The Reunion

by Suzanne Rossi

  Suzanne read the concern in their eyes and her irritation ebbed. She agreed. And while she didn’t believe anyone was so angry they’d kill her, the robbery angle by a stranger—perhaps a persistent stranger—was still a possibility. She drew a deep breath.

  “Thanks, but I’ll be all right. At the moment, I’m looking for Dave. Have you seen him?”

  “Not lately. The sheriff’s looking for him, too,” Meghan said.

  “He’s probably passed out in his room. By the way, what’s this I hear about a stun gun?”

  Meghan blushed and Zach shifted in his chair.

  “Yeah, we heard a rumor to that effect,” he muttered.

  Rumor my ass. I’ll bet it’s true. They both look guilty as hell about something.

  “Well, I’ll see you in the morning.” She turned to leave.

  “Don’t forget about the room,” Zach reminded her.

  She waved a hand, exited the bar, and headed for the elevators. The doors opened. She stepped inside, punching the button for the third floor and tapping her foot, until the car stopped. She hurried down the hallway to Dave’s room.

  Her knock went unanswered, and she risked calling, “Dave, are you in there? Open the damned door.”

  Suzanne shivered. She could swear she wasn’t alone. A nervous glance up and down the corridor reassured her.

  She knocked again, harder this time. “Dave, you asshole, open the goddamned door.”

  When the door remained steadfastly closed, she pressed her ear against the wood. The interior was quiet as a tomb.

  The miserable slug. If he’s ignoring me, I swear I’ll kill the son of a bitch.

  Remembering how it was unlocked earlier, she twisted the knob. It didn’t turn. Suzanne gave up and walked back toward the elevators. She thought she heard a breathy sigh followed by a creaking sound. It made her stop and turn, her heart in her throat.

  The corridor was empty, yet she had the impression someone watched. Her flesh rose in goose bumps. She whirled and ran. Reaching the elevators, she frantically jabbed the down indicator and cast a panicked eye toward the stairwell exit.

  The elevator hadn’t moved from its previous ascent. The doors opened and Suzanne stumbled inside, punching the button for the lobby. She held her fist over her pounding heart. Now, safe in the cocoon of the steel car, she felt like a fool.

  Idiot. I’m letting my imagination run wild.

  While her heartbeat returned to normal, she still pondered her problem of finding Dave. They had to talk.

  Back in the lobby, Suzanne hesitated. What do I do now? The garden? No, not alone. Ask Meghan and Zach to go along? And watch them hold hands like a couple of teenagers? I don’t think so.

  Then an idea popped into her mind. She pivoted and walked toward the registration desk.

  It would be risky, but she had to take the chance.

  ****

  Suzanne is an idiot.

  She wandered all over the hotel like she didn’t have a care in the world. Spying on her was easy. She sensed someone in the shadows, but I was too clever to let myself be seen. I chuckled. I did, however, make just enough noise to scare the bitch into panic mode. It was fun watching that perfectly made up face disintegrate into a mask of fear. I almost laughed out loud as she scampered toward the elevator, her gaze darting from side to side. I came out of the stairwell when the doors closed. Not time yet to show myself.

  Until I want to, that is.

  Attacking her in the hallway or her room was off the agenda. She might make noise and rouse other guests. Then I’d be seen. And I no longer have the stun gun. Too bad. The stun gun was my secret ingredient. I laughed. Secret ingredient, like on one of those cooking shows. Only my main course was revenge with a side of murder.

  The elevator indicator showed the car had reached the lobby. Maybe I should have taken the chance and nailed her right outside Coryell’s room. It had been tempting. But it’s good to resist temptation.

  No, I’d keep following and wait for her to make a mistake. She wasn’t that bright, plus she had a lot to drink—just like her late boyfriend.

  I’ll get you sooner or later. That’s a promise, bitch.

  Chapter Twelve

  Suzanne rested her arms on the cool granite of the front desk counter. The area was empty, but a lighted doorway along the back wall and the distinct chattering of a printer told her the clerk was probably back there retrieving a computer printout.

