The Class Reunion: A psychological suspense thriller

by N L Hinkens

  Heather’s jaw dropped. “You’re pregnant?”

  Violet nodded coyly, her blue eyes glittering with joy. “It finally happened.”

  Heather hugged her, blinking back tears. Violet and Boyd had been trying for a baby for years. Recently, they’d been talking about adopting, and Heather had assumed they’d exhausted all avenues for a child of their own. “I’m so happy for you both,” she said. “This is the best possible news.”

  “The icing on the cake would be to have you here,” Violet responded. “You’ve always been there for me when I needed you in the past and—”

  She broke off at a knock on the door. Boyd stepped inside, waving an envelope. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said in a grim tone. “But I found this in the mail.”

  14

  A chill ran up Heather’s spine as Boyd walked toward her and Violet flapping an all-too-familiar-looking, pale blue envelope.

  “What is it?” Violet asked, reaching out her hand for it.

  Boyd frowned. “I don’t want you getting upset over this, Violet. You know, with the … ” He caught himself mid-sentence and crinkled his forehead, his gaze flitting briefly to Heather. “Did you tell your sister our news?”

  “If you mean about the baby, then yes, of course,” Violet said impatiently. “Now stop fussing. Let me see what you’ve got there.”

  Boyd reluctantly handed her the envelope.

  Violet slid the card out. “Pretty flowers!” she exclaimed.

  Heather’s stomach knotted. It was the exact same card she had received with a posy of forget-me-knots tied with burlap on the front.

  A tiny furrow appeared on Violet’s brow before she passed the card to Heather. “I’m not sure what to make of it.”

  Heather opened it and absorbed the words inside, her breath freezing in her throat.

  You should be afraid.

  She snapped the card shut, her brain whirring with new questions. Was Violet being targeted now too? Or did someone know she was staying here?

  Violet tapped a finger on the picture. “Didn’t you get a bouquet of forget-me-nots delivered to the reunion along with that prank message?”

  Heather gave a vague nod. Violet thought she was here to help Marco investigate the arson. She hadn’t told her yet that she’d received another threatening card back in LA. It was apparent by now that it was no prank, but she was reluctant to admit that to Violet. Especially now she knew she was pregnant.

  “Do you think it’s the same person?” Violet asked.

  “It’s possible,” Heather replied, massaging her temples.

  Boyd cleared his throat. “It can’t be just a coincidence. I think we should take the card to the police.”

  Violet rolled her eyes. “Waste of time. They already know about the card at the reunion and they’re not taking it seriously. They don’t think it’s connected to the arson.”

  “And they might be right,” Heather said. “This could be someone harboring a petty grudge from high school. The arson, on the other hand, might have been a disgruntled employee, or teenagers messing around—who knows what.” Heather pulled out her phone and took a photo of the card before handing it back to Violet. “Save this in case we need it down the line.”

  “We should probably take some steps to make this place more secure,” Boyd said. “I don’t like the idea of Violet being all alone in the house while I’m at work or off on a business trip with all this going on. She’s not going to be able to travel with me as much now with the baby coming.”

  “I won’t be alone,” Violet said. “Heather’s going to be staying here with us for the foreseeable future.”

  A flicker of unease crossed Boyd’s face. “No offense, Heather, but that might only put Violet in more danger.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Violet protested, springing to her feet. “This is just some pathetic person whose life hasn’t turned out the way they wanted it to, and they’re jealous of Heather’s success. Whatever it’s about, she’ll get to the bottom of it, and she’s welcome to stay here until she does.”

  Boyd gave an unconvincing nod. “Let’s hope you’re right and we’re only dealing with a harmless kook and not someone dangerous. I’m going to hit the shower before dinner.”

  “I need to run back to Marco’s place and pick up the rest of my stuff,” Heather said. “How about I meet you two at the restaurant?”

  “Works for me. You girls decide where you want to go,” Boyd said, exiting the room.

