The Reunion

by Suzanne Rossi

  “You bitch!” He gave the room a quick scan, and then hissed, “You can find your own way back to Chicago.” He whirled, heading for the ballroom doors and the lobby.

  “That should be no problem,” she remarked to his retreating back. She’d stay the night and grab the first flight out of Indianapolis in the morning. Suzanne glanced at her diamond-embellished Tag Heuer. Geez, only ten-thirty? Early by her standards. The whole exchange had been refreshing. She decided to grab another drink—on Dave’s tab—and blow this party from hell. She also wanted a cigarette.

  It was the one bad habit she’d never completely kicked. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted one.

  Suzanne snatched her evening bag from the center of the table and fished through it until finding the pack of Marlboro’s and slim gold lighter. She shook one free, stuck it between her lips, and flicked the flame to life, then sucked the sharp acrid smoke into her lungs.

  God, this tastes good. Why are all the vices in the world bad for you? Can’t just one be beneficial? Guess if they were, they wouldn’t be called vices.

  She blew out a thin stream of smoke and sat back in her chair, closing her eyes. She’d finish this, get a drink, and make reservations.

  “I’m sorry, but the hotel has a policy of no smoking in its public areas,” a man’s pompous voice broke into her thoughts.

  Her eyes popped open to stare at Dan Masterson’s disapproving face. “Excuse me?”

  “There’s no smoking in the ballroom.”

  Her gaze darted around the room. “I don’t see any ‘no smoking’ signs.”

  “A law prohibiting smoking in public places was passed by the Indiana Legislature two years ago.”

  “Then the management should put up a sign for those of us who don’t live in God’s little acre.”

  “Nevertheless, it’s the law. As even you must know, secondhand smoke is deadly on several levels. It can bring on asthma attacks and allergic reactions, not to mention it’s just plain rude to pollute the air of those around you. If you must smoke, may I suggest you go onto the terrace or to your room, assuming you have one that permits the activity.”

  The former class president pissed her off. He sounded like an outraged spinster at the first sign of cleavage. He hadn’t changed a bit over the years.

  Suzanne squinted against the spiraling smoke. “Tell me, Dan, if I pull that stick out of your ass will your head fall off and roll across the floor?”

  His nostrils flared, his lips thinned, and he glared at her from narrowed eyes. Dan leaned over until his face was a foot from hers.

  “Twenty years is a long time, Suzanne, and I don’t have to take any more of the arrogant bullshit you four handed out on a regular basis.”

  “You always were a self-righteous prick.”

  “I knew the difference between right and wrong.”

  “And you’re in politics?”

  “I’ll be mayor of this town. You’ll see.”

  “It still frosts your balls that we commanded more respect than you, doesn’t it? Tami changed her hairstyle, and by the end of the week all the girls in Grandview High imitated it. Eddie hauls ass into school one day wearing a blazer over his t-shirt, and the next day guess what, so was every other jock or jock wannabe. We were the in-crowd, and the in-crowd always rules. You were the stuffy, self-important, class president who wore tasseled loafers and buttoned down shirts.”

  Dan straightened with a tight smile. “Tami and Eddie are dead and probably roasting in hell. If I were you, Susie Cute, I’d watch my back. Some people can hold grudges a long time.”

  He strode from the table and out onto the terrace.

  “Well, shit,” Suzanne muttered, absently dropping her cigarette into Dave’s unfinished drink. “If I didn’t know better I’d call that a threat.”

  Why stay? She’d get her drink and call it a night. She gathered her purse and made for the bar. No one spoke to her as she passed.

  “Cosmopolitan,” she told the bartender. “By the way, how much are they?”

  “Eight dollars, ma’am.”

  “On second thought, make it two virgins—cranberry juice only.” She fished in her purse and withdrew a twenty. “Charge me for the cosmos and consider this your tip.”

  She signed Dave’s room number to the tab and hoped he choked on his bar bill. He deserved it.

  Suzanne tucked her silver clutch evening bag under her arm, grabbed both drinks, and stepped around knots of chatting people on her way to the terrace doors.

