The Reunion (21 page)

Now what?

She gave up. She’d go to bed and tackle the asshole in the morning. Pushing away from the trunk, a slight rustling from the hedge separating the parking lot and the garden ten feet away had her frozen. She turned her head to look. Nothing.

The breeze. It’s just the breeze
.

Gravel crunched. Her heart rate soared and her breathing accelerated.

“Who’s there?” she called out in a shaky voice. Silence answered. “Dave, is that you?” More silence tightened her already tense muscles. “All right, if you’re trying to scare me, I’ll be a big girl and admit you have, okay? Now, come on out. We need to talk.”

The silence lengthened. No one answered. That was more unnerving than the furtive sounds. She bit her lip, turned, and strode at a brisk pace toward the hotel, slipping between cars to put as much distance between her and the garden as possible.

Suzanne paused with a hand to her throat, listening. Silence yet again. Then she heard it, what sounded like footsteps from behind her. She whirled. The noise ceased. No one was there.
Maybe I should have kept the gun.
Too late now. No way was she going back to the car.

She resumed her pace, walking faster. Was someone following or was she hearing the wind and what her imagination told her to hear? A pebble tumbled across the asphalt as though kicked by a careless foot.

Suzanne abandoned all pretence of control. She broke into a run and raced for the hotel entrance. Her heart pounding in her ears blotted out all other sounds. Panting, she reached her destination, stumbled up the steps, and jerked open the door. Inside, she whirled and, cupping her hands on either side of her eyes, peered out. Nothing moved.

For the love of God, calm down. No one’s there.

She straightened and walked several steps into the lobby.

****

Anger pounded in my ears. There was Suzanne Wayland, alone, in the parking lot. In books, she’d be called too stupid to live. I agreed, but smothered my anger.

I left the hotel to grab another weapon from the car and had just hidden it in the garden when a car door slammed not far away. Peeking through a gap in the hedge, I caught a glimpse of her. She rooted around in the trunk before banging the lid down and leaning against the bumper. A moment later, she headed back toward the front doors.

I mentally cursed. I had missed a golden opportunity. No time to grab the weapon I’d selected. Instead, I picked up one of the rocks lining the garden path. Perhaps, if I hurried I could catch her between cars. But she moved too fast and the distance between us was too far. I made noise and the bitch spooked, forcing me to hunker down behind a car until she disappeared inside. I tossed the rock under a car and vented my frustration by kicking the rear quarter panel leaving several large dents. Damn, damn, damn! I inhaled two or three deep breaths.

Be patient. You’ll get her. You can’t fail now
.

****

The bar beckoned, but another drink was the last thing Suzanne needed. She still clutched the spare key in her hand. Unzipping her purse, she dropped it inside next to Dave’s room key, which reminded her of her promise to Zach and Meghan.

She marched up to the desk again and called out, “Any one here?”

The clerk emerged and smiled. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I’d like to change rooms.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Yes. Someone has been killed in this hotel, and I want another room. My name is Crocker and I’m in room four-twenty.”

The clerk looked confused. “But didn’t I just give you a key to room three-twenty-six?”

“Yes. I was looking for my friend. Now, I want another room. It can be next door, across the hall or anywhere. I don’t care.”

The clerk checked the computer. “I can give you room four-oh-nine.”

“Fine.” She searched her purse for her key. “Damn, I can’t find the key. Let me have the spare, so I can pack.”

“Certainly, Ms. Crocker. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into the room behind the desk.

Suzanne tapped her foot while she waited.

The clerk finally returned with a frown on his face. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to find the second key.”

“What? You mean you gave my other key to someone else? I’ll have you know, I have valuable jewelry in that room.” The clerk gazed at the diamonds encircling her throat and dangling from her ears. “What? You think I wear all my jewelry at once? I always travel with a selection. And why the hell am I explaining myself to you? Get the passkey. Now!”

“Ma’am, I’m not sure I can do that.”

“The hell you can’t. Where’s the manager? And don’t tell me he’s not here. You’ve had a murder in the garden. Cops are crawling all over the place. He’s here and I demand to see him.”

