by Rebecca York
Even Perry Palmer. Olivia had always considered him a space cadet. A few minutes ago she’d heard him telling Linda that he had his PhD and was doing research at the Johns Hopkins Applied Physics Lab. Well, good for him, she thought before her attention switched back to Max.
She watched the people’s expressions close up a bit when he steered the conversation down a less pleasant avenue—the one that had brought her down from New York. “I guess you all heard about what happened to Angela Dawson,” he said when the noise level in the room dropped a little. “Pretty scary.”
The rest of the conversations stopped dead. The sound of Ben Campbell crunching on a potato chip was the only noise in the room.
The guy Max was talking to, Joe Gibson, filled the sudden quiet. Tall and thin with a shock of thick sandy hair, Joe had been the president of the business club. Now an insurance agent in Ellicott City, he appeared to have combed his hair to the side to conceal a rapidly retreating hairline.
“Yeah, I read about it in the Baltimore Sun. It’s a damn shame. She had such potential.”
“You were friends with her?” Max asked.
He gave a little shake of his head. “She was more the all-work-and-no-play type. At least after high school.”
Olivia gave Joe an assessing look. Back in high school, he hadn’t had much respect for women. She suspected that hadn’t changed.
As some of the classmates lowered their voices and speculated about the murder, Olivia watched Max observing the members of the group without appearing to be particularly watchful. Again he used a natural opportunity to widen the discussion. “You remember Gary Anderson?” he inquired.
“Wasn’t he found in a drainage ditch?” Jill Cole asked with a little shudder. She had been heavy in high school. Olivia noticed that she’d slimmed down considerably. Good for her.
Max nodded.
“What does that have to do with Angela?” Tommy Larson asked in the aggressive voice she remembered from ten years ago. “It was in winter on a freezing day. Gary’s car crapped out on him… He was walking to get help and slipped.”
“You know a lot about it,” Max observed drily.
“I knew him. Not well. And the only thing I know about the accident was what I read in the paper—or what people were saying at the funeral,” Tommy added quickly.
Max kept his expression open. “I saw both their names in your yearbook when I was looking to see who might be at the meeting tonight. Isn’t that a little strange, for two people in your class to, uh, end up dead under questionable circumstances?” He shrugged casually, but Olivia knew he was carefully cataloging everyone’s reaction. She also noticed that he hadn’t mentioned Patrick Morris, who had died in his house from carbon monoxide poisoning. It was probably because Max didn’t want to make it look like he was focused on deaths in the reunion class.
Still, she knew he’d already done that when Brian Cannon demanded, “Are you trying to make something of that?” His chilled voice cut through the previously friendly atmosphere.
“Uh, no,” Max answered. “But I was thinking that maybe you all ought to stay aware of your surroundings.”
Some of the people in the room looked like they didn’t want to hear that advice.
“Noted,” Tommy clipped out.
Did that mean he knew for certain he was in no danger because he was the perp? Or was he just putting up a macho front to maintain his image?
Tommy kept his gaze on Max, then went into aggressor mode. “What are you doing here exactly? You’re not part of our class. The invitation only went out to class members.” That was something else she remembered, the quarterback often going on the offensive.
“Olivia and I are spending as much time together as possible. She asked if I’d like to come to the meeting, and I said I would.”
Tommy folded his arms across his chest. “I thought it was only for class members. You weren’t in our class.”
“Then why did you bring a date?” Olivia asked.
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“She’s staying in the background.”
Like women are supposed to, Olivia thought, but didn’t voice the comment.
Linda jumped in. “Of course Olivia’s fiancé is welcome if he wants to help out. There’s a lot to do, and we can use all the worker bees we can get.”
There were some murmurs around the room. Then the general conversation picked up, most people sticking with deliberately cheerful subjects like children, the purchase of new homes, and the remodeling of old ones.
It was all pretty casual in a one-upmanship sort of way, with everybody trying to make it clear how successful they were. Olivia found herself trying to fight off a headache. It was so strange being back here. She admitted to herself that she’d been intimidated by these people when she was in high school. Now she didn’t have to prove anything to them.
Before they got too far into the small talk, Linda banged a spoon against a glass, getting everybody’s attention and saying that they should get the meeting started.
Max rejoined Olivia from where he’d been standing with a group of guys and took the chair next to hers as the rest of her former classmates arranged themselves around the table.
When everybody was seated, Linda passed out sheets of paper with her agenda. Max read his rapidly, then leaned back in his chair, looking totally relaxed and interested in the proceedings, even making a suggestion for a place where the barbecue could be held.
He even got out a ballpoint pen and little notebook and began taking notes.
Olivia was relieved that the meeting settled down to an easy give and take. Most of the attention shifted away from her and Max, although she caught some of the others around the table eyeing him. When Linda asked her if she was willing to work on the committee sending out promotional materials, she agreed to help, thinking that she could always back out later.
