Class Reunions Are Murder

by Libby Klein

  Okay. Now we have a motive.

  “Her parents were so mortified when he called the wedding off they told everyone that Barbie did the dumping because Billy was unfaithful.”

  Aunt Ginny whispered to me, “Guess who just rose up to number one on my suspect list?”

  A member of the Fireman’s Auxiliary Club called the evening to order and the first game began.

  Anyone who thinks that life slows down as a senior citizen has never watched a roomful of grandmas run a table at bingo. Twenty cards can be covered at once with an ink stamp and the rapid-fire execution of a World War II Browning machine gun on a call: Bapbapbapbapbapbapbap! You had to see it to believe it.

  At one point Mrs. Davis thought she had bingo, but it turned out she had a schmear of jelly from her doughnut on I-19 that made it look like 1-18 and the pot went to the gray-haired sergeant.

  I tried to keep up with my cards, but I was so tired the numbers were moving around on me. Plus, it took all my willpower to leave the doughnuts alone. I had to smack Aunt Ginny’s hand once when I caught her trying to sneak one when she thought I was in the ladies’ room.

  We never did get to the final jackpot because Mother Gibson got her cigarette too close to Mrs. Davis’s wig and set it on fire. Mrs. Davis had enough AquaNet in it to spontaneously combust in the full sun, so all we saw was a blue flash and then a puff of white smoke. It caused so much chaos that we had to evacuate the bingo hall. Sister McGradey, who is nearly a hundred years old, mistook the smoke for a sign that we’d elected a new pope.

  The firemen weren’t too pleased being called in to put out a fire in their own station. Eddie Shoemaker gave a stern lecture to Mother Gibson about the no-smoking policy in public buildings. (Which, of course, she knows about, but she lights up anyway. If anyone challenges her, she taps her ear and says her hearing aid isn’t working.)

  I went to pick up the car so Aunt Ginny wouldn’t have to walk and found Pete Ferguson standing next to a green Oldsmobile out at the curb. In high school, Pete Ferguson was a wide receiver on the football team, which made him Caper royalty. But in junior high, he was my next-door neighbor, and I knew him more for being able to fit six beans up his nose at one time. This was my chance to check on Joel’s alibi.

  “Hey, you. How’s it going?”

  He took a long drag off a cigarette. “Long time no see, Red.”

  “Well, I was at the reunion the other night.”

  He gave me a sly grin. “So I hear.”

  “I didn’t see you much.”

  “Nah, that’s not really my scene anymore.”

  “What’d you do all night?”

  “You know. Jumped through a couple of Missy’s hoops. Grabbed some wings, then played ball with the guys. What’d you do?”

  “You know. Same.”

  He laughed.

  “I wanted to ask you something about that night.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Did you play ball with Joel Miller?”

  “Yeah. He was there.”

  “Was he there the whole time?”

  “Yeah. Why wouldn’t he be?”

  I guess I can cross Joel off the list.

  “I mean, except for when he stepped out to get some air.”

  “Did anyone go with him?”

  “No. We were too busy competing to see who has the best jump shot.”

  “How long was he out there?”

  “’Bout twenty minutes.”

  “Twenty minutes! Are you sure?” That was plenty of time to run to another hall, kill Barbie, and be back in the gym before being noticed.

  “Yeah, it was a little while. Troy and Mike played a whole game of twenty-one while we waited for him. I figured he got the munchies and went back to the buffet.”

  “And you never went to look for him?”

  “Didn’t think about it. He’s a big boy. Why are you asking?”

  “Just trying to figure some stuff out. You didn’t by any chance see Coach Wilcott at the reunion, did you?”

  “He walked through once. Carrying a plate of food, I think. Didn’t see him after that.”

  About that time, the little gray-haired sergeant marched up to the car. “Take me home, Peanut. That’s enough excitement for tonight.”

