Class Reunions Are Murder

by Libby Klein

  Oh, lucky me.

  “You did interrupt my plans for the night. Can I come in?”

  I stood to the side, and waved my arm for her to enter. Figaro sauntered around the corner, sensing something was up I’m sure, and sat at the foot of the steps to give Amber the stink eye.

  Amber tapped her foot and looked around the foyer. “So where is it?”

  I led her to the library. “In here.”

  Aunt Ginny walked in carrying a tray with three cups of tea. “What is she doing here?”

  “She came for Officer Rogers.” Aunt Ginny and I shared a look of what else could go wrong tonight?

  I sat on one end of the couch and Aunt Ginny sat on the other. In her most gracious tone, Aunt Ginny offered, “Would you like to sit down?”

  Amber sat in a wing chair in front of the fireplace. Figaro jumped up on the mantel and glared at her like a gargoyle fending off evil juju.

  “So. Tell me what happened.”

  “We came home from”—I felt the heat rise to my face—“an outing. And we found this on the front porch.”

  Amber took out her cell phone to take a couple of pictures of the plant. “I’m guessing you touched everything and mucked up any evidence we might have found.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said with obvious irritation, “I should have been thinking about fingerprints instead of being stalked by a killer.”

  Aunt Ginny cleared her throat loudly. Amber rolled her eyes and took notes in her flip book.

  “I’ll take the flowers and note into evidence and see if we can pull anything off of them, but I suspect we’ll get nothing. Let’s pretend for a minute that you didn’t set this up to try and throw suspicion off of yourself.”

  “God, I knew you would go there!”

  Amber ignored my outburst. “Who have you been talking to lately? Who might you have stirred up?”

  “No one really. Just Kelly and Robert. Joanne, Kristen, Coach Wilcott, Joel, some people at the farmer’s market, the Moose Lodge—”

  “Okay, I get it. You’ve been running your mouth all over town. Great. That’ll really narrow it down.”

  I balled my fists up and had to shove them under my knees. “Why can’t you see that this proves I’m innocent? Why else would someone send me a death threat?”

  Amber closed her flip book and bagged the note. “It’s not hard for me to believe someone could hate you enough to want to kill you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Figaro flicked his tail and knocked a figurine of a girl on a swing off the shelf. It hit Amber on the head and she jerked her neck around to see where it came from.

  Aunt Ginny started to laugh but quickly covered it with a cough. Then she chastised Figaro by cuddling him off the mantel and cooing at him. “That was a very bad boy. Let’s get you some tuna.”

  The two of them went to the kitchen and I feigned an apology. “I’m sorry about that. He’s just a really good judge of character.”

  “Uh-huh.” Amber stood to go. She took the plant and the bagged note. “You’re pretty cocky for someone about to be charged with murder.”

  I was silent, because I knew if I responded, it would be with a fist.

  Amber spoke with measured calm. “In less than seventy-two hours, my final report will come in from the crime lab. If it matches all the other evidence and the eyewitness accounts like I think it will, I’ll be back. And we’ll both go for a little ride downtown.”

  “This is Cape May. There is no downtown.”

  She smiled a cruel smile that narrowed her eyes to slits. “You know what I mean! Now, I’ll go question the neighbors to see if someone saw something, but I don’t expect it’ll turn anything up. And quit nosing around town. If this really did come from outside, you’ve made another enemy. And this time your little friends won’t be able to back you up.”

  I watched her go. I’d obviously touched a nerve with someone and that someone was a killer. I just wish I knew which someone it was. Staying out of jail was now priority number two. Priority number one was not getting killed.

  Chapter 39

  My life is over. A psycho wants to kill me, Amber wants to put me away for a hundred years. And now I’m having chest pains. I think I’m dying. And I have terrible breath. When did I eat sardines?

  Mrrrrow.

  “Oh, it’s you.”

  Figaro had me pinned to the bed. He was either very compassionate about my circumstances or completely impervious to my pain.

