Class Reunions Are Murder

by Libby Klein

Athena was standing off to the side, not part of the group. The rest of the cheerleaders had moved like a pack of meerkats to the side of the arena to await their scores. I felt sorry for her. I remember very well what it was like to not quite fit in.

  Then I saw someone who made the smolder inside burst into flame.

  Coach Wilcott stepped away from the judges’ table, and I grabbed him by the whistle.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute, please?”

  “Joy Peterson?”

  “Who?”

  “Isn’t that your name?”

  “No. But I think you already know that.”

  I pulled the coach away from the competition to the empty bleachers. “Did you threaten me?”

  “What? No. What are you, some kind of lunatic?” The coach looked around nervously, but there was too much noise from the next cheer group for anyone to notice us.

  “Look, I know you lied about being at the reunion the other night because I saw you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His eyes darted side to side, looking for a way of escape.

  “And I’ve had sources tell me that you were seen colluding with Barbie Clark on several occasions—something else you lied about.”

  “So. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I think you killed Barbie at the reunion.”

  He sputtered at that. “Wh-what? That’s ridiculous. Why would I do that?”

  “Because she was blackmailing you. She found out you were giving the basketball players steroids.”

  The blood drained from his face, and he looked like he was going make a run for it.

  “How did you find out?”

  “The secret meetings, your recent money problems, it all adds up. Barbie threatened to turn you in for dosing the team.”

  “You’re wrong. She threatened to turn me in if they lost. The steroids were her idea. She wanted a winning season to showcase her cheerleaders. Better scores meant better turnout and better turnout meant more exposure for the teams, both hers and mine. She wanted me to keep giving out the steroids, and she had secretly recorded me agreeing to use them. She said she’d go to the police if I stopped.”

  The coach started to cry. “Look, I don’t have much left, I had to buy all those steroids on the Internet, and that blond witch bled me dry making me buy all new mats and equipment for her cheerleaders, but I’ll give you what I can to keep quiet.”

  “Oh no! I’m not going to jail for a murder you committed, buddy.”

  “What? I didn’t murder anyone. I mean I’m not sorry she’s dead, either, this gets me out of a real jam. But I didn’t kill her.”

  “You had a motive, you were at the reunion, and I know you have syringes in your med kit so you had access to the murder weapon.”

  “No, I don’t!” He yanked open the med kit. “Here, check. I don’t have anything like what you’re talking about.”

  “Then how do you inject the steroids?”

  He pulled out an old Excedrin bottle and opened it. “They’re pills. See.”

  Oh. Whoops. “Well, if you didn’t kill her, then why would you lie about being at the reunion?”

  His lip started to quiver again. “Please don’t tell anyone. I can’t afford another strike. I was only spying on Francie to keep her safe. She started dating that imposter, Enrique. He’s not even Spanish. He’s from Hoboken.”

  Where is this going? “Go on.”

  “Then she caught me and got a restraining order. I can’t be within fifty feet of her except when we’re at work.”

  “That’s why you were arrested?”

  “She’s having a midlife crisis, and when it’s over and she sees him for who he really is, she’ll come back to me.”

  Sure she will. Who could pass all this up? “So where did you disappear to the night of the reunion?”

  “I saw Francie and Dwight—that’s his real name, Dwight—I checked. I saw them leave the gym together and I followed them out to the back lot.”

  “And you spied on them?”

  He nodded and sobbed out a hiccup. “Going at it like a couple of teenagers in that polyester playboy’s Chevy Impala.”

  I handed him a tissue from my purse. He could be lying, but it was hard to fake that level of pathetic. The coach was a dead end.

  Connie was waving me over from across the arena. Sabrina had rejoined the girls and I wanted to praise her for how well she had done.

  “You were wonderful!”

  “Thank you. I’m not as good as Tiffany, but I’m working on it. Aunt Poppy, you’re kind of a mess. What happened?”

  Connie turned scarlet. “Sabrina!”

  Sabrina looked away from me and fiddled with her bow. “Well, she is.”