  “Peanut” opened the passenger-side door for the sergeant. “Okay, Nana. Let’s go.” Then he turned to me. “Take care of yourself, Red. Keep your head down.”

  I smiled back at him. “Let me know when you work up to seven beans.”

  Pete laughed and got in the car. Nana stuck her tongue out at me as they pulled away.

  Aunt Ginny was dancing a jig by the car when I returned, her eyes sparkling with delight. “I won two hundred dollars.”

  “Good for you. Why do you have powdered sugar on your lips?”

  Aunt Ginny’s hand flew up to her mouth. “Whaaaat? How did that get there? I bet it was when Lila started that wig fire. I had to save the bingo cards and the box of doughnuts.”

  “Oh, of course. You gotta have priorities.”

  “And then there was that big fan I walked past. It probably blew some of the powdered sugar on my face.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I let Aunt Ginny go on like that all the way home. She was a good distraction from my nagging fear about what we would find on the porch tonight. Would I live to tell about it tomorrow?

  Chapter 42

  I was busy Sunday morning making Paleo muffins for Gia’s shop. The first batch sold out yesterday and people had been requesting more. Today I’d fiddled with two new recipes: Cherry Chocolate Chip, and Banana Walnut Coconut.

  I found special allergy-friendly chocolate chips in the health food section of the ACME, so I bought enough bags to make some Paleo-friendly chocolate chip cookies for the alumni bake sale later.

  After yesterday’s disastrous fall off the wagon, I was trying really hard today to stick to my diet. At least for the next twenty-four hours. After that I might be on whatever regimen the county lockup prescribed.

  Figaro was being supportive by batting around the empty bag of walnuts, every now and then stretching up to my elbow and patting my arm to get my attention. I showed him the cookie dough, which he sniffed and then lost interest.

  Aunt Ginny padded into the room following the smell of baked cookies and French-pressed coffee.

  I poured her a cup, and brought her a sample of each muffin. “I splurged and bought some Ethiopian Yirga-cheffe for us. I don’t know how much longer I’ll get to enjoy it.”

  Aunt Ginny sipped her coffee. “I don’t want to hear any more of that nonsense. You’re not going anywhere and neither am I. We can do this.” She gave me a frail look of concern. “Don’t you think so?”

  My heart went out to her. “Of course we can.” Dear God, I hope so.

  Aunt Ginny reached into her pocket and handed me a business card. “Before I forget, I made you an appointment at that fancy-schmancy spa for a massage.”

  “You did?”

  “I appreciate all you’ve done for me these past few days and I want you to have a little pampering. I made it for today at four o’clock because I didn’t know if you’d be able to make it after tomorrow.”

  I swallowed hard.

  “I know we’ll prove your innocence, but in case we have to do it from prison, I wanted you to have this sooner rather than later.”

  I hugged Aunt Ginny and packaged up the cookies into baggies of four and made a sign that said GLUTEN-FREE—CONTAINS NUTS. Then I packed up the muffins and took the lot out to the car.

  * * *

  I thought today might be my last day to drool over Gia, so I dressed especially nice. Only Gia wasn’t there, his girlfriend was.

  She looked me up and down when I came in and she did not look impressed. “Are those our muffins?”

  “Just as promised.” I put the baskets up on the counter and told her about the two kinds. “I made little signs for them so the customers would know just what they are.”

 
She picked one of them up and sniffed it, then curled her nose up. “I don’t know why he’s making such a big deal about these.”

  “They’re gluten-free, so hopefully they’ll bring in some new customers.”

  She picked up the baskets and shoved them on the back counter. “Whatever. They’re still fattening. You don’t look like this by eating that.”

  Oh. Okay then. Shamu, out.

  “I hope they sell quickly for you.”

  She went back to filing her nails. “Bye.”

  I turned to go and she said, “Oh, wait a minute. Gia wanted me to give you this.”

  She was holding out an envelope.

  I thanked her and took it out to the car to open it. There was a note inside.

  I missed you yesterday.

