High School Reunion Read Free Page A

was. What do you think about her position on the floor?”
    “I asked you first.”
    “Fair enough.” She stepped closer. “Yes, I’m here for the reunion. I flew in to Memphis this afternoon and drove straight here.”
    “Flew in from where?”
    “D.C. I work at FBI Headquarters. I’m a criminologist with the Division of Unsolved Mysteries.”
    His gaze sharpened, but all he did was nod.
    “Misty invited me to stay with her. I tried to call her several times, on her cell and her home phone, but she never answered, which was odd since she’d made me promise to call. I pulled into her driveway at 8:03 p.m. Rang her bell, knocked on the door, then drew my weapon and turned the knob. It was unlocked.”

    Cade turned around and crossed his arms. “You said that. Do you know how unlikely that is? Misty’s—”
    “Borderline agoraphobic. I know.” She nodded. “Not to mention a tad obsessive-compulsive. Even in grade school she couldn’t stand to be inside a house alone with the doors unlocked.”
    “Which means either she let someone in or they picked the lock.”
    “That lock’s at least sixty years old. It could probably be opened with a credit card.”
    “So you walked into a dark house that you knew shouldn’t be unlocked, not knowing whether you’d find a burglar, a murderer or a rapist?”
    “Or my best friend from high school.” Laurel kept her expression neutral, but it was an effort. “I’m a trained agent with field and crime-scene experience. I know how to enter a suspicious dwelling.”
    His face darkened. “Without backup?”
    Laurel shrugged. She knew he was right to question her, but she wasn’t wrong. Not totally. She let it drop. “So what do you think about her position?”
    “Someone conked her from behind.”
    “While she was sitting on the couch?”
    “Nope. She’d have slumped over.”
    Images of what must have happened played out in Laurel’s head. “Picture this.” She turned to look at the foyer door. “I come in the door. Either it’s unlocked—doubtful—or I somehow unlock it without Misty hearing me.” She stepped toward the couch and raised her hand. “I’m holding the baseball bat. Did I bring it in or pick it up here?”
    Cade still had his arms crossed. He nodded toward the couch. “I’m thinking the bat was Misty’s. It was probably near the front door—for protection.”
    “What did you do with it?”
    “I gave it to Shelton—Officer Phillips—to check for prints.”
    “Okay, I’m holding the bat. I raise my arm and swing—” She demonstrated.
    “What are you doing?”
    The scene in her head freeze-framed. She looked up at him. “Trying to get a picture of what happened.”
    “You do realize you’re talking as if you’re the attacker?”
    “Oh. A lot of the time I work alone, looking at forensic evidence from photographs or video. I talk to myself.”
    His brows drew down. “So you walk in the perp’s shoes. I reckon I see the crime unfolding like a movie—it’s how my dad always did it. I guess everybody’s got their own way of doing things.” He scrutinized her. “So, Gillespie, if you’re acting out what the attacker did, you need to use your other hand. The blow was to the left side of Misty’s head.”
    She felt her cheeks heat up. “You’re right. The attacker had to be left-handed.” She looked at her hands. “Wouldn’t you think at least one perp would use the wrong hand, just to throw off the police?”
    Cade’s mouth turned up at the corner and Laurel’s pulse jumped at the hint of his killer smile.
    He shrugged. “Plus you’ve still got Misty sitting on the couch.”
    “Okay. Let’s start over.” She started to turn back toward the door.
    “Hold it.” Cade stopped her with a hand on her arm. A large, blunt-fingered, warm hand.

    Crime scene, she thought. Crime scene, not high school.
    “Are you planning to act out the entire thing?”
    “I like to when I can.”
    He cocked his head to one side.