Class Reunions Can Be Murder -- Every Wife Has A Story; A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery

by Susan Santangelo

  “Never heard of it,” Mary Beth said, a little too quickly.

  “Oh, look, here come Tony and Neecy. I’m going to the front of the room so she can see me. Bye, Carol. It was nice chatting with you.”

  And, just like that, she melted into the crowd. I didn’t even get the chance to ask her if she knew about J.T. Murray and Anthony Prentiss.

  Chapter 39

  Come rain or come shine, I never lose my taste for whine.

  “That was fun,” I said, leaning back against the headrest in Jim’s car and sighing with contentment. “Although, if I never go to a political fundraiser again, that’s ok with me.”

  “The food was pretty bad,” Jim said. “Except for the hors d’oeuvres.” He gave me a sidelong glance. “Which I saw you sampling a few times.”

  I pulled down the skirt on my tight red dress. And ignored my husband’s comment.

  “I ran into a high school classmate of mine, Mary Beth Walsh,” I said. “She tipped me off that the hors d’oeuvres were the best part of the meal, and urged me to fill up. So, I did.”

  I turned to glare at my spouse, although I doubted that he could see me in the dark. “You were no help. You left me standing there all by myself. Thank you very much.”

  “We sat together at dinner,” Jim said, sounding a wee bit defensive. “I made every effort to find you in the crowd.”

  “Eventually,” I said, not willing to give him an inch. “But I forgive you. After all, this is the closest we’ve gotten to a date in months.”

  The motion-sensitive lights went on as we crossed the yard toward the side door. The kitchen was ablaze with light. Lights that I had not turned on before we left for the fundraiser. And which were not on a timer.

  I stopped and grabbed my husband’s arm. “Jim. I think someone’s been in the house. Oh, my God, the dogs!”

  Of course, I had overreacted. I bet you’re not surprised about that. Lucy and Ethel were fine. For some reason, though, they were locked in our bedroom, and complaining at the top of their lungs.

  “You must have closed them inside when we left,” Jim said, patting my arm. “And didn’t realize it. You know how sneaky they can be. They were probably playing with a toy under the bed, and you didn’t know it. I’ve checked all around the house, and nothing’s been disturbed. And I’ll bet you left the kitchen lights on, too. We did leave in a hurry.

  “You know, Carol, at our age, we tend to be forgetful.”

  He gave me a big smooch. “It was a fun night. Are you coming to bed now?”

  I didn’t want to argue with Jim, but I was positive I hadn’t locked the dogs in the bedroom. Nor had I left the lights on in the kitchen. He was right, though – nothing had been touched. So I did my best to convince myself that he was right. The other possibility was too scary for me to think about.

  I was still jumpy. And not at all ready for sleep.

  “You know, Jim, I think I’ll stay up a little while and read. I’ll try not to wake you when I come to bed,” I said. Not that I ever have. After thirty-plus years of marriage, my track record in that department remains unblemished.

  The yellow notebook I planned to read would probably keep me awake for hours, but now was as good a time as ever. Especially after Mary Beth’s odd reaction to my Golden Circle Club question. She had piqued my curiosity even more, and I hoped I might recognize the handwriting in the infamous notebook.

  Jim gave me another smooch – this fundraiser was paying off big-time for me – and headed toward the bedroom.

  I walked the dogs in the yard – on leashes, just to be sure – then fixed myself a cup of warm milk. Time to check that notebook and see if I could make any sense of it. And check in with Mike via the computer.

  I tried to ignore the funny feeling I had that someone had been in my house. Jim had checked every room, and all was well.

  I went into the office and rummaged on my desk for the yellow notebook. Which I was positive I had left there. In plain sight. Before we left for the fundraiser.

  It was gone.

  I never understood that old expression, “a prickle of fear.” Until that instant. My whole body was prickling.

  I immediately jumped up and turned on every light in the house except our bedroom. I felt a little safer.

  But not much.

  Lucy and Ethel, thinking that morning had come extra early in the Andrews house, which therefore meant food service for them, padded into the office and sat at my feet. Looking hopeful.

  Just seeing them made me feel better. Although I was a little angry with them, too. Some watchdogs they’d turned out to be.

  “Gosh, I wish you two could talk,” I said, getting down on the floor and nuzzling them close. Lucy gave me a reproachful look, telegraphing that they did so many other things to communicate with me, talking aloud was totally unnecessary.

  I just had to pick up the obvious clues they were giving me.

  “What should I do?” I asked them. “Should I call the police?” Even Ethel raised her doggy eyebrows at that idea.

  “You’re right,” I said. “After all, there’s no sign of a break-in, and nothing was taken except the stupid notebook. And I’m the only one who’s ever seen the darn thing. They’ll think I’m nuts.”

  Lucy refrained from comment. And stared at the computer.

  “I guess I’ve seen enough of the book to make a few notes,” I said, following her gaze. “Good idea. And I can see what Mike’s come up with, too.”

  Satisfied that they had done enough to save me from making a fool of myself with the police, and pointed me in the correct direction, the dogs curled up at my feet. In about a second, both were snoring.