  G.

  Missed me? Missed me as in I was longing to see you and you didn’t come in? Or missed you as in Hey, I must have left before you got here. Sorry, bro?

  I put it in my purse, so I could sleep with it later. Cough. I mean read it later.

  * * *

  There were signs advertising the bake sale lined up all along Route 9 leading up to the parking lot at Caper High. Outside, tables were set with baked goods donated by different teachers and alumni. Missy had organized the tables by category. When I checked in with her at the front of the lot, I could tell by her scowl that she was obviously very grateful that I was participating.

  “You’re late!”

  I gave her a cheery smile. “Only by ten minutes. There are a lot of cars turning in here.”

  Missy wasn’t exactly her usual perky self. She seemed a bit overwhelmed. “That’s because I advertised in all the papers and letters went home to all the parents.”

  “That was a really good plan on your part.”

  “I know. What have you got?”

  “Chocolate chip cookies.”

  “What does that sign say?”

  “Gluten-free.”

  “Table fifteen.”

  She pointed down a long row of tables lined up under white tents. I passed several tables of muffins, cupcakes, cakes, fruit pies, cream pies, whoopie pies, cookies, bar cookies, and brownies to table fifteen, marked OTHER.

  There were three more entries on the table. Chocolate fudge, homemade granola bars, and Rice Krispies treats.

  Joel Miller was manning the table and he wasn’t happy to be there or to see me.

  I put my box of cookies down. “I guess table fifteen is for the rejects.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Those are Kristen’s Rice Krispies treats. It’s all she knows how to make.”

  “They look good.”

  “Thank you. I’ll tell her you said that. Missy strong-armed her into running a booth, but she’s having Stevie Nicks contractions so she stayed in bed, and now I’m here instead.”

  “You mean Braxton Hicks?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  I looked around us and no one seemed inclined to walk all the way down to our spot in bake sale purgatory, so I sat down next to Joel.

  “I talked to Coach Wilcott the other day.”

  “Good for you.”

  “You were right about him.”

  “Right about what?”

  “The secret meetings with Barbie.”

  “I told you.”

  “You also told me you were in the gym all night playing basketball.”

  “I was.”

  “See, now that’s funny. Because Pete said you were gone for about twenty minutes.”

  “What? No way.”

  “Hey. I’m just telling you what he said.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “You know my point. Someone else killed Barbie and they’re trying to frame me.”

  “And you think it was me?”

  “You had a motive.”

  “What motive?”

  “You had an affair with her. Maybe you wanted out and she said she’d tell Kristen so you killed her to keep it a secret.”

  Joel had picked up a Rice Krispies treat and was squeezing it until the plastic package burst. “What makes you so sure I had an affair with anyone?”

  A battle raged within my soul. It went against everything in me to give up a confidence, but in less than forty-eight hours I would be in jail if I didn’t find the real killer. Forgive me, Kristen.

  “I know you had an affair with Barbie because Kristen told me. She has . . . evidence.”

  Joel’s face flushed with rage and he pounded the Rice Krispies treat into the table, smushing it flat. He sat for a couple of minutes breathing heavy, and I was glad to have so many people around us as witnesses.

  He picked up the smushed snack and chucked it across the lawn.

  “Damn Barbie. The infertility almost ruined my marriage. Kristen blamed me because the doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with her. She was consumed with having a baby and angry that I couldn’t give her one. Barbie came along when I was weak.”

  “Let me guess. Barbie said she understood you, she told you how great you were and how lucky your wife was to have you. She was lonely and you two didn’t mean for this to happen. Blah blah blah.”

  Joel looked me in the eyes, and I could see his pain. “I wish I could say you were wrong, but you’re not. I regretted it right from the start, and told Barbie I was ashamed of what we were doing, because I still loved Kristen, I always have, and I wanted out of the affair.”

  “I take it things didn’t end well?”

