Grave Risk Page 16

  With great reluctance, she got up and got busy. She knew Austin well enough to know he would tell her no more until he was ready.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jill sat on the deck of the log cabin at Big Cedar, listening to the boats on the lake just beyond the stand of trees in front of her.

  Doris Batson—tall, long-legged and still with a figure to die for even after giving birth to three children and divorcing two husbands—raised the lid on the barbecue grill. Smoke wafted out across the deck and rose upward. “Not long until dinner. Jill, didn’t you bring the watermelon?”

  “Melon balls,” Jill said. “With a delicious sauce of balsamic reduction. Big difference.” A watermelon made a big mess, you had to spit the seeds out, juice dripped everywhere and it drew ants.

  Melon balls were easier to eat, and preparing them had given her something to do for the afternoon—making sure every single ball was as perfect as she could get it—and eating the imperfect ones. There had been a lot of imperfect ones.

  “I brought German chocolate cheesecake.” Peggy Fenton, taller than Jill by half a foot, and heavier by at least fifty pounds, leaned back in her chair and rested her feet against the railing around the deck, notepad in lap.

  “Salad, here,” Sherry Randall said. “The best you’ve ever tasted.”

  “We need some icebreakers this year,” Peggy said. “I swear, if Deb Rakoski doesn’t come to this reunion I’m going to hog-tie her and drag her there myself. It isn’t as if she lives in another state, and she could leave that design business of hers for one night.”

  “She’s a woman in demand now, finally, after all those years of hard work,” Sherry said. “Most popular designer in Branson.”

  “But she needs to remember her roots.” Peggy, who had the singular ability to draw everyone into the conversation, couldn’t understand it when not all their former classmates returned for the reunions. She could have been a top talk-show host. No one felt left out for long with Peggy.

  “You’re jealous,” Sherry teased. “I’m so proud of her I could bust.” Sherry Randall was still as disgustingly cheerful and optimistic as she had been in high school as captain of the cheerleading squad. “I have a great idea for an icebreaker. Let’s have a contest to see who can remember the worst date anyone had in school.”

  “Sorry, no contest there,” Doris said. “That would be me with Fish Lips in eighth grade. Remember that dance? He kept trying to get me to slow dance with him. It was not a romantic experience. He not only had fish lips, he had fish breath.”

  “I got you beat,” Peggy said. “Remember the community dance they held at the City Hall every year during the festival? I agreed to go out with Junior Short one year.”

  Doris gasped. “You didn’t!”

  “I felt sorry for him.”

  “Why didn’t we know about that?” Sherry asked.

  “None of you went to the dance that year, and I kept a low profile. It isn’t something I’m proud of,” Peggy said. “He picked me up in his old beater with booze on his breath.”

  “He was drunk when he picked you up?” Sherry asked. “And you still went out with him?”

  “If my dad had smelled his breath, that date wouldn’t have happened.”

  “So what did you do?” Doris asked.

  “I went to the dance with him. He only wanted to slow dance, and when we did, he became Mr. Octopus.”

  “Could’ve told you that,” Doris muttered.

  “I finally slapped him. He got mad and hung out the rest of the dance with his best buddies in crime.”

  “Austin Barlow and Jed Marshall,” Jill said.

  Peggy nodded. “Those guys were inseparable.”

  “After that thing with Chet Palmer, I guess they couldn’t find any other friends,” Sherry murmured.

  The deck grew silent for a few long beats as the meat sizzled on the barbecue.

  Jet bomber. Jill couldn’t forget Edith’s gasping breaths that day, her hoarse, barely there words. Chet Palmer. Why was that incident suddenly topmost in everyone’s mind lately?

  “You think they really did that?” Doris asked, her voice hushed. “Nobody ever admitted to planting that poison bomb.”

  “Sure they wouldn’t.” Peggy nodded toward Jill. “You would be the expert on that.”

  Jill tried not to fidget. “How should I know?”

  “You broke up with Austin after Chet’s death,” Doris said. “You must have believed he did it.”

