Flashback by Justine Davis (classic reads .txt) 📕

wait. Saw that the police had called while she’d been in the shower and decided she’d postpone that callback for a while.

She pulled her bathrobe tighter around her and settled into the comfortable chair with a stack of notes and papers to begin anew. Again. Maybe going through it again in these surroundings would help. There were few distractions here, no horses that needed riding, no stalls that needed cleaning. Only flowery wallpaper to avoid looking at, and expensive knickknacks to use as paperweights.

Not even any snacks to nibble on—she might truly have to do that burger and fries later—nothing to do but concentrate.

When her cell phone rang an hour or so later, it was a welcome interruption. She was tired of feeling stupid. It was Pepper, keeping her promise to stay in touch.

“You’re sure you’re all right? That was so awful.”

For a moment Alex thought she somehow knew about the bus explosion already, but then realized she was probably talking about the incident after the party.

“I’m fine, really. Thanks.”

“Good, because I’m calling to invite you to a little thing we’re having at the house next week. And bring your mysterious Justin with you. I want to meet him.”

Oh, boy, meet the friends and family…. She started to dodge by saying he was in the hospital, but realized quickly that that would give rise to more questions than she wanted to answer right now.

“I’ll talk to him about it,” she said instead.

“Do,” Pepper encouraged her. “There will be lots of your old friends here. Marla, Jen, oh, and I invited Charlene Laroque, sans Pierre, of course. Although I don’t know if she’ll come. She’s so embarrassed.”

“Understandable,” Alex said. “I’ll let you know, Pepper, but in any case, thanks so much for asking.”

As she disconnected she found she meant it. Maybe not everything from this part of her life was so bad. Pepper was a nice person, despite the propensity to gossip.

She settled back in her chair and began yet again: the lists of names, the criminal case records and enemies made, the senatorial record and more enemies made. But Marion had made friends, as well, the victims of those criminals and their families, and the constituents she had always worked so hard for.

She spread the lists out, remembering what Justin had joked about, shaking all this stuff until the answer fell out. Right now it didn’t seem like a half-bad idea. She pulled out the notes from the original murder case file, and had the thought that she should call Eric Hunt to see if anything new had occurred to him, now that the case had been perking in his mind again after all those years.

She’d do it as soon as she had this sorted out, she thought. Quickly she went through the rest of the pile until she reached the bottom, and the most recent item, the list Kayla had faxed her, of the stolen or missing library cards. It didn’t really fit in any of the piles she already had, so she set it to one side.

Then she looked at it again, something nibbling at the edge of her memory.

Pepper’s voice echoed in her ears.

I invited Charlene Laroque.

And her own, asking about Charlene and her husband.

They have a daughter, don’t they?

She looked at the list again, not scanning this time but reading each name. The list was in chronological, not alphabetical, order so there was no way to speed up the process.

And finally, near the bottom of the third column, she found it.

Alex’s gut tightened. She went back to her laptop and quickly looked up the number for the library in Athens. Called, and asked for Mr. Lang.

“Alexandra Forsythe, as I live and breathe.”

Alex nearly laughed aloud as memories from Athena days flooded her. Every girl in her class had had a crush on the hunky Mr. Lang, back when he’d first started at the small library. From what Kayla had said, he was no less hunky now than he had been then. There had been a marriage in between that, according to rumor, had ended tragically, although no one seemed quite clear on exactly how. But he hadn’t seemed inclined to reenter the dating pool, despite the efforts of many to lure him in.

“It’s good to hear your knack for drama hasn’t changed,” she said.

“I’m wounded, girl. And don’t think I’ve forgiven you for not becoming the star of stage and screen I know you could have been.”

Alex did laugh then; in addition to playing a mean game of touch football for a local league, he had always attended the youth productions at the Athens Theater Group, and was unfailingly encouraging. When she’d appeared on stage in fellow Cassandra Darcy Steele’s amazing makeup as the witch in Macbeth, he’d told her she was brilliant, nearly as brilliant as her makeup artist.

“Now,” he said, “I presume you’re calling about that little situation our illustrious lieutenant contacted me about?”

“Yes. The reservation on that computer.”

“I know what you’re going to ask, Alex. And you know I can’t tell you who the card that reserved that machine belongs to. Not without a subpoena or a warrant.”

“And I’d rather not put you in that position,” she said. “So let me suggest this. I won’t ask you to give me a name, or even a number. But if I give you the number I suspect, can you at least tell me if I’m right or wrong?”

He was silent for a long moment.

“It’s a murder investigation,” she said. “It may have happened a long time ago, but it still matters. And whoever did it is still out there, because he’s tried to stop me. Is still trying.”

“Alex—”

“He blew up a bus today, David,” she said, using his first name for the first time ever. “With kids onboard. It was only sheer luck, timing and bad aim that kept any or all of them from being killed.”

She heard him take in a long, deep breath. Then she decided to fire the last round, if for