by Lisa Jackson
“Does anyone have any idea about Leslie Bonaventure, or Karleen Signatore, or Bette Lablonsky?” DeLynn checked the spreadsheet she’d printed out. “I’m missing about twenty-six alumnae, but I have leads on all but those three. Here’s the list.” She passed copies around the table.
“I think I heard Bette’s family moved to Chicago,” Bella said around a bite of pepperoni, “but don’t quote me on that.”
“Karleen has an aunt in Oregon City, or did,” Martina put in. “I’ll see if I have that address.”
DeLynn made notes on her spreadsheet. “I also got in contact with Darla Campbell’s parents. She died last year in a boating accident, and I don’t think Selma Ortega will come. Not only was her husband killed last year in the war, she’s battling ovarian cancer. She has to wait and see how she feels.”
There were murmurs of shock and concern from the rest of the committee. It was sad and oddly strange to learn of their classmates’ troubles and deaths.
DeLynn tapped her pencil on the table. “Selma has two kids and Darla a son. I think the committee should set up some kind of donation fund or something, y’know, as well as acknowledging them at the event.”
Everyone agreed with the idea.
“Well, on that somber note,” April said, “I think we should move on. Here’s the menu and bid from the caterer. It’s pretty expensive, but the best I could come up with. You’ll see that I got a bid with and without dessert.” She passed her sheets around. “I was hoping Kristen’s mom might be able to help in that area. It could save us some money if we got a deal on the pastry.”
“From my mom?” Kristen snorted as she picked up a piece of vegetarian pizza. “She was never big on giving special price breaks, and she sold Sweet Nothings a few years ago.”
“But she still has connections in the industry.”
“I can ask,” Kristen said dubiously. “But don’t count on it.”
“Okay,” Aurora said. “What about the advertising? Can you run ads for the reunion at the paper and on the Internet? Maybe we can find those last missing souls.”
“Will do.”
They talked a while more, organizing, and eventually Aurora handed Kristen a stack of nearly a hundred invitations. “These are ready to go. They’re already stuffed with registration forms, return envelopes, and questionnaires. All you have to do is add a personal note-slash-invitation as head of the committee and maybe include DeLynn’s list of the people we can’t find, so that if anyone knows where a missing alum is, they can contact us.”
“I think you should write the letter,” Kristen teased, though she took the boxes of invitations. “Honestly, Aurora, you’ve done the work on this.”
Aurora waved a dismissive hand. “Give me some credit in the letter and maybe in the little pamphlet that we hand out at the reunion. Just don’t make me the person everyone turns to if there’s a problem. That’d be you, Kristen.”
Kristen didn’t want to think about what those problems could possibly be. It was time she told them about what had already happened to her, but she hardly knew how to broach the subject.
Then DeLynn checked her watch and sighed. “Got to go. The baby-sitter can only stay until nine-thirty.”
Drawing a breath, Kristen plunged in. “There’s something else I wanted to talk about.” The committee members turned interested faces her way. “Something I want all of you to see.” Unsnapping her briefcase, Kristen reluctantly pulled out the marred photograph.
Everyone at the table stared at the faded, red-marked photo.
“What is this?” DeLynn asked.
“Someone left it in my car, the night after the last reunion meeting.”
“What?” Aurora was stunned. “They left it here?”
“No.” As succinctly as possible, Kristen relayed her story.
“Why did you go to the school? The maze?” Bella asked, her eyes trained on the photograph of her brother.
“I don’t know. It was stupid.”
“This is beyond creepy,” Laura said.
DeLynn agreed. “Who would do this?”
“I think someone followed me,” Kristen admitted. “No one knew I would be there. I didn’t plan to go. I can’t even explain why I felt compelled to drive to the school and walk through the maze.”
“You should have your head examined,” Martina muttered as she looked away from the photograph. “Where did this picture come from?”