  “If you love me you’ll go fetch me a cookie.” I’m finished with this stupid diet. I don’t want to die and regret not eating at the Fudge Kitchen one more time.

  Figaro laid his head down on my chest, settling in for a long pity party.

  How many hours of my life did I waste watching cooking shows? I should have been doing research like watching Orange Is the New Black and The Shawshank Redemption. They would have come in handy now.

  My cell phone rang the Wicked Witch theme. Figaro growled and jumped off the bed. I thought about ignoring it, but seeing as how my life was at an all-time low, how much worse could it get?

  “Hello, Georgina.”

  “Oh, my God. Are you still there?”

  “Yes, Georgina.”

  “The fundraiser is in six days. You need to get home.”

  “I probably won’t make it.”

  “Don’t you dare let me down, Poppy.”

  “Someone wants to kill me.”

  After a moment of silence Georgina responded, “Don’t be so dramatic.”

  “If I’m not dead I’ll be in jail, and Friday is too soon to count on parole.”

  “I’m calling Jim. You should have called him days ago. Honestly, you can’t do anything for yourself.”

  “I didn’t want one of the partners to know John’s wife was arrested for murder.”

  “Why? It’s not like they’ll be shocked.”

  “That’s nice. I gotta go now, Georgina.” I felt like every bit of the new Poppy I’d become since the night in jail with Bebe and Tawnika had just been beaten out of me by Amber and my mother-in-law.

  “You just be ready when Jim calls you back. I mean it. You drop whatever ridiculous—”

  “There goes my other line. I gotta take this. Bye, Georgina.”

  I hung up and threw the cell phone on the other side of the bed, then pulled the covers up over my head.

  Every kilowatt of energy went out of me.

  What felt like a few minutes later, someone was tapping on my forehead.

  “Who is it?” I asked from under the covers.

  “It’s me.”

  “Figaro?”

  Aunt Ginny pulled the covers off my face. “Very funny. When are you getting up?”

  “Never.”

  “You can’t just lie in here and hide. We need a plan to fight back.”

  “I’m not fighting back. I’m done.”

  I was in a funkier funk than the funk I was in before I came here to get out of my funk. Awesome. Back at home I only had to expend energy to get up and get cookie dough out of the fridge. Now I felt like I had to climb an ice-covered slope up an invisible mountain to prove my innocence . . . with no handholds. Game over.

  “We’ve come too far to give up now. Besides, I’m an old lady and you promised to help me fight Rosalynn Carter.”

  “Rosalind Carson.”

  “Who?”

  “Rosalind Carson. You said . . . never mind.”

  Aunt Ginny tottered out of the room, then turned back and said, “Don’t make plans for tonight. We’re going somewhere.”

  I hope it involves fake passports.

  I flung the covers off and sat on the edge of the bed. What I needed right now more than anything was a pack of raspberry coconut Zingers. I grabbed my cell phone and threw it in my purse. Forget the makeup, forget the yoga, forget the new outfit. Who was I kidding anyway? This is the beach. Wearing leggings and a long T-shirt I fit right in.

  I put on my flip-flops and headed fo
r the Corolla. Aunt Ginny and Figaro were on the front porch sitting on a wicker love seat. They didn’t try to stop me but I heard Aunt Ginny say, “Uh-oh,” as I went by.

  I drove to the nearest Wawa and bought two packs of Zingers and a Hostess lemon pie and ate them in the car with the oldies station playing “Bad Moon Rising.”

  There was a tap tap tap on my window, and I jumped and spilled mochacchino all over my T-shirt. Oh, good. It’s Tim. I vote suckiest day ever.

  I rolled down the window and turned off the radio. “Hi.”

  “Hey, gorgeous. Breakfast of champions, I see.”

  “It’s been a rough week.”

  “I bet. How about we get your mind off of things and go for coffee.”

  “I’m kind of busy right now.” You know, wallowing in shame.

  “I can see that. How about Tuesday, then? After my weekend shift.”

  “Sure. Sounds nice.” In fact let’s get married on Tuesday because that’ll happen too.