  “Hello, anybody here?” she called impatiently. Suzanne wanted to get this over and done with before her nerve failed.

  A young man stepped out. “May I help you?”

  “Yes. I can’t find my key. Must have left it in the room. I wonder if I could have another.”

  “Of course,” the clerk replied with a smile. “What’s your name and room number?”

  “Uh, Coryell, and the room is three-twenty-six.”

  The man disappeared, and then returned a moment later with the key.

  “Here you go, ma’am.” The clerk hadn’t bothered to check that Dave had a single occupancy room or have her show ID.

  “Thanks.” She turned and blew out a breath.

  Well, that was easy. Thank God for incompetency.

  Suzanne clutched the key and scurried for the elevators.

  She exited on the third floor and paused, remembering her fear of a while ago. Her gaze scanned the hallways, but her ears picked up no sound. Convinced she was alone, she hustled to Dave’s room. Three-twenty-six was almost at the end of the hall, two rooms away from the vending machines, and another stairwell. She inserted the key and opened the door.

  Dammit!

  The room was just as she’d left it earlier. The lights still blazed and the bed remained in pristine condition. Wherever Dave slept, it wasn’t here. A quick check of the bathroom showed the mirror with its powdery residue had not been moved.

  Maybe the son of a bitch found a willing partner, after all.

  If that was the case, then he wouldn’t return for hours. And she needed to talk to him now.

  Suzanne walked to the closet door, opening it slowly. No one jumped out. Feeling foolish, but safe, she patted every piece of clothing hanging from the rod. No stun gun surfaced.

  She turned her attention to the drawers. Empty, but his suitcase was on the old-fashioned suitcase rack. She unzipped it and searched among the clothing, holding up a pair of red silk boxers. Suzanne stifled a laugh.

  You’ve got to be kidding. Red? Did he plan on impressing me with these?

  She stuffed them back into the suitcase and rifled through all the side pockets, then slammed the lid down in irritation. No stun gun.

  Suzanne sat on the edge of the bed. Maybe he didn’t have it after all. Maybe all those damned cosmos and the warnings from Meghan, Zach, and Sheriff Andy had made her paranoid.

  Then, the barest whisper of footsteps on carpet sent a chill slithering down her spine. Her scalp prickled. Slowly, she turned her head toward the door. It stood ajar by less than an inch—the way she’d found it earlier in the evening.

  I closed it when I came in, didn’t I?

  With her heart pounding, she rose and walked stiffly toward the door, grasped the doorknob with a shaky hand, and yanked. She faced…nothing. The corridor was empty. Suzanne poked her head out. No one lurked. In the vending space, the soda and ice machines hummed. She jumped when ice tumbled into the bin with a muted clatter.

  Exhaling a pent up breath she hadn’t realized she’d held, Suzanne inspected the latch, pushing it in and out. It sometimes stuck in. Sighing, she shut the door, and leaned against it until she heard the click.

  She turned and spied Dave’s briefcase on a small table next to a chair on the far side of the bed. A sense of urgency, perhaps a residual of her fright a moment before, sent her striding across the room. The briefcase was closed, but not locked. She opened it.

  Suzanne riffled through the papers and the compartments. No stun gun appeared. Then, she stopped to read the contents i
n her hand.

  I,______________, on this date,___________, do hereby authorize David Coryell to buy and sell on my behalf any and all investments in Global Mining and Precious Gems, LLC. I understand that this is a speculative enterprise, and absolve David Coryell from responsibility in case of severe financial loss.

  Her jaw dropped. Did Dave really believe she or anybody with an ounce of sense would sign a document as silly as this? He had close to fifty of the blank affidavits. None had been signed.

  He must be a cock-eyed optimist. How high was he when he printed this?

  She shook her head. Dave was a bigger jerk than she thought. A key tucked into the back corner caught her attention. Suzanne picked it up and tossed the papers into the briefcase. An alarm fob dangled—a spare car key. She hesitated and fingered the embossed letters on the head.

  If Dave had stolen her stun gun, she assumed he must have kept it in his room. But what if he hadn’t? What if he’d hidden it in the car?

