The Reunion (7 page)

The high-pitched shriek turned into a wail as Eileen Raymond staggered up the terrace steps. The toe of her shoe caught the last one, and she fell to her hands and knees.

Zach and Meghan, along with several other people, ran to help her.

“Eileen, what’s wrong?” Zach asked. He and another man lifted her.

“Honey, what’s the matter?” the man questioned.

Meghan assumed he was Eileen’s husband.

Eileen’s teeth chattered. Hair straggled from the elegant French twist, hanging around her cheeks and bulging eyes, while she continued to sob. Her face was ashen beneath the tear-streaked make-up.

“Eileen, get a hold of yourself,” her husband demanded.

Meghan doubted that would happen. The woman trembled from head to foot like a tree in a storm. Her eyes rolled back into her head.

“Keep her standing,” Meghan ordered the men. She stepped in front of her hysterical classmate, and then slapped her hard across the cheek. “Eileen, calm down.”

Eileen hiccupped, swallowed, but stopped the noise, even though she continued to gasp.

“What’s wrong?” Zach asked again.

“Did someone attack you?” The husband’s angry gaze swept the darkened foliage. “I knew you shouldn’t have gone into the garden by yourself. Did you see who it was? Can you identify the man?”

The band still played, but a sizable crowd now pressed onto the flagstones.

Eileen pointed into the garden. She gasped a couple of times before finding her voice.

“Out—out there! In the pond! Oh, my God, it’s awful!”

Meghan wanted to scream at the lack of information. “What’s awful? Did someone attack you?”

“No, no!” Eileen sobbed and buried her face in her hands. “There’s a body…in the fish pond.”

“A body? Whose?” her husband demanded.

“I—I don’t know. I was just walking and went to the edge of the pond, saw something floating, and ran.”

“So, it might not be a body at all. You have had a couple of glasses of wine,” her husband said.

“I am not drunk!”

He pulled Eileen into his arms. “Of course, you’re not, but maybe you made a mistake in the dark and your imagination took over.”

“I’m calling 9-1-1,” a woman in the doorway declared.

“Wait a minute,” Zach told her. “Let’s make sure there is a body not just a tree branch or someone’s sick idea of a practical joke. We need a flashlight.”

“I have a small one attached to my key chain,” a woman offered.

“I have a penlight in my purse,” another replied.

“Go get them. What’s your name?” Zach asked the husband as the women left.

“Carl Davis. I’m Eileen’s husband. Do you think this is a joke?”

“I don’t know, but we need to find out before calling in the police. If it is a body, a few more minutes can’t hurt.”

The women returned and handed Zach the items. He gave one to Carl and flicked his on.

“It’s not much, but will have to do. Meghan, stay with Eileen. This won’t take long.”

Meghan nodded as the men trotted down the steps and disappeared into the night, the feeble glow from the flashlights bobbing down the path until they vanished.

“We should get her inside,” a woman suggested.

Meghan shook her head. “Too hot. Someone bring a chair.”

A man near the door complied, and Meghan eased a still shaky Eileen into it.

“Oh, God, I’m going to faint.”

“No, you’re not.” Meghan pushed Eileen’s head between her knees and rubbed her back. “Take slow, even breaths. You’ll be fine.”

A minute later the woman straightened pressing a hand to her chest. “Do you think it’s a joke?”

“Well, if it is, it’s not very funny.”

Meghan thought back to the practical jokers in the class. This was just the kind of thing Suzanne and Dave would think up for entertainment—shove a mannequin in the pond and wait for someone to find it. She hadn’t seen either of them since leaving the table.

Damn those two anyway
.

She swore if that redheaded bitch was behind this, she’d punch Suzanne right in the nose. Dave, too. Money hadn’t changed them. They still harbored a high school mentality.

Eileen cried softly.

“Someone get me a tissue or a napkin,” Meghan requested.

A few seconds later, a man stuffed a wad of cocktail napkins in her hand. She gave them to Eileen.

“Here, there’s no need to cry. You’ll give yourself a headache.”

Eileen wiped her face and blew her nose, then turned a watery gaze to Meghan. “I wish the guys would come back. What’s taking so long?”

Meghan wondered the same. Zach and Carl had been gone almost ten minutes. Maybe they had trouble finding the pond or negotiating the pathways with those tiny flashlights.