  “Austin wouldn’t endanger Chet’s life on purpose,” Jill said. “I just thought he was moronic enough to try to pull that practical joke, and got the wrong chemicals.”

  “So you do think he did it, then,” Doris said.

  “He never admitted to anything.”

  “Not that Austin Barlow would ever admit to doing something wrong,” Sherry said. “Neither would Jed or Junior, after Chet died. I mean, if they’d admitted to that, they could have been in huge trouble. Maybe even juvenile hall.”

  “I think something was up with those three, though,” Peggy said. “They sure didn’t talk much after that. Jill, didn’t Austin say anything to you about it?”

  “Why would he? I wasn’t exactly sympathetic to the cause at the time. I mean, Chet died because of that stupid stunt.”

  “Jill, did you actually see anything that would lead you to believe Austin and his buddies did the deed?”

  “If I had, I would have reported it. You expect me to remember something clearly that happened half a lifetime ago?” Jill couldn’t hold Peggy’s stare.

  “Of course we do,” Peggy said. “You’re the genius with a photographic memory. You were the class brain.”

  “I do not have a photographic memory, and I wasn’t the class—”

  “Spill, Jill,” Doris said.

  “I didn’t know anything for sure then,” Jill said with a sigh. “As I told you, Austin clammed up after Chet’s death. I thought I sensed something between those three, but I was suspicious, anyway, so who really knows? Peggy, you didn’t finish your story about your date with Junior Short.”

  Tension eased for a moment when Peggy gave her characteristic giggle. “The guy was so snockered before the dance was over, I tried to get a ride home with Raymond Mettlach and his date. Junior got mad and said he could get me home.”

  “My parents were there,” Sherry said. “They never missed a dance. They’d have taken you.”

  “By then I was too embarrassed to ask,” Peggy said. “I was an idiot, I know, but since I only lived at the edge of town I didn’t think he could get us killed here in Hideaway. He decided halfway home to try to take me parking.”

  The women burst into laughter, startling a squirrel at the base of the nearest cedar tree.

  “What did you do?” Jill asked.

  “He climbed into the back seat, I stayed in the front seat and waited for the fireworks to begin.”

  “What fireworks?” Jill asked. “We never had fireworks at the festival.”

  Peggy rolled her eyes. “Verbal ones, Jill. Junior had parked right in front of the police chief’s house. The guy’s wife came out with a broom and started beating the ugly off his car. Junior peeled out, laying rubber and swerving all over the road.”

  This time, at the sound of their laughter, a flock of birds flew from the treetops and circled.

  “Of course, he didn’t get in trouble over it because his dad was buddies with the police chief,” Peggy said. “But he got me home three minutes later. He didn’t get a kiss good night, either.”

  “The jerk,” Doris said.

  “Still is,” Peggy said.

  “Oh, hey, wait a minute.” Sherry grabbed a photo album from a huge bag of goodies she had brought to the party. “Sorry, Peggy, that was good, but I think I’ve got our winner. I forgot all about this until I was pulling pictures for the reunion and saw it.” She slid a snapshot from its sleeve and tossed it onto the circular deck table. It spun to a stop in front of Jill.


  The photo was of the four of them with their dates for the Junior-Senior Prom. Austin looked so much younger standing behind Jill, arm draped lazily over her shoulder, hair a brighter red than it was now.

  Jill marveled at the smile she had given to the camera—one that amazingly reached her eyes. Maybe some of her memories were faulty. She couldn’t remember being happy much of the time after Mom’s death.

  A few feet beyond the four of them and their dates stood Mary Larson, who became Mary Marshall when she married Jed.

  Sherry tapped her long, polished nail against the image of Mary, who was standing slightly behind Austin. Mary wore a long, white dress with a blue velvet wrap over her shoulders.

  “What do you think she knows about the Chet tragedy?” Sherry asked. “Mary was always tight with Jed.”

  “Why should she know any more than I did?” Jill asked. “I was close to Austin.”

