The Reunion (16 page)

Maybe he only meant to scare me. Maybe the whole thing boomeranged when Annabelle died. It was an accident. Sometimes things get out of hand
. She shivered and remembered events from long ago.
No, don’t go there. Don’t think about it.

Suzanne bit her lip. So, she’d pissed off Dave. So what? She’d pissed off several people tonight—Annabelle, Glory, Dan, and Lord only knew who else. She and Meghan had been dueling in an undertone she’d rather enjoyed. Suzanne didn’t remember Meghan as having had the verbal ability to spar in the big leagues. And Zach hadn’t seemed pissed—just bored and disinterested.
Damn him
.

She sipped and wished she could light up a cigarette. God knows she needed one. The last couple of hours had not been the best of her life.

Suzanne sighed. If someone wanted to kill her, they’d have done so in high school. The four of them had hacked off more than their fair share of people back then. She raised her glass and stopped with it halfway to her mouth when a sudden thought flashed through her mind.

No, that’s not possible. Is it?
Could someone be after all four of them—she, Tami, Eddie, and Dave?

“Oh, my God, who did we infuriate that bad?” she murmured to herself. Her heart raced and she had trouble drawing breath. The air stopped somewhere south of her throat.

Shit! Who? Eileen? Maybe the hysteria on the terrace was all an act. They’d made fun of the earnest young girl more than once. Her commitment to community service had been a source of amusement back then. Now, she admired the former class secretary for her efforts. Suzanne contributed both her time and money to various charities in Chicago. Charlie had always insisted on giving back. Of course, the payback had been mostly monetary, but what the hell, a contribution was a contribution.

She shook her head.
I don’t see Eileen killing anything other than a spider.

Dan Masterson? As much as she hated the son of a bitch, she didn’t think he had the
cajones
to actually follow through.
Too much riding on his political career for him to take the chance.
He might think about it, but that was all.

Glory Ecklund?

Skinny to the point of emaciation and dumb as an ox, Glory? Don’t make me laugh. Besides, she wasn’t even in our class. She graduated five or six years after us.

Tom Ecklund?

Mr. Excitement?
She sipped her drink and mulled his name over in her mind. The quiet, almost introverted bookworm had been the butt of Eddie’s so-called jokes on numerous occasions, but as far as she knew Tami hadn’t singled him out for special treatment. Tami preferred dishing punishment to girls who may or may not have wronged her.
And I don’t remember either Dave or I paying much attention to Tom in high school. No, someone who hated all of us did this if, indeed, the deaths are connected
.

Twenty years was a long time. Suzanne had trouble remembering
what
they had done let alone the names of the victims. They’d been so young, so caught up with a sense of their own importance. The feelings of others? Not a problem. Who cared? Their victims were the losers in the high school pecking order—social inferiors who didn’t count.

Lord, how cheap and shallow it all seems now
.

Tami had been the ringleader, but she’d been smart enough to let Eddie think
he
was
numero uno
. Dave had been more amused by their exploits. She remembered he’d pull off a prank, laugh, and then go on with whatever came next.
Usually sex with me—and sometimes Tami
.

Occasionally, Suzanne had hated her best friend. It galled her that Tami showed no conscience about balling Dave, then telling her and giggling about it.

Bitch. No wonder she’s dead
.

Maybe that was the answer. Tami had screwed the wrong husband or boyfriend and someone had made her pay. Eddie, too. The miserable sleaze had hit on her several times. Could jealousy be the answer for his death?

Suzanne downed her drink. In spite of having just ditched Dave, she now needed to find him. Ask him what he thought about all of this. Maybe he’d sobered up and coked out enough to remember the plots and plans of twenty years ago. He might recall something or someone she’d forgotten.

She glanced at Zach and Meghan. He now sat with a bunch of guys. Meghan was ensconced with Eileen and her bunch of eager listeners in the corner. Suzanne signed her bar tab, left a generous tip, and walked out of the lounge without a backward look.

