The Reunion

by Suzanne Rossi

  Something nagged at Meghan—something she was missing. She closed her eyes again and concentrated on Annabelle.

  Zach touched her arm. “Meghan, what’s wrong?”

  She opened her eyes. “I don’t know, but something’s not right.”

  “What?” Ray asked.

  “I don’t know,” she repeated, and then forced her mind to recall Annabelle as she’d last seen her.

  Annabelle and Eric had bumped into them on the dance floor. The woman faced Meghan, one hand in her husband’s and the other clutching her evening bag on his shoulder.

  “That’s it!” she exclaimed.

  “What’s it?” Zach and Ray spoke simultaneously.

  “Her purse! Where’s her purse?”

  “What purse?”

  “Yeah, why would a purse be important?” Zach said.

  “Women take them everywhere, especially to the ladies room. I took mine when we left the ballroom for the terrace. Annabelle’s was a clutch—no straps. I remember she held it as she danced.”

  “Why would she do that?” Zach’s face had a puzzled expression.

  “Some women don’t like to leave purses unattended. Others don’t care when it’s a crowded reception with people they know. I left mine at the table while we danced. Suzanne left hers whenever she went to the bar. It was still within sight and someone trying to swipe it could be noticed. However, if a woman leaves the room, the purse goes with her. Remember? I took mine onto the terrace. So, where’s Annabelle’s purse? If she was going for a breath of air or a walk in the garden, she’d have taken it with her. It’s second nature.”

  “And if she was knocked on the head or overpowered five feet from the pond, then the bag should have been there,” Zach concluded.

  “We recovered no purse.” Ray swung his head toward the water. It gleamed dark and menacing under the powerful lights. The breeze sent ripples lapping gently against the rocks. “Maybe the killer tossed it in.”

  “Couldn’t leave it lying in the middle of the path for just anybody casually strolling by to find,” she added.

  “Would the killer chuck it into the water by the body or heave it further out toward the middle?” Zach said.

  “I’d toss it next to the body. Or maybe Annabelle hung on and it fell in next to her. Either way, that evening bag is somewhere around here,” Meghan declared.

  Ray walked carefully across the pathway to the rock rim. “The pond will be empty by tomorrow morning.” He looked back across the path. “Maybe the killer didn’t notice the victim had a purse until after the crime. I don’t know how far into the bushes my people searched.”

  He returned to the vinyl tape and ducked under, then stepped into the foliage just off the path.

  “You two stay put. The fewer people messing with this, the better. I hope I don’t screw things up for Forensics. Let’s see what I can find. How big was the purse?”

  “About the size and shape of a large brick, but thinner. It was white satin and had a knob clasp in the middle.”

  The sheriff pulled his flashlight from his belt, flicked it on, and plunged into the bushes. Meghan held her breath listening to the rustling of the vegetation as he poked and prodded. Zach clasped her hand in his.

  “Great logic, Meghan. I can see why you’re a New York Times bestseller. I’d have never thought to look for a purse.”

  Her cheeks heated at his praise. “That’s because you’re a guy. Women just know this stuff.”

  Ray moved further into the garden the torch beam bobbing and weaving like a prizefighter in the ring. Then from the foot of a large tree about twenty feet away he called out, “I think I’ve got it.” He returned and held up a white object. “This it?”

  “That’s it,” Meghan confirmed.

  “Open it,” Zach said. “Or will that destroy evidence?”

  “I doubt the killer bothered to open it,” Ray said, but whipped a handkerchief from his rear pocket before twisting the clasp anyway.

  They all peered inside the bag.

  Ray removed a cell phone, a tiny compact, a tube of lipstick, a small comb, and an old-fashioned hotel room key, not a slide card.

  “Room three-sixteen.” He shook his head. “Annabelle Peterson was a nice woman. What a stupid goddamned waste.”

  “What’s that?” Meghan asked pointing to a crumpled rectangular-shaped object.

  “A pack of cigarettes.” The sheriff removed it along with a slim lighter.

  “Which means Suzanne was the intended victim,” Zach murmured.

