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

and let him walk in. I didn’t
invite him to walk in, but I knew enough about Denver to realize
that wouldn’t matter. Sure enough, he planted a hand on the door
and marched in as if he owned the place. With darting moves, he
surveyed the area, and then turned and looked right at me. Despite
the fact I was standing there dripping in a wet towel, he did not
let his gaze linger. “What happened?”
    “A postcard,” I answered.
    His once worried expression crumpled. “What
do you mean? Did you just scream for no reason?”
    “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a
jerk?” I snapped back.
    I walked behind him and closed the door, not
wanting this conversation to carry, and certainly not wanting Nancy
to pop her head in.
    “Are you going to tell me what happened?” he
demanded.
    Gritting my teeth, I stalked back into the
bathroom. Though I had been nothing but frightened several moments
before, now I was feeling irritated again, and at least it gave me
the courage to head back into the bathroom on my own. Once I’d made
it inside, I was met with that same view – that postcard of me
sitting on the cistern.
    Without an invite, Denver followed me
in.
    I pointed at the cistern. “When I got in the
shower, there was nothing in this bathroom. When I got out of the
shower, that was there.”
    He swiveled his gaze to me, and as his
eyebrows crumbled together, I could see he didn’t believe me.
    I crossed my arms tighter in front of my
chest defensively. “Do you think I would lie about something like
this?”
    “I don’t think you would lie about anything,
Patti Smith, because you are painfully and belligerently direct,”
he snapped as he walked past me and straight over to my toilet. He
plucked up the card, but he did so gently, and he used only the
tips of two fingers to pick it up by the corner.
    He turned it around, thankfully not allowing
his gaze to linger on that rather disastrous photo of me without
any goddamn pants on.
    His lips flattened, and then he frowned.
    “What? What’s written on the back?” I took a
sharp breath.
    Denver didn’t answer. Instead, he turned
back to the toilet, and his gaze automatically flicked up to the
perpetually open window above it.
    “Denver, what does it say on the back?”
    Again he ignored me, and instead he took a
step towards the toilet and kicked it with his shoe. When it didn’t
break apart into one million pieces, he knocked the back of his
knuckles onto the lid. Clearly deciding it was sturdy enough for
his weight, he clambered on top. Placing a hand on the windowsill,
he bent his head forward and looked down and out.
    “Shit, what’s going on here?” I crammed my
thumb into my teeth and began to bite the nail harshly. I had once
been a terrible nail biter, but then I’d jolly well grown up. There
was something about this weekend, however, that was sending me
spiraling backwards.
    After a moment, Denver finally jumped down.
Wordlessly, he handed me the postcard.
    I turned it over.
    My stomach sank.
    On the back was a picture of me pulled from
my yearbook. I had frizzy hair, braces, and bleary, red eyes. I
looked like a cross between a drug addict and a robot.
    Unfortunately, that wasn’t all that was on
the back. There was a message that had been cut out of some kind of
magazine or newspaper. It read: the most successful graduate of
Wetlake High?
    Wow.
    Just wow.
    I didn’t know what to do with the postcard,
so I let it drop to the floor.
    Immediately Denver turned around, sunk to
his knees, and grabbed it up. He was close enough to my legs that I
jumped back at the suddenness of his move. “Don’t get excited,” he
grumbled, “and don’t get this wet.”
    “ What... what is it?” I managed.
    “It’s a postcard of you without any pants
on, and one with a suspiciously threatening message on the back.
Something that you claim was placed in your room while you were in
the shower.”
    That was one hell of a summary. It sent
shivers racing up and down my