“It might have been stolen from my house,” Kristen said with a grimace. “I checked my attic. It’s missing. Just the paper folder that it came in was left.”
“You think someone was in your house?” DeLynn whispered. She’d forgotten all about her baby-sitter.
“How else would they get the picture?”
“From the photographer?” Aurora asked.
“He’s out of business. I checked.”
“We have a picture like that,” Bella said and swallowed hard. “Or at least we did.” She bit her lip. “I, um, I haven’t seen it in a while. But Jake paid for the picture and it was sent to our house, you know, several weeks after…after he died. My mom fell into a million pieces all over again.” She looked up at Kristen. “I’ll check with my folks. See if they still have it.”
“I don’t like this,” April murmured, rubbing her arms as if suddenly chilled.
“Whoever left the picture also left me an audio tape…it’s from the dance.” Kristen glanced at Bella. “Look, I’m sorry, this is painful for us all, but I thought you should know. The tape has people’s conversations and then…well, it ends with a horrible scream. I think Lindsay’s.”
“Okay, this is sick!” Aurora rubbed her temples and stared at the picture lying between the half-drunk mugs of beer. “Someone’s turned complete psycho. Have you…did you talk to the police?”
“Not yet.”
“Why the hell not?” DeLynn demanded.
“Because I thought it might just be a prank.”
“A prank.” Her condemning tone conveyed her disbelief. “Kristen, this is malicious, cold, and potentially dangerous.” She glanced at her watch and muttered, “Damn. I’ve really got to go.” She pointed a finger at the picture. “Take that and the tape and call the damned police. That’s what they’re for.” Scooping up her purse, she was out the door.
“She’s right,” Laura said. “You have to take this to the police. Maybe they can pull fingerprints off the cassette or listen to it and piece together different voices…a time line. Some of us might remember who was around when those conversations were taped.”
“It’s been twenty years.”
“My guess?” April said. “Haylie’s behind it. She had that meltdown. Still blames Jake for Ian Powers’s death. And she didn’t show up tonight. I’ll bet she’s guilty as sin.”
Aurora shuddered. “Let’s not start pointing fingers, but DeLynn’s right, Kris. You have to talk to the police.”
The killer watched as cars rolled out of the parking lot. As each woman left the meeting, she looked over her shoulder, then peered inside her car to make sure it was empty. They were all paranoid the bogeyman was hiding inside, and after a cursory search they drove off with cell phones pressed to their ears, doors locked, tires chirping as they hit the gas.
Just you wait, she thought, watching from deep within her vehicle, a dark SUV with tinted windows. She smiled. It was almost delicious.
She was parked near a stand of pines that rimmed the lot, and no one noticed her vehicle wedged between a pickup and a sedan. They were too busy getting away.
Because they were scared.
Because Kristen Daniels had told them about the picture and the tape.
They’d all been shocked, and she’d been able to witness their horrified expressions.
Everyone was edgy.
Nerves strung tight.
Good.
Humming “Dancing in the Dark,” the old Bruce Springsteen song that was playing the night Jake was killed, she smiled and put her Blazer into
gear.
Things were about to get worse. A whole lot worse.
Chapter 9
No one followed her. She watched, checking her rearview mirror, her hands gripped tight on the steering wheel, but the drive was uneventful until she pulled into her driveway and found Ross’s truck parked on the street.
Her heart did a stupid little jump and she looked in the mirror one more time to check her appearance. “Oh, get over yourself,” she muttered. “It’s Ross. Ross. The man you’re divorcing. Remember?”
But the woman in the mirror didn’t seem convinced.
She walked through the garage to the kitchen and found Ross sprawled on the leather couch in the family room, his shoes kicked off, a fire lit, the television tuned to a sports update show. The cat was curled on the back of the couch, her tail wrapped around her tawny body.
Ross twisted his head as she walked in and flashed that incredible, roguish grin of his again. “Hi, honey, you’re home!” he teased, and her heart lurched again.
