“She’s right,” Laura said. “You have to take this to the police. Maybe they can pull fingerprints off the cassette or listen to it and piece together different voices…a time line. Some of us might remember who was around when those conversations were taped.”
“It’s been twenty years.”
“My guess?” April said. “Haylie’s behind it. She had that meltdown. Still blames Jake for Ian Powers’s death. And she didn’t show up tonight. I’ll bet she’s guilty as sin.”
Aurora shuddered. “Let’s not start pointing fingers, but DeLynn’s right, Kris. You have to talk to the police.”
The killer watched as cars rolled out of the parking lot. As each woman left the meeting, she looked over her shoulder, then peered inside her car to make sure it was empty. They were all paranoid the bogeyman was hiding inside, and after a cursory search they drove off with cell phones pressed to their ears, doors locked, tires chirping as they hit the gas.
Just you wait, she thought, watching from deep within her vehicle, a dark SUV with tinted windows. She smiled. It was almost delicious.
She was parked near a stand of pines that rimmed the lot, and no one noticed her vehicle wedged between a pickup and a sedan. They were too busy getting away.
Because they were scared.
Because Kristen Daniels had told them about the picture and the tape.
They’d all been shocked, and she’d been able to witness their horrified expressions.
Everyone was edgy.
Nerves strung tight.
Good.
Humming “Dancing in the Dark,” the old Bruce Springsteen song that was playing the night Jake was killed, she smiled and put her Blazer into gear.
Things were about to get worse. A whole lot worse.
Chapter 9
No one followed her. She watched, checking her rearview mirror, her hands gripped tight on the steering wheel, but the drive was uneventful until she pulled into her driveway and found Ross’s truck parked on the street.
Her heart did a stupid little jump and she looked in the mirror one more time to check her appearance. “Oh, get over yourself,” she muttered. “It’s Ross. Ross. The man you’re divorcing. Remember?”
But the woman in the mirror didn’t seem convinced.
She walked through the garage to the kitchen and found Ross sprawled on the leather couch in the family room, his shoes kicked off, a fire lit, the television tuned to a sports update show. The cat was curled on the back of the couch, her tail wrapped around her tawny body.
Ross twisted his head as she walked in and flashed that incredible, roguish grin of his again. “Hi, honey, you’re home!” he teased, and her heart lurched again.
Don’t fall for it. This is just an act.
“Comfy?” she asked, dropping her bag and laptop onto the table as the cat opened her eyes, yawned, then settled back to sleep.
He patted the cushion next to him. “I could be better.” His voice was deep. Sexy. Oh, she’d heard it a thousand times in the first five or six years of their marriage-the happy years. “Come on over and take a load off.”
She was tempted. “Nah. Too much to do.”
He cocked an eyebrow and she noticed that not only the collar button but a few more had come undone. His sleeves were rolled over forearms that were impossibly tanned considering the time of year. “I believe that was my line. At least you accused me of it, oh, about a dozen times a day.”
“Was I really such a nag?” she asked, walking toward him. Marmalade, disturbed by all the commotion, hopped off the couch and sought solace under the kitchen table with an accusatory meow.
“Worse.”
“You are so not making points with me,” she said. Reluctantly, knowing inside she wanted to far too much, she took a seat on the ottoman, facing him.
His eyes assessed her, causing a little frisson of awareness to slide down her spine. “How ’bout I get you a drink. Gin and tonic? Glass of Chardonnay?”
“How can you be so damned sure of yourself?”
“Years of practice.” Again he thumped the spot beside him in invitation. “Come on, Kris. What’ve you got to lose?”
“Lissa’s home.”
“And my guess is she knows all about us. It won’t hurt if she walks out of her room and finds us together.”
Kristen arched a dubious brow.
Ross continued in a conversational tone. “We are her parents and we own this house. Together. I think she understands the facts of life. And just in case she doesn’t, I told her about them tonight over tofu burgers and French fries that had been guaranteed not to be fried in anything resembling animal fat.”
“Oh, that’s right…she’s a vegetarian.”
“Nope. I think she upped her commitment to the cause. Now she’s a vegan.”
“She was last year, too. It lasted a couple of weeks.”
He snorted in amusement. Kristen smiled back and quit fighting him. Gave up the battle with herself. Sliding onto the couch, she tried not to melt against him when his arm pulled her close and her head nestled so naturally into the crook of his neck. “So, how was it? Are you hot on the trail of those long-lost classmates?”
His arm felt right around her and the whiff of his cologne reminded her of how easily she could respond to him. “I suppose.”
“Don’t they know they can’t escape? That you’re like a bloodhound when you’re tracking something?”
“Actually, DeLynn Vaughn, er, Simms, is in charge of locating everyone, and she’s a lot better at it than I am.”
“If you say so.”
“Mmm.” She frowned and decided to tell him about the rest of the meeting. In for a penny…“I showed everyone at the meeting the picture that was left on my car and told them about the tape.”
She felt him tense a bit, the muscles surrounding her tightening. “And?”
“And everyone agrees with you, that I should call the police.”
“Good. And have you?”
“First thing in the morning. I promise.”
He lifted her chin with one finger and forced her to look him straight in the eyes. “I’m going to hold you to it, Kris. This is important. You don’t know what kind of a nutcase you’ve got running around. A prankster who’s getting his rocks off by scaring the crap out of you or a real psycho, like the person who killed Jake Marcott.”
Kristen grimaced. Ross had always accused her of never being able to get over Jake’s death, of feeling guilty that the boy she’d loved had died, of never letting go of him. He’d also blamed Kristen’s unrequited dreams and fantasies about a boy who had become a ghost for ruining their marriage.
Part of his accusations were true. No doubt about it.
She tried to pull away from him, but he held her fast. “I’m serious. This isn’t a random act, and we both know it. Whoever decided to mess with your car planned it. Stole the picture. Either audiotaped the murder years before or stole the tape from someone who did, someone who never mentioned it or gave the tape to the police.” Eyebrows drawn in concentration, he added, “It’s no coincidence that this is happening now, when you’re planning the reunion. Someone’s been waiting for just this moment.”
“You don’t know that.”
Ross slowly released her, but his tone was demanding. “You think it was random? That whoever did this was just up at the school, waiting for you to walk into that damned maze?”
“Of course not,” she admitted.
“I don’t like it,” Ross said, frowning into the fire.
“Neither do I.”
“I think it would be best if I stuck around.”
Her gaze, which had drifted toward Marmalade, flew to his face. “What do you mean? Like…stay here? Overnight?”
The fire hissed and crackled as he asked, “Would that be so bad?”