  Joel pounded another Rice Krispies treat into a pancake. “She was furious. She threatened to tell Kristen everything if I ended the relationship. She said she’d ruin my marriage.”

  “People do some awful things in the name of love.”

  A lady with two small children approached the table. “My son has celiac disease and I was told you have something gluten-free over here.”

  She saw all the bags of destroyed Rice Krispies treats, then looked from Joel to me. I gave her a small smile. She quickly bought four packages of the gluten-free cookies without further conversation. When she left, Joel continued.

  “Love had nothing to do with it. Barbie couldn’t stand being second. She always had to be better than everyone else and she would lie, cheat, or steal to get there. If I ended the affair, it would mean Kristen won. I even threatened to tell Robert and she laughed in my face and said, ‘Go ahead!’”

  “Why didn’t you just confess to Kristen?”

  “I didn’t want to lose her. I think she could eventually forgive me for having an affair. I’m just not sure she could forgive me for having it with Barbie.”

  “Were you still having the affair at the time of the reunion?”

  “Absolutely not. Barbie broke it off when Kristen announced we were pregnant. Said she got tired of me but I know something must have happened for her to think she won. I know you’re looking for someone else to blame, but I’m not your guy. I didn’t kill her.”

  “You don’t have any alibi for the time of the murder. What were you doing for the twenty minutes you were out of the gym?”

  He sat quietly and looked around to see if anyone was in earshot. “All right, fine. You can’t go to the police with this and if you do I’ll deny it. Got it?”

  “Yep.”

  “I was around the corner smoking a joint, okay? I’m freaked out about having this baby. I’m afraid I’m going to break it or something. And I’d been keyed up waiting for Barbie to pull some stunt with Kristen. I just needed to get the edge off, you know what I mean?”

  “Well, if smoking a joint is anything like eating a pint of Heath Bar Crunch, then yes, I know what you mean.”

  “Look, can you just be cool about this and not tell anyone? I’ve got enough to deal with now that I have to talk with Kristen about Barbie.”

  Gah! It was high school all over again. Be cool and don’t tell I was getting high. Be cool and don’t tell I was sleeping around. Why did we b
uy into the lie that the jerks were popular and we had to be like them? I didn’t even like these people twenty years ago.

  I left Joel smashing Rice Krispies treats at the reject table and started walking back to my car. There was a table set up for Congressman Robert Clark and they were giving out packaged bakery cookies—for a donation, of course. April was at the table handing out “Vote Clark” buttons and brochures.

  “Hi, April.”

  “Hi . . . you.”

  “Where are Robert and Kelly?”

  “Oh, they’re around here somewhere. Shaking hands and networking, I’m sure.”

  The last table I passed had beautiful little fairy cakes for sale. Miniature works of art covered in rolled fondant with little animals and unicorns and flowers. One was decorated with purses and shoes. All made out of gum paste.

  “Who makes these? They’re beautiful!”

  “Who wants to know?”

  That was a voice I would know anywhere.

  “Joanne? Are these yours?”

  She smacked my hand. “Don’t touch them! You’ll smudge the luster dust.”

  “I didn’t know you were so talented.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, McAllister.”

  Joanne was a lot less friendly than I’d expected. I thought we’d bonded over Bon Jovi.

  “Hey, do you have a minute?”

  “No.”

  “Joanne, please. I need to ask you something.”

  She huffed. “Fine. Carl, watch my table, please.”

  We walked a few feet away from the bake sale to get some privacy.

  “The night of the reunion, did you happen to see anyone else outside when you were walking around? Other than Robert and Kelly?”

  Joanne made a face and started to walk away.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m not talking to you about this.”

  I ran to get in front of her. “Why are you being like this? I thought we got past some of the hostility the other night.”

  “What other night?”

  “You know. Hanging out at karaoke?”

  “I don’t even remember karaoke.”

  Of course you don’t. Because that would make my life too easy.

  “You’d been drinking . . . a lot. We hung out.”