Lisa Jackson - Most Likely To Die

And that’s the way Phil Hughes found them. Embracing in the dark.

Phil cleared his throat.

Rachel started to jerk away from Dean, but he draped his arm around her shoulders as he turned her to face Phil. The crime scene tech carried quite a bit of equipment, which he set down on the driveway.

“The footprints are under the kitchen windows,” Dean said. “Need help setting up your camera?”

“Nah, I’m fine,” Phil replied, a sheepish grin on his face.

“Then get to it,” Dean told him. “We don’t want to be here all night.”

“Got something better planned?” Phil winked at Dean.

“Get your dirty mind out of the gutter,” Dean said.

Phil chuckled as he headed toward the kitchen windows.

“Check the window frames for prints,” Dean called to Phil.

“Will do.”

Being careful not to disturb the shoe tracks, Phil shined his flashlight on the double windows. He dusted both windows, including the glass panes. When his brush didn’t remove enough powder, Phil blew off the excess and studied the dusted surfaces.

“I don’t see anything. Either our guy was wearing gloves or he didn’t touch the windows.”

Finished with the first chore, Phil then placed the frame his camera rested on above the shoeprints, the frame pointing directly down. The crime scene tech used this type of camera because it showed the ratio of the negative to the original. This meant the original footprints could be reproduced in their precise size.

When Phil finished photographing the tracks, he set about making moulages by spraying the ground under the window with a fixative.

“I’ll need some water,” Phil said. “To mix the plaster. Once that’s done, you two can go on. Damp as it is tonight, it could take an hour or two for the plaster to set.”

“What’s your guess as to shoe size and type of shoe?” Rachel asked.

“Looks like an athletic shoe of some kind. Maybe a size eight or nine. Small for a man. I’d say there’s a good chance these are a woman’s footprints.”

She had waited until after midnight before she drove to St. Elizabeth’s, the lure to return here too powerful for her to deny. But it wasn’t all that great a risk, was it? Not when no one had any idea that she had created a shrine to the past here at the old school. She always parked behind the building where no one would see her car. Being careful and ever vigilant, she never took her own safety for granted.

She made her way down into the basement. Using a high-beam flashlight with a stand attachment, she illuminated the row of lockers. If things had gone as she’d planned this evening, she would have a souvenir from Martina to place in her locker. But the woman was smarter than she’d given her credit for being.

When she had telephoned her tonight, as she stood in the shadows of Martina’s backyard, she had planned on luring Martina outside so that she could kill her.

Are you upset that you’ve blown your diet by eating candy? You should have answered on the first ring. That way, you wouldn’t have spilled your candy all over the floor.

She had been so sure that after she let Martina know she could see her, that she was watching her, Martina would open the back door and search for her. But no, instead of coming outside looking for her caller, Martina had slumped down on the floor and refused to answer the phone again, after she apparently had called Rachel.

You were too smart for me this time. But next time…

The reunion was now less than a week away. It would be only days until they all united at St. Elizabeth’s. The senior classes from St. Lizzy’s, Western Catholic, and Washington High. All the boys and girls now approaching middle age. Twenty years and a lifetime of experience lay between those teenagers and the men and women they were now.

But she would bet her life that none of them had forgotten Jake Marcott or the night he had died.

You’re unforgettable, Jake.

But you knew that, didn’t you?

I certainly haven’t forgotten you. I remember how much I loved you and how much I hated you. And I’ll never forgive you for making me kill my baby.

Our baby.

If you’d taken me to a real doctor for the abortion, I wouldn’t be sterile. You took everything from me. Everything.

Now I’m going to take everything away from them. Those smug girls who thought they were better than me. Those lucky women who found men to love them and had babies and have lived wonderful lives.

Rachel and Dean sat inside his T-bird, the windows rolled down and the top back, but before he got a chance to start the engine, Rachel said, “Kris wears a size seven shoe, or at least she used to. And I believe Lindsay wears a six and a half.”

“I thought you had ruled them out completely as suspects.”

“I have. I was just thinking out loud, running over shoe sizes in my mind.” She turned in the leather seat, her safety belt unsnapped. “I wear a six.”

“Cinderella feet.”

“What?” She eyed him quizzically.

“Tiny feet. Glass slipper,” he said by way of explanation.

“Oh.” Then she charged ahead, still on the subject of shoe size. “I have no idea what size shoes the others wear. We can rule out Martina. She couldn’t fake being that terrified. So that leaves DeLynn, April, and Bella.” Looking directly at Dean, she asked, “Have you ever paid any attention to their feet?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.”

“DeLynn is tall and slender. I’d think she’d wear at least an eight. And I seem to recall that April has rather large feet. Maybe a size nine. I have no idea about Bella.”

“Why don’t we wait until Phil has a definite size for us before we play this guessing game,” Dean said. “Once we know a definite size, we can investigate.”

“What do you think they’d do if we asked to see in their closets to look at their shoes?”

Dean reached across the console and grasped Rachel’s shoulder. “Let it rest for tonight. Phil will call us in the morning. In the meantime, we both need some R & R after the day we’ve had. I’ll take you home-”

“I don’t want to go home.” The words flew out of her mouth before she gave the implication any thought. “I-I’m not offering or asking for anything more than just not to be alone. Understand?”

He nodded. “Buckle up.”

He fastened his seat belt. She did the same. Then he started the engine and zoomed the T-bird out into the nighttime traffic. The wind whipped around them, warm and balmy. When he kicked the sports car into high gear, all of Rachel’s senses came into play: The feel of the evening breeze. The sound of the T-bird’s motor and the hum of traffic. The mixed and mingled scents of the big city. The blurred lights and buildings as they zipped by at high speed. The taste of desire and fear in her mouth.

Neither of them spoke on the drive from Martina’s house to Dean’s apartment. Screeching into his designated slot, he parked the Thunderbird in an underground garage. After bringing up the windows and top, he got out, rounded the hood, and opened the door for her. She looked up at him and smiled. He held out his hand.

She put her hand in his and climbed out of his car. “Nothing like death to make you need to prove just how alive you are,” she said.

“Is that what you think this is all about?” He raked the back of his hand over her cheek.

She sucked in her breath. “Maybe, at least in part.”

“And the other part would be?” He took her hand and led her away from the locked car and toward the elevator.

“Needing sex,” she admitted.

He punched the Up arrow button and the elevator doors swung open. Once inside, he hit the Six button, the doors closed, and the elevator began its ascent.