The Reunion

by Suzanne Rossi

  “That does it,” Zach said. “Dan, go home. You were the class president, not President of the United States. You’re not needed here.”

  Dan puffed up like a toad. “I beg your pardon?”

  “What Zach’s trying to say is, you’re a pain in the ass,” Meghan added. Funny how wine released the inhibitions, not to mention her tongue.

  Suzanne threw back her head and laughed. The sheriff hid a smile behind his hand. Dan’s jaw dropped, an outraged expression on his face.

  “You’ve been strutting around like a peacock all night telling everyone how important you are,” she continued. “A very nice woman is dead and all you can think of is how to turn the situation into a political advantage. Take a hike.”

  Dan whirled and stalked away.

  “Way to go, Meghan.” Zach leaned over and kissed her cheek.

  Meghan’s heart beat faster at the gesture as she remembered the heated kisses of earlier on the terrace.

  “Congratulations,” Suzanne murmured. “That was well done.”

  The sheriff looked at Suzanne. “I guess you’re the last one.”

  “I can keep this simple,” she said. “My name is Suzanne Crocker. I live in a lakefront penthouse also in Chicago. I came to the reunion because Dave Coryell asked me, and I’m in room four-twenty.”

  She spent the next few minutes telling the sheriff about Dave’s business and his motives for attending the reunion.

  “Did he hit you up for money?” the sheriff asked.

  “Of course. I told him to drop dead.”

  “He hit on me, too,” Zach added. “I refused to discuss it.”

  “Talk to his football buddies,” Suzanne suggested. “He was jawing with them all night. Oh, and by the way, when I refused him, he left the room. I have no idea where he was until he showed up on the terrace.”

  “Tell me about your evening, Mrs. Crocker.”

  She gave the sheriff a description of her night, including the argument with Dan Masterson.

  “And here’s something to chew on. Mr. Mayor-to-be left me and went out onto the terrace.”

  The sheriff ceased writing and looked up, a frown on his face. “Oh, really?”

  “Yes. And I didn’t see him return.”

  “I think I may have to have another conversation with our earnest mayoral candidate.” He resumed writing, and then raised his head. “Did you talk to Annabelle Peterson this evening?”

  “Yes. She came over to say hello and laugh about us wearing the same dress. I didn’t find it particularly amusing. She left, and that was the last I saw of her until she came out onto the terrace.”

  “You saw her on the terrace? What time?”

  “I have no idea. I was seated in an out of the way nook for a reason. I wanted to be alone.” Suzanne sipped her drink.

  “Did you see anyone follow Mrs. Peterson into the garden?” The sheriff wrote fast in the notebook.

  “No, but I heard someone go down the steps a couple of minutes later. I didn’t pay any attention because so many people came and went.”

  “You must have been stunned when Zach and Carl announced you were the body.”

  “I understood what happened immediately.” She emptied her glass in one gulp.

  “And that was?” Sheriff Armstrong inquired in a patient voice.

  “Well, obviously, I was the target. I was supposed to be the body in the pond.”

  Chapter Six

  “How do you figure that?” the sheriff asked with raised eyebrows.

  Suzanne heaved a sigh, and sent him a “duh” look.

  “I should think it would be obvious, even to you.” She stroked the halter strap of her dress. “Annabelle and I wore the same dress. Mine is an original. Hers was a cheap knock-off.” Suzanne’s hand moved on to the jewels in her ears and around her throat. “These are real, too. And if you look close enough, you’ll see that while my hair is red and cut by the best stylist in Chicago, hers was brown and not styled at all—merely the same length as mine.”

  Meghan wanted to shake the redhead until her teeth rattled. Annabelle was dead—murdered—and all Suzanne could do was criticize the poor woman’s clothes and jewelry.

  Why is she such a bitch?

  She fingered her empty wine glass, watching the lights reflect off the rim. Maybe Suzanne had come to the reunion to gloat, expecting her high school cohort, Tami Robinson, to be impressed.

  Only she found out Tami was dead, murdered. And she was always a bitch.

