Read Online A Deadly Reunion by Odette C. Bell - Free Book Online Page A

decency to the equation.” With that, I shut the
door. Okay, I kind of slammed it. But what the hell – the motel
already had my credit card details, and if I damaged the wood or
the paintwork, they could just charge me.
    Dumping my bag on the bed, I shot my windows
a baleful look. Fortunately the blinds were drawn, so I didn’t have
to put up with the view of Nancy wobbling around in her heels.
    Realizing there was no earthly reason I
should be allowing her to get to me – considering I wasn’t in
goddamn high school any more – I made my way over to the bar
fridge, rummaged around in it, and then promptly closed it when I
found nothing edible.
    Grumbling to myself, I decided a shower was
in order, and I kicked off my shoes and clothes, and headed into
the bathroom.
    I clambered into the shower, turned the
water onto full, planted my hands onto the tiled wall, and closed
my eyes.
    I liked to think I didn’t lead a complicated
life. In fact, one of the secrets to a good relationship was to
avoid complex people and situations like the Plague.
    Well right now, I wasn’t living by my own
rules. The smart thing to do was to leave. Okay, the fun thing to
do was to stay until I’d had some Vietnamese with Thorne Scott, but
to stay in Wetlake any longer was stupid. For the love of god,
there had been a murder at my school reunion, and even if Annabelle
was mad enough to continue with the events planned for the weekend,
it wasn’t decent; it wasn’t right.
    Feeling exceedingly conflicted, I eventually
finished my shower. Reaching over to the basin for the white fluffy
towel sitting there, I began to dry myself.
    I promptly stopped.
    I stopped and I gave a scream.
    There wasn’t a man in the bathroom with a
knife getting ready to stab me, Psycho style. There wasn’t an
enormous spider, there wasn’t a bear, there wasn’t a tiger – there
was nothing you would classically find frightening.
    What there was, was a postcard.
    Sitting on the top of the cistern of the
toilet.
    I recognized it immediately because it
depicted me.
    It was a photo of the exact moment when I
had lost my pants at the football game.
    It was just sitting there, and I was
entirely certain that it hadn’t been there before I’d jumped into
the shower.
    “Jesus,” I said sharply.
    I got out of the shower. It was an awkward
affair. It was one of those built-in showerheads over a bath, but
half the side had a frosted glass pane. Planting my hand on the
edge of the pane, I clambered out.
    I stood there, huddled in the towel, too
frightened to walk out into the main part of the room.
    Then someone knocked on the door.
    I jumped and gave another scream.
    “Patti? Patti? Are you okay?”
    Denver.
    Shit, it was Denver.
    I was still soldered to the spot, but when
he continued to knock, I finally found the courage to take several
steps forward and beyond the door of the bathroom. With the tensest
moves I had ever made, I surveyed my room.
    It was empty, apart from the bed, my
luggage, and my car keys.
    “Patti?”
    “It’s okay. It’s okay,” I said, relief
rippling through my tone.
    “You screamed. What’s happening in
there?”
    I walked over to the door.
    I was in a towel, and my sopping-wet hair
trailed over my neck and shoulders, but that didn’t stop me.
    Because I wasn’t one of those dumb girls who
didn’t reach out for help when they needed it, I opened the door.
Sure, there was nobody in my room, but there was a freaking
postcard of me on the top of my toilet, and it hadn’t been there
before I’d jumped in the shower.
    Something was going on. Even though I
couldn’t say I liked the guy, Denver was a Federal Agent, and Nancy
would be very right – he would most certainly have a gun.
    Opening the door a crack at first, I used my
free hand to fix the towel tightly against my chest.
    Denver ducked to the side, staring at me
immediately. “What happened?”
    Ensuring the towel was as tight and secure
as it could be, I took a step back