Don’t fall for it. This is just an act.
“Comfy?” she asked, dropping her bag and laptop onto the table as the cat opened her eyes, yawned, then settled back to sleep.
He patted the cushion next to him. “I could be better.” His voice was deep. Sexy. Oh, she’d heard it a thousand times in the first five or six years of their marriage—the happy years. “Come on over and take a load off.”
She was tempted. “Nah. Too much to do.”
He cocked an eyebrow and she noticed that not only the collar button but a few more had come undone. His sleeves were rolled over forearms that were impossibly tanned considering the time of year. “I believe that was my line. At least you accused me of it, oh, about a dozen times a day.”
“Was I really such a nag?” she asked, walking toward him. Marmalade, disturbed by all the commotion, hopped off the couch and sought solace under the kitchen table with an accusatory meow.
“Worse.”
“You are so not making points with me,” she said. Reluctantly, knowing inside she wanted to far too much, she took a seat on the ottoman, facing him.
His eyes assessed her, causing a little frisson of awareness to slide down her spine. “How ’bout I get you a drink. Gin and tonic? Glass of Chardonnay?”
“How can you be so damned sure of yourself?”
“Years of practice.” Again he thumped the spot beside him in invitation. “Come on, Kris. What’ve you got to lose?”
“Lissa’s home.”
“And my guess is she knows all about us. It won’t hurt if she walks out of her room and finds us together.”
Kristen arched a dubious brow.
Ross continued in a conversational tone. “We are her parents and we own this house. Together. I think she understands the facts of life. And just in case she doesn’t, I told her about them tonight over tofu burgers and French fries that had been guaranteed not to be fried in anything resembling animal fat.”
“Oh, that’s right…she’s a vegetarian.”
“Nope. I think she upped her commitment to the cause. Now she’s a vegan.”
“She was last year, too. It lasted a couple of weeks.”
He snorted in amusement. Kristen smiled back and quit fighting him. Gave up the battle with herself. Sliding onto the couch, she tried not to melt against him when his arm pulled her close and her head nestled so naturally into the crook of his neck. “So, how was it? Are you hot on the trail of those long-lost classmates?”
His arm felt right around her and the whiff of his cologne reminded her of how easily she could respond to him. “I suppose.”
“Don’t they know they can’t escape? That you’re like a bloodhound when you’re tracking something?”
“Actually, DeLynn Vaughn, er, Simms, is in charge of locating everyone, and she’s a lot better at it than I am.”
“If you say so.”
“Mmm.” She frowned and decided to tell him about the rest of the meeting. In for a penny…“I showed everyone at the meeting the picture that was left on my car and told them about the tape.”
She felt him tense a bit, the muscles surrounding her tightening. “And?”
“And everyone agrees with you, that I should call the police.”
“Good. And have you?”
“First thing in the morning. I promise.”
He lifted her chin with one finger and forced her to look him straight in the eyes. “I’m going to hold you to it, Kris. This is important. You don’t know what kind of a nutcase you’ve got running around. A prankster who’s getting his rocks off by scaring the crap out of you or a real psycho, like the person who killed Jake Marcott.”
Kristen grimaced. Ross had always accused her of never being able to get over Jake’s death, of feeling guilty that the boy she’d loved had died, of never letting go of him. He’d also blamed Kristen’s unrequited dreams and fantasies about a boy who had become a ghost for ruining their marriage.
Part of his accusations were true. No doubt about it.
She tried to pull away from him, but he held her fast. “I’m serious. This isn’t a random act, and we both know it. Whoever decided to mess with your car planned it. Stole the picture. Either audiotaped the murder years before or stole the tape from someone who did, someone who never mentioned it or gave the tape to the police.” Eyebrows drawn in concentration, he added, “It’s no coincidence that this is happening now, when you’re planning the reunion. Someone’s been waiting for just this moment.”
“You don’t know that.”