  “I had a rough night.” I pulled out my phone and showed the girls the picture I took of the plant before it was taken into evidence. “Someone sent me this with a nasty note attached.”

  “Convallaria majalis,” Sabrina said.

  “What did you just say?”

  “Convallaria majalis,” Sabrina repeated. “Lily of the valley. It’s poisonous.”

  “How did you know that?” Kim asked.

  “It’s on my biology test. We’re doing botany this quarter.”

  Sawyer pulled out her cell phone and Sabrina spelled it for her. “Lily of the valley. Extremely toxic if ingested.”

  I was stunned. That’s what Mrs. Pritchard had been trying to tell me. “This is what the police were looking for in my yard the other day.”

  Kim took the cell phone from Sawyer. “They didn’t find any, did they?”

  “Not that I know of. I’ve never seen it before last night. But now I know why it smelled so familiar. I thought it was Barbie’s perfume the night of the murder. She had a faint floral scent about her.”

  So the killer sent me a threat attached to more evidence against me and I turned it over to the police. I may as well have begged Amber to arrest me.

  Chapter 40

  I felt sick to my stomach. Not just from the realization that I’d given Amber more evidence incriminating myself, but from the sugar rush in my breakfast tantrum. I had to go home and lie down.

  Aunt Ginny was dressed in a netted pith helmet and safari khakis and she was spraying the rosebushes by the front gate. I would have said something, but my hair was frizzed out with angry thoughts, I had lemon pie filling and coffee stains on my pajamas, and I could feel a zit beginning to form on my forehead.

  We stared at each other for a couple of seconds, then sighed and each went on our way.

  I had to peel my pants off, because they were cutting off my circulation now. How can something that tastes so good make you feel so bad? I lay down and started to cry.

  I thought about Bebe and Tawnika, and wondered what they would say about my “Rich White Girl” pity-party.

  Figaro came in to sit on the bed to grieve with me.

  I dozed off and woke up sometime later and thought I was having a hot flash. Figaro was sleeping on my head like an ushanka hat. I scooped him down to my arms and cuddled him. He nuzzled me, purring until he heard Aunt Ginny’s call.

  “Here, kittykittykittykitty!”

  Then he shot out of my room like he was headed for the last lifeboat on the sinking Titanic. So much for loyalty.

  I sat up and spied a wrapped present sitting on the dresser. That wasn’t there before I fell asleep. I opened it and found a beautiful little watercolor of an ugly caterpillar forming a cocoon. The caption read: “Rewrite Your Script.” It was signed “GinnyMac.”

  It took my breath away. Aunt Ginny had painted it for me. I was the ugly little caterpillar and it was my choice if I wanted to stay that way or go through the pain of change. I put it on the mirror until I could frame it. I took a look at my reflection. “Just keep trying,” I told myself.

  I took a shower and conditioned my hair. I schmeared all my beauty products on my skin and face and applied my makeup. I blow-dried and styled my hair and a
pplied a de-frizzing finisher. Then I put on a blue maxi dress and silver sandals. After a spritz of my new perfume I headed downstairs.

  Aunt Ginny was in the sunroom with Figaro on her lap. I walked over to her and gave her a hug.

  “What’s that for?”

  “My beautiful present. I love it.”

  Aunt Ginny blushed. “Just a little doohickey for you.”

  * * *

  I made us some water with lemon and mint, took all my supplements that I had ignored that morning, and we sat in the sunroom to take stock of our situation.

  I handed Aunt Ginny a glass. “I think we can rule out the coach as a suspect. He’s guilty of giving steroids to minors without their parents’ consent, but I don’t think he killed Barbie.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “He was spying on his ex-wife making out in the back parking lot at the time of the murder.”

  “Did anyone see him out there?”

  “Joanne was walking off a verbal assault from Barbie. I can ask her.”

  “Well, let’s hope she saw something useful. What about Mr. Plumber?”

  “He definitely had an affair with Barbie. Kristen knows about it. But he said he was in the other gym shooting hoops when she was murdered.”

