Murder Deja Vu

He’d never been in love before, not like this, when someone meant more than anything else. He could even accept the wasted years, knowing she was the prize awaiting him. But he wasn’t there yet, and he had to pull himself away before he woke her with the intensity of his stare.
    He heard murmuring from Frank’s room, but he didn’t want to bother them. He closed the apartment door behind him and left. So far, he hadn’t seen another person in the building. That didn’t mean they hadn’t seen him. Nothing beat plain luck, and he could use some.
    Standing at the glass door leading to the street, he watched the early morning traffic on Lynn Shore Drive. With no hint of light, the dark sky melted seamlessly into the ocean, obliterating the horizon. He didn’t see any suspicious-looking cars, so he shot out the door to the Civic, hopped in, and maneuvered onto Lynnway traffic. He glanced in the rearview mirror, didn’t think anyone followed. His heart raced, palms slick on the steering wheel.
    He placed the printed-out directions to Steve Yarrow’s vet practice on top of the road atlas. Reece drove the coast road out of Lynn, through the Ted Williams Tunnel, and onto the Southeast Expressway. He remembered in school people referred to it as the Southeast Distressway. He hadn’t been back to Boston since they finished construction on the Big Dig, but he agreed its completion made driving through the city easier, almost validating the cost overruns. He cut off into Quincy, passing strip shopping centers and harbors, over bridges, past shipyards, and around rotaries. He kept going along coastal Route 3A, the sun rising in the east, until he came to the left turn that brought him into Cohasset. Calendar pictures emerged of the quaint village in the morning light.
    For Reece, one drawback marred the beauty of the lovely coastal town. Though an enclave, Cohasset was part of Norfolk County—the same county in which he’d spent fifteen years of his life in prison.
    That chilling thought wiped the intended call to Clarence from his mind, and as if on autopilot, he found himself sitting in front of Steve Yarrow’s vet practice, wondering how he got there. Had Mark Cabrini called Steve and warned him of Reece’s impending arrival? He hoped not, because if he did, Reece could be walking into a trap.
    Should he go inside and risk someone recognizing him? He didn’t see anything resembling surveillance in the almost empty parking lot. Was Yarrow inside? This could be his day off. Reece chastised himself for not being better prepared. He should have made an anonymous call to the office to find out which days Dr. Yarrow worked. Damn, why hadn’t he thought of those things before now? He sat in the car, physically frozen, his hands locked on the steering wheel. A car pulled into the lot. A woman holding a tiny dog got out and went inside, oblivious to the man with the ball cap and sunglasses sitting alone in his car, waiting to get up enough courage to—to do what? Go inside? Sit here and wait?
    Would Reece even recognize Yarrow? It had been over twenty years. People changed. He sure had. Would Steve recognize him? He chuckled at the absurdity of the question. The whole country would recognize Reece Daughtry. No place was safe.
    Another thought entered his mind. What if Steve Yarrow had killed Karen? What if he killed the poor woman in North Carolina? Yarrow could kill Reece and he’d be praised as a hero.
    Jesus. How stupid could he be? He’d set himself up, leaving a trail a ten-year old could follow. He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a knock on the passenger window. Steve Yarrow didn’t look much different from twenty years ago. He motioned for Reece to open the door. He did, and the vet slid into the car.
    “Pull out of the driveway,” he said, “before someone sees you. Take a right and the first left through the center of town.”
    Reece started the car and did what Steve told him, feeling part Inspector Clouseau and part James Bond. He realized as he passed the police station what danger he faced if a cop spotted him.
    “Take the right fork,” Steve said. They crossed over a small bridge. “Turn left into that drive.” He drove into the parking lot of the sailing club.
    Reece pulled into a space facing the harbor. In better times, he would have enjoyed the view of the boats bobbing in the water, the clouds like cotton candy billowing over the sea. But these weren’t normal times, and