  Zach rested his forearms on the table. “Suzanne, why would you wear jewelry worth more than some of these people make in a year to a high school reunion? Why not wear fake? Nobody knows the difference.”

  Suzanne glared at Zach. “I would, and that’s what counts. I gave up costume jewelry when Charlie gave me my engagement ring.” She thrust her left hand under Zach’s nose. “See? A five-and-a-half-carat, princess-cut solitaire, no flaws, surrounded by another two carats of baguettes. What’s the use of having the real thing and not wearing it? Besides, it’s insured.”

  Zach turned to Meghan with a puzzled expression.

  “Would you wear the real thing to a reunion?”

  Honestly, men. He’d look at me like I was crazy if I asked why men have to have the latest electronic gizmo.

  “I agree with Suzanne on this one. Expensive jewelry should be worn whenever appropriate.” She shrugged. “Okay, a high school reunion might be stretching it a little, but this is the twentieth. Remember what I said about reunions?”

  “The need to impress.” Zach shook his head. “I guess it makes sense to a woman.”

  “Sexist pig,” Meghan murmured.

  Zach’s lips curved into a sexy smile. That sweet gushing warmth of earlier returned and her cheeks burned. Damn, after all these years I can still blush. First time in a long time.

  “Could we get back to the subject?” Sheriff Armstrong interjected. “I still have a lot of people to interview. Now, Ms. Crocker, would you continue with what you were saying?”

  Suzanne’s lips lifted into a half smile for Zach before she turned her attention back to the sheriff.

  “What was I saying?”

  “About how this is a case of mistaken identity.”

  “Well, it is. I say the killer thought he saw me on the terrace, followed, knocked Annabelle on the head, realized his mistake, and killed her to make sure she couldn’t identify him.”

  “So, you think it was someone she knew?”

  “Of course!”

  “Suzanne, if that’s the case, the killer must have come up behind her. How could she ID him? And if he met her in the garden, he’d know it wasn’t you,” Meghan said.

  “How the hell should I know how he did it?” she snapped, her eyebrows drawing together.

  “Besides, no jewelry was taken,” Zach added.

  “Just my point. He realized his mistake. No one steals fakes. Maybe Annabelle came to and recognized him.”

  “Any witnesses to your presence on the terrace?” the sheriff asked in a smooth voice.

  Suzanne’s jaw dropped. “You’re fucking kidding, right? You think I killed her? Why?”

  “I have no idea. Did you?”

  “Of course not, you asshole!”

  The sheriff stared her down. “Watch it, Ms. Crocker. That can be construed as verbal abuse of a law enforcement officer. Relax. It’s just a routine question. Your assumptions could be correct.”

  “They are.” Suzanne leaned back and pouted.

  Interesting. Suppose Suzanne did leave the terrace for the garden. How many people might have assumed she was Annabelle?

  Sheriff Armstrong snapped his notebook shut and pushed his chair back. “That’s all for now. You’re free to go.” He strode to the next table.

  Meghan gazed around the room. Close to two-thirds of the people still awaited their turns under the gun.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Zach said. He rose and pulled out Meghan’s chair, then draped his suit coat ove
r his arm. “Would you like a nightcap in the bar?”

  “I’d love one.”

  “Me, too,” Suzanne replied.

  Apparently, the redhead had decided Meghan and Zach worthy of her attention. They exchanged glances and shrugged. If Suzanne wanted to follow them to the bar, then she would.

  Maybe she’s afraid to be alone.

  “I’d like to visit the ladies room first. You coming, Suzanne?”

  “No. I’ll see you in the bar.” She curled her arm through Zach’s and smiled up at him.

  Meghan bit her lip. Heavy handed and obvious. Would it impress Zach? He looked surprised to find Suzanne clinging to him, but not beguiled.

  She fought the urge to rip the pushy woman away from him, and was astonished at her reaction to Suzanne’s flirting.

  Good grief, I’m jealous.

  She’d never experienced that particular emotion, but then tonight had been chock-full of surprises. Zach’s kisses had sent her stomach quivering and her nerves humming.

