Most Likely To Die. Lisa Jackson
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They’re working it out.”
“Great. When they do, then we’ll see.”
“God, Mom, this is just so unfair!”
Kristen nodded. “Probably so. Get used to it. And watch your mouth.”
“I’ll handle this,” Ross said, and Kristen decided to let him go for it. Let him deal firsthand with a stubborn, rebellious teenager.
“Good. I’ll let you two work it out.”
As he shepherded a recalcitrant Lissa out the door, Kristen took the time to lift Marmalade from the ground and pet the cat’s soft fur as she walked to the bedroom. She was rewarded with some deep purrs and a wet nose pressed to the inside of her neck. “Yeah, you’re a love,” Kristen said before the orange tabby started struggling and Kristen dropped her onto the edge of the bed…the king-sized bed she’d shared with Ross.
“Don’t go there,” she warned and wouldn’t even guess what Ross was sleeping on now. Maybe just the recliner he’d been so fond of before he’d moved out. “Not your problem.”
But she couldn’t help smiling when she remembered going bed shopping years earlier and how Ross had flopped onto the expensive mattress, crossed his legs, and patted the pillow top next to him. “Should we try it out first? You know, see if it can stand up to us?” he’d whispered.
Kristen had blushed to the roots of her sun-streaked hair before muttering, “In your dreams, Delmonico.”
“All the time,” he’d agreed and as she’d dropped onto the mattress, she’d imagined making love to him on that downy soft bed.
He’d read her mind and told the clerk, “Sold. When can you deliver?”
“Next Thursday,” the bald salesman had said, checking his delivery chart.
Ross had winked at Kristen. “I guess you’ll just have to wait to have your way with me, wife.”
Now Kristen touched the edge of a pillow and sighed. “A long time ago,” she reminded herself and shut her mind to those dangerous thoughts. There had been a time when Ross had meant everything to her. But that was before he’d started his own construction company and worked increasingly long hours. It had gotten so bad that some nights he wouldn’t come home, staying on the job in other cities, making excuses…or so it had seemed. She’d wondered if he was having an affair, had asked him about it and he’d scoffed at her. But there was something in his eyes that had belied his quick denial.
She’d never caught him in a lie.
Never picked up a call from another woman.
Never found a receipt he couldn’t explain.
And yet…
The worst-case scenario was he was a liar and a cheat.
The best case, disinterested in his family.
And what about you? What about his charges that you’d never really gotten over Jake Marcott? Just how much truth is there that his ghost still haunts you, as Ross charged?
She closed her eyes. How much of the failure of their marriage was her fault?
Half?
A quarter?
Did it matter?
In the past few years, Ross had slowly slipped away from her.
Or did you push him?
The headache she’d been fighting flared again, burning behind her eyes. The bottom line was that Ross had nearly disappeared from her life.
But he was here today, wasn’t he? And he’s with Lissa tonight.
“Too little, too late.” She wouldn’t forget that deep down Ross lived and breathed for Delmonico Construction. His wife and young daughter had become less and less important until Kristen had felt virtually invisible.
In the past two years, nothing she said or did seemed to sink into the man.
So it was a good thing he was dealing with Lissa. A very good thing.
She walked into the bathroom and stopped short when the closed blinds rattled slightly.
How odd, Kristen thought. The window was never open. Never. And yet…She pulled the blinds up and sure enough, there was a space between the sill and the bottom pane. Just wide enough to stick fingers beneath and push open. Water had collected on the window track, indicating that the window had been open for some time.
She frowned at the opening, pushed the window shut, and tried to latch it, but the damned lock, which had always been loose, didn’t click shut.
So who had opened it?
Lissa?
But she never used this bathroom.
Ross?
Nah…he was never here.
But he still has keys.
Why would he come into the bathroom…her bathroom?
It used to be his, too.
Oh, hell, she couldn’t think about this now. She snapped the window shut, forced the latch closed, and decided to ask Ross and Lissa about it later.
She only took the time to brush her teeth, pile her hair onto her head in an untidy knot, and strip out of her work clothes in favor of jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and battered running shoes. A dash of lip gloss, then she grabbed her laptop, portable printer, purse, and keys and was out the door.
As she drove to the committee meeting, she grimaced. Her job had lost its luster, she was soon to divorce her husband, her only child acted as if she hated her, and to top things off, it was a rainy night and she was headed to about the last place she wanted to go.
Could her life be any more pathetic?
So it’s finally going to happen.
Twenty long years had passed, twenty years of questions, twenty years of heartbreak, twenty years of fear.
Jake Marcott’s killer smiled inwardly. She had waited a long time for this, been patient, knowing that eventually the Fates would work with, rather than against, her and she’d get her chance to finally settle the score.
After Jake’s death there had been a time of fear and panic. She’d vowed to herself that she had done all that was necessary, but of course, she’d been wrong. She knew about the reunion meeting and itched to be there, a mouse in the corner, listening and planning, knowing that at last it was time to strike again, to right the very old and bitter wrongs.
Get ready, she thought, tucking her hair into a hat and glancing at the overcast skies. She thought back to that night, to seeing Jake’s eyes find her in the moonlight. His teeth had been a slash of amused white, his cocky expression changing as she’d lifted the already-armed crossbow, leveled the heavy weapon at his chest, and let the arrow fly.
Thwack!
Jake Marcott had taken one in the heart.
Right where he deserved it.
She smiled at that memory. Not once in the past twenty years had she regretted Jake’s demise.
Better yet, she’d gotten away with it. She’d left the damning weapon at the scene of the crime, but the stolen crossbow could never be connected to anyone at the dance that night.
No one knew.
She smiled as she looked into the mirror.
Jake Marcott’s murder had never been solved.
And the class of 1986 had never been the same.
There had been no five-year reunion, or ten. No one had said a word when fifteen years had passed, but now, on the eve of the closure of St. Elizabeth’s, the class of ’86 was going to meet one more time.
For