Sheila Connolly - Reunion with Death Read Online Free Page B

extra long-sleeved shirts.
    I opened the door and turned on the light, then stood back to let Cynthia enter. She stepped in and surveyed our domain. “Just like our dorm room, right? I can’t tell you the last time I slept in a single bed.”
    “Bathroom’s down that way.” I pointed. “I can’t testify to the reliability of the hot water.” My statement was quickly followed by a god-awful thumping from the other side of the wall closest to my bed. “But I’m guessing that’s a water heater, so maybe we’ll be lucky.”
    “God, I hope so.” Cynthia dropped onto her bed so hard that it bounced. “Any extra blankets?”
    “I haven’t looked. Try that bench thingy over there.”
    She bounded up and pulled open the seat. “Bingo. Are you going to take a shower?”
    “I was thinking about it. I was also thinking about wrapping myself in five blankets and crawling into bed. I should have paid more attention to the weather report for this area.”
    “It’s usually wrong anyway,” Cynthia said, studying her cell phone. Then she pulled a second phone out of her bag and turned that on. “Lousy reception, thank goodness.”
    “You were planning to work? And now you’re glad you can’t?” I guessed.
    “Yes, and yes. Those idiots back home can’t seem to wipe their butts without my help. And they aren’t even kids anymore.”
    “Are you going to stick it out at this job until …” I realized I wasn’t sure when “until” was these days. Nobody in our cohort seemed to be retiring at all, much less at any fixed age.
    “Until it’s not fun anymore,” Cynthia said, grinning at me. “But this time in Italy is for me , and I intend to enjoy it. You know, kick back, catch up with old friends, et cetera. If the company sinks like a stone while I’m away, so be it. Damn, it’s good to see you. How long has it been?”
    “A year? Two? Too long.”
    “You still hard at work?”
    “Of course. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I retired, not that I can afford it. I’m not the type to take up knitting or feng shui.”
    “Government pensions suck, right?”
    “Yes,” I agreed—then did a double-take. I couldn’t recall ever telling Cynthia what I did professionally, apart from crunching numbers. “Wait, who said anything about the government?”
    She grinned mischievously. “You didn’t have to, although I must say I was impressed by your artful description of your job that didn’t say much of anything. I deal in information technology, remember? I know a whole lot about a lot of people. The things I can tell you about our classmates …”
    I held up a hand. “Don’t, please! I’d rather find out the good old-fashioned way, by talking to them. And why did you feel compelled to do background workups on them?”
    “Curiosity. I’m looking forward to seeing who tells the truth about themselves and who gets creative about their own history. Don’t worry—I don’t have any malicious intent. I was having fun seeing if my early assessments of them had panned out forty years later.”
    Reluctantly I asked, “And had they?”
    “Pretty much. Although you might like to know that the quiet ones have done as well if not better than the ones who made a big splash right out of college. Like you, you dark horse.”
    “I just keep my head down and keep on truckin’.” I smiled at her again. It was a relief that I didn’t have to watch my words with Cynthia. With the others, none of whom I’d been particularly close to all those years ago, I could say something vague and turn the conversation to them and what they’d done with their lives. It almost always worked, and I ended up learning a lot more about them than they did about me. And to be fair, I was honestly curious about a couple of things, like why had this group of people opted to gather together now? Of course the location had a lot to do with it, but the group must have self-selected in some way. From what I could tell so far, a