A Deadly Reunion (18 page)

I glanced at my feet as I listened to
Annabelle’s tirade. The unfortunate thing was, it was true.

I’d seen it with my own eyes. Barely hours
after James Wood’s body had been found in the roses, I’d seen Nancy
flirting with the kid in reception. Then, once again, she’d turned
on her tears when she’d seen Denver in my room only to turn them
off to glare nastily my way.

Yet... did that mean that Nancy was
psychopathic? Words like that and sociopath were bandied around far
too often. These were actual clinical conditions, and if you ever
met somebody who truly fit into either of those categories, you
would know it.

Serial killers, brutal murderers, they
were psychopaths. Nancy was just... too much leopard print with too
high pitched a voice.

“You know she was asking a lot of questions
about you,” Annabelle suddenly interrupted.

“Sorry?” Her observation took me off
guard.

And I mean right off guard.

While I’d had a relatively pleasant drive
with Annabelle, I hadn’t forgotten what was going on in this town.
Even though I wanted to pretend I was simply being overly paranoid,
that rational part of my brain couldn’t forget that quite possibly
somebody had threatened to murder me.

“Too many questions, way too direct too. She
wanted to know how much you earned; she wanted to know where you
lived. Hell, I saw her cornering one of the kids who works at the
motel when he was at the local pub and getting him to tell her
which room you were sleeping in.”

My skin went cold just as my heart skipped a
beat.

“
Not many people know this, but she was a
lot nastier in high school than she had a reputation for. Some of
the things she did...” Annabelle brought her hands up and pressed
them into her eyes. “Never mind, I’m probably boring you with this.
You likely think I’m paranoid or just a total bitch.”

I shook my head. “Why did she want to know
which motel room I was staying in?”

Annabelle shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t
pretend to understand how Nancy’s mind works. Too many years of
prescription medication, alcohol, and looking at herself in the
mirror have damaged her brain.”

Feeling exceedingly sick, I was no longer in
the mood for the world’s best cake.

I was, however, not about to turn around,
excuse myself, and lope over to throw up in the bushes.

Perhaps this was my chance to find out what
was going on in this town. Thorne and Denver were not going to tell
me. However, Annabelle seemed like a font of information. And she
would likely know every single snippet of town gossip.

“She got here about a week early for the
reunion, and she came and found me and started suggesting things,”
Annabelle rolled her tongue around her teeth in a stiff move, “and
they weren’t exactly the nicest things I ever heard. When she heard
you were successful and a writer living in Washington, she
instantly brought up that silly story of you from the football
game. I tried to tell her that it was years and years ago, but you
should have seen her. Her eyes lit up with malevolence just as they
had on the day. Then she found some of those stupid postcards she
made of you, and she printed them out again. I even saw her
defiling a yearbook photo of you. The woman is mad. She has always
been jealous, but ever since high school she’s gotten a lot
worse.”

If I’d felt sick before, it was nothing
compared to the spiraling, desperate sensation that strangled my
stomach now.

She’d been the one to print out the
postcards? She’d also been seen defiling a yearbook photo of
me?

“
Look, I’m sorry, Patti, you probably
really don’t want to hear me continue to bitch about Nancy. It’s
just... I don’t know,” she trailed off.

I looked up at her sharply, realizing that
Annabelle had yet more to reveal.

Despite feeling unbelievably queasy, I knew
I had to push on. “What do you mean? You don’t think—”

It was her turn to look up sharply.

We were just about to cross the road as
Annabelle paused, one foot in the gutter. “That she could have
something to do with these murders?”

Annabelle voiced the rather dark thought
that had just popped into my mind.

It was one thing to call Nancy borderline
psychopathic; it was another to suggest without a scrap of evidence
that she was behind the murders.

...
.

Maybe I did have evidence? The postcard, the
yearbook, the threatening glances she kept on giving me, the fact
that she had been able to turn on and off her empathy for James
Wood like the twist of a faucet – it all had to mean something.