  “It’s dark. The killer thinks he’s following Suzanne. There’s just enough light to identify the blue dress, long hair, and maybe sees a cigarette being smoked,” Meghan speculated. “Did the forensics team find any cigarette butts lying around?”

  “Several. They bagged them all, but it’ll take time to figure out who smoked what. A lot of people, including hotel staff, probably took a nicotine break here,” Ray said. “I’d say there’s one very surprised killer walking around.”

  “So, he kills her and gets the shock of his life later when Suzanne shows up alive and kicking,” Zach mentioned slowly.

  “Do you suppose he was on the terrace with us?” Meghan wondered.

  Ray eyed them both. “How did everyone react to Zach’s news and Mrs. Crocker’s appearance?”

  “Oh, God, I’m not sure. Everyone was upset. Eileen was hysterical and almost passed out. Glory did—fainted dead away. Dave was so shocked when Suzanne popped out from behind the bushes, he dropped his glass,” Meghan told him.

  Zach nodded. “For a moment I thought he would join Glory on the flagstones. And Tom Ecklund looked like he’d encountered Godzilla.” He paused. “You know, I saw Dan Masterson, too. He turned and walked back inside.”

  “That’s odd,” Ray remarked with a thoughtful expression. “I’d expect him to run out and try to take charge.”

  The sheriff’s ringing cell stopped further discussion. He walked several feet away to take the call.

  “You really are good at this,” Zach told her with a smile. “I can’t believe you visit crime scenes for research. That takes guts.”

  Meghan cast a glance at Ray, and then lowered her voice when she turned back to Zach, “Don’t tell Ray, but I lied. I’ve ridden with officers and talked to detectives, but never been allowed to view a crime scene.”

  Zach stared with raised eyebrows. “You’d make a good detective. You had me believing it. The fine art of prevarication might come in handy when we talk to other people.”

  Her gaze wandered to the pond and a chill chasing up and down her spine caused a shiver.

  “Cold?” Zach placed his arms around her, drawing her close to his body.

  Heat from his arms and from within raced through her body. “No, depressed. A part of me is thinking how I could use this as a book. I feel like a ghoul.”

  Zach hugged her closer. “Don’t. How do you get your plots?”

  “Mostly through newspaper stories or on the internet. I also watch crime dramas and those semi-reality shows like This Case Is Closed. The idea for Higher Education Is Murder came from an old episode of Columbo.”

  “Isn’t that plagiarism?”

  “No one has a copyright on a plot. The idea is to look at it from a fresh angle. I just never imagined I’d be freshening things with firsthand knowledge. Knowing my editor, she’ll use it as a plug on my next book signing tour. I can see the promos now. ‘The true life adventures of Meghan Bonaventure’ emblazoned on posters in every bookstore in the country.”

  “Do you travel a lot? Where?”

  “Frequently and all over. One of the reasons I’m here is because I needed a change of scenery. The reunion sounded like a good idea.”

  Ray snapped his phone shut and walked back, his face grim.

  “What’s wrong?” Zach asked.

  Meghan was disappointed when he dropped his arms even though the warmth lingered.

  “That was the coroner. He wanted to bring me up
to date on the preliminaries.”

  “He’s doing the autopsy now?” Zach inquired.

  Ray nodded. “We have a lot of people who will haul ass out of Grandview tomorrow morning. He won’t have tox screens for a few days, but he can give cause of death and any other pertinent information by morning.” He paused. “I was right. The bruising we saw is from someone leaning a knee on Mrs. Peterson’s back as she struggled. The marks on her torso are from the weight of that person pressing her into the rocks.”

  “And her legs?” Meghan probed with a shudder. She didn’t want to think about how terrified and desperate poor Annabelle must have been in those last few seconds.

  “Superficial scrapes from being thrown into the pond. He found bits and pieces of rock imbedded in the wounds. Same with her fingernails. Preliminary cause of death is drowning. He found foam in the mouth and nasal passages. Classic signs of drowning.” He paused again and ran his hand through his hair.

  Meghan glanced at Zach. “What else did he say?”

