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but
leopard-print-encased cleavage.
    Adjusting my bag high onto my shoulder and
feeling extremely proper – even though I was in tight jeans, boots,
and a close-fitted blouse – I waited.
    Then I waited some more.
    And then some more.
    I couldn’t exactly tell whether Nancy was
flirting with the guy or just trying to waste everybody’s time. I
wanted to call what she was having with the teenager a
conversation, but it wasn’t. Every now and then the poor kid would
chuckle or laugh or even nod his head in agreement, but that was
it.
    I cleared my throat. When that didn’t work,
I cleared my throat again. Yet no matter how politely I tried to
get their attention, they wouldn’t look my way.
    Slowly I started to get extremely
irritated. Okay, who was I kidding? Almost immediately I felt
exceedingly pissed off. Not only was Nancy wasting my time and
using her leopard-print cleavage to stop the kid from doing his
job, but this was... inappropriate.
    I was a self-confessed romance junkie – so I
certainly wasn’t a prude – but for crying out loud, yesterday Nancy
had attended a school reunion where a classmate had wound up dead
in a rose bush. Barely eighteen hours later, she was laughing,
flirting, and continuing her life without a hint or sorrow or
remorse.
    “Excuse me,” I interrupted, “but I’m trying
to hand my keys back here.”
    The kid jumped up, and Nancy turned on me
slowly. Really, really slowly. She arched her back, shifted her
shoulder to the side, waited for her hair to trail across her cheek
and neck, and then flicked her eyes my way.
    She was not trying to seduce me; she was
shooting me the most languid, sultry warning I’d ever received.
    I stared back at her, my expression a
crumpled, irritated mess.
    Without another word, I marched up to the
counter, slammed my keys down on the wood, and nodded politely at
the kid. “You have my credit card details; charge me for two
nights.”
    “Ah, yes, of course. Hold on,” the kid –
looking particularly nervous, flushed, and sprung – typed something
on the computer behind the desk, and then cleared his throat,
“aren’t you meant to stay for another two nights? We have you down
on the system as staying until Monday morning.” He coughed
quickly.
    “I have to cancel,” I gave him a polite
smile.
    Though I could have gone on to explain
exactly why I had to cancel, no doubt he knew the story. Wetlake
City was a small town. It had been a small town back when I had
been in my senior year. In many ways, it felt even smaller now that
I had seen how big the rest of the world was in comparison. News
spread around a place like this like wildfire through dried scrub.
Every single person would know what had happened at the school.
Though Denver had assured me this was a police matter, it wouldn’t
stay that way. Someone would tell their mother, who would tell
their sister, who would tell their neighbor, then – hey presto –
everyone would know. So rather than explain myself, I nodded at him
one last time and turned to walk away.
    “Oh no now, you can’t be leaving, not yet
anyway; the reunion weekend is meant to last, well, the whole
weekend,” Nancy said as she flopped a hand my way. Straightening
up, she towered a good few feet above me, helped by her
ridiculously high and unsafe stilettos.
    I arched an eyebrow and looked back at
her.
    Was she really that clueless? Had she
blanked from her mind what had happened yesterday?
    “Your name is Patti Smith, isn’t it? We had
a lot of classes together. Now you must remember me; I’m Nancy,”
she shoved her hand at me.
    I was repulsed by it, because right now, I
was repulsed by her. But considering my mother had brought me up to
be ceaselessly polite, I found myself accepting the hand and
letting her do all the shaking. Then I let my hand drop to my side,
and not so surreptitiously, I found myself wiping my palm and
fingers on my jeans. “I know who you are,” I forced myself not to
be sarcastic, but