  ****

  I broke off my conversation with a group of classmates and wound my way through the crowd toward the terrace. Suzanne Wayland had just left the room—alone. Probably for a smoke, either on the patio or in the garden. While I was sure the foul-mouthed bitch wasn’t a nature lover, her attitude tonight angered a lot of people. I doubted idle conversation was on the agenda and put my money on the garden.

  I hurried through the doors just in time to see her blue dress disappear down the path toward the koi pond. Trying to look casual, I followed. A lot of people took advantage of the lull in dancing to gather and chat outside. I didn’t think anyone would notice one more person in the throng.

  The pathway was dimly lit and to avoid the sound of the gravel crunching under my feet, I tiptoed along the grassy edge. Rounding a curve, I paused and slipped my hand into my pocket. The cool metal of the stun gun met my fingers. The koi pond was just ahead and through the filtered glow of the tier lights, I saw Suzanne a few feet from the water puffing on a cigarette.

  Time to die, you bitch.

  I withdrew the stun gun, activated the switch and rushed forward. She didn’t have a chance to even turn around. I jammed the weapon against the back of her neck and pressed the button, holding it down for a good five seconds. The cigarette dropped from her fingers as Suzanne lurched toward the pond. The smell of singed hair drifted to my nostrils. I released the button and pushed her to the edge of the rock rimmed pool. She fell just short, but still far enough for me to kneel on her back and hold her head underwater.

  The stun gun effects didn’t last as long as I thought. Within a minute, she came to life and struggled, but it was too late. I pushed harder until all movement ceased, then heaved her legs into the water.

  Slowly, I backed away, my panting breaths the only sound other than the burbling from a waterfall in the pond. Suzanne’s hair floated on the surface like seaweed. I stared, mesmerized by the sight. Distant laughter brought me out of my daze. I needed to get out of here. I moved and kicked something on the path—Suzanne’s purse. No sense in leaving it here. I tossed it into the bushes. Casting one last satisfied glance at the pond, I hurried to the gate separating the garden from the parking lot, reentering the hotel through the main doors. A group of people sat in the lobby, but no one bothered to look up. I skirted along the perimeter and headed for the stairs.

  Number four dispatched with almost no resistance. Soon numbers five and six will join the others.

  The thought made me feel invincible—like a God.

  ****

  Outside, Suzanne turned right and made her way to the far end of the long patio. The air had cooled, and a light breeze rustled the foliage in the garden below. She found a bench wedged between the waist-high stone balustrade and several potted plants. Sitting, she sipped one cranberry juice and set the other down, then lit another cigarette.

  She exhaled and watched the smoke disappear on the wind. She sipped again. Several people climbed the steps from the garden. Their laughter irritated her. Suzanne was tired of people having a good time when she was miserable and pissed off.

  She leaned back and puffed between sips. Someone exited the ballroom and crossed the terrace to gaze into the garden. Suzanne peeked around the edge of the potted plant.

  Shit. It was Annabelle Peterson. The woman lifted the hair from her nape and raised her face to catch the breeze.

  Not wanting to be seen by or talk to someone she’d insulted, she wiggled i
nto the corner of the bench. Annabelle disappeared down the steps into the garden.

  Suzanne breathed a sigh of relief and slid further along the bench until the steps were hidden from view. She crushed out her cigarette in one of the plants and finished her virgin cosmo. With her head laid back against the building, she closed her eyes. More footsteps crossed the terrace from the ballroom, hesitated for a moment, and then descended the steps.

  Just a few moments of fresh air. That’s all I need, and then I can go to bed. I’ll call the airlines in the morning.

  She willed herself to relax and forget about Dave, Glory, Annabelle, and that horse’s ass, Dan Masterson. She especially wanted to forget about Tami and Eddie.

  More people wandered onto the terrace, into the gardens, and back again. Small snatches of conversation drifted her way, but Suzanne shut them out. The booze made her groggy, and she slipped into that realm of twilight sleep—not awake, but not asleep either.

  She had no idea how long she dozed. A loud bark of laughter brought her back to full consciousness. She sat upright and peered around the screen of greenery. The band had resumed and music drifted out into the night. On the far side of the terrace, she noticed a couple dancing in the shadows. Five or six people stood near the doors.

