A Deadly Reunion by Odette C. Bell Page B

doing something
now.
    “It will probably turn out to be nothing at
all,” he tried.
    Nothing at all?
    Denver appeared to think it was
something.
    The more I thought about the situation, the
less I could convince myself it was nothing. So I didn’t like the
idea of Thorne trying to dismiss it so readily.
    “But what about the message on the back?
What about the pinholes in the yearbook photo? What about the blue
pins I’ve been finding everywhere?”
    “I’m sure they’re just a coincidence. And I
can guarantee you that that postcard is probably just some jealous
old schoolmate fooling around.” Thorne walked up to the door and
opened it, and all the while, he offered me the kindest of
smiles.
    I didn’t smile back.
    “ But what about the... the... Kill
Board?”
    “Kill Board?”
    “ Denver said that in the school there had
been a pin board with James Wood’s yearbook photo attached to it
and then an excerpt from a Times magazine interview. Doesn’t the
fact that I’ve been finding all those pins around mean something?
And what about my... success?” I asked uncomfortably. “James was a
bloody millionaire; he was clearly the most successful person to
have graduated from our class. What happens if the killer is going
through people that are successful? What happens if I’m
next?”
    “Like I said, I’m sure it’s all fine. I will
look into this. I will keep an eye on you. I will do everything by
the book. Patti, you don’t have to be stressed by this.”
    Stressed? Was he serious? I was going
nuts.
    “But Denver thought—” I began.
    “I’m sure Denver thinks a lot of things, but
this isn’t his jurisdiction. This is a Wetlake Police case. And we
know more than enough to get this solved.”
    I really wanted to point out that only just
that morning he’d told me there was hardly any crime in Wetlake,
and he spent most of his time plucking lost tourists out of the
ranges.
    I wasn’t that rude though. Instead, I let
him lead me out to the front desk.
    I stood there while he had a conversation
with the other officer, and then Thorne walked me out to his car.
“I’ll take you back to your motel, and I’ll have a look around
while I’m there.”
    I nodded at him silently.
    I didn’t want to go back to the motel. I
wanted to go home. I wanted to get out of Wetlake right now. In
fact, as Thorne drove me home, I genuinely considered whether that
would be the best plan. Then again, would I just take some wrong
turn down a winding, dark track only to have a set of bright
headlights zip in behind me? Would the murderer jump gleefully out
of the car and do away with me in the silent woods?
    Jesus, any more of this and I could go
insane. I was a self-help writer, so I already had a developed
imagination, and I could easily let it run away with me.
    Far from offering me any assurance, I found
the ride home with Thorne to be a thoroughly awkward one.
    I didn’t want anyone to chat to me about the
old days, and I certainly didn’t want to talk about the reunion. I
just wanted to feel safe again.
    We arrived at the motel around five o’clock.
Even though it was late summer, there were already long shadows
pooling in from the forest behind.
    I could hear the bugs and crickets and the
chirps of the birds as they played in the gutter and over the
grass.
    It should have been peaceful.
    Yesterday had been cold and blustery; today
was beautiful. It wasn’t too hot, and there was a gentle breeze and
some nice warm sunshine to filter through your clothes and warm
your back.
    I loved days like this. My ideal night would
have involved a picnic in the woods followed by a short, twilight
walk.
    Well, that would have been my ideal night;
now I could only think of murderers running around rampant with
chainsaws and guns and knives and old postcards of me with no pants
on.
    I closed my hands around my face, blinking
hard into my fingers as I forced a breath.
    I wasn’t exactly on the verge of tears, but
with a push, you