Anger and fear roughened her voice. She remembered how easily
she
had obtained Dave’s room key. Suppose the killer was holed up in her room waiting for her? An icy finger of fear tickled her spine followed by a gush of adrenaline generated heat. Damn! Why had she come to this stupid reunion?

The desk clerk fumbled for the phone, spoke in a low voice to whoever answered, and then hung up.

“Mr. Nelson will be here in a minute, Mrs. Crocker.”

Suzanne waited, glaring at the clerk, until the manager came from the direction of the ballroom.

The clerk explained the situation.

“And I want someone to come with me,” she demanded when he finished.

“Of course, Mrs. Crocker, I’ll be glad to escort you to your room.” He nodded to the young man who handed him two keys—a passkey and one for the newly assigned room. “If you’ll please follow me, I’ll personally move your bags to the new room.”

“Thank you.”

She followed the manager to the elevators. He smiled, but said nothing on the ride to the fourth floor. The silence held until they exited the elevator. He handed her the key to room four-oh-nine.

“I’m sure the second key was misplaced rather than given to the wrong person,” he assured her. “It’s been a very busy night.”

“Yeah, I guess a reunion with over two hundred people and a body in your fish pond would qualify as busy.”

“And may I have the key you requested earlier? The one that doesn’t belong to you.”

His voice was polite, but she sensed the disapproval.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll get it when I’m moved. Just open the damned door.”

This time he didn’t smile, but inserted the key and opened the door. Suzanne pushed past him into the pitch dark room.

“Dammit to hell! Someone
has
been here. I left the light on. And what is that God-awful stench? ” She flipped the switch on the wall near the door. Nothing happened. “Shit! If I’ve been robbed, you’ll get your ass sued from here to Sunday.”

“Please, Mrs. Crocker, don’t jump to conclusions.” He moved past her to the wall sconce next to the desk and twisted the knob. Light flooded the room. “I’m sure everything is…” He stopped with a gasp.

Suzanne pushed him out of the way. Dave lay on the floor with something wrapped tightly around his neck. His blackened face and protruding tongue told her he would not be snorting any more cocaine—ever.

Her legs went weak, her throat closed, and the room spun. Clenching her evening bag in clawed fingers, she clasped it to her chest, slowly backing from the room and across the hall until the wall stopped her.

Then Suzanne found her voice and screamed.

Chapter Thirteen

“Do you think we’ve reached a dead end?” Zach asked Meghan.

She shrugged. They still sat in the bar. “I don’t know. We have lots of suspects, a possible motive or motives, tons of opportunity, but not one eye witness.”

His forehead furrowed. “Somehow, everything is connected—Tami, Eddie, Suzanne. Meghan, it has to date back to high school.”

“If someone is killing off the Fearsome Foursome, then Dave Coryell would be on the list, too.”

“And the sheriff can’t find him,” Zach said slowly.

A little dart of fear zapped Meghan in the pit of her stomach. “Do you think something’s happened?”

“Suppose Dave is the killer? Maybe he pitched his line of investment opportunities to Tami and Eddie and they refused, like Suzanne.”

“So he kills them?”

“For all we know, he’s certifiable.” He paused. “Or desperate.”

Meghan licked her lips. “It’s just a theory. We have no proof. If Dave’s left the hotel, he may have done so because his plans for filling the financial coffers went belly up.”

Ray Armstrong walked into the bar and pulled up a chair at their table. The sheriff looked tired. The lines on his face had deepened. He removed his hat to run his hands through his, gray-streaked hair.

Meghan did some mental arithmetic. Ray had graduated from high school six or seven years before them, which put him in his mid-forties. The man looked older.

“Anything new?” Zach inquired.

He shook his head. “The last interview is over. The hotel staff can finally get in to clean the ballroom. We do know the stun gun has been wiped clean, and that the electrodes correspond to the burn marks on Annabelle Peterson’s neck.” He turned toward the bar. “Hey, Jack, can I get another cup of coffee?”

“Yeah, sure, Sheriff. By the way, this is last call. Bar closes in thirty minutes.”

Meghan picked up the stun gun again, turning it over in her hands. So small, yet an intricate part of the puzzle.

The bartender brought the sheriff’s coffee. Ray added the cream and sugar, took a cautious sip, and made a face.