“Now, I know you can’t go around saying
things like that without evidence. Innocent until proven guilty in
this country, right?” Annabelle continued, her tone dropping as her
voice lowered into a whisper.

I didn’t say anything; I couldn’t say
anything.

“All I’m saying is that I know the people in
this town and I remember my classmates,” Annabelle left it at
that.

“
But... what about last night?” I shook a
little. “I’m not sure if you know, but the police went around to
the motel because Denver found... something in her room. Nancy
burst out on the two of us and she was a hysterical wreck,” I
pointed out meekly.

Annabelle did not look surprised and she did
not look moved. Clearly she already knew about that snippet of
news, and clearly she had already dismissed it. “You want to know
what they found in Nancy’s room? Fine, it ain’t no secret around
this town. Fingers.”

I didn’t understand.

Then Annabelle brought up her hands and
waved her fingers. “Three of them. One from James and one from
Hank, and a third from an unknown person, possibly another corpse
the police haven’t found yet.”

I gasped and slammed a hand over my
mouth.

“Now what else did they find? Photos of
Nancy up on the walls, held there with these little blue tacks.
Scrawled over them were threats in something that looked like blood
but turned out to be oily lipstick.”

“Oh my God,” my voice shook as I spoke.

“She is now in protective custody.”

“
So she can’t... be...” I couldn’t say a
murderer. I couldn’t push it out.

Annabelle didn’t move and she didn’t say
anything.

She was obviously trying to point out mutely
that my train of thought was illogical.

Just because Nancy was in protective custody
didn’t mean she couldn’t be the murderer. Just because there were
fingers and a whole bunch of photos of her savaged over her motel
room walls did not mean she hadn’t put them there herself.

“Sometimes people just ain’t right in the
head, you know?” Annabelle shook her head and shuddered at the same
time. “This whole business is so goddamned terrible. I can’t
believe it has come to Wetlake.”

“I’m sure the police are doing everything
they can,” I said, finding myself parodying none other than Denver
Scott. Hell, I was almost using the exact same self-assured voice
too.

“I’m sure you’re right. Look, forget what I
said; I didn’t sleep much last night.”

I nodded. “How about I buy you a drink,
something stiffer than a cup of tea?”

Annabelle smiled in a sideways move. “I
think I’d enjoy that. And frankly, it would be nice to have some
company that doesn’t want to pass the time yapping about these
darned murders.”

I didn’t think she was taking a dig at me,
but I blushed nonetheless. “Sorry for bringing it up.”

“Oh no, honey, I wasn’t talking about you. I
was talking about every other person around these parts. You would
think these murders are the most exciting thing that has ever
happened to Wetlake. You would think we didn’t have anything to
show for ourselves other than dead bodies in the bushes and fingers
in peoples’ rooms. And I mean, just look at you, you went away and
you made a name for yourself. Now that is something to be proud
of.”

Feeling a little awkward, I managed to nod
and smile as we made our way across the street.

Though I wasn’t in the mood considering what
I’d just found out about Nancy, I still forced myself to buy
Annabelle a drink. Before I knew it, a good chunk of the afternoon
floated on by.

Annabelle had to leave at three o’clock to
do some shopping, but she kindly offered to let me stay at her
house that night. After a short phone call with the mechanic, I
realized I sure as hell wouldn’t be getting out of Wetlake any time
soon. There was something drastically wrong with the engine,
apparently, and because it was a hire car, the mechanic would have
to speak with the company upstate.

Though a tight feeling of apprehension had
settled deep into my stomach at the prospect of spending yet more
time in Wetlake, at least I was thankful I had somewhere to stay
that wasn’t Thorne’s and that wasn’t the motel. Annabelle lived out
of town, in a gorgeous place – she’d shown me photos – and she had
more than several spare rooms. She also offered me wine, popcorn,
movies, and the inside gossip on Thorne Scott.

She planned to pick me up in town at about
five, which gave me two hours to kill.

I shuddered suddenly at that rather
indiscreet saying, considering recent events, and quickly pulled my
jacket further around myself as I walked across the street.