  “He found a couple of burn marks about two and a half centimeters apart on the back of her neck. Her hair hid them.”

  “Burn marks? You mean from a burning cigarette?” Zach said.

  “No. I mean from the electrodes of a stun gun.”

  “A stun gun!” Meghan exclaimed.

  Zach nodded. “That would explain why she didn’t fight back until the last. She couldn’t.”

  “So it would seem,” the sheriff added in a grim tone.

  Ray switched off the lights and the three of them walked back down the darkened path. Meghan assimilated the information. A stun gun. Even the image sent a chill racing along her arms, causing the hair to rise.

  Then a thought occurred to her. I wonder what the killer will do now that he knows Suzanne is alive.

  ****

  Suzanne had just about had it with Dave Coryell. He was hammered and rambling on about his company, the mining interests, and his ex-wife being a major league bitch. She could have told him that. All ex-wives were bitches.

  The bartender wandered over. “He’s not driving, is he?”

  “No, we’re staying in the hotel, but bring him a cup of coffee, will you?”

  “You, too?”

  “No, just keep the cranberry juice flowing in a martini glass.”

  She’d made that request several drinks ago. She wanted Dave loaded, not herself. He never noticed the switch. Her strategy had worked too well. Drunk, he was no use to her. Now, she had to sober him up.

  “I’m—I’m still not sure where the headquarters are located. All I got is a website, but I think it’s in Switzerland somewhere. Probably Zurich.”

  He slurred his words to the point of incomprehension. Not that it mattered to Suzanne—she wasn’t about to invest. The bartender brought the coffee and her cranberry juice.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “Coffee, Dave.”

  “Coffee? I don’t need no damned coffee. You think I can’t hold my liquor?” he demanded in a belligerent tone.

  Not tonight at any rate.

  “I was just thinking about later. I like doing it with an active participant. Remember the old days?”

  He grinned and picked up the cup, blew on the contents, slopping some onto the bar, then took a cautious sip.

  “Heh-heh! Remember that time when you showed up on the field after practice wearing a trench coat and a smile? Underneath you were naked as a jaybird. We made it on a table in the equipment room with the rest of the team only a room away.” He laughed loudly. “Those were the days, hey, kiddo?”

  “Yeah, yeah, we really rocked the joint.”

  “Yeah, you were great. So was Tami. You ever make it with Eddie?”

  Asshole—double asshole. I should let you drink until you fall off the stool.

  “No, I never did Eddie. He wasn’t my type. On the other hand, everyone was Tami’s type.”

  Dave threw back his head and hooted with laughter again. “That’s for sure!”

  Someone stopped next to Dave and draped his suit coat back over the bar stool.

  “This was on the floor,” Dan Masterson said, sending a hard glare toward Suzanne.

  “Oh, yeah, thanks, buddy,” Dave slurred.

  Dan moved on to another table.

  Officious clod. Wish it had been him in that fish pond.

  The crowd had thinned in the last half an hour leaving most of the barstools empty and only half the tables occupied. Eileen Raymond—recovered from her earlier shock—held court over in the corner. The former class secretary waved her arms, and then clasped her fists to her chest. Suzanne shook her head.

  Probably giving a blow by blow description of her role in the drama. No doubt disappointed it wasn’t me.

  “Enjoy it while you can, honey. Your fifteen minutes of fame will be gone in a few days,” she muttered.

  “What?” Dave demanded in a booming voice.

  “Nothing. I was just thinking out loud about how soon I could transfer the money you need.”

  Dave’s face brightened. He finished the coffee and she signaled for a refill.

  “Really? You’ll let me have it?”

  You have no idea how much I’d love to let you have it.

  “I’ll have to discuss it with my financial advisors, but I don’t see a problem.”

  She was tired of this phony mining stock crap. It was a scam all the way. And for the life of her, she didn’t know what else to ask him. And where the hell was Zach? He and the testament to controlled diet plans had been gone forever. Had they sneaked off upstairs?

  The son of a bitch had better not be getting any while I’m down here stuck with Dave the Drunken Moron.

