The Reunion (12 page)

“So, how about it, sweetie? You and me? In the sack?”

Dave’s voice brought her back to the mission at hand, which in her view was over. She glanced again over at Meghan and Zach’s table. It was empty.

Son of a bitch! Where the hell did they go?

If it was somewhere with the sheriff, she sure as shit didn’t want to join them.

“Hey, you gone deaf?” Dave shouted.

She quickly looked around. The bar was noisy and only a couple of patrons showed curiosity at his words.

“No. Just thinking. Hey, bartender, my friend here needs another drink.”

“About what? A simple yes or no will do.”

Suzanne touched his nose with the tip of her coral painted fingernail, and forced a giggle.

“Before we get down to other matters, why don’t you explain this mining company thing to me again in detail?”

Chapter Seven

Meghan stood behind the yellow crime scene tape gazing at the dimly lit koi pond.

“Can’t see much,” Zach commented from her left.

“Just a minute,” Ray said. He skirted the barrier keeping close to the edge of the perimeter. He approached a sapling and a moment later strong light blazed to life illuminating the water and pathway. “That help?”

“Must be the world’s longest extension cord,” Meghan commented. In the darkness, she’d mistaken the ten foot tall pole lights for trees.

“Forensics brought them. The hotel has electrical boxes for the pump and maintenance work,” the sheriff explained.

“Doesn’t look any different from a few hours ago,” Zach remarked. “Except for the body, of course.”

Ray returned to their sides. “Not much in the line of physical evidence to find. Forensics will be back in the morning.”

“Where was the body?” she inquired.

Ray pointed. “Here, floating in the front of the pool near the path.”

Meghan decided the pond was nothing elaborate. The freeform structure reminded her of a pear. She estimated its length as roughly thirty feet and the width close to fifteen at the widest point—the area where Annabelle had been discovered. Flat rocks stacked about a foot high surrounded the water like a necklace. She assumed they kept the pond from overflowing during a heavy rain.

“What’s that in the middle?” she asked Ray.

“Artificial rocks with holes and tunnels for the fish to swim through. I was told the vegetation is simple aquatic plants. Something to do with nutrients and oxygen. The pump inflow is on the other end. The outflow is down here. At the moment, it’s shut off. The staff transferred the fish to a tank somewhere else on the property. We’re having it drained so Forensics can examine it.”

That made sense to Meghan, especially if Annabelle had been cold-conked and the weapon tossed into the pond.

“Zach, exactly what did you see?” she questioned.

“A body floating next to the edge.”

“Floating? That’s unusual,” she murmured.

“Why?”

“Because drowning victims usually sink to the bottom,” Ray told him. “They float when the body gases expand with decomposition.”

Meghan looked at Zach “How was she positioned?”

“Her arm may have been flung across the rim.”

“It was,” the sheriff confirmed. “Guess the killer didn’t notice or care. That’s part of why she was floating.”

“Part?” Meghan said.

“Her other arm and legs hit the bottom and didn’t let the torso sink.”

“Why would you assume someone held her head underwater?” Zach wondered.

“The victim’s fingernails were ripped. The pond’s only two and half to three feet deep, so she couldn’t have fallen in and struggled to get out, even drunk.”

“All she needed to do was stagger upright and stumble to the edge,” Zach surmised. “How do you prove murder?”

“It’s not easy,” Ray stated “The coroner has to eliminate all other causes of death before labeling it a drowning. Then Forensics tries to piece the puzzle together.”

“Any idea on time of death?” Meghan inquired.

Ray shook his head. “Everybody’s vague on a time frame. Ms. Crocker saw the victim enter the garden, but has no idea of when. Mrs. Davis can’t recall the time either. How about you two? Do you remember what time it was when you heard the screams?”

“Not a clue. Who thinks to look at their watch during a time of crisis? We heard the screams and reacted,” Zach told him. “What about the 9-1-1 call?”

“We’re checking it now. Actually, the coroner figures Mrs. Peterson was dead less than an hour.”

Meghan turned toward the sheriff. “Any wounds like to the back of the head? A whack to the skull would incapacitate and make it easier to hold someone’s head under water.”

“Nothing we noticed. Of course, the coroner might come up with something.”

“Any wounds other than the torn fingernails?” Zach asked.

