The Reunion (23 page)

Suzanne went through the motions of making a sandwich and tuned out most of the conversation Meghan and Zach had going.

She didn’t tell them about all the pranks. A couple of them had been directed at the fat girl and the computer geek.

Tami had stolen Meghan’s underwear from the shower room and tacked the extra large sized briefs to the bulletin board in the main hallway. Old Ms. Sylvester had removed them before any of the students got an eyeful.

And Eddie must have given Zach hundreds of wedgies—not to mention bruises—in four years. Now, everything seemed childish—not funny.

Meghan poured three glasses of milk, handing her one.

Milk? Suzanne shrugged. Why not? It might help her sleep. She bit into her sandwich and chewed, not tasting a thing. The sick feeling diminished. She finished the food and drank the milk.

“I’ve had about as much as I can stand tonight,” she told the other two. “I’m going to bed.”

“But the sheriff wants to talk to you,” Meghan said.

“Fuck him. If he wants to question me about Dave, he can wait until later.”

“But, Suzanne…” Zach began.

“I’m going to bed!” She turned on her heel and headed for the kitchen doors.

“Wait a minute! Don’t go alone. Meghan and I will walk you to your room. Do you have the key?”

“Yes. The manager gave it to me.”

Meghan dumped the dishes in the sink. Suzanne exited the kitchen and strode through the lobby, and then paused at the ballroom doors. The easel and memorial board stood where Glory had left them.

She stared at Tami and Eddie’s smiling graduation photos. Tremors started in the pit of her stomach and worked their way to her extremities. Shaking, she swiped at the easel’s legs with her foot. The boards fell to the floor with a crash.

“Throw those damned things out! I don’t ever want to see them again.”

Zach picked them up and set them straight. “Relax, Suzanne. You’ll be safe in your room. I’m sure the sheriff will post a guard for the night.”

Meghan stared at the memorial board. “Zach, look at those dates.”

“Which dates?”

“The death dates on Tami and Eddie—May 2
nd
and June 6
th
. A little over a month apart. Now look at Clara Sylvester’s—July 11
th
. Another month.”

“So, what’s your point?” Suzanne mumbled. God, she was tired. Tired and scared.

“Don’t you find that odd?”

“Meghan, what does Clara Sylvester have to do with any of this? Didn’t Glory say something about her being in a convalescent home?” Zach commented.

Suzanne sighed impatiently. “She was older than dirt when we were in high school.”

“Surely, you don’t think her death is connected to the rest, do you?” Zach asked.

“I don’t know, but I just find it strange, and if it’s one thing I’ve discovered over the years, it’s that nothing is coincidental. Especially murder.”

“Meghan, I think we all know what your next novel is going to be about, so can we dispense with the drama? I’m exhausted and want to go to bed.” Suzanne turned abruptly and headed for the elevators.

How could that bitch Clara Sylvester have anything to do with this mess? I never realized Meghan was such a drama queen. I’ll bet she bumps me off in her next book
.

The elevator doors opened on the fourth floor. Suzanne extracted the key from her purse. A quick glance down the hall showed the door to her old room still open. Yellow crime scene tape stretched across the entrance. The rest of the corridor was empty.

She turned to the right and marched to room four-oh-nine, handing Zach the key.

“You go first.”

Zach entered and flipped on the lights. A few seconds later he emerged and led Suzanne inside.

“I even checked under the bed,” he said with a smile.

“Don’t be an asshole. It’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be an asshole. I was just trying to reassure you.”

Guilt washed over her. “I’m sorry, Zach. And thank you, Meghan, for sticking with me tonight. You didn’t have to. I haven’t been particularly pleasant.”

Meghan smiled. “Glad I was there to help.” She glanced around the room. “I don’t see your things. I guess they must still be in your old room. Would you like me to get them?”

“God, no. That incompetent sheriff will want to interrogate me and all I want right now is to be left alone.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” she said.

Zach opened the door and Meghan followed him into the hall.

Zach turned back to face Suzanne. “Good night. Don’t forget to latch the door behind us.”