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at ten.”

  “Will Gigi be joining us?”

  Tim’s face broke into a knowing grin. “Not this time.”

  “Okay, then.”

  I rolled the window up and was about to put the car in reverse to get the heck out of there when my cell phone beeped that I had a voice message. It was from Sawyer.

  “Poppy, help! Can you please come over? AAAHH! It’s an emergency.”

  I didn’t even call her back. Just put the car on the road and drove right to her.

  Sawyer lived in a condo a block off the beach. It had been her father’s until he retired and moved to Hilton Head, South Carolina. Then he rented it out for the summer for a couple of years. After her divorce, Sawyer moved in.

  I parked in front of the sand-colored, three-story complex. Most of these condos were full of late-season guests and snowbirds who hadn’t made the trip back south yet, but a few of them belonged to year-round residents. Many of the balconies had beach towels and bathing suits draped over railings, making flapping noises in the ocean breeze.

  I ran up the three flights of steps and threw Sawyer’s door open. “I’m here!”

  The condo was a small studio meant for only one or two people. What it lacked in size was more than compensated for by the coziness Sawyer had lovingly created for herself. Instead of the typical lighthouse/seashell theme, Sawyer went with beach cottage white and aqua with accents of coral. The living–dining–kitchen area was about the size of my bedroom in Virginia, but it had a large balcony overlooking the Atlantic Ocean that made up for it. Right now the sliding glass door was open and you could hear the crash of the surf in the distance and the call of seagulls wafted in on the salty breeze.

  Sawyer was sitting on top of her granite counter with her legs dangling over the edge, drinking a cup of coffee.

  “Aren’t those your pajamas?”

  “Sawyer, what’s the emergency?”

  Then I got the shock of my life, as who should walk in from the bedroom but Kurt. “Hey, Poppy, how’s it going?”

  Sawyer gave me a weak smile. “A bird flew in through my door.”

  Kurt had something cradled in his hands. He walked over to the open balcony with it.

  I mouthed to Sawyer, And you called Kurt?

  Sawyer sipped her coffee and wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  Kurt opened his hands and a little sparrow flew out the door. “There you go, Cracker Jack. You’re all safe.”

  Sawyer put her coffee down and jumped off the counter. “Thanks for coming right over. I didn’t know who else to call.”

  Excuse me. Chopped Liver, party of one.

  “Hey, anytime.” Kurt looked at Sawyer like he wanted to say more.

  I watched the awkward moment between them as long as I could, then I kicked an issue of Real Simple off the coffee table.

  Kurt picked up his keys and turned for the door. “I guess I’d better go then.”

  I said, “Bye, Kurt.”

  Sawyer gave him a silent wave.

  When he had left, Sawyer and I started talking at once.

  “Are you out of your mind? Why would you call him?”

  “I know, I know, but I was really freaked out and you didn’t answer your phone.”

  “It took me like five minutes to get here.”

  We stared at each other for a beat.

  “Why is your face getting so puffy?”

  “I’m swelling up from eating snack cakes.”

  “What happened to your Paleo Diet?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. What was the big emergency? Your killer pterodactyl incident?”

  Sawyer blushed. “I got that text from my source that I’d been waiting for, about Billy Sommers.”

  “Finally.” This could be it. The clue we’ve been waiting for to blow the lid off this whole thing. “And?”

  Sawyer shook her head no. “He won the engineering award for making a solar-powered hot-dog cooker.”

  I was gutted. “Solar-powered what? That’s an award? You could literally cook the hot dogs in the package if you stick them in the sun. Why would you need an invention for that?”

  “What can I say, solar power was a big deal back then.”

  I sat on her couch, sulking. My face was starting to itch and my stomach was expanding. I didn’t realize how much better I had been feeling until now.

  “So I guess you’re going out dressed like that?”

  “Going where? I’m not going out.”

  “You promised Sabrina you’d go to her cheer competition this morning.”

  “Oh, crap. I forgot all about it.”

