The Class Reunion: A psychological suspense thriller

by N L Hinkens

  28

  Six months prior

  Teresa opened the door of her father’s apartment to see two removal techs from the Gillpatrick Mortuary standing on the steps. Their expressions were a smooth blend of sympathetic and grave. “I’m Tyler Coffman,” one of the men said. “We spoke on the phone. Once again, I’m very sorry for your loss. This is my associate, Nick DuBois. We’re here to pick up your father’s remains.”

  Wordlessly, Teresa led them to the bedroom where her father had expired after she had rejected the hospice nurse’s recommendation to transfer him to a hospital. The last thing she had wanted was a hospital stay with needless interventions dragging out his death any longer than necessary. She had to get back to her animals.

  “Does your father have any valuables on him?” Tyler asked.

  Teresa let out a snort of laughter. “Have you seen this dump? Does it look to you like he’s leaving any valuables behind?” She ignored the reproachful tilt of Tyler’s brow. Playing the part of a grieving daughter was proving more irritating than she’d anticipated. Her father certainly hadn’t grieved the loss of her veterinary career, or the breakup of their family, or even Damien’s death. They’d had to pick up the pieces after he’d left them—broke, in every sense of the word.

  Damien had struggled the most. He had both hated his father for what he’d done and yearned for him at the same time. He had always been headstrong, but he started drinking heavily after their father walked away. Everything fell apart after that. Not even Damien’s death had brought her father back into her life. He had attended his son’s funeral and left abruptly after the burial. She hadn’t seen her father again until two days ago when she’d driven out to Wisconsin after the hospice nurse called to let her know he was on death’s door. She would have preferred it if he’d passed before she got here, but he’d stubbornly lingered on, seemingly determined to try and forge some last-minute sham of a relationship with her. She hadn’t reciprocated.

  “My associate and I will do a quick check to make sure your father’s not wearing any jewelry, or rings. Sometimes things get overlooked,” Tyler explained, in an infuriatingly gentle tone. “Would you like a few moments with your father?”

  Teresa twisted her lips. She’d had all the time with him she could stomach. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

  Tyler gestured discreetly to Nick who moved the gurney they had brought with them into position next to the bed.

  “If you’d prefer, you can wait outside for this part of the process,” Tyler said, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves.

  Teresa gave a curt nod and left them to it. Not because it troubled her to see her father wrapped in plastic and loaded onto the gurney like a piece of meat, but because her face was aching from faking a grieved expression. Minutes later, she watched as his body was wheeled out of the house to the van waiting to take his remains to the funeral home for cremation. She felt nothing inside. Just like she’d felt nothing when her father’s lawyer had notified her that she was the sole beneficiary to his estate—what little there was left of it.

  She would never forgive her parents for destroying her life. Their divorce had sent her world spiraling into an abyss of hardship and bitter disappointment. They had never shared the gory details of her father’s affair with her or Damien, only that he had cheated. Afterward, they had learned he had mismanaged the car wash business so badly that it owed more than it was worth. Her mother had been convinced he was trying to hide money from her. She’d hired lawyer after lawyer in an attempt to squeeze him dry. But it was only herself she pushed to the brink of financial ruin. The embarrassment and shame Teresa felt at having to drop out of veterinary school had scarred her deeply. It was the only thing she had ever truly wanted—a career working with the animals she loved.

  “Will you be attending the cremation?” Tyler asked, blinking solemnly at her.

  “No,” Teresa replied. “That would be too …” Inconvenient came to mind, among several other words, but she restrained herself. “ … too troubling for me.”

  Tyler inclined his head. “I’ll let the mortuary director know your wishes. My condolences once again.”

  Teresa closed the door behind him and let out a sigh of relief as she watched the mortuary van drive off down the road.

  She turned and cast a disparaging look around the space. The one-bedroom apartment her father had been living in was a hovel compared to the home she had grown up in. She was almost certain she would find nothing of value here. Initially, she’d been hoping to score something she could sell, but the contents would likely prove to be worth less than the cost of cleaning the place up. At least she could get the deposit back. The apartment manager had indicated that she would also have to clean out the storage area where her father kept moldy boxes of old files from the business. Another chore she didn’t relish undertaking. She made her way to the kitchen and poured herself a shot of vodka. No time like the present. She might as well begin sorting through things and tossing whatever she could. The sooner she got back to Iowa and her beloved pets, the better. She hadn’t planned on being gone for three straight days. Her neighbor’s kids were coming over twice a day to feed the dogs, but they wouldn’t give them the attention they deserved. No one loved them like she did.