She nodded, closed the door, and slammed the chain into the slot, then leaned her head against the panels. The air conditioner clicking on made her jump.

“Relax. You’re safe,” she muttered.

But am I? Tami, Eddie, and Dave. They didn’t expect to get murdered. Am I next?

“Of course you are.” Saying it out loud sent a shiver down her spine. “How safe am I really? Who would I open that door to? Zach? Meghan? A cop?”

She paced the room, her mind still seeing Dave’s grotesque body.

Squaring her shoulders, Suzanne walked into the bathroom. Unwrapping the soap, she washed her face. Her reflection in the mirror showed an almost middle-aged woman with terrified blue eyes. She removed her jewelry and set it on the counter.

Suzanne eyed the shower and almost turned it on. The shower scene from the movie
Psycho
flashed in front of her eyes.

“No fucking way,” she muttered again.

She returned to the room and pulled down the covers, then unzipped the designer dress, letting it fall to the carpet. Crawling into bed, Suzanne jerked the covers back up. She’d be damned if she’d turn out the lights.

Not tonight.

She swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart pounded in her ears. She rolled over pulling the sheet over her head.

A noise from the hallway had her sitting upright. She ran to the door and peered out the peephole. No one.

Back in bed, she heard every noise magnified a hundred times. She crammed the pillow over her head, wondering about sounds she wasn’t hearing. Fear bubbled in her chest.

Oh, what’s the use? I’m not going to sleep. I may never sleep again
.
If I am next, I should be thinking of ways to stay alive. I need to get out of here.

Then, Suzanne remembered the spare car key.

Why not? I can take it and head for home. I’ll be safe in Chicago.

Before giving herself a chance to think, Suzanne quickly dressed, dumped her jewelry in her bag, and scrounged the key to the Mercedes from its depths. She took a moment to swallow the rising panic. It didn’t work. Her hands and legs trembled beyond self-control. She inhaled several deep breaths until the shaking lessened.

She opened the door and peeked around the jamb.

Good, the coast is clear
. Suzanne slipped from the room, and pulled the door closed behind her.

The only thing on her mind was escape.

Chapter Fourteen

Suzanne ducked behind a potted palm and waited until the desk clerk left the registration desk, then hurried past when the coast was clear. At the front doors, she paused and peered into the darkness. She’d deal with her bags and the hotel bill later. For once she didn’t give a damn about the jewelry remaining in her old room. The parking lot lighting wasn’t the best in the world, but she had to remind herself this was not Chicago where everything was lit up like the Fourth of July.

Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. I should go back to my room. Meghan’s right. The sheriff will post a guard. I’ll even answer his goddamned questions
.

Then the elevator dinged, the sound echoing through the silent lobby. Panic clawed in her chest and nausea boiled in her stomach. It was the killer!

She jerked open the doors and ran, her hand grasping the railing as she stumbled down the steps. Her heart pounded and her breath rasped from her throat. The car key, clutched in her hand, dug into her flesh.

She stumbled again. The flimsy, high-heeled sandals provided little in the line of practicality beyond a couple of hours on the dance floor. To move faster, she stopped, slipped them off, and proceeded barefoot through the parking lot, then stepped on something.

“Ouch! God dammit!” she blurted, inspecting the bottom of her foot with her fingertip. The touch revealed a slick wetness. She’d deal with that later, too.

That creepy feeling of being followed rolled over her. Suzanne ignored the pain in her foot and raced the last few yards. The space next to the driver’s side was empty giving her ample room.

Footsteps rushed from behind her. Suzanne whirled, her heart pounding and her breath stopping somewhere in her chest. She had no time to react. A powerful blow struck her. She cried out and clutched her left shoulder, dropping her shoes, purse, and keys. A tire iron descended again and she raised her right arm in defense. It struck with the force of a Mack truck. Something cracked. Excruciating pain raced through her body. She screamed. The next blow caught her in the side sending her to her knees.

