the heebie-jeebies.” I followed her out to the security guard desk by the entrance.

  “Let me know if you need anything and I’ll help you as much as I can.” She gave me a reassuring smile. “I’m up here most days volunteering on one committee or another. Athena’s a sophomore this year and I want to stay involved. I want her to love Caper High as much as we did.”

  Uh-huh. “Sure you do.”

  “It’s just so unsettling that someone who was at the reunion killed Barbie. She could be very difficult at times, but she had a good heart. She was wonderful with the cheerleaders. I just can’t believe that one of our friends could do something so heinous. The class of ’89 is a family.” She wiped a tear from her eye.

  “Oh, yeah I know.” The Capones were a family too.

  “Well, I have to run. I was just up here dropping off Athena’s Shakespeare project when Principal Hinkler asked me to try to reason with Joanne. I’m meeting Kelly to help with the arrangements for the memorial service Wednesday evening.”

  Wow, that was fast.

  “Poor Robert. He’s just distraught, as you can imagine. He and Barbie were perfect for each other. He’s not even sure he wants to continue the campaign. Says his heart can’t bear to go on without his beautiful wife at his side.” She wrote her phone number on a Post-it and handed it to me. “Let me know if the security tapes were helpful. And call me anytime you need to talk.” She signed out of the visitors’ log, gave a backward wave, and in a flash was out the door.

  “Athena?” I said to the security guard.

  He rolled his eyes and went back to his newspaper.

  Mrs. Wyatt was estimated to be about 101 years old. Okay, not really, but good Lord, the woman was ancient when I was in high school, and that was twenty-five years ago. Thin as a rail and more scalp than hair, she had a pair of cat-eye glasses she wore on a chain and she’d put them on the edge of her nose to read. She was looking down her nose at a logbook when I said hello.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked without looking up.

  “Hi. My name is Poppy and I’m looking for information about the crime that happened the other night.”

  “Mm-hm.” She still didn’t look up.

  “I was wondering if there was security tape footage from Saturday’s reunion.”

  “I already told the other one. We only run the cameras outside at night. Nothing inside the building.”

  “The other one?”

  “Yeah, the little blond cop.”

  So Amber had already asked about the tapes. “Why do you only run the outside cameras at night?”

  “Because we only expect people to be murdered during the day when the students are here.” She looked down her nose at me. “After hours we keep track of the grounds and parking area where the kids like to come back and see what they can vandalize.”

  “I see. By any chance were these tapes reviewed from Saturday night?”

  “Yep.”

  “Aaaand do you know what was on them?”

  “Yep.”

  “I don’t suppose you could tell me.”

  “I don’t know. My memory’s all hazy. Prescriptions are getting mighty expensive these days. Medicare just doesn’t cover as much as it used to.”

  Are you kidding me? Was I actually being shaken down by someone’s sweet little grandmother? I took out twenty dollars and passed it to her. “I would hate for you to not have your prescriptions.”

  She took the twenty, squinted through her glasses at it, and tucked it under her bra strap. “That should help.”

  “So what did they see on the security tapes?”

  “They got nothin’. Too many people coming and going because of the reunion. Walking around, making out in the bushes worse than a bunch of hooligans. Nothing around the time of the murder. If anyone came in or out of the building to do the deed, they managed to avoid the cameras.”

  “Do you think that’s a coincidence?”

  “Doubtful.”

  Interesting. “Thank you, Mrs. Wyatt.”

  “You betcha.”

  I left the office and started for the exit when I had another idea. I turned right instead and headed toward the nurse’s office.

  Chapter 17

  Pregnancy-chic Kristen was long gone and had been replaced by grouchy, Goodyear-blimp Kristen. She wore her hair in a bun on top of her head with a pencil sticking out of the side of it and had on a pair of dark, rectangular glasses. Her sexy aqua cocktail dress had been exchanged for a pair of sensible brown maternity slacks and a billowy blouse. And she wore a white lab coat with NURSE MILLER monogrammed over the breast pocket and a scowl. She looked to be inventorying bandages and cotton balls when I knocked on the door.

  “Come in.” She looked me up and down for a moment without expression. “I can’t write excuse notes to get your child out of P.E. You’ll have to go to your family doctor for that.”

  “Oh, I don’t have a child . . . in school here.” I don’t know why I added that last part. “I just wanted to talk to you for a moment.”

  She scrunched up her nose and tilted her head back to look at me through her glasses. “Do I know you?”

  “Yes,” I repeated, “it’s me, Poppy. Poppy McAllister.”

  She kept staring at me blankly. “Have we met?”

  I sighed deeply. Some things never change. “Poppy McAllister from the class of 1989.”

  Nothing.

  “I was the one arrested Saturday night for—you know.” I made a slicing motion with my finger across my throat.

  Her eyes grew wide with alarm. “It’s you.”

  “What? I didn’t do it.”

  She appeared to be very nervous and moved behind a metal desk covered with three-dimensional models of various organs and began fiddling with a model of a five-pound blob of fat. “What do you want?”

  I sat down on one of the plastic orange chairs in the waiting area. I looked around the room hoping to see something that looked like an obvious clue but nothing jumped out. The room smelled of antiseptic and something chemical-y. Painted in off-white, it was pretty cheerless except for a box
window hosting a row of flowerpots. Orchids, Venus flytraps, and other exotic plants I didn’t recognize. A door on the left was open and I could see an exam bed covered with a roll of protective paper. There was a tall cabinet behind the desk that I assumed was filled with first aid supplies, because it had a large red plus sign on the front.

  “I was hoping you could help me with something.”

  “Why should I help you with anything?”

  “I’m trying to help find Barbie’s killer and I need some information. That’s all.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Information about what?”

  “What happened in here Saturday night when you brought Barbie in for an ice pack?”

  “What do you mean what happened? I gave her an ice pack.”

  “Did anything unusual happen?”

  “No.” She sat down in the chair behind her desk and pressed against the side of her belly to get comfortable. “Not when you consider who was in here.”

  “Was it just the four of you? You, Barbie, Amber, and Joanne?”

  “Amber wasn’t in here. She dropped Barbie and Joanne off at the door and went to call her captain to report the catfight you and your friends instigated.”

  Okay. I’m gonna let that go. This time. “So she wasn’t in here the entire time you treated Barbie?”

  “No, but I didn’t treat her for very long. After Amber left, Barbie lashed out at Joanne, who ran out of the office in tears. I gave Barbie an ice pack, which she threw back at me a minute later and told me to shove it somewhere. Then she stormed out.”

  “What did she say to Buffalo—I mean Joanne—to make her leave crying?”

  “I don’t know. Probably something mean. Joanne worshiped Barbie. She always has. But Barb only indulges her when she feels like it. Ever since Amber and Barb had the big fight, Barb has been trying to repair the relationship any way she can. I think Barb thought Amber was going to stay in here with her. Once Amber left, Barb quit the damsel-in-distress act and bit Joanne’s head off.”

  “What was the big fight about?”

  “No one knows. But I’m sure it was something Barb did. She didn’t care who she hurt. She’d lost a lot of friends since high school.”