  “Who was he playing hoopies with?”

  “I think he said Pete and Troy.”

  Aunt Ginny took out a little brush from a side drawer and started to run it through Figaro’s fur. Fig opened one eye like he was trying to figure out just what was happening, then he gave up on it and went back to sleep. “You need to give them a call. What about the wife? If she knows about the affair, do you think she killed her?”

  “His wife had all kinds of access to syringes what with her fertility treatment and being a nurse and all, and they are both at the school every day and know where the security cameras are. Plus, they could use the chem lab at the school without encountering much suspicion. But she’s nine months pregnant. I mean—come on.”

  “If she’s crazy enough to have a baby to save her marriage, she’s probably crazy enough to kill to save it too. I personally would have killed the husband for cheating on me before I went after the other woman, but that’s just me.”

  Hmm. What did happen to Aunt Ginny’s third husband, Uncle Gush? I forced that thought back to the recesses of my brain.

  “Billy is still missing, but his science fair award was a dead end. We need to know what happened between him and Barbie. There were a lot of rumors flying around about something unforgivable that happened, but I haven’t found out what it was yet. Mrs. Dodson still hasn’t gotten back to me either.”

  “You’ll see her tonight.”

  “I will?”

  Aunt Ginny nodded. “When we go out.”

  “So we still have Robert and Kelly as suspects.”

  “That Robert is a catbird if you ask me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He is definitely not the grieving widower. He’s too . . . handsy. He was all over Sawyer like ants at a Fourth of July picnic.”

  “Yeah, but Kelly watches over him like a hawk. I thought they might be in it together for the insurance money, but it turns out Barbie had very little and it was left to Tiffany.”

  “If one or both of them were the murderer, it wasn’t for the money. Maybe Kelly did it to get Barbie out of the way. So she could get her hooks into Robert.”

  “That’s possible. She does seem to worship him. Kelly said Robert was in the cafeteria answering questions about the campaign when Barbie was killed, but Joanne said she saw Robert and Kelly kissing outside at the time of the murder, and Tim said he saw Robert and Kelly getting cozy in the cafeteria during the murder.”

  Aunt Ginny put the brush away, took out a pink bandana, and tied it around Fig’s neck. “That’s three different alibis. They can’t all be right.”

  “What if the events are all right, but the timing is wrong? Maybe Joanne saw them coming back inside from the scene of the crime.”

  “Then Tim saw them after they’d returned, while you were standing over the body?”

  “That could work.”

  Figaro sat up, sniffed the bandana, and gave me an alarmed look.

  “Are you sure the cop isn’t behind it all?”

  “Something happened between Barbie and Amber to destroy their friendship. I need to find out what it was. For that matter, what is Amber’s problem with me? I never did anything to her. We were never even friends.”

  “She sure thinks you did something.”

  “We’re missing something big, I can feel it, but I don’t know what it is.”

  Figaro shook his head back and forth and tried unsuccessfully to back out of the pink bandana. Then he shot off of Aunt Ginny’s lap and galloped sideways down the hall trying to outrun it.

  Aunt Ginny threw her head back and laughed. “You’ll get some juicy information tonight. Just wait.”

  Chapter 41

  Aunt Ginny’s big night out was bingo at the fire department, a big white building with red lettering that said CAPE MAY POINT FIRE STATION NUMBER ONE. The front was dominated by the three bay doors for their distinctive blue and white fire engines. The American flag flapped proudly overhead in the offshore breeze.

  Firemen are special everywhere, but even more so in South Jersey. We have over twenty-one firefighter-themed museums, and we host one of the largest annual firefighter conventions with an annual Fireman’s Parade every September.

  Firemen were especially special in my family. My grandfather was a fireman. So was his father, his grandfather, his brother, and his uncle. So if we had a chance to support the fire department, we did it. If that meant a night of soft-core gambling, we were willing to fall on that grenade. And these seniors were serious contenders.