“I want to kick-start this ten-year anniversary celebration,” Linda said as the meeting drew to a close. “So I think we should meet again in two weeks to see what progress everybody has made.”
There was general agreement, and with the official business concluded, Olivia wanted to duck out. But Max seemed to be in no hurry to leave. Apparently he was still taking the opportunity to observe everybody.
People drifted into little groups to chat or congregate around the snack table. A few people came up to Olivia, but the conversations were stiff. She had been away for almost ten years. Most of the other people at the meeting had stuck around the area and probably got together from time to time.
She watched Max help himself to a buffalo wing, then turn and smile as Laura Jordan came gliding up to him. Laura was a curvy brunette who had been considered sophisticated back in high school. Ten years had only accentuated her charms. She and Max were on the other side of the room, but Olivia could tell from the bombshell’s body language that Laura had no compunctions about coming on to another woman’s fiancé.
As Olivia watched Laura move in on Max, a jolt of primitive emotion shot through her, taking her by surprise. When she realized it was jealousy, she sternly reminded herself that she had no right to be possessive of Max Lyon. He wasn’t really her fiancé. He was only here with her on an undercover assignment, and the engagement had been the best way to give him access to the group. Still, when he glanced in her direction and caught her watching him, he looked a bit uncomfortable. Excusing himself, he crossed the room to where she was still sitting.
“Maybe it’s time to go home, sweetheart,” he said, his voice loud enough to carry around the room, his hand cupping possessively over her shoulder.
Knowing that he was just playing a part, Olivia flushed. But she stood obediently and leaned into him as he slung his arm around her waist.
Still strung tight as a rubber band about to snap, Olivia looked up to see that Laura had followed Max and was studying Olivia with a little smirk on her face. Olivia couldn’t help wondering if the other woman was comp
aring their bodies. Olivia was model thin. Laura had a lot more for a man to grab on to.
With a smirk, she asked, “So how did you two get together anyway? Was it a case of opposites attract?”
Olivia’s mouth went dry as cotton.
But Max smoothly repeated the response he’d given to some of the others earlier, about their meeting at a party and starting to talk about finances.
“But you trust him with your money as well as…uh…everything else,” Laura observed sweetly.
“Yes,” Olivia managed, thinking that the evening had gone pretty well until now.
“Is marriage going to interfere with your career?”
“No.”
“But you aren’t planning to get pregnant?”
“These days, that’s not a deterrent,” Olivia said. “Several of the Victoria’s Secret models had babies and continued to work. I could name a lot of them, like Heidi Klum, Adriana Lima…”
“But for now, I think we know how to avoid that,” Max added.
“You’re both living in New York?”
The questions were coming fast, too fast for Olivia to think. She’d held herself together through the meeting, but it had suddenly become difficult to maintain her cool.
Prickles of tension gnawed at her, and the headache she’d pushed to the background was suddenly pounding in her temples like a stereo speaker with the bass jacked up too high.
Chapter 4
Rescue came from the man with his arm around her. “It’s been a fun meeting, but it’s past our bedtime,” Max said in a loud voice.
Beside him, Olivia blinked, knowing he’d chosen those words and the loud tone for a very specific purpose—to make it seem like they were anxious to get home and jump each other’s bones.
She flushed as her pretend fiancé steered her out of the room. She walked stiffly beside him down the hall, neither one of them speaking, because they were both aware that the wrong people might be listening. Was anyone watching them from the doorway? The loving couple, who in reality barely knew each other.
Max held on to her all the way down the hall. It had still been light when they’d walked into the restaurant. As they stepped outside, Olivia saw it was dark. The air had cooled off, and she shivered as they headed for Max’s vehicle.
As they walked, he pulled out his phone and pressed the redial button, which meant he must be checking in with his partners.
“Nothing?” he asked.
When the man on the other end of the line agreed, he put the phone back in his pocket.
They didn’t speak to each other until they had climbed into the car. Turning to her, he said in a voice that helped dispel the chill she’d been feeling, “You did well.”
“So did you. Thanks.”
He nodded as he started the engine, pulled out of the parking space, and headed for her house. Well, to the house where she had grown up. Her parents were both gone now. Mom had passed while Olivia was still in high school, and Dad followed a few years after she’d left home. In fact, it was the money Mom had left her that had made it possible for her to pick up and go to New York. When Dad had died, she’d thought about selling the farm property.
But her financial advisor had told her to hang on to the house and surrounding acreage because the land was only going to go up in value. Since she hadn’t wanted to simply leave the house to deteriorate and she could afford to keep it up, she’d had workmen come in over the years to make sure everything was in good repair. And she didn’t have to feel guilty that valuable farmland was simply sitting idle. The guy who owned the next property over leased the land to grow corn and tomatoes.
With the house still in the family, she had a base of operations here. She’d paid a company to come in and give it a thorough cleaning before she’d arrived—with her new fiancé in tow. She fought a grimace. What was everyone going to think when they found out the whole marriage deal had been just a ruse to give Max the freedom he needed to investigate the incidents? Because deep down she was sure they had been murder.
