Most Likely to Die

by Lisa Jackson

  One napkin soaked, another still wicking up the wine, April said, “We get it, Haylie, okay? We’re all sorry about Ian.”

  “No one really is.” She sniffed loudly and backed away from the table, colliding with a chair. “I knew this was a mistake,” she said. “I should never have come.”

  “Oh, Haylie, come on.” Aurora, always the peacemaker, reached for Haylie’s arm. “Let it go.”

  “I’ll never ‘let it go.’” Haylie snagged her purse from the floor and took off through the surrounding tables, half running toward the door.

  “Should someone go after her?” Bella asked, turning to watch Haylie disappear into the night.

  “I will.” Kristen was already on her feet. “She shouldn’t be driving.”

  “What a drama queen,” April muttered under her breath. “She’s fine. Barely touched her wine.”

  “I’m sorry, Bella,” Aurora said, motioning Jake’s sister into the chair recently vacated by Haylie. “I’m sure she didn’t mean anything she said.”

  Bella arched an eyebrow, and in that instant she looked so much like her dead brother that Kristen’s blood chilled. “I think you’re wrong,” Bella said, looking through the large window toward the parking lot. “I think she meant every word of it.”

  Kristen left her laptop and purse at the table and headed outside. She felt the eyes of other patrons following her and silently kicked herself for getting involved in the damned reunion. One meeting and it was as if she’d tumbled back in time. Here she was chasing Haylie Swanson, who, just like in high school, was always upset. She caught up with Haylie in the parking lot. Haylie had unlocked the door to her car and was about to slide behind the wheel.

  “Haylie,” Kristen called and Haylie hesitated, turning toward Kristen. “Hey, don’t go off all upset. I’m sorry about Ian, really. It was a horrible accident, but it’s been twenty years.”

  “So we should just bury it? Forget it?” She was fumbling in her purse, juggling her keys and a pack of cigarettes. Her hands were shaking and there was an edginess to her. She was almost frantic as she shook out a filter tip.

  “Look, no one meant Ian any offense.”

  “Wasn’t Jake your date that night?” She lit up, fingers trembling.

  “It was a horrible night for all of us.”

  “See what I mean? Everyone focuses on the dance and Jake’s murder. No one gives a damn about Ian.” She opened the car door and slid inside. “Good luck, Kristen,” she said as she jabbed her keys into the ignition. “I have a feeling you’re going to need it.” Cigarette clamped between her lips, she twisted her wrist, the engine firing as she slammed shut the door.

  Ramming the sports car into reverse, Haylie floored it. She shot backward, her rear tires hitting a curb. As Kristen watched, she hit the accelerator again, barely slowing as she bounced into the street, almost clipping the fender of a passing white Cadillac. The driver of the Caddy swerved and laid on the horn as Haylie sped away.

  Kristen sighed, then walked back inside. Her classmates were still seated, all staring out the window. “I think she’s losing it,” Kristen said.

  Bella rolled her eyes. “It’s all for show.”

  “I don’t know.”

  April shook her head. “I used to work with her brother. Years ago when I was clerking for a law firm downtown. Even then Haylie was having problems, seeing a shrink. On and off antidepressants and anxiety drugs.”

  “Sounds like ninety percent of the adults in America,” Martina said as she motioned to the waitress for another drink. “Let’s not worry about her now, okay?” She glanced around the table. “We can’t let Haylie derail us. Not when we’re on a roll. We’ve got work to do, wine to drink, and pizza to order.” The waitress approached, a tall, skinny woman with graying hair and deep-set eyes, and Martina flashed her a smile. “Do you still serve that Mexican pizza with the jalapeños? I used to love those things.”

  The next hour was spent ordering and eating any and all foods Italian, organizing committee heads, and catching up. Pictures of husbands, kids, and boyfriends were passed around, and Aurora admitted that her oldest daughter had just married and was talking of starting a family. Aurora had married right out of high school, had her first child at nineteen, and her daughter had followed in her mother’s footsteps right down the bridal path. Aurora didn’t know whether to be elated or horrified. “Don’t get me wrong. I love babies, but me, a grandma? I’m waaay too young.” She was teased mercilessly, and the general mood at the table turned upbeat.

