A Deadly Reunion (8 page)

Well right now, I wasn’t living by my own
rules. The smart thing to do was to leave. Okay, the fun thing to
do was to stay until I’d had some Vietnamese with Thorne Scott, but
to stay in Wetlake any longer was stupid. For the love of god,
there had been a murder at my school reunion, and even if Annabelle
was mad enough to continue with the events planned for the weekend,
it wasn’t decent; it wasn’t right.

Feeling exceedingly conflicted, I eventually
finished my shower. Reaching over to the basin for the white fluffy
towel sitting there, I began to dry myself.

I promptly stopped.

I stopped and I gave a scream.

There wasn’t a man in the bathroom with a
knife getting ready to stab me, Psycho style. There wasn’t an
enormous spider, there wasn’t a bear, there wasn’t a tiger – there
was nothing you would classically find frightening.

What there was, was a postcard.

Sitting on the top of the cistern of the
toilet.

I recognized it immediately because it
depicted me.

It was a photo of the exact moment when I
had lost my pants at the football game.

It was just sitting there, and I was
entirely certain that it hadn’t been there before I’d jumped into
the shower.

“Jesus,” I said sharply.

I got out of the shower. It was an awkward
affair. It was one of those built-in showerheads over a bath, but
half the side had a frosted glass pane. Planting my hand on the
edge of the pane, I clambered out.

I stood there, huddled in the towel, too
frightened to walk out into the main part of the room.

Then someone knocked on the door.

I jumped and gave another scream.

“Patti? Patti? Are you okay?”

Denver.

Shit, it was Denver.

I was still soldered to the spot, but when
he continued to knock, I finally found the courage to take several
steps forward and beyond the door of the bathroom. With the tensest
moves I had ever made, I surveyed my room.

It was empty, apart from the bed, my
luggage, and my car keys.

“Patti?”

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” I said, relief
rippling through my tone.

“You screamed. What’s happening in
there?”

I walked over to the door.

I was in a towel, and my sopping-wet hair
trailed over my neck and shoulders, but that didn’t stop me.

Because I wasn’t one of those dumb girls who
didn’t reach out for help when they needed it, I opened the door.
Sure, there was nobody in my room, but there was a freaking
postcard of me on the top of my toilet, and it hadn’t been there
before I’d jumped in the shower.

Something was going on. Even though I
couldn’t say I liked the guy, Denver was a Federal Agent, and Nancy
would be very right – he would most certainly have a gun.

Opening the door a crack at first, I used my
free hand to fix the towel tightly against my chest.

Denver ducked to the side, staring at me
immediately. “What happened?”

Ensuring the towel was as tight and secure
as it could be, I took a step back and let him walk in. I didn’t
invite him to walk in, but I knew enough about Denver to realize
that wouldn’t matter. Sure enough, he planted a hand on the door
and marched in as if he owned the place. With darting moves, he
surveyed the area, and then turned and looked right at me. Despite
the fact I was standing there dripping in a wet towel, he did not
let his gaze linger. “What happened?”

“A postcard,” I answered.

His once worried expression crumpled. “What
do you mean? Did you just scream for no reason?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a
jerk?” I snapped back.

I walked behind him and closed the door, not
wanting this conversation to carry, and certainly not wanting Nancy
to pop her head in.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he
demanded.

Gritting my teeth, I stalked back into the
bathroom. Though I had been nothing but frightened several moments
before, now I was feeling irritated again, and at least it gave me
the courage to head back into the bathroom on my own. Once I’d made
it inside, I was met with that same view – that postcard of me
sitting on the cistern.

Without an invite, Denver followed me
in.

I pointed at the cistern. “When I got in the
shower, there was nothing in this bathroom. When I got out of the
shower, that was there.”

He swiveled his gaze to me, and as his
eyebrows crumbled together, I could see he didn’t believe me.

I crossed my arms tighter in front of my
chest defensively. “Do you think I would lie about something like
this?”

