Most Likely To Die. Lisa Jackson

around a lot more and that Kristen was beginning to feel safe again. But now, driving home from work, Kristen didn’t know whether to be irritated, suspicious, or just accept the situation and see what developed. She’d still not filed the divorce papers and wondered about that. Why the hesitation? She’d made the decision, hadn’t she? Just because Ross was suddenly showing some interest in his family wasn’t enough of a reason to stop the inevitable—or was it? So far, she’d adopted a “wait and see” attitude; she could always tell her attorneys to continue.

      The rest of her life was routine. Her position and responsibilities at the Clarion hadn’t changed and she was still wondering if she should try and change jobs, look for a new perspective. She’d heard Willamette Week was interviewing for an editor but, for the moment, she’d decided against making any more major alterations in her life. She was already on the horns of a dilemma about her divorce, and Lissa seemed even more distant and rebellious. Sometimes, with her daughter, Kristen felt as if she were tiptoeing through a minefield, never certain when the next emotional explosion would occur.

      Changing lanes, she squinted against a lowering sun as she headed west. For the first time in months, she scrounged in the console for her sunglasses and plopped them onto her nose before realizing they were dusty and covered with fingerprints.

      Tonight was the next meeting of the reunion committee and she wasn’t looking forward to it. Though she didn’t have the same trepidation as she’d had a month earlier, she still wasn’t red-hot on the idea of running the show.

      Aurora had reported in twice since the last time they’d met, and everyone was doing her assigned task. Kristen had talked to Sister Clarice, who had spoken with the powers that be at the convent, and a date for the event had been chosen, the venue of the old school approved. Sister Clarice had reluctantly agreed to be interviewed, along with a few of her peers, for a series of articles the Clarion would run. According to Aurora, the Western Catholic graduating class was “on board,” so at least a portion of the festivities would include their alumni. A caterer had been secured, decorations planned and the official invitations were about ready to be sent.

      It looked like the whole damned thing was coming together—and no further warnings had occurred. Kristen had never told any of the reunion committee what had happened at St. Elizabeth’s campus the night of the first meeting, nor had she mentioned that she’d been there. She figured if Aurora or any of the others had experienced something similar, they would have said so. So up till now Kristen had decided to bide her time, but tonight she planned to show everyone on the committee what she’d found.

      In the interim she’d also tried to track down the photographer who had taken the picture at the dance, just on the off chance that the photo left in her car wasn’t the original. Maybe her copy was simply missing…maybe…

      Lost in thought, behind a slow-moving cement truck on Canyon Drive, she nearly jumped from her skin when her cell phone jangled. She found it in the pocket of her purse and, after changing lanes and exiting off the main road, she answered just before voicemail picked up. “Hello?”

      “Kris!” Her mother was always delighted to catch her.

      “Hi, Mom. How are ya?” Kristen felt a little jab of guilt. She and her mother usually met once a week for lunch or dinner, but lately they’d been playing phone tag, which had been as much Paula’s fault as her own. Though Paula Daniels was an AARP card–carrying senior citizen, she hadn’t slowed down an iota. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.”

      “I got your messages and meant to call earlier, but I’ve been busier than ever, if you can believe that. I’ve been elected president of our little women’s group at the golf course and I’ve got that bridge group with Henry and, believe it or not, the woman who bought the bakery is wanting me to come in and work a few days a week.”

      “Are you?”

      “I’m thinking it over. Depends on if I move.”

      “Ross said you asked him about his condos on the river.”

      “Wouldn’t that be fun! And no more mowing the damned grass…if the price was right, I’d jump on it like a flea on a dog! And Henry’s interested too.”

      Henry was, as her mother called him, “her main squeeze.” Kristen had never asked exactly what that meant and figured she was better off not knowing.

      “I hear you’re seeing Ross again, that the divorce is on hold.”

      “Where’d you hear that?” Kristen demanded, slowing for a corner, then nearly standing on the brakes as a squirrel darted across the road.

      “Well, is it, or isn’t it? You know, I’ve always liked Ross and he is Melissa’s father, and well, I do believe that no matter what your troubles are, you can fix them. No marriage is a picnic, believe me, but there are those vows about sickness and health, good times and bad and…”

      “We were married by a justice of the peace,” Kristen reminded her as she sped up for the final rise to her house. Why was she having this conversation with her mother, why?

      “You should have had Father McIntyre—”

      “But we didn’t, okay? That’s water under the bridge.” She turned into her driveway one-handed and hit the brakes again. Once the car had rolled to a stop, she let the engine idle and pressed the garage door opener with her free hand.

      “I didn’t call to get into a fight. I thought you and I and Melissa could get tickets to Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, it’s coming to town, to Keller Auditorium, in July and has had fabulous reviews.”

      “Sounds good.” Keller Auditorium was one of the largest and most upscale theaters in Portland and the venue for a lot of the touring Broadway shows.

      “I’ll order them…if I can get a Saturday night. Should I get one for Ross, too?”

      “No!” Kristen scaled back her tone with an effort. “Let’s just make it a girls’ night out, okay? You, me, and Lissa.”

      “Henry will be disappointed, and I know Melissa has a boyfriend.” Paula was using that wheedling tone that Kristen had always found irritating.

      The thought of sitting for hours in an upscale theater with Zeke was too much. He’d probably wear a stocking cap over his ears and be plugged into his iPod, or be trying to make out with Lissa.

      “Come on, Mom. Let’s make this a women thing.”

      Paula sighed loudly and Kristen knew she hadn’t heard the end of this particular discussion. “I’ll let you know when I get them. I think there are some bargains on-line.”

      “Good seats, though, Mom, okay? Nothing under the balcony. And make sure they’re all together this time. I’ll pay the extra cost.”

      “Mmm-hmm…I’ll get the best I can finagle. Oh, gotta run. Got another call coming in…it’s Henry…and I don’t know how to put you on hold.”

      “Don’t worry. We’ll talk later.”

      Kristen hung up as she entered the kitchen through the garage side door. She figured she was doomed. Her mother wasn’t one to change her mind easily. For some reason she wanted a group date with the men involved. “Save me,” Kristen murmured.

      She checked on Lissa, who was seated at her desk, actually working on homework, even though the buds for her iPod were plugged into her ears.

      “I’m going out tonight, remember?” Kristen said and when her daughter didn’t respond, shouted, “Lissa!” so loudly that Marmalade, who had been seated on the windowsill, scrambled from her perch, hissed at Kristen showing fierce, needle-sharp teeth and an incredible pink tongue, then scurried beneath the skirt of Lissa’s bed. She peered out balefully, as if Kristen were suddenly the enemy. “Ingrate,” Kristen muttered at the cat.

      Lissa pulled out one of her earbuds. “What?” she asked in a bored tone.

      “I’m going to a meeting tonight.