"No. Wasn't a car. It was one of those minivans."
They inspected each classroom, each bathroom, then trotted down the back stairs. They jumped on the hood of each car in the parking lot but no bodies were slumped over on the front seat.
"Don't jump on Mom's hood. She gets testy about paw prints." Pewter giggled.
A sheriff's department car pulled into the parking lot. Sitting in the front seat next to the officer was Dennis Rablan. The cats watched as the officer parked, got out, and Dennis, handcuffed, swung his feet out, touching the ground.
"Please take these off," Dennis pleaded. "I'm not a killer. Don't make me walk into the reunion like this."
"You left your reunion in a hurry, buddy, you can walk right back in wearing these bracelets. Eighty miles an hour in front of the Con-Agra Building. If you aren't guilty then you're running scared."
The cats followed behind the humans, who didn't notice them. As the officer, a young man of perhaps twenty-five, propelled Dennis into the gym, people turned. Their expressions ranged from disbelief to mild shock.
"I didn't do it!" Dennis shouted before anyone could say anything.
"Sheriff, I searched his van and found a hunting knife and a rope. No gun."
"Let me see the rope." Sheriff Shaw left for a moment as Dennis stood in the middle of the room.
He quickly returned, wearing thin rubber gloves, rope in hand. "Rablan, what's this?"
"I don't know. I didn't have a rope in my van this morning."
"Well, you sure have one in your van now."
"I didn't do it. I thought Rex Harnett was a worthless excuse for a man. I did. A useless parasite." He turned toward his classmates. "I can't remember him ever doing anything for anybody but himself."
"Maybe so but he didn't deserve to die for it." Hank Bittner, back from the bathroom, spoke calmly.
"Tucker," Mrs. Murphy softly called, "sniff the rope."
The beautiful corgi walked over to the sheriff, her claws clicking on the gym floor. She lifted her nose before Rick noticed. "Talcum powder."
When the sheriff looked down at the dog looking up, he paused as if to say something but didn't. He stared at Harry instead, who whistled for Tucker. She instantly obeyed.
"I didn't do it." Dennis set his jaw.
BoomBoom folded her arms across her chest. "Sheriff, he's not the type."
"Then who is?" the sheriff snapped back. "I have seen little old ladies commit fraud, fifteen-year-old kids blow away their parents, and ministers debauch their flocks. You tell me, who is?"
"If none of you are going to stand up for me, I'll tell everything I know about our senior year," Dennis taunted the others.
"You bastard!" Bittner lunged forward, reaching Dennis be-fore Cynthia could catch him. With one crunching uppercut he knocked Dennis off his feet.
Rick grabbed Hank's right arm as the young officer pinned the other one.
"He's a liar. He doesn't know anything about anybody," Hank snarled.
Bob Shoaf confirmed Hank's opinion. "Right, Rablan, make up stories to save your own ass."
Dennis, helped to his feet by Cynthia, sneered. "I'll tell what I want to when I want to and I'll extract maximum revenge. It was never my idea. I just happened to be there."
"Be where?" Rick asked.
"In the showers."
"Let me get this straight." Rick motioned for Jason, the young officer, to unlock the handcuffs. "You're talking about today? Or 1980?"
"He's scared out of his wits," Pewter whispered.
Dennis looked around the room and his bravado seemed to fade. "I don't remember anything. But someone planted that rope in my van."
"Fool's blabbing about the rope before it's tested." Market Shiflett was disgusted with Dennis.
"Can I go home?" Chris sighed.
"No," Rick curtly answered.
Harry, next to Fair, said, "What did happen my senior year?"
Susan, on her other side, whispered, "Those that know are rapidly disappearing."
"Yeah, all part of the in-group clique." Harry felt dreadful, half-queasy over the deaths and the lingering presence of in-tended evil.
"All men," Susan again whispered.
"So far," Fair said. He was worried for all of them.
41
"Now what's the story." Rick folded his hands on the wooden desk with the slanted top, and leaned forward.
Cynthia remained in the gym checking everyone's hands for residue from firing the gun. She also checked their purses and pockets for surgical gloves. As lunchtime approached Rick de-cided the class of 1980 could enjoy their lunch as planned. Susan, in charge of the food, was rearranging tables with help. It would be a somber group that ate barbecue.
Rick meanwhile commandeered a classroom down the hall. Then he intended to interview the senior superlatives since they were the ones dying off, the men, anyway.
Market was number one on the list.
"I heard it second-no, thirdhand." Market coughed behind his hand. "I didn't think about it-even then-because Charlie was always bragging about himself. But . . ."
"Just tell me what you heard," Rick patiently asked.
"You know about senior superlatives?"
"Yes."
"I heard that on the day the class of 1980 elected theirs, which would have been mid-October, I think, there was the usual round of excitement and disappointment, depending on whether you were elected or not. But what I heard was that Charlie Ashcraft, Leo Burkey, Bob Shoaf, Dennis Rablan, and Rex Harnett pinned down Ron Brindell and raped him." Market grimaced. "They said if that faggot was going to be elected Most Popular they'd make sure he was popular. Or words to that effect. But Ron never reported them and he seemed on friendly terms with those guys. Just another one of those high-school rumors, like Charlie getting a girl pregnant."
Rick sighed. "Adolescent boys are terrified of sex and their own relation to it. Their answer to anything they don't understand is violence."
"I don't remember feeling all that violent," Market replied. "But I can't believe Ron would stay friendly with them after something like that."
"Depends on what he thought he had to do to survive. It's hard for many men to understand what it's like to be the victim of sexual violence," Rick said.
"I never thought of that." Market wondered what else he never thought of by virtue of being a man, a straight man.
"We worship violence in this country. Turn on your television. Go to the movies. I can tell you it makes my job a lot harder. Anyway, who told you this?" Rick returned to his questions.
"I wish I could remember. As I said, I dismissed the story and I never heard any more about it. I don't think the rumor made the rounds or it would have lasted longer. Damn, I wish I could remember who told me."
"Too bad."
"Maybe Ron wasn't a homosexual. Maybe he was just effeminate." Market thought a moment. "Must be hell to be a gay kid in high school."
"Anything else?"
"No. Well, Ron Brindell killed himself. His parents died shortly after that. From grief. He was their only son, you know. All that misery. I can't imagine killing myself."
"Self-hate." Rick offered Market a cigarette, which he refused. "All manner of things derail people: greed, lust, obsessions, sex, revenge, and self-hate. Then again I sometimes wonder if some people aren't born sorrowful." He inhaled. "Market, we've known each other for a long time. I don't mind telling you that we're sitting on a time bomb."
"Because everyone's gathered together?"
"Yes."
"But two murders took place before the reunion."
"That they did-with Marcy Wiggins' .38."
"Guess it was too good to be true." Market stopped. "I don't mean good that Marcy killed herself, but her gun . . . we all let our guard down."
Rick nodded in agreement. "Our first thought was a crime of passion. Bill had discovered the affair with Charlie, shot her, and made it look like suicide, taking the precaution to have her write a confession in her own hand. But Dr. Wiggins happened to be at the Fredericksburg Hospital that day. She could have been murdered by someone else but I don't think so. All indications were suicide."