The most logical place to find Dave was his room, but if he was there, he’d misconstrue her presence. Suzanne shrugged. She’d deal with that later.

The elevator crept up to Dave’s room on the third floor. When she knocked, his door swung open.

“Dave? You in here?”

She walked into the room. The lights blazed in both the sleeping area and from the bath.

“Dave?” she called again.

Silence greeted her. He wasn’t here—or was he? It would be just his lame idea of a practical joke to hide, and then leap out trying to scare the crap out of her. Suzanne jerked open the closet door. Nothing. Just a couple of pairs of slacks and a few shirts.

Out of curiosity, she wandered into the bathroom, and noticed powdery residue on a hand mirror lying on the counter. Dave had been busy. But wherever he was, it wasn’t here. She left, closing the door securely behind her.

Now where? Would he have gone back to the ballroom to search for her? She re-entered the elevator and stopped to think before pushing the button. If Zach and Meghan had relayed her information to the sheriff, then maybe Dave was having a discussion with the authorities. She punched the lobby button and hurried past a group of seated people.

But Dave was not in the ballroom. Suzanne estimated only about thirty people remained. Whirling, she headed to the bar again. Had he slipped in after she’d left?

She paused on the threshold and scanned the room. Zach and Meghan were still at the same tables as when she’d left, but Dave hadn’t returned. She walked slowly back into the lobby. The seating area had several of her classmates grouped together, but no Dave.

She’d hung out in the ladies room. Did guys do the same? Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, she walked with determination to the men’s room, pulled open the door, calling out, “Anybody in here?”

Silence greeted the warning. She entered, and checked under the stalls. The place was empty.

That left the car. Maybe he needed more coke or maybe he was so wasted, he’d fallen asleep in it.

Suzanne hurried out of the front doors and angled toward the parking lot. She had no idea where Dave had parked the car. He’d dropped her and the luggage off first. Suzanne scanned the spaces for a cream-colored Mercedes, before finally spotting it in the third row not far from the garden entrance. She hurried toward it and knocked on the tinted windows.

“Dave? Are you asleep? Come on, open up.”

If he was in there, he was dead to the world. She shuddered at her choice of words and tugged at the door handles. Locked. Just to make sure, she pounded on the trunk lid.

“Dave?”

Okay, it was silly. Who the hell accidentally locked themselves in the trunk of their own car? Or even deliberately for that matter? Not even Dave could get
that
drunk or coked up.

She walked slowly back to the hotel entrance. Her heart pounded, and a growing sense of dread crept over her. She halted outside the doors, fished in her purse for a cigarette, lit it with trembling fingers, and paced. Could he have gone back into the garden? Suzanne shuddered. She wasn’t about to investigate
there
.

Primed for sex, it would be just like the miserable son of a bitch to hook up with another woman and disappear to
her
room. That was the only explanation.

Goddamn him! I hope he gets some disease
.

Yet something in the back of her mind rejected this. Dave Coryell might be a slug, but the chances of him scoring in the short time she’d been gone from the bar were slim. Most of the patrons had been classmates, and few of those single women.

Suzanne flipped her half-smoked cigarette into the bushes and walked inside where her gaze once again searched the lobby.

Dammit, Dave. Where the hell are you?

****

Suzanne was proving elusive. At the moment, she was stuck like glue to Meghan and Zach.
Meghan doesn’t look happy about it either. Good. That might work to my advantage later.

With the redheaded bitch occupied, I turned my attention to Dave Coryell. He was disgustingly drunk and pitching his investment company to just about everybody, including me. Jerk. I didn’t have that much against him really, but since he was best buddies with Eddie, Tami, and Suzanne, he had to die. Besides, he was in on all their antics years ago—the insults, the taunts, the whole poisonous atmosphere. I tensed remembering what I endured at their hands. I hated them all.

As I mingled with the guests, my mind focused on how to dispatch Dave to practical joke heaven. Suzanne’s room seemed like the answer. I’d pilfered the key from her purse earlier intending to kill her there. Following who I thought was her into the garden had been an impulse.