The crowd milled around talking in low voices.

Dave Coryell bulled his way through the doors.

“What’s going on out here? Has anyone seen Suzanne? I’ve been looking for her everywhere.”

“Eileen thinks she found a body floating in the fish pond,” Glory said. She and Tom stood just outside the doors.

“A body? You’re kidding. Whose?”

Meghan wanted to smack him. As if he didn’t know. His attitude confirmed her suspicions of a practical joke. Then from below, she heard the crunch of gravel.

Zach and a clearly shaken Carl mounted the steps.

“Well?” she questioned. Anxiety roughened her voice.

“Call the police, and notify the management they have a body on their hands,” Zach told them.

“Who is it? Someone we know?” she asked.

“I think its Suzanne Wayland.”

Meghan’s head swung to Dave. He stared at Zach with a blank expression, and then downed his drink in a single gulp.

“Oh, my God, another one. I don’t know why I’m so upset. I didn’t even like her.” Eileen moaned and sobbed harder.

“I’m not real fond of you, either,” Suzanne stated, stepping into the light from the shadows on the opposite end of the terrace, her hands fisted on her hips.

Eileen yelped. Dave Coryell, his expression no longer empty but astonished, gaped at his former girlfriend. The glass slipped from his fingers, shattering at his feet.

Before anyone could say a word, Eric Peterson strolled out.

“Has anybody seen Annabelle? She wanted to get some air, but that was over thirty minutes ago.” His gaze settled on the stunned crowd. “What’s going on?”

The truth dawned on Meghan. She sucked in her breath and gazed at the people nearby.

Zach and Carl whirled to face Eric. Meghan’s heart pounded and her ears buzzed.

Oh, my God…. Annabelle? Who’d want to hurt Annabelle?

Even as she thought the words, the facts stabbed her in the gut. Her attention turned back to Eileen who stifled another scream.

Glory Ecklund fainted dead away in her husband’s arms. He lowered her to the stone floor, his face a mask of anger—and fear.

****

The police arrived and directed everyone from the terrace into the ballroom with orders not to leave until they’d been questioned. When the forensics team and the coroner arrived, they pulled the body from the water, and a distraught Eric made the gruesome identification of his wife.

Carl took over the care of Eileen, while Meghan helped Tom deal with a shaken Glory. They sat at the table while Glory mumbled biblical passages.

“Shall I get her a drink?” Meghan asked Tom.

“No, water will do for now, but I wouldn’t mind a good stiff belt. Bourbon is fine.”

She hurried toward the bar and glanced outside the terrace doors where Zach talked with the cops. By now everybody in the room knew what had happened. The band had ceased playing and the conversation had dwindled to a muted hum in the air.

Dave had grabbed Suzanne’s hand and whisked her through the door. The two of them sat alone, heads close together, at a table in the far corner of the room. Meghan had never seen Suzanne so subdued, or Dave so tense. Several classmates shot covert glances at the couple.

Friends gathered around a stunned and sobbing Eric.

She ordered Tom’s bourbon, a glass of wine for herself, and amaretto for Zach. She walked back slowly and deposited the drinks on the table.

Tom bolted the whisky in two gulps, and then continued to comfort Glory.

“It’s going to be all right, honey,” he said, stroking the disheveled hair from her face.

Glory mumbled and stared straight ahead as if in a trance. It gave Meghan the creeps. She sipped the wine, waiting for Zach to return with news.

Glory clapped a hand over her mouth and rose. “Oh dear! I’m going to be sick!”

She turned and bolted toward the banquet hall doors, Tom running in her wake.

Meghan was tempted to follow, but Zach and the sheriff along with several deputies walked through the terrace doors. She recognized the sheriff as Ray Armstrong. Twenty years ago, he’d been a young deputy. He walked onstage to the microphone. Zach approached the table and sat next to her.

“Well?”

Zach shrugged. “Forensics is sifting through every piece of gravel in the path and under every lily pad in the pond. We’ll know when they feel like telling us.”

“May I have your attention, please?” the sheriff announced. The mike squealed and he backed away while one of the deputies adjusted the sound. “Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please. I’d like you all to take the seats you occupied earlier this evening. We’ll be around to get statements as quickly as we can. As soon as we finish, you can leave. I ask that you be patient. Thank you.”

