“It’s not dark yet. There’s plenty of daylight left,” Wyatt said. “Besides, Lindsay won’t be alone, not for a single minute.”

“Well, that’s good to hear.”

Wyatt cupped her elbow and led her out of the gym and onto the school grounds. “I think it’s this way, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she replied, “right over there.”

Hidden deep inside the maze of hedges, the huge oak tree towered high into the evening sky. Beneath the oak, the sculpture of the Madonna still resided in a place of honor. This was where she’d found Jake. The arrow that had pierced his heart had pinned him to the tree.

Suddenly flashes of memory popped into Lindsay’s mind, like an accelerated movie clip. She saw Jake’s sightless eyes staring at her. The blood on his shirt. The still-smoldering cigarette lying at his feet. She could hear her own screams as she rushed toward him, praying that he was still alive.

But he was dead.

Lindsay shivered uncontrollably.

Wyatt wrapped her in his strong, comforting arms. “Let it go. You’re here with me now and you’re safe. You’ve confronted the demons from the past. It’s over.”

She sobbed against his chest while he soothed her. He allowed her several minutes to recover, then grasped her hand and said, “It’s time to get back to the dance.”

Marilyn Dewey sat in her wheelchair, a small manila folder clasped in her weathered, arthritis-crippled hands. She looked up the moment the door to the captain’s office opened and Rachel walked in. Rachel nodded at Dean, who stood in the corner, then went straight to Marilyn.

Rachel pulled out a chair, dragged it directly across from Marilyn, and sat down facing the other woman. “I believe you have something you want to show me.”

Marilyn’s dark, soulful eyes lifted, and she stared directly at Rachel. “He took pictures of her.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Nude pictures.”

“You found them today?” Rachel nodded to the envelope in Marilyn’s lap.

“They were in Patrick’s old suitcase…one he hadn’t used in years.”

“May I see the photographs?” Rachel held out her hand, trying her best not to push, not to be overly eager. But God in heaven, these old pictures could reveal the identity of a murderer and thus prevent any future deaths.

Marilyn lifted the envelope, as careful with it as if it were made of spun glass, and handed it to Rachel. “He-he wrote things on the back of each photograph. Things about her.”

Rachel released a chest-tight breath as she clasped the envelope. “Would you prefer that Lieutenant McMichaels and I look at these-”

“No,” Marilyn cried. “Not him. Only you.”

“All right, only me. Do you want me to look at them in another room?”

“Yes, please.”

Pat Dewey placed both hands on his mother’s quivering shoulders.

“Stay here,” Rachel told Dean as she headed for the door.

He nodded.

Rachel closed the door behind her, went straight to the captain’s secretary’s desk, sat down, and opened the envelope. With her hands trembling and her heartbeat strumming in her ears, she turned the envelope upside down and shook out the contents. A stack of old Polaroid photos fell into her waiting hands.

Oh, God! Oh, God!

She turned the photos over and groaned when she immediately recognized the naked girl in the first picture. Sitting demurely on the edge of a bed, her index finger stuck seductively in her mouth, she stared at the camera. Wide-eyed, but far from innocent.

Rachel hurriedly looked through the two dozen snapshots of the teenager, each pose slightly different, obviously all the pictures were not taken at the same time. She read a few of the notes on the backs of the photos, then one in particular caught her eye.

Merciful Lord!

That one final missing piece in the puzzle fell into place.

Rachel stuffed the photos back in the envelope, got up, and rushed into the captain’s office.

“Put a call in to the patrol cars closest to St. Elizabeth’s and send them over to the school,” Rachel said. “The killer is there right now. Lindsay and Kristen are in immediate danger!”

Lindsay excused herself to go to the restroom. Martina and Kristen were coming out as she was going in. When she walked into the locker room, which you had to go through to reach the girls’ restroom, she saw several old classmates standing around talking, but once in the restroom, she was alone. A shiver of apprehension raced up her spine. The eerie quiet inside the stall unnerved her. She hurried, relieving herself quickly; then in her haste, she wound up pulling a run in her stockings when her fingernail caught in the nylon. Drat!

If she weren’t such a stickler for hygiene, she might have forgone washing her hands and gotten the hell out of this poorly lit, spooky bathroom. But good habits took precedent over a case of nerves. Just as she turned on the faucet, she caught a glimpse of someone in her peripheral vision, someone just entering the ladies’ restroom.

“Hello, Lindsay,” the familiar voice said. “You look as beautiful tonight as you did the night Jake died.”

She whirled around to face the woman who stood only a few feet away, a pistol in her hand.

Dean drove like the proverbial bat out of hell on the trip from downtown to St. Elizabeth’s. On the drive over, Rachel had kept in contact with the patrolmen who had been sent to the site of the reunion. Only a few minutes before Dean screeched to a halt in front of the gymnasium, Officer Kyle Williams reported that a woman named Lindsay Farrell was missing and her boyfriend was on the verge of tearing the place apart, brick by brick.

Lindsay did as she was told, afraid not to, realizing that her would-be killer wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her.

“I’d prefer we did this in private, but if you force me to, I’ll shoot you right here, right now,” she said.

Lindsay realized she meant it and knew that the only way to buy herself some time-and keep herself alive-was to cooperate. But only up to a point. Her abductor was so involved in keeping them out of sight as she led her out a back door of the gym and through the covered open corridor leading into the school building that she didn’t notice as Lindsay opened her evening bag and began dropping items. Items that wouldn’t make any noise as they hit the ground.

Shades of Hansel and Gretel, Lindsay thought. But one does what one has to do when in the clutches of a wicked witch.

Where on earth is she taking me? Lindsay wondered as she was led down a flight of wooden stairs and into the basement.

Not wanting to create a panic that would complicate the situation, Rachel and Dean called for backup, including the SWAT team, then sent the patrol officers off to search for Lindsay while they spoke to Wyatt, Martina, Craig, Kristen, and Ross. Dean told his friends what he’d told the officers: “If you find them, do not try to confront her. Call me and let me handle it.”

They separated into groups so they could cover more ground twice as fast. After Dean handed flashlights to the men, Ross and Kristen went in one direction, while Wyatt, Craig, and Martina went in another. As they hunted for Lindsay, the reunion went on as if this unnerving drama weren’t happening simultaneously.

Rachel knew that if they didn’t find Lindsay soon, it would be too late. If only Marilyn Dewey could have discovered those photographs yesterday instead of today.

“Lindsay found Jake’s body inside the labyrinth that night,” Rachel said. “What if that’s where she’s taken Lindsay, back to the scene of the crime?”

“She’s just twisted enough to do something like that.” Dean aimed his flashlight toward the rows of tall hedges. “Let’s go.”

As Rachel and Dean started into the labyrinth, Ross and Kristen emerged from the pathway that led into the maze.