Read Online Twenty-Five Years Ago Today by Stacy Juba - Free Book Online

her was worse.
    Kris had learned a new phrase that May, a
litany that surged back into her mind, drumming to the beat of the
windshield wipers.
    If only.
    If only it hadn't rained the afternoon Nicole
disappeared.
    If only she hadn't climbed into the car with
Randolph Coltraine.
    If only Aunt Susan were home when Nicole
called for a ride.
    Kris swallowed the metallic taste in her
mouth. If only I hadn’t tricked her.
    She chose the long route home, driving fast.
Kris hadn't driven in New York and had forgotten the thrill of a
climbing speedometer. Her first week back, she'd landed a speeding
ticket.
    Kris skidded onto the Fremont State College
campus, her tires kicking up tufts of snow. She passed dorms,
tennis courts and the library before parking in front of the
deserted baseball field. White trees cast shapeless shadows across
the broad expanse of snow. A chunk of ice slid off the roof,
hitting the front window. Kris jumped, her hand to her heart.
    "No one's out there," she murmured, gazing
into the woods. "Not now."
    But once.
    Beyond those trees, Diana had lain dead.
    Police crowded the scene, their search
over.
    Middle-aged reporter Dex Wagner scribbled in
his notebook.
    Twenty-five years ago today.

     

Chapter 7
     
    25 Years Ago Today
    Two young boys who fell through the thin
ice at the Fremont Park Pond are rescued by Patrolman Arthur
DeBaggis .
     
    W hen she reached the
newsroom, Kris assigned herself the task of tracking down Jared.
After an Internet search yielded little result, she called the
Fremont State College Alumni Association and said she wanted to
reunite her husband and his old classmate Jared for a surprise
party.
    According to the association, Jared and
Yvonne Peyton lived in Cambridge. He also managed a Boston art
gallery. So Jared dealt in art. Maybe that explained his
relationship with Diana. Kris got his home number and soon had
Yvonne Peyton on the line. She wove her second lie in five minutes,
ignoring the slight stirring of guilt.
    Okay, her methods were morally questionable,
but she had a legitimate reason. Investigative reporters went
undercover. It was their job. True, she was an obit writer, not an
investigative reporter, but that was a minor technicality.
    "I'm calling from the Fremont State College
Career Services Department," Kris said. "We wondered if your
husband is still employed at an art gallery?"
    "He owns the gallery. Your alumni magazine
should write a feature story. They've done articles on people far
less successful than my husband." A critical note had entered
Yvonne Peyton's haughty voice.
    "I'll suggest that. Where is the gallery
located?" Kris jotted down the address, thanked Yvonne and hung up.
The gallery wasn't far from Quincy Market. She'd visit tomorrow
morning.
    Bruce loitered beside her and cupped one hand
on the wall. "In early again? Don't you have anything better to
do?"
    "I’m just a dedicated gal. What can I
say?"
    "Who were you calling?"
    Hell, what was another lie?
    "Brides who didn't give me enough information
for their wedding announcements," Kris answered.
    "Thought you might be hot on another scoop,"
he said with an edge of sarcasm.
    Then again, she'd enjoy making him sweat.
"Who said I wasn't?"
    The office manager buzzed her over the phone
intercom. "Kris, there's a young man at the counter for you. He
seems upset."
    Upset? Had she ruined an obituary? Kris had
caught a typo on the obit page last night before the paper went to
press. The first paragraph had read "He was the wife of." Thank
God, she'd spotted it. Her error would've devastated the poor
family. What if she'd missed another one?
    Pulse quickening, she excused herself and
walked through the maze of desks to the main office.
    A man in his late twenties stood at the
counter, arms crossed over his black leather bomber jacket. Dark
hair feathered to the nape of his neck in soft waves. His smooth
molded cheekbones and the cleft in his chin had hardened to stone.
Kris's heart speeded up, partly