Reunited

To go, or not to go? That is the question.

When clinical psychologist Myla Keene receives an invitation to return to Browning, PA for her 10-year high school reunion she decides to put her training to the test and use the weekend’s events to come to terms with her awful high school years. Facing the shame of her father’s alcoholism and the nightmares of finding the deceased body of a missing classmate, she’s got a lot of work to do. But when a copycat murder places Myla back under Browning’s microscope, she’s forced to relive the horror and suspicion of finding a body. Only this time around she has an alibi - and it’s the sheriff himself.

These days, second generation county sheriff Tucker Armstrong is better known as “Sheriff Hottie”. Half of Browning’s single female population wants to catch him, but Tucker is old fashioned and isn’t about to settle for just anyone. Tucker’s determined to keep Myla safe, but Myla’s determined to prove that she’s strong enough to stand up for herself this time.

Chapter 1

Myla Keene never meant to find the body. In fact, she’d decided to make a hasty exit the very moment she realized the group gathered under the park’s pavilion was organizing a search party. Like everyone else her age, she’d seen the movie Stand By Me and had been scarred by the image of Ray Brower laying in the woodpile, the Keds “knocked off his feet”.

Read an excerpt

The possibility of a real-life recreation hadn’t been anywhere in her teen-aged mind until she recognized the group for what it was. She’d chosen the asphalt path around the park because it was quiet, shaded, and far enough from the dim, fly-infested rental she euphemistically called home, to be able to feel some real peace. And besides, he liked to hang out in the park sometimes.

She’d paused on the far side of Willow Pond to watch the crowd organize. Sheriff Armstrong was there. So was the FBI. The group was comprised of men and women, mostly from their small town of Browning, Pennsylvania. Nestled among strangers and familiar faces were some of Myla’s classmates. Tucker was there with his friends. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised, his father was the sheriff. Of course Tuck would have pitched in to help. She’d always admired him for that. Even if she’d had the macabre intention of searching for her missing classmate, seeing the crowd chased her away. She’d come to the park to avoid drama, not to become a part of it.

Tucker had looked around and made eye contact. She could still remember the familiar zing that always made her look away. It had always been that way with Tucker Armstrong. Tall and thin with dusty blond hair, he was a popular guy and the star of the baseball team. Myla hated that Tucker looked at her as if he was worried about her, checking up on her. He wasn’t flirty, never with her. Never with the girl everyone called Velma. As in ‘Hey Velma, where’s Shaggy?’. Even Myla couldn’t call his attention interest. And yet, he and his family were always near when she needed someone. Not that she’d allowed herself to need anyone past the age of sixteen, that really wasn’t in her nature, but there had been the time he’d passed her in his beat-up old pickup, walking home from school and stopped to give her a ride. He’d refused to take no as an answer and practically hauled her into his truck. He was the only person in school who knew where she lived. Thankfully he never gossiped.

She flashed back to their senior year homecoming dance. She’d only gone because a teacher nominated her for the committee obligating Myla to attend. Wearing a six-dollar thrift store dress she’d watched her classmates dance and mingle, reveling in the fact that she’d be off to college soon in a place where no one called her Velma from the Scooby Doo cartoons because of her poorly fitting clothes and bad haircut, or as the daughter of the town drunk. She’d been daydreaming about that freedom when Tucker stood before her, tall and handsome, and asked her to dance.

Once again not accepting ‘No’, he’d pulled her onto the dance floor and into his arms to sway to a love song. To hide from the incredulous looks and snickers of onlookers, Myla had closed her eyes and allowed herself to focus on memorizing every move, every feeling of that one dance. A picture of them somehow made it into the yearbook.

Homecoming was the night Stoney Mae Alcott went missing. It had been a horrible night for so many reasons. It was a week later that Myla found her tangled in a pile of brush on the edge of Willow Pond while dodging the search party and ducking from Tucker’s gaze.

Shivering despite the late September heat, Myla remembered the flash of Stoney’s red and gold varsity jacket, her deep brown hair rippling carelessly on the surface of the water.

The remainder of the school year had gone by in a slow haze of night terrors, interviews, unwanted focus, and suspicion. So much suspicion.

As if growing up in a small town with a drunk for a father and being likened to the nerdy member of the Scooby Doo gang wasn’t enough to overcome, finding a classmate’s dead body was enough to write oneself into Browning’s history books. Perhaps ten years away wasn’t long enough.

The blare of a horn startled Myla back to present and she saw that the traffic light was green. She accelerated through the intersection and gave herself the same reminder she often used with her patients. “One day at a time. One hour at a time. If all else fails, one minute at a time.”

She’d only be in Browning for three days. She was a grown woman, a successful woman with a doctorate. She could handle three days in her hometown.