“I don’t think you would lie about anything,
Patti Smith, because you are painfully and belligerently direct,”
he snapped as he walked past me and straight over to my toilet. He
plucked up the card, but he did so gently, and he used only the
tips of two fingers to pick it up by the corner.

He turned it around, thankfully not allowing
his gaze to linger on that rather disastrous photo of me without
any goddamn pants on.

His lips flattened, and then he frowned.

“What? What’s written on the back?” I took a
sharp breath.

Denver didn’t answer. Instead, he turned
back to the toilet, and his gaze automatically flicked up to the
perpetually open window above it.

“Denver, what does it say on the back?”

Again he ignored me, and instead he took a
step towards the toilet and kicked it with his shoe. When it didn’t
break apart into one million pieces, he knocked the back of his
knuckles onto the lid. Clearly deciding it was sturdy enough for
his weight, he clambered on top. Placing a hand on the windowsill,
he bent his head forward and looked down and out.

“Shit, what’s going on here?” I crammed my
thumb into my teeth and began to bite the nail harshly. I had once
been a terrible nail biter, but then I’d jolly well grown up. There
was something about this weekend, however, that was sending me
spiraling backwards.

After a moment, Denver finally jumped down.
Wordlessly, he handed me the postcard.

I turned it over.

My stomach sank.

On the back was a picture of me pulled from
my yearbook. I had frizzy hair, braces, and bleary, red eyes. I
looked like a cross between a drug addict and a robot.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t all that was on
the back. There was a message that had been cut out of some kind of
magazine or newspaper. It read: the most successful graduate of
Wetlake High?

Wow.

Just wow.

I didn’t know what to do with the postcard,
so I let it drop to the floor.

Immediately Denver turned around, sunk to
his knees, and grabbed it up. He was close enough to my legs that I
jumped back at the suddenness of his move. “Don’t get excited,” he
grumbled, “and don’t get this wet.”

“
What... what is it?” I managed.

“It’s a postcard of you without any pants
on, and one with a suspiciously threatening message on the back.
Something that you claim was placed in your room while you were in
the shower.”

That was one hell of a summary. It sent
shivers racing up and down my back, and they sure as hell weren’t
pleasant. They felt like claws grating their way into the skin and
bone.

“Threat?” I grabbed onto that one word.
“What do you mean by threat?”

“I don’t know what I mean. But considering
what just happened in this town, I think maybe it’s time to call
the police.”

I hadn’t been expecting that, and it was
like a punch to the gut.

“Police?”

“Dry yourself and put some clothes on.”
Denver walked past me, grabbed the door, and went to close it.

I took a jerky step forward. Grabbing the
edge of the door, I stopped it in place. “What do you mean police,
Denver? And what do you mean threat? What’s going on here? I’m sure
it’s just... somebody fooling around.”

“And if it isn’t?” he asked coldly.

Damn... I could have fallen over at
that.

If the card was threatening, then Denver’s
reaction to it was only driving home how serious it could be.

While I hadn’t enjoyed high school, I’d
lived a fairly sheltered life. I’d never been the victim of any
kind of violent crime, and I’d certainly never been threatened
before.

I had no idea how to deal with this.

“Considering what’s going on in this town,
it’s best that we take this seriously.” He looked directly at me as
he spoke, and he had a calm edge of authority to his voice that
felt something like an anchor I could hold onto.

He clearly knew what he was doing.

“But—” I began.

“Dry yourself off, get dressed, and we’ll
head down to the police station. We’ll report this. It might be
nothing, but we’ll take it seriously for now.”

“
But... it’s just a postcard.”

Denver brought it up, and he pointed at the
picture from my yearbook. It had little holes in it, as if it had
been pinned on a board. It was a detail I hadn’t noticed before
because I’d obviously been too busy freaking out.

“What is it?”

“You know those blue pins you keep
finding?”

I swallowed hard.

