Lisa Jackson - Most Likely To Die

Marilyn lifted the envelope, as careful with it as if it were made of spun glass, and handed it to Rachel. “He-he wrote things on the back of each photograph. Things about her.”

Rachel released a chest-tight breath as she clasped the envelope. “Would you prefer that Lieutenant McMichaels and I look at these-”

“No,” Marilyn cried. “Not him. Only you.”

“All right, only me. Do you want me to look at them in another room?”

“Yes, please.”

Pat Dewey placed both hands on his mother’s quivering shoulders.

“Stay here,” Rachel told Dean as she headed for the door.

He nodded.

Rachel closed the door behind her, went straight to the captain’s secretary’s desk, sat down, and opened the envelope. With her hands trembling and her heartbeat strumming in her ears, she turned the envelope upside down and shook out the contents. A stack of old Polaroid photos fell into her waiting hands.

Oh, God! Oh, God!

She turned the photos over and groaned when she immediately recognized the naked girl in the first picture. Sitting demurely on the edge of a bed, her index finger stuck seductively in her mouth, she stared at the camera. Wide-eyed, but far from innocent.

Rachel hurriedly looked through the two dozen snapshots of the teenager, each pose slightly different, obviously all the pictures were not taken at the same time. She read a few of the notes on the backs of the photos, then one in particular caught her eye.

Merciful Lord!

That one final missing piece in the puzzle fell into place.

Rachel stuffed the photos back in the envelope, got up, and rushed into the captain’s office.

“Put a call in to the patrol cars closest to St. Elizabeth’s and send them over to the school,” Rachel said. “The killer is there right now. Lindsay and Kristen are in immediate danger!”

Lindsay excused herself to go to the restroom. Martina and Kristen were coming out as she was going in. When she walked into the locker room, which you had to go through to reach the girls’ restroom, she saw several old classmates standing around talking, but once in the restroom, she was alone. A shiver of apprehension raced up her spine. The eerie quiet inside the stall unnerved her. She hurried, relieving herself quickly; then in her haste, she wound up pulling a run in her stockings when her fingernail caught in the nylon. Drat!

If she weren’t such a stickler for hygiene, she might have forgone washing her hands and gotten the hell out of this poorly lit, spooky bathroom. But good habits took precedent over a case of nerves. Just as she turned on the faucet, she caught a glimpse of someone in her peripheral vision, someone just entering the ladies’ restroom.

“Hello, Lindsay,” the familiar voice said. “You look as beautiful tonight as you did the night Jake died.”

She whirled around to face the woman who stood only a few feet away, a pistol in her hand.

Dean drove like the proverbial bat out of hell on the trip from downtown to St. Elizabeth’s. On the drive over, Rachel had kept in contact with the patrolmen who had been sent to the site of the reunion. Only a few minutes before Dean screeched to a halt in front of the gymnasium, Officer Kyle Williams reported that a woman named Lindsay Farrell was missing and her boyfriend was on the verge of tearing the place apart, brick by brick.

Lindsay did as she was told, afraid not to, realizing that her would-be killer wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her.

“I’d prefer we did this in private, but if you force me to, I’ll shoot you right here, right now,” she said.

Lindsay realized she meant it and knew that the only way to buy herself some time-and keep herself alive-was to cooperate. But only up to a point. Her abductor was so involved in keeping them out of sight as she led her out a back door of the gym and through the covered open corridor leading into the school building that she didn’t notice as Lindsay opened her evening bag and began dropping items. Items that wouldn’t make any noise as they hit the ground.

Shades of Hansel and Gretel, Lindsay thought. But one does what one has to do when in the clutches of a wicked witch.

Where on earth is she taking me? Lindsay wondered as she was led down a flight of wooden stairs and into the basement.

Not wanting to create a panic that would complicate the situation, Rachel and Dean called for backup, including the SWAT team, then sent the patrol officers off to search for Lindsay while they spoke to Wyatt, Martina, Craig, Kristen, and Ross. Dean told his friends what he’d told the officers: “If you find them, do not try to confront her. Call me and let me handle it.”

They separated into groups so they could cover more ground twice as fast. After Dean handed flashlights to the men, Ross and Kristen went in one direction, while Wyatt, Craig, and Martina went in another. As they hunted for Lindsay, the reunion went on as if this unnerving drama weren’t happening simultaneously.

Rachel knew that if they didn’t find Lindsay soon, it would be too late. If only Marilyn Dewey could have discovered those photographs yesterday instead of today.

“Lindsay found Jake’s body inside the labyrinth that night,” Rachel said. “What if that’s where she’s taken Lindsay, back to the scene of the crime?”

“She’s just twisted enough to do something like that.” Dean aimed his flashlight toward the rows of tall hedges. “Let’s go.”

As Rachel and Dean started into the labyrinth, Ross and Kristen emerged from the pathway that led into the maze.

“Seems we had the same idea,” Dean said.

“Apparently,” Ross replied.

“We didn’t find anyone,” Kristen said. “Now what? I thought for sure that’s where she would take Lindsay.”

“Let’s separate again and continue searching.” Rachel did her best to keep her voice calm, despite the growing anxiety she felt.

Lindsay removed the last of the dollar bills-four in all-that she’d placed in her small evening bag. Before she could release the money and allow it to sail softly to the floor, the final clue to mark her trail, the madwoman at her side stopped abruptly in front of a stack of wooden crates and aimed her flashlight straight ahead.

She stuck the gun in Lindsay’s ribs. “Move behind the crates.”

Lindsay did as she was told.

Her abductor forced her forward as she shined her flashlight at an old wooden door half hidden behind the crates. When she reached around Lindsay and turned the doorknob, Lindsay considered putting up a fight. But the feel of the deadly weapon pressing painfully into her ribs made her think twice.

“Where are you taking me?” Lindsay managed to say, fear vibrating her voice.

“Somewhere no one will find you, not until after Rachel and Kristen join you.”

Lindsay hazarded a glance at the woman she had known since they were teenagers, and wondered why she had never realized how unstable she was, how unstable she had probably always been.

While her captor concentrated on opening the door and at the same time keeping her gun against Lindsay’s side, Lindsay opened her palm and dropped the last dollar bill.

Please, dear God, let Wyatt realize I’m missing. Let him be searching for me.

What was that sound? Was that music she heard? Yes, it was. She couldn’t quite make out the tune, but there was music coming from behind the door.

Nudging the gun deep into Lindsay’s side, her captor ordered, “Move it. Now!”

Lindsay stepped over the concrete threshold and entered a brightly lit, dank-smelling room. So engrossed in the sight before her, Lindsay barely heard the door close behind her.

My God!

At least a dozen Coleman lanterns, lined up on the floor in front of a row of old lockers, illuminated the cavernous room.