by Lynn Cahoon
By the time she’d walked back into town, she’d had a lot of time to think about who could have been the woman fighting with Dean Vargas. She’d been too far away to distinguish much about the voice, except she knew the other party had been female and clearly not happy with the discussion.
Walking into the restaurant, she had her choice of tables as she’d missed the lunch rush and it was way too early for even the older, early-bird diners. The older crowd, like Mrs. Rice and her best friend, Mable, liked to visit over their evening meals and apparently were spreading the latest gossip about her and Seth’s possible relationship.
A woman in her early twenties took her order, and Cat wondered if the piercing-studded waitress was a townie or if she was a student, working her way to her bachelor’s degree. The town kids tended to leave after high school, some for Denver to attend a cheaper, state facility, some to work either in the national parks or in the local factories. Many of the guys in her class had signed up for the military, believing the television ad copy about seeing the world. After moving away and now back, Cat realized that maybe Aspen Hills was all the world she really wanted to see.
Her food came quickly, and she opened her journal and started writing about her day. She’d kept a journal since she’d been a kid. Of course, back then it had been a diary and had been filled with her hopes and dreams about her future. As she grew, the entries became a study of her and Seth and the happy couple they would be, once they were married. She’d read the journals while researching for her current series, wanting to get back into her high-school mindset, and had been shocked at the amount of happiness she’d poured into the pages.
Angst had not been part of her personal high school experience, and she had to use her own experience as that of a secondary character in the book, a best friend for her heroine to want to model, even though her life as a teenage witch had been filled with conflict and heartbreak.
She wrote about her writing time, making notes on what she wanted to accomplish with her next writing session. When she started writing about today’s outing, her mind kept returning to Seth and his easy smile. But she avoided waxing poetically about the man and, instead, wrote about the nature she’d found during her walk. She was just about to record the fight scene when a voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Why are you here eating when you could be having one of those lovely sandwiches your chef makes? I swear, I’m going to try to steal her away from you when I leave to return to New York.” Linda Cook stood to her right, reading over her shoulder. “You were out at Sugar Hill today?”
When Cat nodded and closed her journal, Linda didn’t seem to notice. “I loved that place. Tom used to take me out there every Friday after classes were over. We’d drink a six-pack, talk about our future together, and, well, you know.”
The smile on her face didn’t match the sadness in her eyes or in her voice. The woman had loved her husband, that was certain. Linda sank into the chair across from Cat. After ordering a cup of tea from the waitress, she took in the room. “We had such wonderful times here. Larry, Tom, and I were inseparable until senior year. Then we all just grew apart.”
“Because you and Tom were serious?” The question popped out before Cat could soften it.
“Maybe.” Linda shrugged and took her tea from the waitress. “Honestly, I don’t think we were serious until after graduation. We were all so focused on our future and the writing, it kind of consumed us.”
“I studied at Covington, too. After I completed my master’s, they offered me a teaching spot. Of course, that could have been because they didn’t want to lose my ex-husband from the faculty.” Cat tapped the cover of her journal with a pen. “I’d like to think it was my outstanding thesis on the romance of Edgar Allan Poe and the rise of the dark, angsty hero.”
Linda laughed, a clear, happy sound. “Mine was worse. I did a summary of the role of supporting female characters in thrillers and the effect of women’s liberation over the years.”
“So what was the effect?” Cat loved philosophical discussions, which was why she had enjoyed teaching. The rest of the job had drained her.
“There was none. I had one of the stats students run the numbers through a program, and women didn’t make any gains in the literary world, at least as a sidekick in that particular genre.” She stood and put a five-dollar bill on the table. “You were writing. I don’t want to bother you with my ramblings. Besides, I was on the way to the police station. They want an official report on what happened to my room. Seriously, I’m spending way too much time in the company of your uncle. People are going to start to talk.”
“I’m sure they understand it’s about the investigation.”