  Bingo was set up in the dining hall. Long rows of tables ran side to side in the large room and two flat-screens were hung on the wall at the front where the winning numbers were displayed. One table was set up in the back selling refreshments and bingo paraphernalia.

  Aunt Ginny and I each bought a book of cards. I got us some of the world’s worst coffee, and we joined Mrs. Davis and Mother Gibson at their usual table down at the front. Mrs. Davis slid her purse over to fill the empty spot next to her to save the seat for Mrs. Dodson, who was running late.

  A small gray-haired sergeant of a woman marched over and barked out that there was no saving of seats allowed.

  Mrs. Davis would not be put off. “I’m not saving a seat, she’s in the bathroom, you old bat.”

  “If she’s not here in the next five minutes, I’m coming back to confiscate that spot.”

  “Come right on over. I had cabbage for dinner tonight and I’m so gassy I could blow the roof off the place. But you’re more than welcome to sit downwind of me.”

  The gray-haired sergeant mashed her eyebrows down and puckered her lips up until the two almost met. Then she thundered off to be someone else’s little ray of sunshine.

  Mrs. Dodson ran in the front door out of breath with her bingo cards waving in the air. “I’m here. Don’t let her have my spot! I was in the can!”

  We settled into our seats and after Mrs. Dodson caught her breath, she turned to me. “Poppy, honey, how are you holding up?”

  “I’m getting a little frazzled. We’re quickly running out of time to prove my innocence.”

  “Did that lead I gave you help any?”

  “What lead, Mrs. Dodson?”

  “Didn’t I tell you about the big blowup between Barbie and Billy Sommers?”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I got goose bumps up my arms. “Did you find out something?”

  “Well, good Lord, honey, I thought I told you already.”

  Mother Gibson took out a box of contraband jelly doughnuts for the “gals” and placed it on the table. “Edith, you need to get yourself some of that ginkgo I told you about. You’d forget your address if it wasn’t pinned to your hat.”

&nbs
p; Mrs. Dodson helped herself to a doughnut. “I know, but every time I get to the health nut store I forget what I’m looking for.”

  Mrs. Davis giggled and dunked her doughnut into the oil slick the VFD called coffee. “It’s health food store, you nut.”

  I was getting worried Mrs. Dodson would forget about me entirely. Apparently, so was Aunt Ginny.

  “Focus, Edith. Barbie and the Sommers boy.”

  Mrs. Dodson looked like she was trying to figure out what we were talking about.

  “You said something about a blowup?”

  “Oh, yes. It was all the do around here years ago. My friend at the Christian Women’s League told me that the two were engaged right out of college. Her family sprung for a half-page spread in the Inquirer announcing it. The invitations went out, the gifts came in. The day of the wedding, Barbie didn’t show up.”

  I was a bit disappointed with what the Christian Women’s League considered gossip.

  “Well, that happens.” It almost happened to me. If Georgina hadn’t held the proverbial shotgun, John and I would never have gotten married. Accidental pregnancy or not.

  “Oh, just wait. That’s not the whole story. The real scandal begins a few months later when they got engaged again. The families tried to play off the previous embarrassment as a joke.”

  Mrs. Davis cut in. “That’s right. The invitations all said ‘Second Time’s the Charm,’ didn’t they?”

  Mrs. Dodson turned to Mrs. Davis, “Thelma. This is my story.”

  Mrs. Davis rolled her eyes and took another doughnut. “Continue.”

  Mrs. Dodson turned back to Aunt Ginny and me. “Then the night before the wedding, it was called off again.”

  Aunt Ginny poked at the powdered sugar with her finger. “No.”

  “Ummm-hmmm.”

  Mother Gibson lit up a cigarette under the NO SMOKING sign and hid it in a secret ashtray she kept under the table. “Tell her the rest.”

  Mrs. Dodson leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “It was spread around that Barbie had cold feet and called the wedding off again, but her gran tells a different story after a couple glasses of root beer schnapps. The night before the wedding, Billy caught Barbie having the honeymoon behind the Milky Way with his best man.”