  She split off from the other two and opened the ladies room door. The restroom was jammed with her classmates. Most ignored her, but the comments centered on one subject.

  “Poor Eric. What’s he going to do with all those kids?”

  “I resent being questioned like a common criminal.”

  “Why would any of us do it?”

  “I heard they caught a guy in the parking lot trying to steal a car.”

  “My husband says it was just another act of random violence and people should arm themselves for their own protection.”

  Meghan listened, but did not participate in the conversations. Until the coroner had a cause of death, everything was speculation. She washed her hands, combed her hair, and left.

  The bar was crowded. Too many people too upset to go home or to their rooms yet. She scanned the throng, spying Zach and Suzanne at a table along the wall. The woman snuggled close, a smile on her lips. Meghan scooted behind the seat of another patron and wedged herself into the remaining chair.

  “I ordered another white wine for you. Is that okay?” Zach asked.

  “Fine. From the looks of things, you were lucky to get this table.”

  Zach smiled. Meghan had no idea how to interpret it. A waitress arrived with a loaded tray.

  “Scotch, a white wine, and a cosmopolitan.” She set the glasses in front of the right people.

  “Thank you. Run a tab, okay?” Zach told her. She nodded and moved on to the next table.

  Suzanne sipped her drink, her eyes on Meghan. Meghan returned the look and wondered if some kind of war had been declared. It didn’t take a genius to see Zach was Dave’s replacement. She raised her glass to the redhead who cocked an eyebrow and returned the salute.

  Let the games begin. Does Zach realize he’s just become a prize?

  “Look, there’s Dave at the far end of the bar,” Meghan said, firing the first round of cannon.

  “Let him stay there,” Suzanne countered. “The miserable bastard deserted me for most of the night.”

  “That’s right. He was gone a long time. Did you get to dance at all?” She injected pity into her voice while keeping a straight face.

  Suzanne shot her a filthy look.

  Direct hit. One point for me.

  “Of course I did. I don’t guess you danced with anyone besides Zach, did you? Not that many guys recognized you.”

  Tie score.

  “Just Zach. Right?” she answered, and let her fingers trail down his hand.

  “I never forget beautiful eyes,” he replied.

  His gaze swiveled between the two women. Meghan figured he sensed something beyond casual conversation.

  Suzanne frowned and took another sip of her cosmo.

  Another point for me. No, make that two—with an assist from Zach.

  Meghan had never indulged in this kind of feminine duel before. She enjoyed it.

  “You know, Suzanne, maybe you should talk to Dave,” Zach suggested interrupting the game.

  “What? Why?”

  “He was missing for a long time, or so you told the sheriff. You also insinuated you knew what he was doing during that time. What was it? Or were you just trying to rattle his cage?”

  She sipped her drink again and cast her gaze at the table.

  She’s being evasive. She knows exactly what Dave was doing.

  “I was just yanking his chain. Dave and I go back a long way. We’d fight, and then make up. No big deal.”

  Zach sipped his scotch. “Do me a favor. Go see what he has to say about where he was.”

  “Okay, but you come with me.” She cast a snide look at Meghan. “I’m sure Meghan won’t mind, will you?”

  “He won’t answer questions with me there. He looks hammered. I’ll bet you can get him to open up. Buy him another drink. We’ll wait here for you. I’d be grateful.”

  “How grateful?” the redhead purred.

  “Very grateful,” Zach answered, smiling down at her.

  Suzanne curled her lips into a smug smile and shifted her gaze to Meghan.

  I don’t know how many points to award for that zinger.

  “All right, but what do I ask?”

  “Just get him to talk. Make up with him, like old times.”

  Suzanne rose and taking her drink ambled across the room, sliding onto a barstool next to her ex-boyfriend.

  “Maybe she’ll forget about hanging on to us,” Zach said.

  “I wouldn’t count on that.”

  “What was going on with you two?”

  “Never mind.”

  She paused and gazed around the room. Tom and Glory stood nearby, both with glasses in their hands, talking to another couple. He held a whiskey glass, while Glory’s appeared to be a soft drink. They moved on to another table. Tom stumbled slightly.