Linda put her hand on Cat’s shoulder. “My dear, the moment I became a widow, I became the highlight of any scandal. Everything I do is under some nosy biddy’s watchful eye.”
Cat watched Linda stroll out of the diner. Hadn’t she felt the same way when she and Michael divorced? Even living in another state hadn’t alleviated the unease she’d felt eating alone that first year. And walking into a bar? She’d felt like she wore a sign declaring she was looking for a good time, when actually what she really wanted was adult conversation about something besides literature or grades.
Something Linda had said was nagging at her. What had happened between junior and senior year to cause the trio to break up? She tucked her journal away into her pack and finished her lunch. Determined, she paid her check and started walking toward campus. She knew just where she might find her answers.
The fifth floor of the library housed campus history. Old literary journals from the campus press lined the first few shelves, but Cat didn’t stop there. Instead, she weaved her way through the dusty stacks until the light from the windows dimmed. Turning a corner, she found what she’d been looking for: old yearbooks. During her own undergrad experience, the yearbook had been more a photo list of her classmates with staged shots of the on-campus clubs and award winners. The teachers had their own section, and Michael always loved what he’d called picture day. He’d dress up in a powder blue shirt, get his hair cut the week before, and once, she’d caught him whitening his teeth with a home preparation. When she teased him about being worse than a teenage girl, he’d pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “I’ll only be this age once. But in the yearbooks, I can be young forever.”
She passed by the more recent editions, running her hand over the bound volumes. She could almost feel Michael’s arms around her as she moved into the earlier years. When had Linda and Tom graduated? 1969?
She took all of the ’60s and the first five years of the ’70s and set them on a library table on a windowless side wall. A yellowing overhead lamp made the area too dim to see much, but on the table was a reading lamp. She pulled the chain and the lamp cast a bright circle of light on the surface. Opening the first book, she searched for Tom Cook and Larry Vargas in the class pictures. She’d gone through seven books before she found Tom’s freshman photo. He’d been a looker, even then, but the most arresting feature had been those piercing eyes. Even in this old photo, you could feel his intensity. She quickly found the next four yearbooks and opened them to the class picture and set the other books on the table out of the way next to her.
She opened her journal and put a pen between the covers to mark her place on the blank page. Then she scanned through all the female photos, stopping at each Linda before she found the right one. Linda’s hair was all puffed up in one of those bumps at the back, and cat eye glasses framed her eyes. Linda White. She wrote the three names in her book and under each one, the clubs they were members of. There were three listed under each name. The Literary Journal, the Poetry Club, and Campus Democrats. The men also had listed Wild Adventures. Cat found the pages for all the clubs, then looked for the trio. The first picture she found was a foursome. A petite blond was also in the photo, her hand on Larry’s chest in most of the poses. Linda hadn’t mentioned another girl.
Cat went back to the class photos to try to identify the newcomer. It didn’t take long. Gloria Jenson was her name, but she didn’t have any of the same clubs. Her activities seemed to focus on cheerleading and being part of any royalty court for campus formals. Her first year she’d been a princess in no less than five courts, including homecoming. The next two years, she’d moved on to taking the queen slot. And senior year there was no picture.
She searched both the junior and senior yearbooks for any clue, but she was there, then she wasn’t.
“Curious,” Cat said aloud. Her cell phone buzzed, causing her to jump. She unlocked the screen saver and answered, “Yep?”
“Cat?” Shauna’s voice sounded worried. “Is that you?”
Cat focused on the junior picture of Gloria. What happened to you? She focused on the phone call. “It’s me. What’s going on?”
“I was just worried when you didn’t come home. You’re not still out on the trail are you?”
Now Cat could hear the reproof in her friend’s words. “No, I’m on campus.” She glanced at the display and whistled, “Boy, I didn’t realize it was that late. I’ll be home in a few.”