  Violet reached for her phone. “I already know where I want to take you. I’m craving ribs tonight, and the Waterfront Bistro has the best smoked ribs you’ve ever tasted.”

  After securing a reservation for 7:00 p.m., Violet walked Heather out to her car. “You don’t really think I have anything to be concerned about, do you?” She rubbed her belly affectionately. “It’s not me I’m worried about—it’s just with the baby coming and all.”

  ”Of course not,” Heather reassured her. “I’ll figure this out and find the person who’s behind it. Trust me, I’m an expert at tracking down lowlifes.”

  Violet’s expression relaxed. “You’ve always been there for me, fighting my battles to the bitter end.”

  Heather forced a smile. Violet didn’t know quite how bitter the end had been to the battle that had changed their lives forever. And if Heather could help it, she never would.

  As she drove back to Marco’s place, she mulled over the latest message. She guessed it was intended for her—better that than someone was targeting Violet now too. Heather still couldn’t rid herself of the suspicion that someone had found out what she’d done, but how? It was unthinkable that Lindsay could have betrayed her trust. The newspaper articles at the time hadn’t mentioned anything about her car being spotted on the road that night. They had printed a picture of Damien Kinney—Tank as they had known him as—a few days after the accident, and then that was the end of it. Another foolhardy teenager lost to drunk driving.

  When she pulled into the driveway, Anna was busy unloading groceries from the back of her SUV. Heather bit back her exasperation. She had hoped to grab her things and go, but it would be rude not to offer to help. She parked in front of the guest cottage and then walked back over to Anna’s vehicle. “Here, let me take some of those for you,” she offered.

  Anna pulled a strand of hair out of her eyes and handed Heather a bag. “Thanks. My back’s not what it used to be. I don’t know how you keep so slim and trim. I keep piling on the pounds. To tell you the truth, I felt like a right hippo at the reunion.”

  “Nonsense!” Heather replied. “Marco couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”

  Anna let out a snort as she reached into the trunk for another bag of groceries. “Couldn’t keep his eyes on me, you mean.”

  Heather bit her lip, unsure of how to respond. Marco had made it sound as though he and Anna were getting on well now. Maybe there was some marital tiff going on behind the scenes.

  “Oh, don’t try and be so polite, Heather,” Anna said, one hand on her hip. “I know all about his fling with Reagan. I’m sure you do too, so don’t pretend otherwise. They think I don’t know anything about it. I may not be college-educated like she is, but I’m not stupid either.” She turned and huffed her way up the front steps, leaning her bag of groceries against the doorframe as she punched the entry code into the electronic keypad.

  Heather followed her inside and down the hallway to the kitchen. Anna set the groceries on the kitchen table and turned to face her. “You did know about it, right?”

  Heather inclined her head. “Reagan told me recently. I’m … sorry.”

  Anna waved a dismissive hand at her. “I knew they were carrying on behind my back. It wasn’t just a fling, as they like to call it. It went on for the best part of a year. I thought about divorcing Marco when I first found out, but I couldn’t put the kids through that—visitation, alternating holidays, not to mention a stepmother like Reagan. I shudder at the thought.”

  “Rea
gan thought her ex—Roy—might be behind the arson,” Heather said. “Apparently, he knew about her and Marco too.”

  Anna glanced out the window, a faraway look in her eyes. “To be honest, I half-wondered if Reagan might have put Roy up to it.”

  Heather arched a surprised brow. “What makes you say that?”

  Anna turned and held her gaze. “She wanted Marco to leave me—begged him to. I don’t know if she was really in love with him, or if it was all about his money. She’s got that jealous streak. You heard her snide comments at the reunion about my jewelry.”

  “How do you know she asked Marco to leave you?” Heather asked.

  Anna shrugged. “I read their texts on his phone. Marco used our son’s birthday as his passcode.” She gave a rueful grin. “Maybe I should have been a PI.”

  “Good instincts are an asset,” Heather acknowledged.

  Anna’s expression clouded over. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t have such good instincts.”