  Grabbing a handful of trash bags, she walked back to her father’s bedroom. She yanked open the drawer in the nightstand and poked through the contents with disgust. Reading glasses, motorcycle magazines, used tissues, miscellaneous receipts, a handful of coins, and a bottle of melatonin. It only affirmed what she’d already suspected—the apartment contained nothing more than the worthless remnants of a life that no one would mourn. She quickly swept the contents into a trash bag and then closed the drawer back up. A plastic storage tub beneath the bed revealed an electric blanket which appeared to be missing the power cord, and an extra pillow, yellowed with age. She added both items to the trash bag. Next, she opened the closet and rummaged through the clothes. Most of them were in decent shape, if somewhat out of style. Someone in the apartment complex might be able to use them. She would leave them on the doorstep and tape a free sign to the door. It would save her the trouble of hauling them out of here. When she was done loading the clothes into a bag, she started on the shoes. The tiny closet didn’t take long to empty. She stood and stretched, eying the shelf above. Judging by the dust that had accumulated, it hadn’t been touched in a while. She stood on her tiptoes and lifted down a shoebox, wrinkling up her nose and sneezing as dust billowed down on her face.

  She sank down on the bed and removed the lid. The box held a jumble of miscellaneous items; everything from newspaper articles about the car wash business over the years, to a certified copy of her parents’ divorce decree. Teresa lifted it out and stared at it with revulsion. That single sheet of paper represented everything that had been stolen from her. In a sudden fit of rage she began shredding it, grinding her teeth in the process. When she was done, she scowled down at the pieces scattered over the floor like the broken shards of her life. Her hatred hadn’t died with her father, it had only intensified. Vaulting to her feet, she strode into the kitchen and poured herself another shot. She needed something to calm her rage. Just until she could get through the cleanup and blaze a trail out of here. She should have made her mother handle her father’s affairs as penance for everything she’d put them through—frittering away every last dime they had on lawyers. The estate wasn’t worth collecting on. She was already regretting wasting her time driving out here.

  After a few minutes, she returned to the bedroom and picked up where she had left off. Gingerly, she lifted down another shoebox. Just like the first one, it contained a hodgepodge of items collected over the years, none of which were of any significance to her. Halfway through tossing the contents, she pulled out a folded piece of blue construction paper. Written on the back were the words: Damien, kindergarten. Teresa smoothed the paper out on her lap and stared at the four crayon stick figures with elongated fingers an
d oversized smiles, along with the obligatory sun in the background shining down on them. She let out a snort of disgust. An idyllic lineup that bore no resemblance to how things had turned out for the Kinney clan. Teresa flattened her lips, a familiar rage seething inside. She crumpled the paper in her fist and tossed it into the trash bag. She was sick and tired of going through her father’s belongings. If he had thought any of it would mean something to her, it didn’t.

  She reached for the rest of the papers in the box and flung them into the trash bag without even glancing at them. Something fell out and rolled away from her. She got down on her hands and knees and peered under the bed, her eyes widening when she spotted the gold band. She picked it up and twisted it around in her fingers as she read the inscription: Judy, 06/07/75. Her father had actually kept his wedding ring—more likely, forgotten it was in there. Teresa pocketed it. Gold at least had trade-in value, unlike memories.

  She tossed the empty shoebox in the trash bag and retrieved the remaining box from the shelf. Perched on the edge of the bed, she rummaged aimlessly through the contents. It was mostly old photographs, and she had no interest in reliving the lies of her childhood. She flipped through several pictures and then came to a sudden halt at one photo in particular. She lifted it out and studied it. Her heart slugged against her ribs.

  It was her father—standing in front of his car wash business, his arm snaked around the waist of one of his young blonde employees who was leaning up to kiss him.

  29

  Teresa propped the photo up against a stack of books on the kitchen table and slumped down in a chair without taking her eyes off it. In her right hand, she held an empty shot glass. She’d lost count of how many drinks she’d put away, but it didn’t matter. She was celebrating—a double celebration. A toast to her father’s death, but also to the gift he’d inadvertently left her. Revenge. Against all odds, he had left her something of value after all. The blonde in the photo was the reason Teresa’s life had ended up the way it had. She should have been Teresa Kinney, Doctor of Veterinary Medicine. Instead, she’d been reduced to working as a game warden—or conservation officer, as the Department of Natural Resources liked to dress it up as. Blondie was also the reason her father’s meager estate amounted to a dozen or so black trash bags and an obsolete wedding ring. More important, Blondie was the reason Damien was dead. She had taken his father away from him at a time when he needed him most. He had fallen apart as a result. Whether she knew it or not, she was responsible for Damien’s death.

  Teresa exhaled slowly in and out, trying to restrain herself from poking the girl’s eyes out with a ballpoint pen. She couldn’t allow herself to vent her rage—she needed to preserve the photo. At least until she had identified who the girl was, which shouldn’t be too hard. She was wearing an Elite Finish uniform which indicated that she’d been an employee at one point.

  All Teresa had to do was go through her father’s business files until she found his old employee records. She wouldn’t need anything more than a last name and a social security number to track the girl down. But it would have to wait until morning. It was too dark down in that musty old storage unit to begin the process of digging through the boxes tonight. Besides, she was too drunk. Shakily, she poured herself another shot. It had been a stroke of good luck that she hadn’t tossed out that final shoebox. It was meant to be. Things worked out for a reason. Blondie would get what was coming to her—sadly, two decades too late to save Damien. All Teresa could do now was take what she’d been given and avenge her brother’s death.