“What?” Max asked, and she knew he’d seen her reaction. That was something she found hard to deal with. He picked up on everything. Well, she amended, it was a good thing—as long as he wasn’t focused on her.
“I was just thinking about the people at the meeting,” she fibbed.
“Are they the way you remember them?”
“Pretty much. Older versions of the kids who were in school with me. Well, Jill Cole slimmed down a lot,” she said, then glanced at Max. “You think I’m too concerned with people’s looks?”
“Naw. It’s part of your training.”
She was relieved he hadn’t thought less of her for that. Then she was annoyed with herself for caring. She’d hired him to do a job, and his opinion of her wasn’t relevant. Or it shouldn’t be. Changing the subject as they headed for the western part of the county, she asked, “Did anyone seem suspicious?”
“You mean, did I think any of them was the killer?”
“I guess it would be a little hard to tell.”
“There was no aha moment, if that’s what you mean. Of course, I did get a reaction when I mentioned two of your deceased classmates in the same breath.”
She nodded. Trying to figure out how the deaths were tied together was one of the first things Max had done—as opposed to the local police who didn’t even think that Gary and Patrick had been murdered, as far as she could tell. That was one of the reasons she’d contacted Rockfort Security. When she’d spoken to the local cops, they’d assured her they were investigating Angela’s death. But she had been frustrated by their lack of progress and their inability to tie together what had happened to Angela, Gary, and Patrick. Of course, to be fair, if Gary and Patrick had been murdered, someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make their deaths look like accidents. And then there was the problem of motive. Why them? And why Angela?
When she’d gotten the news about Gary and Patrick, Olivia had been in the midst of grueling shooting schedules—one for a new designer line of evening wear and the other for swimsuits. She hadn’t been able to come down for either funeral. But when Angela had turned up murdered, the news had sent a chill up Olivia’s spine. Patrick’s death really could have been an accident. So could Gary’s for that matter. But her gut had told her otherwise, and she’d been seized by the conviction that she had to take action—before someone else died.
She wasn’t sure why she knew there was going to be a next time. But the anticipation had gnawed at her, and she’d started investigating local detective agencies. She’d gotten some good recommendations for Rockfort Security, and they had felt right. But had she made a hasty decision by teaming up with Max? She hoped not. In almost every way, he was perfect for the job. That he’d gone to Donley was a plus. But Olivia hadn’t counted on the simmering sexual dynamic she sensed between them. She thought the attraction was mutual and wondered if they would struggle to keep the relationship on a strictly professional level.
She shifted her gaze toward Max. “You still think it could be a woman?”
“I don’t want to discount it.”
“But what’s the motive?”
“What’s the motive if it’s a man?” he countered.
They’d been over this several times, and Max had been digging into the backgrounds of the victims. So far, he hadn’t come up with anything that connected them besides being in the same graduating class and sharing some classes and activities. Olivia knew he was hoping she could supply a connection—if she thought back about the relationships. Or if she was honest with him about her high school years. But wasn’t that asking too much? Who wanted to look back at the fears and insecurities of high school?
They drove in silence toward her parents’ house, past a couple of small, well-lit shopping centers that hadn’t been in existence when she’d lived in the county.
“The area’s changed,” she murmured, voicing her thoughts aloud as she took in the signs of civilization encroaching on what h
ad been open fields.
“For better or worse?” Max asked.
“Depends on whether you think strip malls and housing developments are better than farms.”
He nodded. “But there are some advantages to civilization. You can run out for a pizza without driving twenty minutes each way.”
“Right. You can even have that pizza delivered,” she agreed, thinking that when she’d been little, the county services out here had been minimal. They didn’t even have garbage collection back then. Mom would carefully gather the vegetable scraps at the sink, then take them outside and toss them over one of the fields near the house. The health department probably would cite you for doing something like that now. You had to use an approved composting container.
There was no light at the end of the entrance road, and Max slowed as he looked for the driveway.
“There’s a redbud tree next to the mailbox,” Olivia said.
“Sorry. I guess I never got into tree identification.”
“The ones with the gorgeous little pink flowers in spring. Two weeks of eye-popping glory. Then just big leaves shaped like shields.”
“Okay. Yeah. I think I know what they look like when they’re blooming. They’re all over the woods, right?”
“Yes.”
“But I never noticed the leaves.”
He spotted the tree and turned at the lane that led to her old house. As he bumped up the gravel road, a couple of floodlights went on, and she took a good look at the house where she’d grown up. It was vintage farm property like a thousand others in this part of Maryland. The hundred-year-old house was dwarfed by the barn that stood thirty yards to the right. Generations of Winterses had lived here, and she understood why Dad had stayed on, even when he’d gotten too old to farm. The thought of breaking her ties with this place made her chest tighten. She might have struggled hard to escape her background, but it seemed it would always be in her soul.