Hugging her arm and trying to breathe despite what felt like broken ribs, Suzanne looked up and saw her attacker for the first time. Man or woman? She couldn’t tell. The figure was dressed in dark clothing from head to foot. A ski mask prevented her from seeing a face. She sucked in a deep, painful breath and screamed again. Staggering to her feet, she lunged as best she could. Fear lent her strength. She shoved her assailant hard in the chest and made a grab for the mask. Her fingers curled around the mouth opening and yanked. The woolen hood slid off.

No, it can’t be!
But it was, and in that moment, Suzanne expected to die.

The next swing of the tire iron caught her on the side of the head. Blood spurted and ran down her neck in a hot stream like lava from a volcano. She fell on her side. Her ears rang and she threw up. She fought to rise. The iron fell again. Ignoring the pain, Suzanne rolled. It struck the asphalt just inches away from her face. In deep survival mode, she had ceased to think or ask herself useless questions.

“Bitch! Do you really think you can get away? I’ve spent two years planning this. And this time I won’t make a mistake.”

The weapon swished through the air and found its target. Pain exploded again. Bright stars and flashing lights danced in her head. Her vision blurred. In desperation, she rolled again across the blacktop, the smell of oil and tar making her gag. Her attacker anticipated the move and swung, missing Suzanne’s head again. Tiny chunks of asphalt splattered her face, stinging like angry bees.

“Help! Someone help me!” Her voice was little more than a croak.

“No one’s going to help, except me. I’m going to help you straight to hell.”

Suzanne discovered her body had fetched up next to the car parked one space over. Beyond desperate, she ignored the pain and using her last bit of strength, scooted her head and shoulders under the car praying it would protect her.

A hand grasped her ankle and pulled. “Come out, you whore!”

The pavement scraped her legs and knees. The pain from her broken arm shrieked along every nerve. Suzanne kicked and made contact. The hand released its clasp. Blows rained on her lower legs. Her ankle cracked and shattered, but she no longer had the strength to either scream or move. Pain racked her from head to foot. Blood from her head wounds flowed into her eyes. Tears mingled with the blood. Numbness slowly crept over her body.

Don’t let me die. Please God, I want to live
.

In the distance, a car door slammed. Suddenly, the assault ceased.

Through the buzzing in her ears, she heard the words, “Five down, one to go.”

The ski mask was ripped from Suzanne’s clenched fingers.

Blackness descended and in the moments before her mind shut down, Suzanne knew why the murders had occurred.

****

I suspected that psychologically, Suzanne was toast. Finding Dave’s body must have been the lowlight of her evening. It was my highlight. Shame I couldn’t be there to see it.

The bitch had changed rooms and from my stairwell hideaway I noted the sheriff had not as yet posted a guard. But would Suzanne open the door to me? Given her present state of mind, I doubted it.

Shame I had to ditch the stun gun. It had been useful beyond my wildest dreams. Now, I’d have to improvise.

Then Suzanne’s door opened. She stuck her head out, looked down the corridor, and slipped from the room. She clutched her purse in one hand and something else in the other. An alarm fob dangled. A car key. I drew in a ragged breath. The bitch was making a run for it.

I turned and hurried down the steps to the lobby. The front desk was empty. I ran through the ballroom and into the garden, grabbing the tire iron I’d hidden earlier along with the ski mask. Pulling it over my head, I hurried to the parking lot. Hotel security was practically non-existent, but why take a chance? One of those stinking cameras could be operational. I crouched near the front bumper of my car.

Suzanne emerged from the hotel lobby and, casting frequent glances over her shoulder, rushed to Coryell’s Mercedes. I followed, keeping to the shadows.

She slowed her pace and fumbled for the unlocking mechanism on the fob.

Now! I rushed forward, tire iron raised.

She whirled, cried out, and lifted an arm to shield her face.

It was too late. I struck, swinging that heavy hunk of pipe again and again. With each thud, with each bone cracking, my heart rate accelerated. Adrenaline gave me added strength. Oh dear Lord, this felt so good. At some point she’d pulled the mask from my head, but who cared? Let
my
face be the last she sees in this lifetime.

“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” I crowed with every swing. The tire iron was coated with blood making it hard to grasp. My grip slid in the slippery ooze. I clenched my hands harder.