  “What about you, Kris?” Aurora asked. “No pictures?”

  Kristen shook her head. “Not with me.”

  “You’ve got what? One daughter.”

  “Mmm. And the usual axiom applies, sixteen going on thirty.”

  There were murmurs of understanding.

  “You’re married to Ross Delmonico, right?” April asked, interest evident in her features, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

  Kristen tried to evade the question. Didn’t want to cop to the fact that she was separated. “Mmm.”

  April picked up on the lack of commitment in Kristen’s tone. Her eyes sparked in interest. She plucked a breadstick from the basket in the middle of the table and snapped it in two. “So what’s the deal?”

  Kristen had always been a terrible liar. Besides, there was just no reason to hide the truth. It would come out sooner or later. “Ross and I are separated.”

  April tossed her lustrous hair over one shoulder. “Are you nuts?” She took a bite from the breadstick. “I met Ross a couple of times when I was working for the law firm. He’s what my daughter would call ‘a hottie.’” Leaning back in her chair, her expression said clearly that she thought anyone who would let Ross Delmonico slip through her fingers must be brain-dead. She chewed on the breadstick. “So, are you getting a divorce?”

  Kristen thought about the papers she had yet to file. “I don’t really know,” she hedged, surprised at her reaction. Hadn’t she just hours before practically told Samantha, her coworker at the Clarion, the divorce was a done deal?

  “Well, listen,” April said, as if she were teasing, “if you get tired of that guy, throw him my way, will ya?” She laughed at the joke, but there was something about her suggestion that made Kristen feel defensive. Oh, God, she wasn’t becoming one of those women who thought of a man as “hers,” the kind who only held on tighter when another female showed interest, was she? She smiled at April and said lightly, “Who knows?”

  “When you figure it out, let me know.”

  At that moment the waitress returned and the conversation drifted into safer territory. April turned her attention to one of the yearbooks lying open on the table, and after they ordered refills, the business of the reunion was brought to the fore once more.

  Martina, who was married to Craig Taylor, a graduate from Western Catholic, suggested that their class invite the boys from Western who had graduated in the same year. “I think we should make this reunion special. It’ll be the last of its kind, as St. Elizabeth’s will be closing. Wouldn’t it be cool to have the boys that we did everything with there?”

  “Ya think?” Kristen asked warily. Nostalgia aside, this was a little too eerie. “It seems like—”

  “Like we’re trying to duplicate the dance where my brother died,” Bella said, and everyone grew quiet once again. Her smile had faded and she contemplated the contents of her wineglass. A crease lined her forehead as she thought. “You know, maybe it’s what we need. It could be cathartic.”

  “Probably not for Haylie,” DeLynn said.

  “Nothing will be.” April frowned. “As I said, she needs help. Serious help. But it’s not our problem.”

  Bella glanced over at Kristen. “I’ll go along with whatever the group decides. Please don’t worry about me, and if we’re thinking about Jake, then what would he say? I think he’d tell us to ‘go for it’ and ‘have a bitchin’ party.’”

  “She’s right,�
�� Mandy agreed, still writing on her legal pad.

  April eyed a bottle of Merlot. “Then why not?” She grinned wickedly. “It’ll be fun.”

  Everyone, aside from Kristen, seemed to concur.

  Martina said, “Good. I’ll call Laura. Remember her, Laura Triant? She married one of Craig’s friends. Chad Belmont. He graduated when we did and was Western’s senior class president, I think. Chad keeps in touch with a lot of the guys who graduated from Western.” Martina was running with her idea, nodding her head, her black hair gleaming in the dim lights.