Ross slowly released her, but his tone was demanding. “You think it was random? That whoever did this was just up at the school, waiting for you to walk into that damned maze?”
“Of course not,” she admitted.
“I don’t like it,” Ross said, frowning into the fire.
“Neither do I.”
“I think it would be best if I stuck around.”
Her gaze, which had drifted toward Marmalade, flew to his face. “What do you mean? Like…stay here? Overnight?”
The fire hissed and crackled as he asked, “Would that be so bad?”
“We’re supposed to be separated…you can’t just…move back in.” She shook her head though a part of her wanted it badly enough to scare her inside. She shot to her feet. “Look, Ross, nothing’s really changed.”
“Like hell. I’ve changed. You’ve changed.”
“Don’t…” She struggled to keep a grip on things even though with each passing day she’d begun to believe that he’d never cheated on her. That she’d imagined that part because he’d lost interest in her. In their family. That was the stone-cold truth. “It didn’t work before. I don’t think it’ll work now.”
“So kick me out.”
“I am.”
“And I’m not budging.”
She couldn’t believe his gall. “We had an agreement.”
“An arrangement. I didn’t really agree to anything. I was just giving you the space to figure things out. But I’m through with that.” To emphasize his point, he pulled the quilt from the back of the couch and tossed it over his legs. Gray eyes dared her to argue.
Kristen glanced at the door to Lissa’s room and lowered her voice. “Really, Ross, you can’t stay here.”
“Sure I can. Just watch.”
“You son of a bitch,” she said on a note of wonder. He was really pushing this.
“Now, there’s the woman I love. I wondered when she’d surface.”
“What’re you planning to tell Lissa?”
“How about ‘Daddy’s home’?”
“Fine. If you want to camp out in the family room and make some kind of macho statement, have at it. You can explain it to Lissa tomorrow.”
“Sweet dreams,” he called after her as she strode into their bedroom and slammed the door.
It was all Ross could do not to chase after her, kiss her for all she was worth, toss her onto the bed, and tumble after her. He knew their lovemaking wou
ld be searing. Intense. Erotic.
It always had been.
Even when they’d made light of it and laughed or teased, the physical wanting and desire had always been white hot.
Lying on the couch, watching the fire die, hearing a sportscaster drone on and on about the NBA, he let his mind wander back to the time when they hadn’t been able to get enough of each other; when a simple brushing of the elbows, or naughty little glance, or upturned corner of a mouth had started a sensual foreplay process that might have lasted fifteen minutes or more likely hours, touching, kissing, caressing.
They had experimented with positions and places; in fact—he glanced around the house—there hadn’t been a room they hadn’t christened in one way or another before they’d moved here permanently. Closing his eyes, he remembered the feel of her tongue sliding down the cords of his neck and lower, over his shoulders and down his abdomen. She would often place her teeth and tongue around one of his nipples before moving slowly, with sweet agony, downward.
His blood heated and even now, alone, thinking of her, his groin tightened and his damned cock grew hard.
He tried to shift his thoughts from her, but it was too late.
They hadn’t been able to get enough of each other and if there had been any problems, they had seemed small at the time. True, he’d known from the get-go that she hadn’t resolved her feelings for the boy who had died, but Ross had thought with the passage of time, Jake Marcott’s ghost would be laid to rest, that eventually Kristen would come to terms with what had happened that night.
He’d been proved wrong.
Jake had always been there.
Standing between them, and in Ross’s mind’s eye, the dark-haired boy had been laughing at Ross’s naïvete. He’d even shown up in some of Ross’s dreams, this high-school kid he’d never even met! And always, without fail, Jake was the one walking out of the damned maze with Kristen, and Ross was left shackled to the tree, the greenery closing in on him, Kristen’s voice fading in the distance.
He’d always been stark naked in the nightmare, while Jake was in a black tux and Kristen in a differing array of clothing; sometimes in a long, sexy black gown, other times in nothing more than a red teddy and high heels.