Deadly Magic (33 page)

The End

Turn the page for a sample of
Deadly Reunion
,
the second book in the Grace Holliday Cozy Mystery Series.

Deadly Reunion

CHAPT
ER ONE

“Oh, just come
inside. You look fine,” Hope Holliday encouraged.

Grace Holliday glared at her sister. “I do not and you know it! I look like a giant, fluffy, pink cupcake.”

Inadvertently catching a glimpse of herself in the school’s glass door, Grace quickly shut her eyes. Calling the pink monstrosity currently swallowing her body, ‘a fluffy, pink cupcake’ could actually be considered a compliment. Grace opened her eyes and pulled at the pink taffeta wrapped around her waist, hoping that by some magic, she could twist the dress into a more flattering shape. She had already removed the puffed, lilac colored rear bustle with matching blue and purple taffeta rosettes, but surprisingly, there was little improvement.

Hope released a long-suffering sigh. “You look very nice,” she said, adopting the dulcet tones of a used car salesman. “Elegant . . . regal . . . and if you don’t stop, you’re going to rip it.”

Grace felt her normally pretty features twist into an ugly scowl. Knowing Hope, she did this on purpose. She could never stand to be in anyone’s shadow. Grace didn’t know why Hope worried. Very few people could outshine Hope. Not even her own, albeit fraternal, twin.

Especially right now, Grace thought, looking at her own reflection in the glass and back again at her sister. Hope was sporting the latest in haute couture, a purple silk dress that complimented her long wavy red hair and lithe body. In Grace’s opinion, it was cut far too low down the bust and far too high up the thigh. No doubt worth more than what most people make in a month, but it certainly grabbed your attention.

Grace’s dress was also designed to grab one’s attention, just not in quite the same way. The pink nightmare she was wearing had far more in common with an eighties bridal party than with haute couture. “You know I don’t look good in pink and when was the last time you saw a hoop skirt? Just where did you find this dress, Hope?”

“Would you stop complaining? It’s not my fault the invitation insisted on semi-formal attire. Whatever that means. I have one rule—never be underdressed.”

Grace decided to let that statement pass without comment, since she was far more interested in removing the large silk flower sitting on her hip, than shattering any delusions her sister might have at the moment.

“Besides, it’s the best I could find on such short notice.” Hope swatted at her sister’s hands. “You're going to ruin it.”

Grace reluctantly looked at her reflection in the window and sighed. “That isn't possible. There is no way I could possibly make this dress worse.”

“You knew the reunion was tonight. Why didn’t you bring something appropriate to wear? I made sure to have two back up dresses just in case something went wrong with this one,” Hope said, smoothing the purple silk dress down her thigh.

“First of all, I did not know the reunion was tonight. I thought it was last night. Had I known it was tonight I would have made sure not to come home ‘till tomorrow. You told me it was last night, Hope.”

“Did I? How strange. I’m usually so careful with dates,” Hope said innocently.

“Secondly, the airline lost my luggage and all of my clothes—”

“You mean the clothes you stole from me?” Hope said sweetly.

“Borrowed,” Grace said, convinced that her sister put her in this getup as a form of revenge. “Even if I had an appropriate dress, I couldn’t have worn it.”

“Oh well, the important thing is that you didn’t miss the reunion. Don’t you want to see our old friends? You know, see who got married, who is still married, who made it big, who is going to be crowned Reunion Queen. I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks.”

Grace suddenly stopped adjusting her dress and asked incredulously, “Is that what all of this is about? Reunion Queen? You can’t be serious.”

Hope raised an eyebrow. “Serious? Of course, I’m serious. I should be Reunion Queen. I was Prom Queen. Homecoming Queen. I was even—”

“What are you doing, going for the trifecta?” Grace interrupted.

“As I was saying, I was even the Orange Blossom Queen of Overlook County. It’s only natural that I should be crowned Reunion Queen, as well.”

“Who’s your competition?”

Hope walked up the remaining steps and pulled open the door. “It doesn’t make any difference.”

“Let me take a wild guess. It wouldn’t be Crystal, would it? I heard through the grapevine that she has been calling around trying to drum up support. In fact, I heard about it a few weeks ago. About the same time you suddenly decided what fun it would be to go to our high school reunion.”

Hope smirked. “I couldn’t care less about Crystal.”

“You won, Hope. You’re successful. World famous. I can’t pass a supermarket without seeing your face on the cover of a magazine. Let her have this.”

Hope, open mouthed, just stared at her sister as if the very idea of letting Crystal win was unfathomable. “I am not leaving this high school without that crown. Now come inside,” Hope growled, grabbing Grace’s hand and dragging her across the threshold.

Grace walked into her old high school and looked around. The gym had been completely transformed. Well, not completely. A gym, in the end, always looked exactly like a gym, except with streamers and balloons. Nevertheless, as far as gyms went, the planning committee had done a rather good job of camouflage.

Gold and red balloons covered every available surface of the gym floor, while streamers, party lights and a sparkling disco ball hung from the ceiling. Even the ugly bleachers had been folded up and hidden behind gold curtains. Several red and gold covered round tables, each one decorated with centerpieces of white lilies and tiny candles, were placed along the sides of the gym. And in the center of the gym multi-colored lighted floor tiles shined from beneath the multitude of balloons. To Grace’s eye, it looked more like a wedding reception than a reunion.

Grace cautiously walked into the room, her dress inadvertently sweeping balloons out of the way, and turned around. Except for the band setting up their equipment on a makeshift stage at the far end of the gym, and one or two school volunteers, the place was virtually deserted.