  Heather gave her a sympathetic smile. “If it’s any comfort, Reagan told me they both regretted it. It didn’t mean anything to either one of them.”

  Anna threw her a funny look. “I’m not so sure about that. I’ve a hunch their connection went a whole lot deeper.”

  Before Heather could press her for more details, the back door opened and the kids burst into the kitchen, the clatter of soccer cleats echoing over the tile floor.

  “Mom, I’m starving!”

  “What’s for dinner?”

  “Can we have a snack, please?”

  “I should go and let you guys eat,” Heather said.

  Marco followed the kids into the kitchen. “You’re welcome to stay for dinner,” he replied, tossing the soccer bags in the corner.

  “Thanks, but I made plans with Violet and Boyd. They got back into town this afternoon, so I’m going to be staying with them now. I’m here to pick up my stuff.”

  Marco gave a distracted nod as he snatched a packet of cookies out of his youngest son’s hands. “Not before dinner.”

  “Da-ad! I’m starving!” he whined.

  “Have an apple,” Marco said, before turning his attention back to Heather. “Did you make it out to Danny Baxter’s place today?”

  “I hate apples!” Marco’s son growled, stomping his foot.

  “Yeah, he’s not your guy.” Heather raised her voice to make herself heard above the ruckus. “I’ll fill you in at dinner tomorrow night.” She raised her hand in a parting wave to Anna and made a beeline for the front door.

  On the drive to the Waterfront Bistro, Heather reflected on Anna’s words. She hadn’t got the impression from Reagan that she still had feelings for Marco. What kind of connection was Anna alluding to? Were Marco and Reagan business partners? Maybe Reagan had invested in the restaurants and wanted her money back out. That would explain why Anna suspected Reagan could be behind the arson. It seemed like a far-fetched theory, but Heather had seen it all over the years.

  She pulled up at the Waterfront Bistro shortly before seven and made her way inside to where Violet and Boyd were seated at a table by the window.

  “Wow! The view’s amazing,” Heather raved, peering out at the river, glittering orange under the restaurant’s outdoor lights.

  “Wait until you taste the ribs,” Violet said, passing her a menu.

  After making her selection, Heather spotted Sydney and Steve seated at the far end of the restaurant. “Order me the half rack of ribs,” she said to Violet. “I’m just going to say hello to Sydney.”

  She ended up chatting for longer than she’d intended with Sydney and Steve, and by the time she returned to her table, her food had arrived. Smoky, charred to tender perfection, and coated in a hearty sweet and spicy sauce, the baby back ribs lived up to Violet’s praise. When she was done, Heather licked her fingers and leaned back in her seat with a satisfied groan. “You can’t find ribs like this in LA.”

  “Fall-off-the-bone deliciousness, and that sauce is to die for,” Violet agreed. “Maybe now you’ll consider moving back home.”

  Heather laughed. “You’re not going to let up on that, are you?”

  “Nope,” Violet said. “My kid needs a hands-on aunt. Don’t worry, I’ll break you down eventually. You know how persistent I am.”

  “All right, let’s get out of here,” Boyd said, getting to his feet after signing the check. “I’m still on Boston time—about ready to hit the sack.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they slowed to a halt in the driveway. Spray-painted over the brick facade of Violet’s and Boyd’s gatepost was the word KILLER.

  15

  Heather jumped out of her car and joined Boyd and Violet to take a closer look at the freshly painted graffiti on the gatepost.

  “It must be the same person who sent the card,” Violet said, running her fingers over the red paint. “Whoever did this is more twisted than I thought.”

  “And more dangerous,” Boyd added in a grim tone. “They must have been watching us leave. Pretty brazen of them to leave their signature on our property.”

  Heather shot him a startled look, but quickly masked her expression. It was better that Boyd believed that. The alternative—that someone was accusing Heather of being a killer—would be a whole lot harder to explain.