I didn’t get far.

In fact, just as I was about to walk up onto
the opposite pavement, a car slammed on its brakes and pulled into
the curb beside me.

I jumped, my heart pounding fast in my ears
as I shot backwards.

I needn’t have worried that it was the
Wetlake Killer ready to do some murdering on the way home
though.

Someone jumped out of the car.

That someone was Denver. “Patti? Where the
hell have you been? Are you okay?”

Genuine concern contorted his features, and
he ran forward with solid, frantic steps.

I looked up at him sharply, blinking back my
surprise.

He looked like... I’d been
missing.

Shit.

Something hit me with a clap, and
unfortunately, it wasn’t lightning.

“When you didn’t show at the police station,
I went driving and I found your car. Fuck, what happened to you?”
He was right by my side now, and though he wasn’t reaching out to
clamp his hands on my shoulders, as his fingers twitched, I knew he
wanted to.

His raw display of emotion stilled me, and
it stopped me from preparing a sarcastic response. Instead, with
pale cheeks and an ashen look, I shook my head. “I’m so sorry. I’m
fine,” I stuttered, “nothing happened. I’m fine.”

He stiffened. He looked ready to get
monumentally angry, a severe tension rippling up his shoulders and
neck and locking every muscle in place. “Where have you been?
People have been out looking for you. Fuck, if you were fine, why
didn’t you give me a call?”

I wanted to snap at him, to defend myself,
but again I was practically bowled over by how fraught he seemed.
He wasn’t taking a dig at me, and neither was this an attack;
Denver was shocked and overwhelmed and quite likely justifiably
pissed off.

I put a hand up quickly and shook my head.
“My car broke down. And then my phone ran out of battery. And then
I couldn’t remember how to get to town. I kind of got lost. And I
walked along the road, and then Annabelle came and picked me up.
She took me to town and she sorted out with the mechanic to go back
for my car. And I... could have called after that.” I admitted
quietly. “But I don’t have your number,” I hazarded.

I looked up to see Denver the perfect
picture of rage. He looked ready to snap. “Do you know how many
people have been out looking for you?”

I shuddered, drawing my shoulders in, sick
at the thought of how many police officers and agents had wasted
their time looking out for little old me while I’d been enjoying a
drink in the local pub.

I shook my head, staring at my shoes.

I didn’t know what to say, and for a long
time he didn’t say anything either.

“I didn’t think you were this kind of girl,”
he snapped, bitterly. Very bitterly.

I looked up sharply. Though I was feeling
genuinely ashamed for what I’d done, my eyebrows crumpled down.
“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Wasting people’s time. Being stupid.”

“
Look, I understand how dumb that was. I
just... I didn’t think. I was so relieved when Annabelle picked me
up and it wasn’t some ax murderer that... I forgot,” I admitted
rather lamely.

“You forgot,” he repeated in the world’s
most sarcastic tone.

I closed my eyes briefly. When I opened them
again, his expression hadn’t softened any. If I thought that I
could patch things up with Denver just by simplifying our
communication and finally figuring out what I really wanted, I knew
that wouldn’t work anymore.

One look at his eyes told me what he really
thought of me now, and it wasn’t as a potential date.

I’d screwed things up, big time.

And what’s worse, I’d taken his and
everybody else’s attention away from catching the murderer.

“Jesus, Denver, look, I’m so sorry.” I
pushed my suddenly sweaty fringe off my forehead and latched my
hand onto my hair as I raked my fingers through it.

He didn’t say anything.

I could handle him shouting at me, but this
silent I’m-so-disappointed-in-you act was remarkably worse.

“What’s wrong with your car?” he suddenly
asked.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged my shoulders. “It
“something with the engine. Something big. It just cut out on me. I
couldn’t turn it on.”

“It’s a hire car,” he pointed out
gruffly.

I shrugged my shoulders again, not knowing
what else I could say. “I don’t know. The mechanic said it wasn’t
something simple though. He said I was lucky I turned the ignition
off when I had.”