  The second cup of coffee arrived along with a glass of ice. Suzanne spooned a couple of cubes into the brew. Dave smiled and patted her shoulder, then let his hand trail down to her breast.

  “Pretty soon, baby.”

  “Good. I can hardly wait.”

  Dave swallowed half the cup. At this rate he’d be semi-sober in a few minutes and ready to rock and roll. He’d already told her what she—and the cops—needed to know. It was time to pull up stakes and get the hell out. She had no idea where Zach was, but if he and Meghan were still downstairs, she intended to find them.

  Suzanne downed the fake cosmopolitan and contemplated her next move. She had to make an exit but at the same time keep Dave in the bar sucking down coffee.

  Where do I go? My room? No, first place he’d look, and I don’t want a soused Dave Coryell pounding on my hotel room door demanding sex.

  She didn’t even have a car. Dave had driven.

  He finished the second cup and called out, “Bartender, another one.” He turned and gazed at her empty glass, a smug smile on his lips. “How about you? Another drink?”

  “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll have more of the same.” The bartender nodded. “Uh, Dave, would you excuse me for a moment?”

  “Where you going?”

  “The little girls’ room, silly. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She gave him a peck on the cheek, picked up her purse, and slid from the stool. “Now, you wait right here, okay?”

  “Hurry it up. You women always take forever in the can,” he muttered.

  Suzanne threaded her way between tables and paused in the doorway to look back. Dave’s eyes were trained on her, so she blew him a kiss and waved, then exited.

  How long would he wait before he realized he’d been stiffed? Would he even remember she’d been with him?

  Yeah, he’ll remember. Men always remember promises of sex. And I’ll bet his pillow talk would be all about mining investments, if he didn’t fall asleep first.

  Charlie Crocker, bless his heart, had never rolled over and snored.

  Suzanne spent the next fifteen minutes hiding in a stall of the mezzanine level ladies room until she was sure even Dave had given up. He’d be pissed, but she didn’t give a crap.

  Opening the restroom door, she poked her head
out and gazed up and down the hallway, then breathed a sigh of relief. Not a soul in sight. She trotted down the stairs and across the lobby, tossing a quick glance into the bar as she passed. He was gone.

  Suzanne hurried toward the ballroom—and Zach had damned well better be there. But he wasn’t. The deputies had released most of the tables. Less than half a dozen remained.

  She whirled and retraced her steps to the lobby. The same people occupied the seating area. Zach and Meghan weren’t with them. Then out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dave stagger out of the men’s room and toward the elevators. He didn’t look in her direction, but she dodged behind a potted plant anyway, remaining hidden until he entered the lift and the doors closed.

  Suzanne stepped out and breathed a sigh of relief. If she didn’t find Zach soon, she was going to bed. The hell with him.

  He asks me to question Dave, and then doesn’t stick around for me to tell him what I’ve learned. Unless, of course, the son of a bitch dumped me. Anger flickered along her nerves. Why are all men assholes?

  Screw going to bed. She wanted to give Zach and that bitch Meghan a piece of her mind. No one, but no one, dumped Suzanne.

  She strode across the lobby with long, angry strides.

  ****

  “Do you think Suzanne is still in danger?” Zach asked.

  “Absolutely,” Meghan replied.

  “But surely the killer knows there’s no way he’ll get the jewels now,” Ray commented.

  “He’ll just wait for another opportunity. Let’s face it, Suzanne may take precautions, but what if the killer is Dave. Would she fear him?”

  “The safest place for Suzanne is locked in a hotel room, preferably not the same one as now,” Zach added.

  “Not a bad idea,” Ray said. “I’ll ask the hotel if they can do it without any fanfare.”

  They reached the terrace steps and ascended. In contrast to earlier, the area was deserted. Meghan wondered if people were too afraid to venture forth or just too damned tired.

  She re-entered the ballroom with the two men. Several tables of people still awaited interrogation.

  “Guess my deputies are a little slow. I’d better lend a hand. I’ll talk to you later.” The sheriff strode to table and took a seat, while Zach steered her toward the doors.