“One minute at a time,” she muttered.

She looked around as she bisected town at 25mph. Not much had changed in a decade. There was a new gas station on the corner of Pine and Main. The McDonald’s had gotten a facelift. The only hotel in town looked a little older but would have to do for the weekend. If all went according to her plan she’d never have to return.

Myla checked into the hotel and hauled her single suitcase up to her second-story room. Dated, but clean. She chose the bed closest to the window and opened her suitcase on the other one. She pulled out the itinerary and checked for the first activity.

“First up, homecoming parade at 5 o’clock.” She checked the time on her cell and congratulated herself for her precise timing. “Right on schedule, Myla. Good job.”

She skimmed over the rest of the events for the weekend. Parade, football game, family picnic, reunion dance, farewell brunch on Sunday. The reunion committee had outdone themselves, but the irony of the situation didn’t escape her. She’d never attended any of these things in high school and apart from the Armstrong family, there was no one in Browning she wanted to reconnect with.

If she wasn’t so committed to her plan, she would have happily sent the invitation to the garbage dump and let the maggots recycle it. She took a breath. Honest emotions only, she reminded herself. She pulled out a little pocket-sized notebook and made a few notes.

Stoney Mae Alcott

Tucker

Dad

More Tucker

Velma

She closed the notebook and slipped it into the little bag she pulled across her body, tucked her phone into the back pocket of her jean shorts and stopped in front of the dressing mirror by the door.

She checked her makeup, made sure her hair was in place and slid a pair of sunglasses on her head. Not that it mattered after ten years, but she wondered if anyone would even recognize her. Her brown hair was longer and shot with golden highlights. She was definitely heavier, no longer the malnourished girl-next-door she’d always been in school.

Walking to the parade route, Myla thought back to that first year of college. In a place farther than she’d ever traveled, she made a new home. Without the influence of small-town small-mindedness and the constant reminder that her roots were tainted by death and alcohol, she was able to discover herself. She became the woman she’d always imagined herself to be.

With the help of her outgoing roommates, Myla experimented with makeup and clothes and hair. Feeling good about herself brought along self-confidence. She’d lived with her self-confidence for so many years that she was certain it was a stable part of her now. But coming back to Browning? That was an experiment in the works as she participated in the upcoming weekend.

Myla found a spot about halfway along the route and claimed a little patch of grass to plop her butt on. Naturally an observer of people and trained to be a listener, Myla hid behind the cover of her sunglasses and watched the couples and families settling around her. All around were teens of various ages, laughing and finding excuses to touch each other, shoving, hugging, leaning. Everywhere she looked was an excess of hormones. It was as tangible as humidity in July.

Looking at the parents of some of the younger crowd, she wondered how many of them were classmates. How many of her graduating class had moved away and were back for the reunion-palooza?

Did she hope to be recognized or not? She tried to examine that but was soon distracted by the start of the parade. The Grand Marshall, a prominent local businessman she remembered beamed and waved at onlookers from a classic red convertible.

He was followed closely by the fire department. Myla couldn’t help but smile at the antics of children, covering their ears and pumping a fist to get the fire truck to sound the siren. The high school marching band was next. Row after row of kids in khaki shorts and red polo shirts embossed with a gold school logo on the left side. They looked sharp, Myla thought. And so young!

She spotted a mousy clarinet player in the third to last row. She was pale and serious, not looking at the crowd as the band passed. She was one of few that carried no music clipped to her instrument, which told Myla she likely practiced a lot. Perhaps music was the girl’s escape. Myla’s had been books. She smiled at the girl, willing her to look Myla’s way though Myla knew she wouldn’t. She understood. She’d been there.

Next in line was the sheriff’s department. They still rode horses. There was something sexy about that, she decided. The man in the center contrasted his cowboy hat-wearing counterparts by wearing a black baseball cap with the word SHERIFF embroidered in gold and reflective sunglasses. Those sunglasses turned her way and the wearer tugged them off as if letting the sun burn his eyes would give him a better view.

The smile froze on Myla’s face. Holy shit! A quick dump of adrenaline made her sway on the spot and she was glad to be sitting down. Tucker Armstrong was the sheriff? Slowing his horse nearly to a stop causing curious looks and craning necks, he made deliberate eye contact and gave her a slow nod. There was no doubt he was looking at her because she felt the zing. How the hell had he picked her out of a crowd in the middle of a parade? She felt her face heat.

Reluctantly, it seemed, he nudged his horse forward and the parade moved on. Myla pretended interest in the homecoming court seated on convertibles while she pulled in a few slow breaths. One hour in Browning and she was once again a spectacle.

Welcome home, Myla.