  “Laugh all you want, but I can feel my hips growing. The food was fantastic, but I need to walk it off.” Eileen Raymond said. “Anyone care to join me in the garden?”

  “Are you kidding? Those pathways are crushed stone. I’ll break a heel,” a woman responded.

  “Not me. I’m afraid of the dark,” a man replied with a chuckle.

  Eileen waved at their jokes and sauntered down the steps, then turned left.

  Suzanne sipped her second cranberry juice, and then dumped it into the plant.

  She pulled another cigarette from her purse, and lit up. About to leave, the conversation stopped her cold.

  “Did you see Suzanne Wayland? She was alone almost all night,” one of the women said.

  “Yeah, Dave Coryell practically ignored her,” another female voice chimed in. “Wonder how she likes being on the outside looking in for a change. Serves her right.”

  “I feel kind of sorry for her,” a man answered. “I heard her husband died.”

  “And left her pots of money,” one of the women added in a scornful tone. “Must have taken her down a peg to see Annabelle Peterson in the same dress.”

  “How come women are so catty? So it was the same dress? So what?”

  “Men just don’t get it.”

  “Come on, let’s go back inside. I’m ready to dance again.”

  Suzanne gulped the anger burning at her throat.

  “Jealous bunch of bitches. How many of them are wearing designer originals? How many of them are sporting fifty thousand dollars worth of diamonds tonight?” she muttered in distain.

  She wanted to run over and kick all of them in the ass with her Jimmy Choos.

  The laughter still echoed when a scream ripped the night air.

  Chapter Four

  Meghan jerked away from Zach as the scream was repeated, closer this time. Stumbling footsteps accompanied by ragged breathing emanated from the graveled pathway to her left.

  “What the hell?” Zach said.

  The high-pitched shriek turned into a wail as Eileen Raymond staggered up the terrace steps. The toe of her shoe caught the last one, and she fell to her hands and knees.

  Zach and Meghan, along with several other people, ran to help her.

  “Eileen, what’s wrong?” Zach asked. He and another man lifted her.

  “Honey, what’s the matter?” the man questioned.

  Meghan assumed he was Eileen’s husband.

  Eileen’s teeth chattered. Hair straggled from the elegant French twist, hanging around her cheeks and bulging eyes, while she continued to sob. Her face was ashen beneath the tear-streaked make-up.

  “Eileen, get a hold of yourself,” her husband demanded.

  Meghan doubted that would happen. The woman trembled from head to foot like a tree in a storm. Her eyes rolled back into her head.

  “Keep her standing,” Meghan ordered the men. She stepped in front of her hysterical classmate, and then slapped her hard across the cheek. “Eileen, calm down.”

  Eileen hiccupped, swallowed, but stopped the noise, even though she continued to gasp.

  “What’s wrong?” Zach asked again.

  “Did someone attack you?” The husband’s angry gaze swept the darkened foliage. “I knew you shouldn’t have gone into the garden by yourself. Did you see who it was? Can you identify the man?”

  The band still played, but a sizable crowd now pressed onto the flagstones.

  Eileen pointed into the garden. She gasped a couple of times before finding her voice.

  “Out—out there! In the pond! Oh, my God, it’s awful!”

  Meghan wanted to scream at the lack of information. “What’s awful? Did someone attack you?”

  “No, no!” Eileen sobbed and buried her face in her hands. “There’s a body…in the fish pond.”

  “A body? Whose?” her husband demanded.

  “I—I don’t know. I was just walking and went to the edge of the pond, saw something floating, and ran.”

  “So, it might not be a body at all. You have had a couple of glasses of wine,” her husband said.

  “I am not drunk!”

  He pulled Eileen into his arms. “Of course, you’re not, but maybe you made a mistake in the dark and your imagination took over.”

  “I’m calling 9-1-1,” a woman in the doorway declared.

  “Wait a minute,” Zach told her. “Let’s make sure there is a body not just a tree branch or someone’s sick idea of a practical joke. We need a flashlight.”