“I didn’t mean to check up on you, I was just worried.” Shauna continued to explain away her actions. “And the sisters have some writing questions that I told them you would be the expert to ask. I’m useless when it comes to the book stuff.”
“You’re not useless. Remember when I tried to make pancakes? We both have our own strengths and weaknesses.” Cat looked at the books. On the front page, where there was usually a barcode, these all had the following note stamped in red. Reference only. Do not remove from this floor. Well, that ruined her plans to take them home. Instead, she stacked three of them neatly on the table and tucked the junior yearbook into her bag along with her notebook. If she went out the professor exit where the security system had been turned off, even if the book was tagged, she shouldn’t set off an alarm when she left the building. “I’ll be home in ten.”
“Sounds good,” Shauna answered.
Cat paused. “Hey, is Linda there?”
“She just came in and went right up to her room, why?”
Weaving her way through the stacks, Cat tucked her tote under her arm and started toward the stairs that would lead her to the back exit. “I need to find out what else she isn’t telling me.”
Chapter 14
Rose caught her as soon as Cat walked in the front door. “Thank God you’re here.” The older woman took Cat’s arm and pulled her toward the living room.
“Has something happened?” Cat dropped her tote on the table in the foyer as she was half-dragged to the living room. Daisy sat at the small table near the window, her attention focused on the laptop open in front of her.
“Would you please tell Daisy that writing in third person is old school? No one writes that way anymore.” Rose pushed Cat closer to the table.
Daisy didn’t even look up. “She’s on a first-person crusade. Saving the world of readers one aspiring author at a time.”
Cat turned back toward Rose. “Actually, point of view is a writer’s personal choice. A lot of books are written in both viewpoints. One isn’t more modern or valid than the other.”
“Told you,” Daisy muttered under her breath.
Rose glared at her sister. “I’m sure I read that in Tom Cook’s writing book. Why would he say something like that if it wasn’t true?”
Maybe to preach to his fan base? Cat shook off the uncharitable thought and patted Rose’s hand. “I’m sure for him, there wasn’t any other choice. But it doesn’t mean his style of writing is any more valid than Daisy’s or yours, or even mine.”
Rose sank into an overstuffed chair, shaking her head. “I just don’t get how a rule could just be a suggestion. Why isn’t there a rulebook for people to follow? That would be so much easier.”
“Easier, but not as much fun.” Cat glanced upward like she could see through the flooring to Linda’s room. “Look, I’ve got to go handle something, but I’ll be back and we can talk more over hot chocolate. Would you like that?”
“Sure.” Rose slunk deeper into her chair and didn’t meet Cat’s gaze.
“What my sister means to say is that would be very nice, thank you.” Daisy’s tone held an echo of humor and Cat smiled at the gentle rebuke toward Rose.
Cat started toward the foyer. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.” Sighing, she paused at the bottom of the staircase. Grabbing the yearbook from her tote, she marched up the stairs, wondering how she was going to ask about Gloria.
She knocked on Linda’s door and it swung open after one hard knock. Linda Cook sat on the bed, looking at a framed picture of her late husband. Tears flowed down her cheeks. She must have heard the knock as she set the picture down on the bed and wiped the tears away with both hands.
A small smile curved her lips, but Cat sensed the woman’s insincerity in the greeting. Linda wanted to be alone. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Linda waved her in. “Come sit by me. I’m so tired of being alone right now. It’s not all fun and games as the merry widow.”
Cat sat and put the yearbook on her lap so Linda could see it.
The woman took the bait. She snatched it off Cat’s lap and opened it to the class pictures. “Oh my, where did you find this? I’ve got all our old yearbooks at home, but I haven’t seen any of these here. Do they even still do yearbooks?”
Linda wasn’t waiting for Cat’s answers to her shotgun questions. Cat pointed to the smiling photo of Gloria. “Do you know her?”