  They chose a weekend in July that the school had already approved, then they split into committees, each volunteering to oversee the different jobs that needed to be tackled. DeLynn took over contacting classmates, April wanted to work with the caterers, Martina was in charge of dealing with the boys from Western, Kristen, along with being the general coordinator and treasurer, would make certain that the announcements were sent, and Aurora would assist her. Bella was in charge of decorations. No one mentioned Haylie again.

  Mandy Kim, the self-appointed secretary, took copious notes, filling in page after yellow page of a legal pad with information. She worked with the same intensity and focus that she’d exhibited when she was listening raptly to one of Sister Clarice’s lectures on world history twenty years earlier.

  Some things never change, Kristen thought as she made her own observations and memos on her laptop.

  The general consensus was to meet in a month, again at Ricardo’s, where they all would report their progress. In the meantime they’d be in touch via phone and e-mail.

  An hour later the check had been paid and almost everyone had left. Only Kristen and Aurora remained.

  “See,” Aurora said, as she stuffed her yearbook into a purse large enough to hold a small computer, “admit it, Kris, this went better than you imagined.”

  “Okay, okay, you’re right. Aside from the Haylie meltdown and a few tense moments with Bella, it was okay.”

  “Better than okay. It was successful. We got a lot of stuff accomplished and we even had some fun, right? I’m thinking the reunion is going to be a blast.”

  “We’ll see,” Kristen said.

  “It’s just too bad that Rachel and Lindsay couldn’t have been here.” When Kristen didn’t respond, Aurora added, “You’re still in contact with them?”

  “We do the Christmas card thing.” Kristen gathered her things. Aurora was right. The meeting had gone better than Kristen had expected and it had been good to see some of her fellow classmates and find out what they’d been doing since graduation. “Hopefully they’ll make it to the reunion.”

  “So why not just call them? You’ve got their numbers.”

  “I will.” Kristen walked outside with Aurora.

  As she shoved her purse and laptop into her Honda she felt a lot more optimistic that the reunion wouldn’t be a total disaster. She wasn’t convinced that it would be “a blast,” but it might have its fun moments.

  After all, she thought, as she slid behind the wheel and turned on the ignition, what could possibly go wrong?

  Jake Marcott’s killer sat in her car, the engine idling. Parked on a darkened side street, she watched the restaurant parking lot unobserved. Tension tightened every muscle in her body and she felt an old, familiar need course through her veins. Her palms sweated and her pulse jumped in anticipation.

  Chill out, she silently told herself, then felt her lips twist wryly as the advice, offered so often by Jake Marcott, rang in her ears. “Bastard,” she muttered, gaze locked on the front door of Ricardo’s. He’d deserved to die, and she again felt the thrill of knowing she’d put him in his grave.

  It had been so long.

  Though she’d replayed the scene in her mind a thousand times over, the exhilaration she’d once felt had long ago begun to fade. But now, with the reunion on the horizon, the memories had intensified again, the thrill of killing him and getting away with it. She’d waited so long…and now, finally, she would get her revenge.

  The door to the restaurant swung open and she reached for the gearshift, ready to pull out of the parking spot, when she saw a man hold the door open. A family of four, middle-aged mom and pop with two preteens in tow. The kids were fighting, the girl swatting at her brother, only to have him hit back, making her scream bloody murder.

  As they walked to their vehicle, the father said something sharp to his son, then opened the door of a minivan. The pinch-lipped mother, ever the wiser, narrowed knowing eyes on her blond daughter. The girl was playing it up, putting on a beatific, almost angelic smile.

  That’s it, girlie, play the part. Just like all the hypocritical bitches from St. Elizabeth’s.

  Caught up in the family’s tiny drama, she almost missed the last two alumnae emerge from the restaurant. But she didn’t. And she couldn’t keep a smile from crawling across her face. Aurora and Kristen, the eager and the reluctant organizers, hiking up the collars of their jackets as rain began to fall.