  “I have a small one attached to my key chain,” a woman offered.

  “I have a penlight in my purse,” another replied.

  “Go get them. What’s your name?” Zach asked the husband as the women left.

  “Carl Davis. I’m Eileen’s husband. Do you think this is a joke?”

  “I don’t know, but we need to find out before calling in the police. If it is a body, a few more minutes can’t hurt.”

  The women returned and handed Zach the items. He gave one to Carl and flicked his on.

  “It’s not much, but will have to do. Meghan, stay with Eileen. This won’t take long.”

  Meghan nodded as the men trotted down the steps and disappeared into the night, the feeble glow from the flashlights bobbing down the path until they vanished.

  “We should get her inside,” a woman suggested.

  Meghan shook her head. “Too hot. Someone bring a chair.”

  A man near the door complied, and Meghan eased a still shaky Eileen into it.

  “Oh, God, I’m going to faint.”

  “No, you’re not.” Meghan pushed Eileen’s head between her knees and rubbed her back. “Take slow, even breaths. You’ll be fine.”

  A minute later the woman straightened pressing a hand to her chest. “Do you think it’s a joke?”

  “Well, if it is, it’s not very funny.”

  Meghan thought back to the practical jokers in the class. This was just the kind of thing Suzanne and Dave would think up for entertainment—shove a mannequin in the pond and wait for someone to find it. She hadn’t seen either of them since leaving the table.

  Damn those two anyway.

  She swore if that redheaded bitch was behind this, she’d punch Suzanne right in the nose. Dave, too. Money hadn’t changed them. They still harbored a high school mentality.

  Eileen cried softly.

  “Someone get me a tissue or a napkin,” Meghan requested.

  A few seconds later, a man stuffed a wad of cocktail napkins in her hand. She gave them to Eileen.

  “Here, there’s no need to cry. You’ll give yourself a headache.”

  Eileen wiped her face and blew her nose, then turned a watery gaze to Meghan. “I wish the guys w
ould come back. What’s taking so long?”

  Meghan wondered the same. Zach and Carl had been gone almost ten minutes. Maybe they had trouble finding the pond or negotiating the pathways with those tiny flashlights.

  The crowd milled around talking in low voices.

  Dave Coryell bulled his way through the doors.

  “What’s going on out here? Has anyone seen Suzanne? I’ve been looking for her everywhere.”

  “Eileen thinks she found a body floating in the fish pond,” Glory said. She and Tom stood just outside the doors.

  “A body? You’re kidding. Whose?”

  Meghan wanted to smack him. As if he didn’t know. His attitude confirmed her suspicions of a practical joke. Then from below, she heard the crunch of gravel.

  Zach and a clearly shaken Carl mounted the steps.

  “Well?” she questioned. Anxiety roughened her voice.

  “Call the police, and notify the management they have a body on their hands,” Zach told them.

  “Who is it? Someone we know?” she asked.

  “I think its Suzanne Wayland.”

  Meghan’s head swung to Dave. He stared at Zach with a blank expression, and then downed his drink in a single gulp.

  “Oh, my God, another one. I don’t know why I’m so upset. I didn’t even like her.” Eileen moaned and sobbed harder.

  “I’m not real fond of you, either,” Suzanne stated, stepping into the light from the shadows on the opposite end of the terrace, her hands fisted on her hips.

  Eileen yelped. Dave Coryell, his expression no longer empty but astonished, gaped at his former girlfriend. The glass slipped from his fingers, shattering at his feet.

  Before anyone could say a word, Eric Peterson strolled out.

  “Has anybody seen Annabelle? She wanted to get some air, but that was over thirty minutes ago.” His gaze settled on the stunned crowd. “What’s going on?”

  The truth dawned on Meghan. She sucked in her breath and gazed at the people nearby.

  Zach and Carl whirled to face Eric. Meghan’s heart pounded and her ears buzzed.

  Oh, my God…. Annabelle? Who’d want to hurt Annabelle?

  Even as she thought the words, the facts stabbed her in the gut. Her attention turned back to Eileen who stifled another scream.