  Must have indulged in more than one.

  She brought her eyes and her attention back to Zach. “Looks like Glory didn’t get room service yet.”

  He stared also. “I guess a lot of people are still too keyed up to call it a night. I know I am.”

  “Same here. So, you wanted to get rid of Suzanne?”

  “Can’t discuss the case with her hanging on every word. You’re the novelist. What’s your take on the whole thing?”

  She told him about the theories she’d heard in the ladies room.

  “I’d be inclined to think it was a random act. Poor Annabelle was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he replied.

  “I’d agree with that theory, too, if it wasn’t for the dress and the uncanny resemblance to Suzanne.”

  “So, you think Suzanne was the target and her explanation to the sheriff the right one?”

  “Could be.” She sipped more of her wine. “And yet, it just doesn’t feel right, if you get my drift.”

  “Sorry, but I don’t.”

  Meghan shifted in her seat. “A thief—a stranger who didn’t know either woman and just waited for an opportunity would have grabbed the jewelry and run. He wouldn’t have known it was fake.”

  “So, it had to be someone who knew Suzanne.”

  “Dave’s hit everyone up for bucks. He’s also wasted. Mistaken identity isn’t far off the radar scope with that. Maybe he attacked and actually said something that would give him away,” she speculated.

  “Not too smart, but then drunks don’t think rationally.”

  “Maybe he thought Suzanne wouldn’t turn him in—like for old time’s sake—and let him go. She could always claim the loss on her insurance.”

  Zach drew his brows together. “Suzanne doesn’t strike me as being that helpful. Unless…” he paused for a long moment.

  “Unless what?” Meghan prompted.

  “Unless, she was in on it. They could be closer than just casual friends. Maybe they concocted a plan in Chicago—old friends attending a reunion in a small town among a lot of people they haven’t seen in twenty years. She claims robbery, he fences the items, and the insurance pays off.”


  She shook her head. “Not logical. Why go to such an elaborate charade? Just jimmy the door lock, and scream, ‘I’ve been robbed’? Meanwhile, the jewels are hidden in the bottom of her suitcase. And if she’s doing it on her own, why involved Dave? Besides, she’s rich. Why do it at all?”

  Zach sipped some scotch, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You’re right. I’m logical about some things, but murder isn’t one of them. Okay, maybe she wasn’t in on it. Dave didn’t mean to kill Annabelle and panicked. Remember his reaction on the terrace when Suzanne showed up alive and well? He might not have realized it wasn’t Suzanne in the pond.”

  “To be honest, I don’t see Dave Coryell having the guts to do it.” She also sipped from her glass. “On the other hand, Dan Masterson looked like he’d have had no problem killing Suzanne.”

  Zach made a derisive face. “Dan? Now there’s someone with no guts. He’s all talk. How about another woman?”

  His suggestion startled Meghan. “I never thought of that. But it doesn’t read like a woman’s crime.”

  “Now who’s being sexist? Women kill, too.”

  “Let’s assume the preliminaries are correct and someone held Annabelle’s head under water. That takes a lot of strength. A dying person puts up quite a fight.”

  “Unless they’re incapacitated,” Zach reminded her.

  “Like with a blow to the head. The sheriff didn’t say anything about a head wound.”

  “Could be he’s not telling us.”

  Meghan ran her hands up and down the condensation on her wine glass. An idea formed in her mind.

  “Zach,” she said slowly. “What if we offered to help with the investigation? You know, in an unofficial way.”

  “You mean play detective?”

  “Why not? Ray Armstrong’s been sheriff for quite a while, but I doubt he’s seen that many murders, and the ones he has have probably been easy solves—drunks who live here in Grandview, domestic violence, people he’s known most of his life. Something tells me this is more involved. He may be out of his league.”

  Zach leaned back and glanced at the doorway.

  “Can’t hurt to ask. He just came in.”

  Meghan turned. The sheriff stood at the door scanning the room. She waved him over. The conversation level dropped. Patrons stared as he sat in Suzanne’s vacated chair.