“Nothing’s been eating at me,” The Third pointed out, and he seemed relaxed again. An act? Or for real? “And I don’t know what the hell you mean about a mystery. Vangie’s right. Jessie ran away.”
“Are we all going to order something, or what?” Scott asked, his now-bald pate gleaming in the subdued lighting. Becca realized he scarcely had any hair left and apparently chose to shave it off completely. “How about a couple of bottles of wine? Looks like we could use some refills and a few new glasses. Glenn…” He glanced pointedly at his business partner.
Glenn Stafford looked like he’d been enjoying the fruits of his own kitchen. Once thin to the point of being gaunt, he’d packed on the pounds over the years. His shirt stretched a little tight around his middle, whereas Scott was as lean as he’d been in high school and his face was remarkably unlined. Glenn, on the other hand, had deep furrows dug into his forehead, as if the worries of the world lay on his shoulders. His hair was still its same medium brown shade and it was close-cropped and neat. He sent Scott a black look, then pushed back his chair and headed toward a wooden swinging door that presumably led straight to the kitchen.
“Are we ordering food, or just drinks?” Mitch Bellotti asked cautiously.
“Oh, sure.” Scott nodded emphatically. “Glenn, how about a couple of appetizer sampler plates, show everyone our specialties. That way maybe they’ll come back.”
Glenn managed a scowl as he left the room, and Mitch seemed satisfied. The ex-lineman was even thicker around the middle than Glenn, but then he’d always been on the heavy side. He’d had a love of cars that had translated into a career as a mechanic. He’d also always had a love of women and was twice divorced, according to his own admission. Becca could feel his appreciative eye fall on her, but she ignored it, as much to give him the message as to keep The Third and Jarrett Erikson from exchanging amused glances. In high school, Mitch had been the group’s resident clown, always joking. The Third and Jarrett Erikson had referred to him as the Village Idiot behind his back, and Becca sensed their disparagement of him hadn’t changed over the years.
She slid a sideways look at Jarrett, seated on her left. His black hair and black eyes under beetle brows made him seem as if he were hiding secrets. He’d been the least easy to read in high school, and it looked like nothing had changed.
There were a couple of others who had been part of their group, but more peripherally, and they hadn’t been invited to this command performance, apparently, as the only chair unoccupied was waiting for Hudson.
This group of friends, their core, was made up of the people most affected by Jessie’s disappearance.
But Becca still didn’t get why Renee had so wanted this meeting. It wasn’t like they could do anything about Jessie now. She glanced again at the notes so neatly stacked on the black table in front of Renee. Hudson’s twin. And direct opposite.
The door opened, letting in a whoosh of air that touched the back of Becca’s neck.
“Hey.” Hudson’s voice washed over her and her muscles tightened reflexively as she waited for him to move into her line of vision.
“About time, Walker,” The Third said, gazing Hudson’s way, his eyes assessing him carefully.
Becca attempted to ease her stiff shoulders, afraid she looked as tense as she felt.
“Traffic snarl on Sunset,” he answered.
“You’re coming from the west,” Jarrett said as Hudson walked around the table into Becca’s view.
Faded jeans. Tan suede shirt. Thick, dark hair that brushed his collar. I-don’t-really-give-a-damn attitude still intact.
“Shouldn’t be any traffic that way.” Jarrett eyed him carefully.
“You think I’m lying?”
Jarrett backed off with a shrug. “Just think you’re late.”
“Okay, now that the bull rams have locked horns, can we get over this?” Renee asked.
“After we say hello,” Tamara said. She turned to Hudson and added, “Hudson Walker. You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Oh, there have been some changes, all right.” He took a chair next to Zeke, directly across from Becca, and when his gaze touched hers, Becca remembered all too vividly how those blue, blue eyes could dilate in the dark. There was just something earthy and male about him that couldn’t be missed. Of course, as she’d guessed, he looked even better than she remembered, and she kicked herself for noticing, for the sudden rise in her pulse.
“Hey, Becca.”
“Hi.” She smiled a greeting, hoping she’d hidden her true feelings as he greeted everyone else. Pretending to be unaffected, which was damned hard. He seemed to have grown an inch or two, which was probably all her perception. But along with a cynical, “just dare me” smile, he still had that tall, rangy cowboy style going for him. And it was sexy as hell.
Great.
She’d hoped to be immune to him.
But this more mature, more relaxed, more confident Hudson was even more intriguing than he had been two decades before, as sexy a man as she’d ever want to meet. Whereas Zeke’s good looks and appeal had diminished, Hudson’s had increased.
Renee said, “The thing is, I’m doing a story on the discovery of the remains. A piece about high school and what it’s like when one of your friends disappears and how it can affect you. We’ve all dealt with the same questions for twenty years. Where’s Jessie? What happened to her? Did she leave on her own, or was she taken from us? Now maybe we can find some answers.”
Evangeline stared at her in horror. “You’re not serious!”
Jarrett breathed noisily through his nose. “What a bunch of bullshit. Until you know who’s been rotting in the maze at St. Elizabeth’s, you’re writing fiction. I don’t think the Valley Star is big on conjecture.”
“I can theorize, put my spin on it,” Renee said. “I’ve already talked to the kids who found the bones. Great story. Older brother and friends were trying to scare the littler kids by telling ghost stories in the maze, and then one of the kids sees this bony hand reaching upward.”
“Oh, for the love of God.” Evangeline pressed her lips together. “You’re trying to profit from this?”
Renee regarded her coldly. “I want a purge. I want this behind us all. My way is to write about it. I’ve kept in contact with Jessie’s parents all these years because I was a good friend of Jessie’s,” she said directly to Evangeline, “and I think she died in the maze at St. Lizzie’s and I want to tell that story. For Jessie, and for us all.”
Scott said, stunned, “To your paper?”
“Don’t count me in!” The Third stated, glaring. “Jessie ran away, okay? I don’t believe those bones are hers. And I’ve had more than enough wrangling with the police about it. Those bastards wouldn’t leave us alone.”
“McNally wouldn’t leave us alone,” Mitch corrected.
“Who gives a shit? I’m not doing any of it again.” He reached for his glass, then realized it was empty and let it sit on the table.
“The police will figure it out,” Renee went on. “Those are somebody’s bones, and I’m guessing they’re Jessie’s. It’s all over the news. If I don’t write this piece, somebody else will.”
“Oh, yeah. You’re our savior.” Jarrett was sardonic. “You’re writing the damn thing to make a few bucks.” He waved away her arguments. “Gain some attention. That’s what this is all about, and it’s crap.”
“I’d