  Sherry continued to place other old pictures on the table. Most were of the four of them. Some were of Mary and Jed. It was startling to see Mary smiling.

  “Unless I’m blind,” Peggy said, “that sure wasn’t who she was with that night. Who did she go with?”

  Sherry reached once more into her photo album. “Don’t you remember? She and Jed had a fight a couple of weeks before the dance.”

  “Oh, sure, we’re going to remember that,” Doris said. “Get serious, Sherry, I can barely remember my own telephone number these days.”

  “Mary broke up with Jed and went to the dance alone. She danced with practically every guy there, even Chet Palmer.” Sherry spread more photos out, one atop the other. “I think she did that just to make Jed mad. Everyone knew Mary and Chet were always competing for top scores.”

  The table fell silent, and the women exchanged long glances.

  Jill frowned. She did remember that. Mary had been so outgoing and cheerful that night. Almost too cheerful. As if she were drunk. Since Mary was a teetotaler, that had been a surprise.

  Sherry tossed another snapshot onto the table. “Would you look at this? That daughter of Mary and Jed’s could be Mary’s double. And do you remember this gorgeous sweater? Would you believe Mary made this herself for a Future Homemaker’s project? She even made the buttons.”

  Another photo fell onto the growing stack, and Jill picked it up. “What’s this?”

  “This was taken later the night of the dance. Notice anything different?” Sherry asked dryly.

  It was another photo of them, only this one was shot outside after that same dance. Mary once again was in the background, but she certainly wasn’t posing for any picture. Her hair, which had been up in the first picture, had now fallen around her shoulders. Her dress was smudged with dirt, and her wrap was missing. She had her head turned from the photographer.

  “What happened to her?” Sherry asked.

  “Good question,” Doris said. “If I remember correctly, Jed went to the dance that night.”

  “With whom?” Sherry asked.

  “He went stag. Even though Mary and Jed weren’t seeing one another, no one was willing to risk her anger by going with him,” Doris said. “I would have gone with him myself, if he’d asked. That girl didn’t scare me.”

  “You don’t think he’d be angry enough to hurt her, do you?” Jill asked. “Jed was always crazy about Mary.”

  “I’d believe something like that of Junior Short, but not Jed,” Sherry said. “Maybe Junior thought he was doing something to protect his friend’s so-called honor.”

  “Or Austin?” Doris asked.

  Again, there was a moment of silence.

  “When a guy grows up in an atmosphere like the one Austin grew up in,” Sherry said at last, “he starts to think violence is the best way to handle a situation.”

  “Well, I don’t believe a simple dance or two with a class rival is going to rile anybody enough to get that rival killed the next year,” Peggy said.

  Doris sat studying the pictures for a moment longer. “I’m sure you’re right. Must’ve been a tragic mistake. I say the boys simply wanted to play a prank on a jerk, and someone grabbed the wrong chemical. Those three boys weren’t exactly geniuses in chem lab.”

  Jill caught Doris’s gaze. “You really think that prank was just a mistake?”

  Doris fixed her with a stern stare. “If you have reason to believe it was anything else, you’d better have proof.”

  “Anyway,” Sherry said, “Mary wins the worst date contest. She came alone, maybe got into a fight with someone. I don’t remember seeing her smile since that night.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rex sat alone in the executive suite of the Lakeside Bed and Breakfast with a completely charged cell phone and a number that had been on his mind since he arrived here last week. It was once his own telephone number, and Margret hadn’t changed it since the divorce.

  He spoke the voice tag into the handset. “Home.” The dialing was automatic. He drummed his fingers against the armrest of the chair as he sat staring out over the surface of the lake. This suite commanded an idyllic view of the cliffs across the lake, and he saw a canoe sliding through the water with Blaze Farmer and Fawn Morrison sitting face-to-face.

  He smiled. Just yesterday afternoon at the clinic, Blaze had come in for a few hours after his last class, and during a lull between patients he’d started asking questions about Rex’s love life.