“Lukewarm,” he muttered. He set the cup down. “I still haven’t found Dave Coryell.

“Zach and I have a theory. Are you in a mood to hear it?”

“I’m open to all suggestions at this point,” Ray replied.

She gave him the details. The sheriff frowned. “That’s why I want to talk with Coryell. If he’s flown the coop, I need to put out a BOLO on him.”

“Has anyone looked in the parking lot for his car?” Zach wondered.

Ray nodded. “We have the make, model, and license plate number. One of my deputies is checking it out now.” His phone rang. “Armstrong here.” He listened for a few seconds, and then closed his eyes. “Don’t touch anything. I’ll be right there.” He snapped the phone shut and rose.

“What’s wrong?” Zach said in a sharp voice.

“Suzanne Crocker found Dave Coryell in
her
room. He’s dead…strangled.” He rushed from the bar.

Meghan stared at Zach, her stomach turning and her ears buzzing. She gripped the edge of the table as a wave of dizziness swept over her.

“God Almighty,” he exclaimed. Leaping to his feet, he ran after the sheriff.

“Wait!” Meghan called. She rose slowly.

Zach hurried back. He braced her with his arm around her shoulders. “Are you all right?”

“Just a little lightheaded. Good Lord above, when is this going to stop?”

He tipped her chin up with his fingers and kissed her. “I don’t know. Suzanne could be next.”

Taking a deep breath, Meghan regained her equilibrium from both the dizziness and his kiss, and nodded. She pulled away, and then turned back to snatch Zach’s stun gun from the table. She dropped it into her evening bag and left the lounge.

“Where’s Ray?” she asked.

“Grabbed the first elevator for the fourth floor.

They entered the lift. “What was Dave doing in Suzanne’s room?”

“I have no idea,” Zach replied.

The doors opened and they rushed to exit. Voices babbled from the hallway on their left. Rounding the corner, a throng of people, some in nightclothes, gathered. She and Zach pushed their way through the frightened guests.

Ray emerged from Suzanne’s room.

“Everybody, please go back into your rooms.” He turned toward Meghan and jerked his head down the hall. “See if you can help her. Zach, can you handle crowd control until the rest of my deputies get here? I want this hallway clear for official business.”

“I’ll try.” He faced the crowd. “Come on, people, let’s do as the sheriff asks.”

“What the hell’s going on around here?” a man in a bathrobe demanded. “Someone drowns in a goddamned fish pond, and I heard another guest was shot.”

“Howard, I want to leave now!” a woman cried in a wavering voice. “I’m scared.”

“Then your room is the safest place,” Zach insisted.

Meghan didn’t wait to hear the rest. She gazed down the corridor. Suzanne knelt and sat on her heels, sobbing and hiccupping, while a man with a helpless expression watched. He looked up at her approach.

Meghan had seen him in the lobby and the ballroom earlier. She crouched next to the hysterical woman and placed a hand on her shoulder. Suzanne flinched and yelped.

“Suzanne, it’s Meghan.”

Suzanne clutched her arms over her stomach and bent forward until her forehead touched the floor. Her tangled red hair fanned out on either side of her head. She clenched her evening bag in white knuckled fingers.

“Who are you?” Meghan asked the man.

“Mark Nelson, the night manager.”

“Why don’t you see if you can help Mr. Dunbar and get these people back into their rooms? I’ll take care of Mrs. Crocker. Do you have a handkerchief?”

The man nodded, fumbled in his pocket for the item, and ran down the hall.

Meghan pulled Suzanne upright and wiped her cheeks.

“Come on, Suzanne, get control of yourself. Here,” she said handing her the hankie. “Dry your eyes and blow your nose, then we’ll leave.”

Suzanne hiccupped again, but made an effort to do as Meghan suggested, wiping her cheeks clean of the streaked mascara.

“I w-w-want to go h-h-home,” the terrified woman stammered.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find you a safe place.”

“D-D-D-Dave. All b-b-b-black.” The crying renewed.

“Can you stand?” She pulled the stunned woman from her knees. Suzanne swayed, clutching at Meghan’s upper arms, and buried her face in Meghan’s shoulder. Hot tears scorched her skin. She wrapped her arms around the shaky redhead. “It’ll be all right.”