  Being bossy tires them out. Me, too.

  I scrunched my eyes and tried to remember what the handwriting I’d seen in the notebook looked like. But it was no use. I’d only glanced at the pages for a second, realized what I was looking at, and slammed the book shut.

  “I wish I had another way to check out the Golden Circle Club,” I said to myself in frustration. “But I have no idea how.” I looked at Lucy, who had raised her head and was giving me a dirty look. “Sorry I woke you, Lucy,” I said. “I’ll whisper from now on.”

  Lucy rose, gave a deep sigh, then arched and stretched her back. I envied her. If I tried that pose, I’d end up at the chiropractor for sure.

  She walked over to the built-in bookcase on the opposite side of the room, sat down, and stared. Then she turned around, gave me another stare, and turned back to the bookcase again.

  And, all of a sudden, I saw what she was looking at. My high school yearbook! And she was absolutely right. Because if such a club existed at Mount Saint Francis while I was in school there, it would be mentioned in our yearbook.

  “Lucy, you are so smart,” I said. “Thanks. You’ve saved me a lot of time.”

  Lucy gave me one last stare, yawned, and went back to cuddle with Ethel and catch some more sleep. And I got the message. That’s it for tonight, Carol. No more clues. Now, let me get some rest.

  Swear to God, that’s what she said.

  I hadn’t looked at the yearbook for years. Nancy had brought hers to one of our reunion planning meetings, but I didn’t bother to check it out. She even suggested that we have miniature ones made and put at each person’s place for the lunch, but the rest of us nixed that idea right away. It was bad enough to wear a reunion nametag that sported our high school graduation picture. A most humbling experience.

  I found a comfortable position on the sofa and leafed through the first few pages. Hmm. I had forgotten that Mary Beth was the yearbook editor. I was on the writing staff, naturally, but she was the big boss. And she really ran the whole show, now that I thought about it. Our advisor, Sister Dorothea, had a health issue midway through senior school year which
forced her to lighten her school responsibilities, including overseeing the contents of our yearbook.

  I skimmed the individual pictures – although I did stop on page 32 and stare for a quick minute at a geeky-looking girl with a bouffant hairdo who looked like she was a refugee from a windstorm.

  Thank goodness I went to Deanna now for my hairstyling. That bouffant was too much, in every way!

  I tore through the book as fast as I could until I got to the extracurricular activities section. Home Ec, History, Latin (yes, we did take that in high school), French, Spanish, Drama, English, Glee Club, and on and on. And there it was – the very last one. The Golden Circle Club. There were only five members, which was odd because most of the clubs had at least 20. In fact, if I remembered correctly, in order to be recognized as an official school club, that was a requirement.

  The five members of the Golden Circle Club were pictured holding a notebook that looked exactly like the one I’d found at the thrift shop. The three Marys, Neecy, and the person who was definitely the leader of this unlikely group, with a huge smirk on her face.

  Meg.

  I was betting that the good sisters at Mount Saint Francis had absolutely no idea what extracurricular activities this particular club encouraged. And I was sure that, if Mary Beth hadn’t been the editor, this picture never would have made it into our yearbook at all.

  Chapter 40

  One secret for aging gracefully is to lie about your age.

  Add 10 years and everyone will tell you how great you look.

  I put my head back on the sofa – just for a minute, to rest my eyes – and thought about what I’d learned. I realized I hadn’t found out anything I hadn’t suspected before. But my suspicions had been confirmed.

  I knew that it was a huge leap from a yellow notebook detailing the risqué off-campus adventures in a 1970s Catholic girls’ high school to writing a best-selling mommie porn book. But I also knew that if anyone had the anatomy required to get the job done (you can fill in whatever body parts you deem appropriate here), it would have been Meg.

  This was a no-brainer. Especially for me and my overactive imagination. But convincing other people – say, my son-in-law the Fairport detective – that this was the motive for Meg’s untimely death would be a lot harder. And the idea that four of my very own classmates were responsible, well, that was a stretch, even for me.

  Even though I couldn’t ignore the coincidence between my asking Mary Beth about the Golden Circle Club and the immediate theft of the yellow notebook.

  Although I never saw Mary Beth leave the fundraiser for more than five minutes. She couldn’t have gotten to my house and back in that short amount of time.

  Unless she sent someone else. But who?

  Blast. I knew I was onto something, but it still wasn’t clear.

  I still needed more information on how Meg had spent the intervening forty years between high school graduation and our reunion. And her death.

  The clock on the computer reminded me that it was now way past midnight. If I was going to stay up any later, I’d need a shot of caffeine. And then I’d never get to sleep at all.

  I decided to check my e-mails one last time and then head off to bed. Tomorrow was another day, as Scarlet O’Hara would say. Or did she say that she’d never be hungry again? Either phrase worked for me.

  Instant message from Nancy:

  R U up? I can’t sleep.

  Me: Me neither.

  Nancy: Y?

  Me: Ever heard of the Golden Circle Club?

  Nancy: Call me on my cell right away.