“
Well... they may be important to the
investigation,” he said casually.

“May be important to the investigation?
Denver, what are you talking about?”

“Fine. I probably shouldn’t be sharing this
detail with you, but considering what just happened, you’re going
to be told anyway. Plus, it’s not as if anyone can keep a secret in
this town. After the murder of James Wood, the school was searched.
A pin board was found. All the notices had been taken down, and a
picture of James Wood had been pinned up using a blue pin exactly
like the ones you’ve been finding. Underneath it somebody had
pinned up an excerpt from Time magazine.”

“Time Magazine?”

“Believe it or not, James was a software
developer. He recently wrote some kind of fancy app, and sold it
for millions.”

“Jesus, I didn’t know that.” I
swallowed.

“Hardly anyone did.” Denver stopped briefly
and shifted his jaw around. “But that’s not the point. The blue
pins are. And this,” he tapped the pinhole in my yearbook photo,
“and this,” he pointed to the cut-out-newsletter message,
“are.”

I let go of the door and my hand fell
against my side.

Without thinking, I also let go of the
towel, and it promptly fell from around me.

Rather than stand there and cop an eyeful,
Denver turned around sharply. He closed the door gently and
reminded me again to get dry and get dressed.

Well I didn’t, or not immediately. I simply
stood there in the middle of the room until I crumpled down into a
seated position next to the bath. With my back pressed hard into
the ceramic and tile, I rocked back and forth with my hands and
arms held tight around my knees and ankles.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Had someone just threatened to kill me?

It took me a long time to get myself
together enough to dry and dress, and I only did so after Denver
prompted me repeatedly. By the time I opened the bathroom door a
crack, it was to the sight of him sitting neatly on the edge of my
bed. No doubt he had already gone through every inch of the room,
searching for every clue he could or just snooping through my
personal stuff. And no doubt he had a ton of questions to ask
me.

Fortunately, he didn’t face me with a
barrage as I padded softly across the cheap carpet and came to a
stop about a meter before him. I stared at him wordlessly for
almost half a minute before he stood up and nodded towards the
front door. “Don’t worry,” he said simply.

I had one trillion trite and sarcastic
responses to that, but I was hardly in a trite and sarcastic mood.
If Denver was right, then it was highly likely someone had just
threatened to kill me. If I didn’t act sensibly and get myself to a
safe place soon, I would be the next dead body in the rose
bushes.

As that cold and dreadful thought settled in
like a blizzard from above, I gave a violent shudder.

Denver walked over to my suitcase, opened it
up, rummaged around inside, and pulled out a jacket.

He didn’t ask me whether he could look
through my stuff, and neither did he politely inquire as to whether
I was actually cold. He just handed me the jacket and nodded at me
to put it on.

He really was a jerk, I concluded with a
small huff. Yet as strange as it sounded, I wouldn’t have anyone
else by my side right now. Even though I’d barely known him for two
days, he seemed like a dependable kind of jerk, and at least that
was something.

He led me out of my motel room, securing the
postcard carefully with two fingers as he walked out over the porch
and towards his car.

I faltered behind him. “Why are we going in
your car?

“Because I’m driving.”

“Why are you driving?”

He stopped and turned slowly. “Stop with all
the questions. Get in the car, and we’ll go to the police
station.”

Stop with all the questions? Seriously, had
he just said that?

Though I wanted to close the distance
between us and rap him on the top of the head with my knuckles, I
restrained myself. Instead, I silently got into the passenger side
of his rather humble vehicle and wordlessly put my belt on. And
there I sat with my ankles locked and my handbag on my lap, my
white-knuckled grip holding it tight against my belly. I didn’t
think Denver was going to steal the bag or anything; I just needed
something to hold onto right now.

I had a very steady and dependable life.
While I didn’t have a long-term man in it right now, I was working
on that. Plus, I was happy being single, for the time being
anyway.

Yet right now, all that happiness and
steadiness had been thrown out the window.