  You know, back in Virginia I was too far away for people to ask me to do things. That had a lot of appeal. I was also very lonely, but you gotta pick your battles.

  “Do I have time to go home and change?”

  “Not really. But you should at least comb your hair. And maybe wash it first. Let me get you a towel.”

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, we pulled up in front of the Wildwood Convention Center. The arena was buzzing with teenagers doused in glitter and bows, all atwitter about competing. Floor mats were set up in front of a row of judges and a backdrop had been constructed courtesy of sponsors. The largest sponsor in the middle was for the Dynasty Cheer Academy.

  I found Connie and Kim with other Caper High Cheer parents.

  Connie pulled me into a mom hug that reinforced my fear that I looked like crap on a cracker.

  “Our girls are up next.”

  The team was announced and the lights dimmed. The numerous loudspeakers began to boom out club music. Flashing strobe lights set to the bass line gave the feel of being at a rave. So I’d been told.

  The cheerleaders exploded onto the stage and went right into tumbling passes and jumps.

  Connie explained what we were watching because none of us had ever been a cheerleader. Or been friends with a cheerleader. Or been around a cheerleader without being humiliated.

  “Now they’re doing their lifts. Good girl, Sabrina. She’s the one on the top there.”

  Kim was clutching her cell phone, recording everything. “Don’t fall, catch her, there you go.”

  “This is the synchronization portion. They have to perform their jumps perfectly timed.”

  I was amazed at the athleticism of the young kids as they did their stunts. “Sabrina is really good.”

  Kim beamed, “I know, right?”

  “In fact, they’re all really good.”

  Sawyer pointed to the girl on the far end. “Except that poor little one over there.”

  Connie sighed. “That’s Athena.”

  I watched Athena for a minute. She tried really hard, but she was always just a little off. Story of my life, honey. Get used to it.

  “Sabrina told me they put her on the end in hopes that the judges don’t notice her as much.”

  Down in the front there was one cheerleader with her back to us, jumping on the sidelines doing all the mo
ves with the girls.

  “Is that Barbie’s replacement?”

  Connie shook her head. “Nope. Coach Wilcott had to step in and represent the girls today.”

  Coach Wilcott was down at the judges’ table looking awkward from his black whistle to his white sneakers. Anger rose up to the roots of my red hair. I got that death threat not long after being in his office. What if he’d seen me, and instead of attacking me right then and there decided to terrorize me?

  The routine was over and the lights came up. I marched down to the floor to question Coach Wilcott, but the sideline cheerleader cut me off. It was Missy. Dressed out to match the team.

  “Weren’t they wonderful?”

  “Missy. Hi, yeah. They were great.”

  “Did you see Athena? She was the one with the power moves on the end.”

  “I did see her.” She was like a train wreck. She caught your eye every time she messed up. You tried to look away but you just couldn’t do it.

  “Hey, since you’re here.” Missy hauled a purse up from the bleachers that was big enough to smuggle a refugee in. “Let me give you one of these.”

  “A flyer about the alumni bake sale?”

  “It’s tomorrow.”

  “Yes, I see that. But I don’t know if it’s a good idea that I attend, do you?”

  “Oh, I don’t want you to attend.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. I’ve been stuck with the job of heading it up, what with our dear friend’s passing and all. I want you to donate something.”

  “Well, that’s very generous.” Of me.

  I was starting to get a headache from the sugar. Maybe eating pie for breakfast wasn’t a great idea after all.

  “I think it could also help your character witness too, you know?”

  “I guess—”

  Missy cut me off. “Great. Have it to the school by ten a.m. Don’t be late. Now where is that girl? I’m so proud of her.”

  Something had begun to stir inside me while she had blathered on about the stupid bake sale. Everyone in town knew I was under the interrogation lights—and at this amazing moment in my life, Missy wanted me to bake brownies? I felt a thread of anger rising like smoke from a smoldering fire inside me.

  Missy was looking around me to find her daughter. “Oh, there she is. I’m going to go congratulate her.”