  My BFF didn’t give me a chance to punch in her cell number. In a millisecond my own phone rang – I’d had the foresight to keep it with me in case Mike and I needed to talk. An unusual step for me to be so organized, but I’m trying.

  “Carol!” Nancy screeched at me. “It’s me.”

  “I know, Nancy,” I said. “I have caller ID. Why do we have to talk now? What’s so urgent that it can’t wait until morning.” I yawned loudly, for effect. “I’m beat. I need to go to bed.”

  “You won’t want to go to bed when you hear what I’ve got to tell you,” Nancy said, sounding a little calmer now. “How did you hear about the Golden Circle Club? I haven’t thought about it in forty years. If the nuns had found out about it, I bet some girls would have been expelled. Or, at least, suspended.”

  “How come you know about this and I don’t?” I asked.

  “You talk first,” Nancy said. “I’m not telling you anything until you level with me about what you’ve heard.”

  This was very frustrating. Usually Nancy was willing to share anything with me. Too much, actually.

  But since I wasn’t going to get anywhere until I spilled what I knew, I filled Nancy in about the find at the thrift shop, what I’d gleaned from my quick scanning of the notebook, my questioning of Mary Beth and checking out our yearbook. I finished by telling Nancy that the notebook was now gone, and I was sure someone had come into my house and taken it.

  But I had no proof. (Not that that’s ever stopped me before, mind you.)

  I resisted drawing a parallel with Fifty Shades of Navy, deciding to see if Nancy jumped to the same conclusion all on her own.

  When I was finished, I heard only silence on the other end of the phone. It was so long that I thought Nancy had either hung up or the connection had been broken.

  Then, a deep sigh.

  “All right, Carol, I’ll tell you what I know. But you’re not going to believe me.”

  “Try me,” I said.

  “The Golden Circle Club started sophomore year at Mount Saint Francis. It was a secret club, and membership was by invitation only. I bet you can guess whose idea it was without my telling you.”

  “Meg’s, of course,” I said.

  “One hundred percent correct,” said Nancy.

  “Anyway, the original idea behind it was that each month one member had to do something completely outrageous. It was done by rotation. And report back to the club at the next meeting about what she had done. And bring some sort of proof that she’d actually done what she claimed she did. Does this make sense?”

  I nodded. Then I realized that Nancy couldn’t see me, so I said, “So far.”

  “The first year, it was pretty innocent. Like smoking in the bathroom and leaving cigarette butts there for proof. The events were all documented in a yellow notebook. The scribe duty was done by rotation, too. But by junior year, Meg upped the ante and changed the focus. It became more…outrageous. Bordering on the illegal. And by senior year, well, I suspect that the notebook you found detailed some of those exploits. Although I’m pretty sure that a lot of those never really happened. They could have been copied from racy magazines or books.”

  Long pause on Nancy’s end of the phone.

  “Are you with me, Carol?”

  “I guess.”

  “There was a signature cocktail that everyone had to drink at the meetings. It was something creamy and pink – I don’t remember the name of it – but it packed a real wallop. Especially for girls who weren’t used to drinking. Maybe there was even some pot smoking.”

  Nancy took a deep breath.

  “I’m not proud of this, but I guess it’s time to come clean with you. I was a member in sophomore year.”

  “What? You’re not serious.” I was shocked. Really shocked.

  “I only stayed for a few months,” Nancy said in her own defense. “Like I said, in the beginning, the pranks were no big deal. But then, they got more out of hand, and I left. But I had to swear I would never reveal anything about the club to anyone. Even to my closest friends.”

  “What about the notebook I found? Do you know anything about that?”

  “We never meant anyone to see the notebo
oks,” Nancy said. “I don’t know who took them for safekeeping. Whoever it was should have burned the darn things.”

  “Isn’t it odd how that notebook found its way into the thrift shop?” I said. “Maybe the universe is trying to tell us something.”

  Nancy sniffled. It sounded like she was crying, but didn’t want me to know.

  “I hope you don’t hate me for this,” she said. “Please don’t let this ruin our friendship. You really are the very best friend I’ve ever had. Ever. And I love you.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I said. “I don’t hate you. You’re my best friend and always will be. You did something really stupid when you were younger. When you realized what you’d gotten yourself into, you quit. But I don’t understand why you got involved with that club in the first place, especially since you admitted how much you disliked Meg.”

  “I don’t know why I did, either. I guess I thought it was exciting. And I was thrilled to be asked to join. At first.”

  I tried to focus on what Nancy had confessed to me. I was so exhausted by that time that curling up with Lucy and Ethel on the office floor looked like a great idea. Walking to the bedroom would be too much of an effort.

  I think I nodded off for a split second, because I heard Nancy yelling my name from what seemed a faraway place.

  Which was my office floor. I had dropped the phone.

  “I’m here!” I said. “I’m thinking.”

  “I was worried. You were so quiet.”

  “I’m beat,” I said. “And you’ve given me a lot to think about. But I’m too tired to think about anything now. I’m going to bed. I do have one question I want to ask you before I hang up, though. What would you do if you thought the Golden Circle Club secrets were about to become public knowledge?”