Lisa Jackson - Most Likely To Die

After helping the decorating committee set up tables and chairs in the old gym and spread colorful streamers from the bleachers and rafters, she had separated from the others as they left for the afternoon and had made her way into the basement. Several days earlier, she had brought everything she would need for tonight and stored it all down here. And when she reappeared tonight, dressed to the nines, no one would be the wiser.

If no one got in her way, if nothing interfered with her plans, three people would die tonight: Kristen, Rachel, and Lindsay. Whichever one she could get to the easiest would be the first to die.

Giggling happily, she danced around and around in the forgotten cellar beneath the gym, Patrick Dewey’s old Beretta in her hand. He had given it to her, all those years ago-an unregistered pistol-to use as protection.

“If that bastard ever tries to rape you again, shoot him,” Patrick had said.

Dear, sweet, loving Patrick.

He had truly cared about her. And she’d never had the heart to tell him that although she hated Jake with every fiber of her being, she also loved him.

Patrick wouldn’t have understood.

If you hadn’t been at my side that night, I wouldn’t have had the courage to kill Jake and end the nightmare my life had become. You were my white knight, Patrick, my avenging angel.

Rachel gave herself one final inspection in the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. Here she was, wearing an ankle-length teal green satin dress that clung to her curves and accentuated her breasts, preparing to attend her twenty-year class reunion. A reunion marred by the recent murders of three classmates and an all-too-real threat that others were in danger. If she’d had her way, they would have canceled tonight’s affair, but with so many people actually looking forward to the reunion dance and so many having come in from out of state, the committee had decided they didn’t have much choice but to continue with the event as planned.

Checking her watch-six-fifteen-she heaved a deep sigh and picked up the tiny diamond hoops from the dresser and inserted them into her pierced ears. Dean was picking her up at six-thirty, which gave her just enough time to collect her thoughts and calm her jittery nerves.

When her cell phone rang, she gasped. Cursing herself for being so nervous, she flipped open the phone and checked the caller ID.

“Hello, Dean,” she said playfully, trying to act as if she weren’t worried sick.

“Listen, honey. I need you to get down to headquarters immediately.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“I just got a call from Pat Dewey. He and his mother are in Portland and they’re about two miles from headquarters. It seems when she finished cleaning out her bedroom closet this afternoon, intending to either pack or trash what was left, she came across some photographs that were in an old suitcase that her sons had brought down from the attic.”

“Photographs of what?”

“Of whom,” Dean corrected. “She isn’t sure who the person in the photos is, but she thinks it could be the girl Patrick had the affair with twenty years ago.”

“Holy shit!”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“Could Pat describe the girl to you? Could you-”

“He couldn’t give me a description,” Dean said. “It seems his mother won’t let him see the pictures.”

“What? Why?”

“He thinks it’s because the girl in the photos is probably naked. He told me that his mother said she will hand those photographs over only to you.”

“Because I’m a woman.”

“Yeah, that would be my guess.”

“I’ll get to headquarters as soon as possible, but in late Saturday afternoon traffic, it’ll take me a good thirty minutes.”

“Just drive carefully.”

“I’ll try.”

Lindsay would rather be anywhere than here. With the old gymnasium decorated so nicely, it reminded her far too much of the last time this building had hosted a special dance. The Valentine’s Day dance of 1986. Only back then, everything had been decked out in red, white, and pink, with paper hearts and fat little Cupids adorning every nook and cranny. If Wyatt weren’t at her side tonight, she would have run out the door as fast as she could and gotten as far away from St. Elizabeth’s as humanly possible.

“We didn’t have to come here tonight.” Wyatt placed his arm around her waist as he whispered in her ear.

“Yes, we did. I did.” She turned and smiled at him. A forced smile. “I’ve been running from the past far too long. I ran from you, from our son…and from Jake’s memory. I need to do this, so that I can lay his ghost to rest.”

“Whatever you need to do to vanquish Jake’s ghost and put the past behind us, I’ll help you. Just say the word and-”

“Go outside with me,” she told him. “I need to go back inside the labyrinth, to the spot where Jake was killed. Where I found him.”

“Are you sure?” Wyatt asked. “Why put yourself through that kind of torture?”

“I can’t explain it. It’s just something I need to do.”

“All right. Do you want to go now or wait until later?”

“Now, before I lose my nerve.”

As they headed for the exit, they ran into April Wright. “Where are you two going? Not leaving so soon, I hope.”

“No, we’re just going to get a breath of fresh air,” Lindsay lied. “We’ll be back before things really get started.”

“You’d better be careful out there,” April said. “You wouldn’t catch me wandering around outside in the dark. Not tonight. Not with somebody out there just waiting to take potshots at us.”

“It’s not dark yet. There’s plenty of daylight left,” Wyatt said. “Besides, Lindsay won’t be alone, not for a single minute.”

“Well, that’s good to hear.”

Wyatt cupped her elbow and led her out of the gym and onto the school grounds. “I think it’s this way, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she replied, “right over there.”

Hidden deep inside the maze of hedges, the huge oak tree towered high into the evening sky. Beneath the oak, the sculpture of the Madonna still resided in a place of honor. This was where she’d found Jake. The arrow that had pierced his heart had pinned him to the tree.

Suddenly flashes of memory popped into Lindsay’s mind, like an accelerated movie clip. She saw Jake’s sightless eyes staring at her. The blood on his shirt. The still-smoldering cigarette lying at his feet. She could hear her own screams as she rushed toward him, praying that he was still alive.

But he was dead.

Lindsay shivered uncontrollably.

Wyatt wrapped her in his strong, comforting arms. “Let it go. You’re here with me now and you’re safe. You’ve confronted the demons from the past. It’s over.”

She sobbed against his chest while he soothed her. He allowed her several minutes to recover, then grasped her hand and said, “It’s time to get back to the dance.”

Marilyn Dewey sat in her wheelchair, a small manila folder clasped in her weathered, arthritis-crippled hands. She looked up the moment the door to the captain’s office opened and Rachel walked in. Rachel nodded at Dean, who stood in the corner, then went straight to Marilyn.

Rachel pulled out a chair, dragged it directly across from Marilyn, and sat down facing the other woman. “I believe you have something you want to show me.”

Marilyn’s dark, soulful eyes lifted, and she stared directly at Rachel. “He took pictures of her.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Nude pictures.”

“You found them today?” Rachel nodded to the envelope in Marilyn’s lap.

“They were in Patrick’s old suitcase…one he hadn’t used in years.”

“May I see the photographs?” Rachel held out her hand, trying her best not to push, not to be overly eager. But God in heaven, these old pictures could reveal the identity of a murderer and thus prevent any future deaths.