  It was close to ten o’clock the next morning before she woke up. She uncurled her cramped legs from the couch where she had spent an uncomfortable night, groaning as she sat up and assessed her condition. She had a throbbing headache from overindulging in vodka, and a kink in her neck from lying wrong on the lumpy cushions. As uncomfortable as the couch was, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to sleep in the same bed that her father had died in.

  She padded across the floor and switched on the coffeemaker, her eyes going straight to the photo she had left propped up on the table. During the course of the night it had tipped over and was lying face down—a symbolic nod to the destruction Teresa was about to unleash. Whatever charmed existence Blondie was currently leading was about to come to a screeching halt. And Teresa knew exactly how that would play out. But first, she had to find out who the woman was and track her down.

  After downing a mug of cheap coffee, she grabbed the keys to her father’s apartment and made her way down to his storage locker in the communal basement. After fiddling with the key for several frustrating minutes, she managed to work the padlock open. She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the fusty scent that tickled her nostrils—not unlike the stench of death itself—from the archived life now boxed up in front of her. She was beginning to regret not having brought some gloves with her.

  With an air of resolve, she opened the first mold-speckled cardboard file box and got to work. An hour later, she had barely made a dent in the stack that reached to the ceiling. Claustrophobia was closing in. She had no idea how people could spend all day every day at meaningless jobs going through paperwork, filing it, researching it, and ultimately adding to the never-ending mountains of it that filled the planet. She let out a disgusted sigh. She was sick of being trapped in the gloomy basement. She desperately missed her animals—her own little family. With them, she could close the door on the outside world and bask in their unconditional love. Not the kind of broken human love that was dispensed or withdrawn at will and could disappear one day without any warning.

  The sound of shuffling caught her attention, and she threw a sharp glance over her shoulder. An elderly man with a cane was making his way toward her. She groaned inwardly. Her patience was wearing thin and the last thing she needed was an aging cripple wasting her time.

  “You must be Bill’s daughter,” the man said, raising a gnarled hand in greeting. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Teresa cocked her head to one side. “You know, I’ve never really understood why they call family members beneficiaries at a time of such … loss,” she said, with an edge of thinly veiled sarcasm. She gestured to the boxes around her. “Some benefit, right? I get to clean up his mess.”

  Confusion pooled in the old man’s rheumy eyes. He blinked uncertainly back at her, as if reassessing the situation. “Well, I shall certainly miss my chats with your father. He loved to talk about his kids, you know.”

  “I suppose that’s all you can do when you don’t have a relationship with them.”

  The old man cleared his throat. “I can see you’re busy. I’ll leave you to it.” He raised his cane in parting and hobbled back down the corridor and out of sight.

  Teresa straightened up and massaged her neck. Sitting hunched over these boxes was not helping whatever she’d done to it last night. She needed to speed this process up and get out of here. Maybe she should try a different strategy. She got to her feet and balanced on a file box, then began tossing boxes to the floor, not caring if they landed upside down or whether the contents spilled. Stepping back down to the floor, she opened the first box at her feet. The task was taking longer than she had expected because nothing was organized.

  After sifting through multiple boxes of everything from vendor contracts to utility bills, she tackled another batch of boxes and stumbled, at last, on what she was looking for—a box of employee records. She held her breath as she lifted out the first folder. Anderson, Tonya. Flicking through the files, she determined that she’d found the records for A through H. With no idea what Blondie’s name was, Teresa had no choice but to start at the beginning and work her way through the files to the end.

  By the time she made it through the second box containing I through P, her frustration had reached boiling point. Her head was pounding like a bad rock concert. She needed more coffee. Better yet, another shot of vodka might be in order. If it wasn’t for the fact that she had a three-and-a-half-hour dr
ive back home ahead of her, she would be sorely tempted.

  Gritting her teeth, she resolved to buckle down and finish what she had started. After discarding several more boxes of receipts and advertising brochures, she finally discovered the remaining employee files, R through Z. One-by-one, she pulled them out and flicked through them searching for a faded head shot that would match the girl in the photo. Several of the passport-sized photos had worked their way free of the paperclip attaching them to the employment application and were lying loose in the file, which only dragged the process out even further.

  As her discard pile grew larger—Raines, Ramirez, Rassi, Rebholz, Reed, Reuter, Ritter, Rivera, Robertson—her frustration mounted. She glanced at the name on the next file in her hand—Robinson, Lindsay. She flicked it open, poised to add it to the discard pile. Her breath caught in her throat.

  Blondie smiled back at her from the pages of her résumé like the cat who’d got the cream.

  30

  Armed with all the information she needed, Teresa left her father’s storage locker in disarray and hurried back upstairs to the apartment to pack up her stuff. She no longer cared about getting the measly deposit back from the landlord. The inherited mess was his problem now. She had everything she wanted in hand. As soon as she got back home, she would throw all her efforts into hunting down Lindsay Robinson and punishing her for destroying her life, her dreams, and her family. She would begin by looking up the old address in Lindsay’s employee file. There was a chance her parents still lived there, and she could get the information on Lindsay’s current whereabouts from them directly. If not, it wouldn’t be too hard to find out where Lindsay had moved to now that Teresa had all of her personal information at her disposal. And once she found her, she would hatch a plan for revenge.