  Cheeky kid.

  Then Karah Lee had shared some interesting news about the teenager’s prowess when it came to matchmaking.

  If Blaze thought he was going to jump-start a romance for Rex in this town, he was going to ruin his hard-earned reputation.

  Rex refused to allow hope to get a foothold at this point. Jill had made it clear she wasn’t interested.

  Not that he had ever accepted discouragement at face value. Jill hadn’t always been one to say exactly what was in her heart. In fact, he suspected she honestly didn’t always know what was in her heart.

  After the fourth ring, Rex was prepared to hang up. Then someone picked up.

  He gave a silent lightning prayer that it wasn’t Margret. If she answered, there’d be the interrogation and the litany of complaints about his influence on the boys because of his continued contact with them.

  To his relief, Rex heard the shy, deep voice of Tyler, his oldest stepson.

  “Hey, Ty. Hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”

  “Dad?”

  The sudden joy in that beloved voice made Rex’s eyes sting with tears for a moment. How he missed his boys.

  “Where are you?” Tyler asked. “Are you here in town?”

  “Not even close, unfortunately.” Not that Margret would agree to allowing him to see Tyler and Jason, even if he were in Kansas City, not since her most recent outburst at him. “I’m down in the Ozarks on a job. Ever heard of Hideaway, Missouri?”

  “Sure. That’s the place where the big condo project collapsed last year. What’re you doing there?”

  “Working to turn a clinic into a hospital. How’s it going up there in the big city?”

  Tyler groaned. “Worse all the time. Mom’s impossible, she wouldn’t even let me go on the float trip with the group from church, and she won’t let me get a job so I can save for a car.”

  They’d had this conversation before. “You know it won’t do any good for me to talk—”

  “I don’t want you to talk with her, I want out of here.” There was suddenly more frustration—more anger—than Rex had ever heard in the boy’s voice.

  “Where would you go?”

  There was a painfully long hesitation. “I could come…live with you.”

  Rex caught his breath. He had wondered if this situation wouldn’t arise someday. For the sake of the boys, he’d hoped it wouldn’t. Selfishly, however, he felt a little thrill at Tyler’s words.

  Time to tread with caution. Margret had enough to deal with. Having an ex-husband attempt to turn her own children against her might just drive her ov
er the edge—she was close to it already.

  “Tyler, you know how I feel about you guys.” He’d made sure, before marrying Margret, that he would be able to love and accept her children as his own. And he’d done so with exceptional ease, simply because those boys were so easy to love. His bond with them had only grown stronger as they grew older. In spite of all the warnings he’d received from well-meaning friends, he’d found he enjoyed his boys even more as teenagers than as young children.

  In spite of her shortcomings, Margret had done a good job with those boys, and Rex liked to think he had helped.

  One of the lessons he’d learned from his breakup with Jill was not to smother the people he loved.

  He’d also learned, however, that being a stepfather always meant there was a natural father. He would never have that tangible right as a parent to actually be a parent.

  “Why didn’t you adopt me when you and Mom were married?” Tyler asked, his voice crackling around the edges. It made him sound younger, less sure of himself.

  “You know why, son.” Rex knew it had been a rhetorical question. Tyler’s and Jason’s father would not allow an adoption, even though it meant he would have to continue paying child support. He’d never made an effort to keep routine visitation, and when the boys were little they had been disappointed time and again on holidays when they didn’t hear from their father, who was a busy CEO of a thriving investment company in New York City.

  “Son, this is a tough time in your life, but believe it or not, it’s also pretty tough on your mom.”

  “That’s her fault.”

  “But you know she needs you to be as supportive of her as you can.”

  “She’d have your support if she hadn’t kicked you out,” Tyler snapped. “Don’t tell me about support. She thought Kirk was such a winner until he dumped her right after the divorce was final.”

  Rex winced. One thing he didn’t need was the reminder that he had been so easy for Margret to replace. She’d had at least one affair while they had been married, and Rex suspected more. The reminder was like salt in an open wound.