You have a plan. Stick to it. You’re logical and organized. Don’t give in to sudden change, even if it does seem opportunistic.

But even the best laid plans go awry, so I pondered how to entice Dave to Suzanne’s room. Then it hit me. Why not slip Suzanne’s room key into his jacket pocket? He’d eventually find it. With the chaos of the evening, no one would remember who was where or for how long.

Placing the key in his pocket was simple. He, Suzanne, and half the attendees crowded into the hotel bar. Everyone bumped shoulders and spilled drinks. Dave was so drunk he didn’t notice a thing.

My greatest fear was he’d discover the key while Suzanne was still with him. But my luck held. Suzanne hurried out of the bar and headed for the mezzanine. Fifteen minutes later, Dave staggered out—alone.

I requested a spare key from the desk clerk giving Suzanne’s room number, and then ran up the stairs. The fourth floor corridor was empty. I hustled to the room and set the stage.

Her cosmetic bag was on the bathroom vanity. I rummaged through until finding a pair of manicure scissors, then returned to the bedroom, unplugged the lamp on the desk, and cut the cord fashioning it into a slip knot.

To further darken the room, I shut the bathroom door until only the tiniest sliver of light showed. The faint illumination revealed only shapes.

The wait was interminable. Where the hell was he? And what if Suzanne came back first? No matter. I’d take care of her instead. But what if they came back together?

No, Suzanne had been angry at being left alone and flirted with Zach half the night. I laughed softly in the darkness. The only person other than me who wanted to kill Suzanne was Meghan.

A bead of sweat trickled down my temple. What if someone came looking for me? What if my absence was a topic of conversation? What if…

Stop it! No one’s going to come looking for you. Why should they? The sheriff doesn’t have any suspects yet. Now is not the time to lose your nerve. You planned this since the moment you heard about the reunion.

Then someone inserted a key in the door lock. I knelt on the bed, the stun gun clutched in my hand. My heart pounded, but whether in fear or anticipation I didn’t know. All I knew was that whoever entered the room would die.

The door crashed open. A man was briefly silhouetted in the entryway before he slammed it shut again. Dave Coryell had finally arrived.

“Suzanne, where are you, you little devil?”

He shed his coat and let it drop onto the floor.

I sighed, pitched my voice higher, and whispered, “Here, Dave. Come and find me.”

He moved forward, bumping against the desk. “Put on the light, baby. I can’t see shit.”

“All in good time. I’m naked, Dave. Naked and waiting. I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh, yeah? What?”

“Come closer, and you’ll find out.”

He lunged for the bed.

I shoved the stun gun against his throat. The sizzling zap echoed in the room. He fought back, grabbing my arm. Surprise and fear rushed through me. That wasn’t supposed to happen! I pulled free, my breath hissing in and out like an angry snake. Another zap sounded and this time I held the button down. Dave, jerking and twitching, lost all coordination. He slid face down onto the floor. I laughed and bounded off the bed.

This was more like it. I enjoyed all the flopping. The great football player reminded me of a fish out of water. For kicks, I zapped him again on the back of his neck. Strange gurgling noises bubbled from his throat. Maybe he was strangling on all the booze he’d drank. The thought that the last thing he’d ever taste was the sour flavor of vomit gave me intense pleasure—almost as much as killing him. His life was about to end. I hoped he knew it.

I hit him again briefly with the stun gun, straddled his back, and twining my fingers in his hair, pulled his head up. Time to finish him off. I slipped the cord over his head and tightened. As with Annabelle, I placed a knee on his back, pulling harder.

He choked, but was unable to fight back. Something popped in his throat. He gagged. I envisioned his tongue forced out of his mouth. His arms, flopped up and down, but he was too weak to lift them in defense. I sniffed in disgust at the stench of feces and urine as he lost bodily functions.

“Did you think you could get away with it? You’re all to blame.” I used my own voice in hopes he’d recognize it. “Now you’ll pay. Number four, rot in hell.”

I put my last bit of strength into pulling one final time. Dave gasped, shuddered, and then lay still.