No chance of getting lost in the crowd here, at least not right now, Grace thought, while trying to affix the nametag to her chest.

Grace sighed. This was the last place she wanted to be. A year ago, she had been looking forward to the reunion. In fact, she had been thrilled at the very thought of it. And why not? She had just been given a promotion, which had been accompanied by a very nice raise in salary, a new office with a view, and a much-needed assistant to help her with her new duties. She had also begun dating the very handsome attorney who worked in the building next door. Everything in her life was going better than planned, and she couldn’t wait to return home and see all of her old friends. Absolutely thrilled. Of course, that was before Allen Madison, the bane of her existence, married the new boss and was subsequently promoted to Vice President of the toy company where they worked. Now, she’s returning home, alone and unemployed, and just in time for her ten-year reunion, too.

She had hoped she could ease back into town with very little fanfare. Just slowly re-emerge and re-establish herself. But now she’s back, and worse, attending her high school reunion wearing a dress Scarlett O’Hara’s maiden aunt wouldn’t have been caught dead in. Grace shook her head. And to think, she had been voted
Best Dressed
her senior year.

She had used every trick in the book to get out of attending the reunion: sickness, the weather, jet lag, the fact that she deplaned no more than thirty minutes before, but in the end, she was no match for Hope’s secret weapon, a five-foot-four whirling dervish they affectionately referred to as mom. Before she knew what was happening, she had been trussed up and pushed into the family car with “maybe you’ll meet a nice man” echoing in her ears.

Grace quietly swore as she began to collect balloons under her dress. Kicking them out from under the hoop skirt only seemed to cause more to gather. Giving up, she let the skirt slide back down to the floor. The trick to surviving this night with her dignity and reputation intact, she decided, was to draw as little attention to herself as possible. Considering the circumference of her dress could hide a small car, Grace knew she faced an uphill battle on that front.

Grace carefully looked around the room as more and more people began to filter in through the gymnasium doors. A nice secluded dark corner table is what she needed. One in the back. Preferably, close to a door.

Eyeing a particular out of the way spot, Grace carefully lifted her skirt a few inches off the floor and dashed across the gym, a streak of pink and purple taffeta. The only evidence of her mad dash was the small wake of balloons floating behind her.

Arriving safely at her hiding spot, she happily sank into a chair facing away from the dance floor. With any luck, she’ll be able to spend the rest of the evening in absolute anonymity.

“Grace, is that you?”

Grace quietly swore to herself. She had immediately recognized that voice. Beth Gragson. Beth, while never a close friend, was one of those girls from high school who seemed to be friends with everyone. She never met anyone with whom she wouldn’t immediately have a lengthy and heavily one-sided conversation with: the star quarterback, the weird kid who kept to himself and drew pictures of maniacal clowns, even the store clerk who was just trying to check her out. No one was safe.

Grace reluctantly turned in her seat and froze. The smile that had been forming, quickly transformed into a panicked, horrified grimace.

It wasn’t the sight of Beth, which caused Grace to unconsciously mimic the bride of Frankenstein. After all, Beth hadn’t really changed much since high school. Her black hair was still cut in a pixie style with red spiked tips, which in turn, matched her always-present red framed glasses, ruby-red lipstick, and matching fingernails. Sometime during elementary school, Beth had decided that red would, forever more, be her signature color. She was nothing if not committed.

No, it wasn’t the sight of Beth, which made her freeze. It was what was in Beth’s hands and pointed directly at Grace—a shiny, brand new, digital recorder.

“It is you! I almost didn’t recognize you. It’s been so long,” Beth said, throwing her arms around Grace, and rocking her back and forth.

Unprepared, Grace grasped at the edge of the table to keep from tipping over.

Beth quickly straightened, and physically pulled Grace up. “Look at you! Oh my, I absolutely love your dress,” she said, slowly panning the camera up and down. “You just don’t see those types of dresses anymore. Twirl around, so I can get a good look.”

“Oh, this old thing,” Grace said, her mind furiously trying to think of a way to get the camera away from Beth.

“Why haven’t you come to visit more often?”

“Well, I—”

“I know. You are just like your sister; couldn’t wait to get away. I don’t know why. I never wanted to leave,” Beth interrupted, proving that people never really change.

Grace could count all the words she spoke to Beth, from kindergarten through high school, on one hand. It seemed like no one could get a few words out, before Beth jumped in and would carry on the rest of the conversation. Hope once attempted to time Beth in order to see how long she could talk without anyone else saying a word. The experiment, unfortunately, had to be postponed. According to Hope, she had a life and couldn’t wait that long.

“What have you been up to since graduation? Are you married? Any kids? I have four. Do you want to see their pictures?” she asked, thrusting her wallet into Grace’s hands.

Grace nodded, dutifully opening the wallet, looking at each picture, and making the appropriate cooing sounds when necessary.

“Beatrix, Sophia, Darryl and Marty. Don’t you think they look just like their father?”

Grace gave her a puzzled look.

“Mark Lewis. Remember? He was in our senior art class.”

“Wasn’t he the kid who drew those . . .” Grace hesitated, deciding that adding a descriptive adjective such as disturbing, might be considered insulting, “clowns?”

“Yes! You do remember him! He’ll be so pleased,” Beth said. “He was afraid no one would remember. He is a cartoonist now. Do you know the
Clown Family on Parade
comic strip? That’s his!”