  And if he’s as drunk as I think, could he be sleeping it off in the Mercedes after all? Just because he wasn’t there earlier, doesn’t mean he isn’t now.

  She closed her fingers over the key. There was only one way to find out. She’d go look in the car again.

  Slipping the room key into her purse, Suzanne emerged into the hallway, looked right and left, then walked swiftly to the elevators. The doors opened, and as they slid shut, she thought the stairwell door opened a crack.

  Her breath stuck in her throat until the car descended. When the doors opened again, she faced an empty lobby.

  Ignore your heebie-jeebie nerves. Concentrate on finding Dave and your stun gun.

  Her high heels clacked on the terrazzo floor, the sound echoing. She pushed the front doors open and paused. Instinct told her to forget about searching the car. To steady her shaking hands, she lit a cigarette and surveyed the parking lot through the wispy smoke. Nothing moved. A light breeze stroked the leaves on the trees. She shivered. The rustling reminded Suzanne of taffeta skirts on a dance floor. She hated taffeta—a stiff, noisy fabric that had always seemed sinister. Like snakes wiggling through the underbrush.

  Boy, am I ever jazzed with imagination tonight. Come on, get it over with.

  She crushed the cigarette under her sandaled foot and paced for several minutes not wanting to walk down the steps toward the parking lot. Screwing up her courage, Suzanne swallowed and shivered again in spite of the line of sweat trickling down her back as the humid night air cloaked her skin. With a pounding heart, she hurried, winding through the parked cars until spotting the Mercedes.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, she approached the car and knocked on the tinted windows again. When no one answered, she pushed a button on the alarm fob. The lights blinked twice. She grasped the handle and opened the driver’s side door.

  Dave’s car was as empty as his room. Suzanne slid into the front seat and rooted in the console. The only gun she found was a Beretta. The temptation to take it was strong, but in the end left it alone. She leaned across and checked the glove compartment pulling out the owner’s manual, the registration, a three-pack of golf balls, leather driving gloves, and a bottle of aspirin. Everything except a stun gun.

  She slammed the lid and searched under the seats. It was squeaky clean. Detailing had its drawbacks. Suzanne leaned over the console and checked the back seat. The pockets in the seat backs were also empty. That left the trunk.

  She pressed the trunk release. It popped open and she strode to the rear of the car. The trunk was cleaner than a dog-licked plate at a family reunion. Curiosity got the better of her. She poked around the spare tire well, and then tugged at the corner of the carpet near the left taillight. Nestled under the covering lay Dave’s stash—five small baggies containing a white substance.

  Suzanne was tempted to dump it in the koi pond. Instead, she closed the trunk, turned, and leaned against the car.

  Now what?

  She gave up. She’d go to bed and tackle the asshole in the morning. Pushing away from the trunk, a slight rustling from the hedge separating the parking lot and the garden ten feet away had her frozen. She turned her head to look. Nothing.

  The breeze. It’s just the breeze.

  Gravel crunched. Her heart rate soared and her breathing accelerated.

  “Who’s there?” she called out in a shaky voice. Silence answered. “Dave, is that you?” More silence tightened her already tense muscles. “All right, if you’re trying to scare me, I’ll be a big girl and admit you have, okay? Now, come on out. We need to talk.”

  The silence lengthened. No one answered. That was more unnerving than the furtive sounds. She bit her lip, turned, and strode at a brisk pace toward the hotel, slipping between cars to put as much distance between her and the garden as possible.

  Suzanne paused with a hand to her throat, listening. Silence yet again. Then she heard it, what sounded like footsteps from behind her. She whirled. The noise ceased. No one was there. Maybe I should have kept the gun. Too late now. No way was she going back to the car.

  She resumed her pace, walking faster. Was someone following or was she hearing the wind and what her imagination told her to hear? A pebble tumbled across the asphalt as though kicked by a careless foot.