  “I have no choice but to call the police now,” Boyd said. “This is vandalism, plain and simple. It’s gone way beyond a hate mail from some ticked-off ex-classmate of yours, Heather.”

  Violet let out an exasperated sigh. “I still think you’re wasting your time, honey. They won’t do anything about it.”

  Heather held her tongue. Violet was right that it would accomplish nothing. It wasn’t as if the police could do much more than file a report. But there was little she could do to talk Boyd out of it at this point. He wanted to protect Violet, and Heather understood where he was coming from only too well.

  Fifteen minutes later, Heather found herself seated at the kitchen table with Violet, Boyd, and a baby-faced Detective Gates.

  “You say you left the house at 6:45 p.m.?” the detective asked, wearing a somber expression more befitting a murder investigation. Heather felt sorry for him. He couldn’t be more than twenty-two or twenty-three years old and he was doing his best to take a report of vandalism in an upscale neighborhood seriously. “What time did you return?”

  “Oh, 9:30 p.m., or so,” Violet replied. “I wanted to take a quick stroll along the river after dinner, but my husband wanted to get home.”

  Detective Gates rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Um … let’s see … that gives the perpetrator almost a three-hour window.”

  Heather caught Boyd’s eye and raised her brows a fraction. He had the decency to look abashed. He knew as well as she did that this was a complete waste of time. They were simply going through the motions.

  “Do you have any security cameras on the premises?” Detective Gates asked.

  “Not down at the gate,” Boyd answered. “We have them inside the house and along the eaves. I already checked, but no one came up the driveway while we were gone. All they really had to do was roll down a car window and spray the post in passing.”

  Detective Gates made a few notes. “Have you had any trouble like this before—kids messing around or anything of that nature?”

  “No. This is a very safe neighborhood,” Violet responded. “This wasn’t the work of locals.”

  The detective gave a grave nod. “Could be a graffiti artist who goes by Killer. I’ll ask around downtown.”

  “I wouldn’t call the job artistic by any stretch of the imagination,” Heather interjected, unable to curb her frustration any longer. “This is something more malevolent.”

  Detective Gates cleared his throat. “There’s no accounting for taste when it comes to art these days,” He directed a tiny frown in Heather’s direction as if to remind her that he was interviewing the homeowners and didn’t appreciate unsolicited input.

  “There is one other thing,” Violet s
aid. She got up and rummaged through the mail she’d left lying on the kitchen counter. When she returned to the table, she handed Detective Gates the forget-me-not card. “I’m not sure if it’s connected to the graffiti or not, but we just got this in the mail.”

  He flipped open the card and scanned the message inside. “Hmm. I’ll make some inquiries and see if anyone else in the neighborhood has got any prank cards or graffitied messages on their gates or mailboxes. I suspect it’s probably kids messing around. Halloween’s only a few weeks away, after all.” He snapped his notebook shut and got to his feet, throwing a lingering glance around the space. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

  “Thanks,” Boyd replied, shaking the detective’s hand before showing him to the front door.

  “Halloween? Puh…lease!” Violet fumed, the minute Boyd reappeared in the kitchen. “I warned you that would be a waste of time.”

  “At least it’s on record now in case anything else happens.” Boyd sat down heavily at the table and threw Heather a hopeful look. “Got any theories on who’s behind the graffiti?”

  Heather fought to keep her expression neutral. The theory that made the most sense was that this was about her. The card she’d received back in LA contained the word killer, too. But she was reluctant to divulge that to Boyd and Violet. It would lead to too many questions. She didn’t want to lie to them, but she didn’t want Violet to have to share the burden of her guilt over the terrible thing she’d done either. ”I’m not sure, but I’m working my way through a list of suspects. We can rule out Marco’s ex-employee, Danny Baxter, for starters. I visited him today and he’s confined to a wheelchair. He had a work-related accident. I’m going to talk to the other people on the list and see what comes of it.”

  Violet yawned and stretched. “Time for me and little bean to turn in. We’ve had more than enough excitement for one night.”