“Some bruising on the upper torso, most likely from the rocks as she struggled. My guess is the perpetrator knelt on her back to keep her from thrashing around,” Ray said. “She also had scrapes on her legs, probably from the killer pushing them over the edge to make it look like an accident.”

Meghan shivered. Ray painted a vivid image of Annabelle’s last minutes of life.

“And her jewelry was all in place? Nothing missing?” she pressed.

“All there—rings, watch, earrings, necklace.”

She closed her eyes and tried to visualize what Zach had found and what Ray had told them. Meghan shivered again as she envisioned the murder, but wondered why Annabelle hadn’t fought back until it was too late.

“She had to have been hit over the head. It’s the only sensible answer. Sheriff, do you know where she was standing when the attack occurred?”

“When we first arrived, the gravel on the pathway was disturbed. I think Mrs. Peterson may have been attacked about four or five feet from the rim of the pond and perhaps pushed forward.”

“Or someone carried her to the water,” Zach suggested.

“And then later smoothed the gravel back in place as best they could,” Meghan added.

“Factor in Eileen, Zach, Carl, and anyone else who wandered by and didn’t look at the pond. The drag marks would have been obliterated,” Ray finished.

“Sorry,” Zach muttered.

“Not your fault. I imagine the killer did a fairly good job of covering his tracks.”

“The killer must have gotten wet. Did anyone notice someone with sopping clothes?” Zach queried.

“No one said anything,” Ray replied.

“A quick run upstairs and a change of clothing would be the best thing to do.”

Meghan shook her head. “Too risky. Suppose someone noticed and asked questions? I’d go up and hit the wet spots with the hair dryer. There’s one in every room for guests’ convenience. It would only take ten or fifteen minutes. Even if the areas were still damp, I’d explain it as spilling a glass of water or a drink in the dining hall.”

“And in that crowd ten or fifteen minutes wouldn’t be so noticeable,” Ray agreed with a frown. “I need to go back over my notes. Are you two finished?”

Something nagged at Meghan—something she was missing. She closed her eyes again and concentrated on Annabelle.

Zach touched her arm. “Meghan, what’s wrong?”

She opened her eyes. “I don’t know, but something’s not right.”

“What?” Ray asked.

“I don’t know,” she repeated, and then forced her mind to recall Annabelle as she’d last seen her.

Annabelle and Eric had bumped into them on the dance floor. The woman faced Meghan, one hand in her husband’s and the other clutching her evening bag on his shoulder.

“That’s it!” she exclaimed.

“What’s it?” Zach and Ray spoke simultaneously.

“Her purse! Where’s her purse?”

“What purse?”

“Yeah, why would a purse be important?” Zach said.

“Women take them everywhere, especially to the ladies room. I took mine when we left the ballroom for the terrace. Annabelle’s was a clutch—no straps. I remember she held it as she danced.”

“Why would she do that?” Zach’s face had a puzzled expression.

“Some women don’t like to leave purses unattended. Others don’t care when it’s a crowded reception with people they know. I left mine at the table while we danced. Suzanne left hers whenever she went to the bar. It was still within sight and someone trying to swipe it could be noticed. However, if a woman leaves the room, the purse goes with her. Remember? I took mine onto the terrace. So, where’s Annabelle’s purse? If she was going for a breath of air or a walk in the garden, she’d have taken it with her. It’s second nature.”

“And if she was knocked on the head or overpowered five feet from the pond, then the bag should have been there,” Zach concluded.

“We recovered no purse.” Ray swung his head toward the water. It gleamed dark and menacing under the powerful lights. The breeze sent ripples lapping gently against the rocks. “Maybe the killer tossed it in.”

“Couldn’t leave it lying in the middle of the path for just anybody casually strolling by to find,” she added.

“Would the killer chuck it into the water by the body or heave it further out toward the middle?” Zach said.

“I’d toss it next to the body. Or maybe Annabelle hung on and it fell in next to her. Either way, that evening bag is somewhere around here,” Meghan declared.

Ray walked carefully across the pathway to the rock rim. “The pond will be empty by tomorrow morning.” He looked back across the path. “Maybe the killer didn’t notice the victim had a purse until after the crime. I don’t know how far into the bushes my people searched.”

He returned to the vinyl tape and ducked under, then stepped into the foliage just off the path.