  Showtime, she thought, and her blood pounded in her ears. She hazarded a glance at the passenger seat beside her, at the yearbook, extra photos, and scissors. Some of the pictures had been cut from the pages and she’d been careful as she’d extracted them, wanting to slice each color photo to ribbons. Fury heated her blood. White-hot rage, fermented by twenty years of waiting, raced through her veins.

  Stay cool.

  Chill out.

  Don’t blow this.

  Not now.

  Not when you’re so damned close!

  You’ve waited too long to wreck everything now.

  She bit hard on her lip. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself with the scissors gripped in her hand. Stalking her prey. Chasing her down. Catching her. Then, as the two-faced bitch recognized her attacker, she would panic, beg for mercy, cry out that she was sorry. Her victim would grovel. Promise to do anything the killer wanted to save her pathetic life. She would pretend remorse, but it would all be just an act.

  Then the killer would strike.

  Quick and fast and deadly.

  She would plunge those razor-sharp blades deep into Kristen’s chest, piercing her heart.

  Not just once.

  But again.

  And again.

  Over and over.

  Watching the blood spurt.

  Hearing Kristen’s gurgling screams.

  Feeling her go limp.

  Witnessing the light go out of Kristen Daniels’s eyes forever.

  “You damned bitch,” she whispered, then tasted blood where her upper teeth had sunk hard into her lower lip.

  So caught up in her fantasy she was shaking, she almost missed Kristen’s Honda pull out of the parking lot and onto the side street.

  Almost.

  Slowly, letting a truck pass, the killer put her car into gear, stepped on the gas, and eased the car away from the curb. She zeroed in on Kristen’s vehicle, one back taillight blinking as it turned onto the main road.

  Silently, with dark intent, she followed.

  Chapter 4

  “I think you should break up with Zeke.”

  “What?” Lissa looked at her father as if he’d just lost what had been left of his obviously feeble mind. They were seated at the bar that separated his small kitchen from the living quarters of his high-rise condominium, the place he’d moved to after Kristen requested him to leave. The eating bar was slab granite, the floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city, the Willamette River, and snowcapped Mount Hood, and the real estate agent had assured him he would love it.

  She’d been wrong.

  He hated everything about the place.

  The quiet.

  The air of sophistication.

  The chic pseudo-elegance.

  Even the damned view was lost on him.

  It seemed a shell, just a place to crash. He’d rented enough furniture that he could sleep and watch television and that was it. He spent as little time here as possible.

&
nbsp; “I’m not breaking up with Zeke.”

  “I don’t like the way he treats you.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re telling me how someone should treat me, when you’re not even around?” Lissa leaned back in her bar stool and ignored the half-eaten hamburger and basket of fries that they’d picked up on the way.

  “I was just giving your mother her space.”

  “Yeah, right.” Lissa scowled.

  So she didn’t buy it. The truth of the matter was that he’d gladly packed his bags, that he’d thought they both could use a cooling-off period. Kristen had been certain he was cheating on her and he’d thrown it in her face that she’d married him on the rebound, that she’d never gotten over Jake Marcott, the kid who had been killed her senior year of high school. In the time that had followed his death, she had not only made Jack a martyr but a saint as well. Ross had done some digging and, as far as he could see, Marcott hadn’t been a candidate for canonization. Whether it had been guilt or love or some other deep, primal emotion, Kristen had never let go of him. Ross had seen it coming, even before they’d married, but he’d been young enough to believe that she would get over the murdered boy and that she would start living. With him. He’d thought he could make her love him because he’d fallen so hard for her: the athletic girl with the red-brown hair, sad hazel eyes, and throaty laugh.

  Intellectually Kristen had tried to move on.

  But emotionally she’d never let go.

  The ghost of Jake Marcott had never quit haunting her. Haunting them. Sometimes, late at night, after they’d made love, he’d catch her staring at the shadows on the ceiling or looking through the diaphanous curtains that moved in the summer breeze.

  Maybe now, with the damned reunion, she’d be able to get some closure. He sincerely hoped there was a chance that she could finally be free.