  Suzanne abandoned all pretence of control. She broke into a run and raced for the hotel entrance. Her heart pounding in her ears blotted out all other sounds. Panting, she reached her destination, stumbled up the steps, and jerked open the door. Inside, she whirled and, cupping her hands on either side of her eyes, peered out. Nothing moved.

  For the love of God, calm down. No one’s there.

  She straightened and walked several steps into the lobby.

  ****

  Anger pounded in my ears. There was Suzanne Wayland, alone, in the parking lot. In books, she’d be called too stupid to live. I agreed, but smothered my anger.

  I left the hotel to grab another weapon from the car and had just hidden it in the garden when a car door slammed not far away. Peeking through a gap in the hedge, I caught a glimpse of her. She rooted around in the trunk before banging the lid down and leaning against the bumper. A moment later, she headed back toward the front doors.

  I mentally cursed. I had missed a golden opportunity. No time to grab the weapon I’d selected. Instead, I picked up one of the rocks lining the garden path. Perhaps, if I hurried I could catch her between cars. But she moved too fast and the distance between us was too far. I made noise and the bitch spooked, forcing me to hunker down behind a car until she disappeared inside. I tossed the rock under a car and vented my frustration by kicking the rear quarter panel leaving several large dents. Damn, damn, damn! I inhaled two or three deep breaths.

  Be patient. You’ll get her. You can’t fail now.

  ****

  The bar beckoned, but another drink was the last thing Suzanne needed. She still clutched the spare key in her hand. Unzipping her purse, she dropped it inside next to Dave’s room key, which reminded her of her promise to Zach and Meghan.

  She marched up to the desk again and called out, “Any one here?”

  The clerk emerged and smiled. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I’d like to change rooms.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Yes. Someone has been killed in this hotel, and I want another room. My name is Crocker and I’m in room four-twenty.”

  The clerk looked confused. “But didn’t I just give you a key to room three-twenty-six?”

  “Yes. I was looking for my friend. Now, I want another room. It can be next door, across the hall or anywhere. I don’t care.”

  The clerk checked the computer. “I can give you room four-oh-nine.”

  “Fine.” She searched her purse for her key. “Damn, I can’t find the key. Let me have the spare, so I can pack.”

  “Certainly, Ms. Crocker. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into the room behind the desk.

  Suzanne tapped her foot while she waited.

&nb
sp; The clerk finally returned with a frown on his face. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to find the second key.”

  “What? You mean you gave my other key to someone else? I’ll have you know, I have valuable jewelry in that room.” The clerk gazed at the diamonds encircling her throat and dangling from her ears. “What? You think I wear all my jewelry at once? I always travel with a selection. And why the hell am I explaining myself to you? Get the passkey. Now!”

  “Ma’am, I’m not sure I can do that.”

  “The hell you can’t. Where’s the manager? And don’t tell me he’s not here. You’ve had a murder in the garden. Cops are crawling all over the place. He’s here and I demand to see him.”

  Anger and fear roughened her voice. She remembered how easily she had obtained Dave’s room key. Suppose the killer was holed up in her room waiting for her? An icy finger of fear tickled her spine followed by a gush of adrenaline generated heat. Damn! Why had she come to this stupid reunion?

  The desk clerk fumbled for the phone, spoke in a low voice to whoever answered, and then hung up.

  “Mr. Nelson will be here in a minute, Mrs. Crocker.”

  Suzanne waited, glaring at the clerk, until the manager came from the direction of the ballroom.

  The clerk explained the situation.

  “And I want someone to come with me,” she demanded when he finished.

  “Of course, Mrs. Crocker, I’ll be glad to escort you to your room.” He nodded to the young man who handed him two keys—a passkey and one for the newly assigned room. “If you’ll please follow me, I’ll personally move your bags to the new room.”

  “Thank you.”

  She followed the manager to the elevators. He smiled, but said nothing on the ride to the fourth floor. The silence held until they exited the elevator. He handed her the key to room four-oh-nine.

  “I’m sure the second key was misplaced rather than given to the wrong person,” he assured her. “It’s been a very busy night.”

  “Yeah, I guess a reunion with over two hundred people and a body in your fish pond would qualify as busy.”