Several in the crowd groaned.

“I want to go home now,” a woman whimpered.

“This is silly. None of us killed the poor woman,” a man stated.

“That’s right,” another man added. “Some vagrant came across her in the dark and tried to rob her.”

“If I was Eric Peterson, I’d sue the hotel. They should have had security guards patrolling the garden,” a woman declared.

A shaken Glory supported by Tom returned. He lowered her into a chair, seated himself next to her, and patted her hands.

Meghan leaned forward. “Glory, are you all right?”

She nodded and answered in a quavering voice. “I’m fine. I…I threw up.”

“Well, of course you did. Perfectly natural,” her husband said. “Can I get you something to drink? More diet soda?”

“No, thank you, honey. I’ll just drink water. It was all such a shock.”

Meghan silently agreed as she sipped more wine.

Sheriff Armstrong left the stage and pointed the three deputies to the first tables in front. He headed for theirs, wedging a chair between Tom Ecklund and Ted Kramer. Jill scooted closer to Meghan.

“This is horrible,” Jill whispered as she wiped tears from her eyes with a napkin. “Eric is devastated. I was just talking to Annabelle a little while ago. They have four kids. The youngest is only two. She was so proud of them.”

Dave guided a quiet Suzanne to her chair. Suzanne lit a cigarette. Dan Masterson walked up with a frown.

“We had this discussion before, Suzanne. No smoking.”

The redhead looked up and snapped, “Fuck off, asshole.”

“It is against the law…”

“Mr. Masterson, perhaps it would be better if you returned to your table,” the sheriff suggested.

“As a former senior class president and a city councilman, I feel it’s my duty to remain visible. The people, many of them my constituents, need a calm, reassuring presence.”

Suzanne glared. Dave curled his lip and sucked a sizable portion from his glass. Zach raised an eyebrow, giving Dan a cool look. Meghan wanted to follow Glory’s lead and throw up. A woman was dead, and Dan Masterson sounded every inch the campaigning politician.

“My thoughts exactly, sir. Your leadership would best be served by setting a good example,” Sheriff Armstrong answered in a soothing voice.

Dan straightened and adjusted his tie. “Yes, I see your point, Sheriff.”

He shot Suzanne a nasty glance and walked away.

“You know, miss, there is a law against smoking in public places, and while I can understand your need for nicotine at a moment like this, I’d appreciate it if you’d put the cigarette out.”

Suzanne sighed, but dropped it into a water glass where the glowing tip hissed and was extinguished.

“Satisfied?” she asked.

“Yes, thank you.” He brought out a notebook and a pencil, and then turned his gaze on Ted Kramer. “Your name?”

“Ted Kramer. This is my wife, Jill.”

“Which one of you is the graduate?”

“I am,” Jill answered in a wavering voice.

“Where do you live?”

Ted gave an address in St. Louis.

Sheriff Armstrong jotted down the information in his notebook, and then questioned, “What can you tell me about tonight?”

“To me, everything seemed perfectly normal,” Ted told him. “We had a few drinks, chatted with some of Jill’s classmates, and danced.”

“Did you talk with Annabelle Peterson?”

“Jill introduced us, but that’s about all. We talked to her husband for a couple of minutes, and then moved on to another table.”

“When was this?”

“After dinner, but before the band started. I can’t give you a specific time.”

“How about you, Mrs. Kramer? Did you talk to either Mr. or Mrs. Peterson?”

Jill sipped some water and nodded. “Eric and I were classmates. Annabelle graduated the year after us. They dated all through high school. I wasn’t surprised to find they’d married.”

“So, you knew Mrs. Peterson prior to tonight,” the sheriff stated.

“I knew her, but not well. She was on the pom-pom squad. Everybody loved her.”

“What did the two of you talk about?”

Jill shrugged and raised her hands palms up. “The usual—kids, where we lived, the reunion—just ordinary things.”

“Any idea who might want her dead?”

“None whatsoever. Annabelle got along with everybody. She chatted with a lot of people tonight. I saw her leave about half an hour or so before the screaming started.”

“Which door did she use?”

“The one to the terrace.”

“Did you see anybody follow her outside?”

“Are you kidding? It’s hotter than hell in here. People were coming and going on a regular basis.” Jill shuddered and swiped at her eyes again. “I just can’t believe this has happened.”