“You two stay put. The fewer people messing with this, the better. I hope I don’t screw things up for Forensics. Let’s see what I can find. How big was the purse?”

“About the size and shape of a large brick, but thinner. It was white satin and had a knob clasp in the middle.”

The sheriff pulled his flashlight from his belt, flicked it on, and plunged into the bushes. Meghan held her breath listening to the rustling of the vegetation as he poked and prodded. Zach clasped her hand in his.

“Great logic, Meghan. I can see why you’re a
New York Times
bestseller. I’d have never thought to look for a purse.”

Her cheeks heated at his praise. “That’s because you’re a guy. Women just know this stuff.”

Ray moved further into the garden the torch beam bobbing and weaving like a prizefighter in the ring. Then from the foot of a large tree about twenty feet away he called out, “I think I’ve got it.” He returned and held up a white object. “This it?”

“That’s it,” Meghan confirmed.

“Open it,” Zach said. “Or will that destroy evidence?”

“I doubt the killer bothered to open it,” Ray said, but whipped a handkerchief from his rear pocket before twisting the clasp anyway.

They all peered inside the bag.

Ray removed a cell phone, a tiny compact, a tube of lipstick, a small comb, and an old-fashioned hotel room key, not a slide card.

“Room three-sixteen.” He shook his head. “Annabelle Peterson was a nice woman. What a stupid goddamned waste.”

“What’s that?” Meghan asked pointing to a crumpled rectangular-shaped object.

“A pack of cigarettes.” The sheriff removed it along with a slim lighter.

“Which means Suzanne
was
the intended victim,” Zach murmured.

“It’s dark. The killer thinks he’s following Suzanne. There’s just enough light to identify the blue dress, long hair, and maybe sees a cigarette being smoked,” Meghan speculated. “Did the forensics team find any cigarette butts lying around?”

“Several. They bagged them all, but it’ll take time to figure out who smoked what. A lot of people, including hotel staff, probably took a nicotine break here,” Ray said. “I’d say there’s one very surprised killer walking around.”

“So, he kills her and gets the shock of his life later when Suzanne shows up alive and kicking,” Zach mentioned slowly.

“Do you suppose he was on the terrace with us?” Meghan wondered.

Ray eyed them both. “How did everyone react to Zach’s news and Mrs. Crocker’s appearance?”

“Oh, God, I’m not sure. Everyone was upset. Eileen was hysterical and almost passed out. Glory did—fainted dead away. Dave was so shocked when Suzanne popped out from behind the bushes, he dropped his glass,” Meghan told him.

Zach nodded. “For a moment I thought he would join Glory on the flagstones. And Tom Ecklund looked like he’d encountered Godzilla.” He paused. “You know, I saw Dan Masterson, too. He turned and walked back inside.”

“That’s odd,” Ray remarked with a thoughtful expression. “I’d expect him to run out and try to take charge.”

The sheriff’s ringing cell stopped further discussion. He walked several feet away to take the call.

“You really are good at this,” Zach told her with a smile. “I can’t believe you visit crime scenes for research. That takes guts.”

Meghan cast a glance at Ray, and then lowered her voice when she turned back to Zach, “Don’t tell Ray, but I lied. I’ve ridden with officers and talked to detectives, but never been allowed to view a crime scene.”

Zach stared with raised eyebrows. “You’d make a good detective. You had me believing it. The fine art of prevarication might come in handy when we talk to other people.”

Her gaze wandered to the pond and a chill chasing up and down her spine caused a shiver.

“Cold?” Zach placed his arms around her, drawing her close to his body.

Heat from his arms and from within raced through her body. “No, depressed. A part of me is thinking how I could use this as a book. I feel like a ghoul.”

Zach hugged her closer. “Don’t. How do you get your plots?”

“Mostly through newspaper stories or on the internet. I also watch crime dramas and those semi-reality shows like
This Case Is Closed
. The idea for
Higher Education Is Murder
came from an old episode of
Columbo
.”

“Isn’t that plagiarism?”

“No one has a copyright on a plot. The idea is to look at it from a fresh angle. I just never imagined I’d be freshening things with firsthand knowledge. Knowing my editor, she’ll use it as a plug on my next book signing tour. I can see the promos now. ‘The true life adventures of Meghan Bonaventure’ emblazoned on posters in every bookstore in the country.”