The look Linda gave her basically called Cat an idiot. “Of course I do. Gloria dated Larry off and on through college. Then before senior year she moved away. Or maybe just dropped out. I always wondered if Larry was just too serious for her. He was always talking about their future.” Linda touched the picture. “She was so beautiful. Inside and out.”
“She just disappeared?” An uncomfortable pit formed in the bottom of Cat’s stomach.
Linda turned the page, lost in the memories of the past. “Her room was cleaned out and someone else was assigned to that bed. People left all the time. Covington isn’t cheap. I don’t believe her parents were wealthy, so maybe she lost her scholarship funding.”
“Were you friends?” Something about Linda’s story didn’t feel right.
A cry of joy interrupted whatever answer Linda was going to give. She pointed to a group picture of four laughing students, sitting on a plaid blanket spread over the ground in the middle of the campus quad. “There we are. I can’t believe I was ever that young.”
Cat stared at the picture and the four people with their lives in front of them. Linda, Tom, Gloria, and Larry, just a bunch of kids on an impromptu picnic.
A noise at the door caused Cat to look up just in time to see Sara barrel through the room, her hands outstretched in claws. “I told you to leave. Now everything is ruined.” The girl wailed as she put her hands around Linda’s neck. “He told me we were over. I don’t know if I can live without him.”
Linda gurgled as Cat put her arms around Sara’s waist and pulled her off into a corner of the room. She braced herself and yelled over Sara’s shoulder. “Get out of here. Tell Shauna to call my uncle.”
Linda rubbed her neck as she followed Cat’s instructions. As she left the room, Sara began to cry.
“It’s not fair. We were happy. He would have married me, just as soon as I graduated. We would have been married. Just like you and Michael were.” The tension fell out of Sara’s muscles as she stopped fighting and sagged against Cat.
Was that really how people saw her marriage? Yes, Michael had been a professor when they’d met, but she’d only taken one class from him. “Michael was never my professor,” she said defensively to the crying pile of what had been a girl just a few hours ago. Okay, so that wasn’t quite true. But they hadn’t started dating until the next semester.
“It’s just not fair,” Sara curled up in a ball and co
ntinued sobbing. The smell of fruity wine filled the room. The woman must have stopped by the bar before deciding to come back to the house and confront Linda.
Cat sank down to the floor, her knees to her chest and her back against the wall as she watched Sara. There was no fight left in her. If she hadn’t just tried to strangle another guest, Cat would be pouring the girl into her bed and letting her sleep off the drunk.
Footsteps sounded on the steps and a few seconds later, her uncle strode into the room. He stopped short and appraised the scene. He nodded to Sara whose sobs had started to subside. “This the troublemaker?”
Cat pushed herself to her feet and walked over to stand near her uncle. She leaned into him for support. “That’s the one. Be gentle with her; she has a broken heart.”
“The end of a relationship doesn’t give people carte blanche to assault others. Especially someone who’s not the other party.” He shrugged. “But we’ll take care of her. She needs a quiet night in the drunk tank. In the morning, she’ll probably have to be reminded of her misdeeds. Mrs. Cook said she didn’t want to press charges, but after seeing the marks on the woman’s neck, I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”
“He doesn’t want me anymore,” Sara sniffed and collapsed on the floor, a new round of sobs starting in earnest. “Why can’t he love me? I’m pretty. I’m young. I’m smart.”
“This is all because of a boy?” He pulled up his belt over his paunchy middle.
Sara narrowed her eyes, and if she could have she would have shot razor-sharp lasers at him. “He’s not a boy.” Her eyes widened a bit as she tilted her head to consider him. “Are you dating someone? I’m a great catch.”
Uncle Pete shrugged. “Okay, maybe she isn’t in her right mind this minute. I’ll make a decision whether or not to charge her when I get her sober and talking in the morning.” He walked over and pulled the girl to her feet. Putting his arm around her, he walked her out of the room. As they left, Shauna came in to the room and handed Cat a chilled bottle of beer.