bottom:
Simmons, Dan
Seigel, Susan
Sefridge, John
Sclar, Toni
Schultz, Fred
Just another name in the index. Saxon, Bonnie. Not printed in red. Not in bold lettering or italics. But it seemed to explode off the page and slam through Larry’s head.
To the right of her name were page numbers. Six of them.
Six pages with photos of Bonnie Saxon.
God almighty!
Larry scanned the column. Plenty of the names were followed by a single page number, several by two or three. Few had more than three.
Bonnie had six.
She must’ve been busy, Larry thought. And popular.
Popular girls are almost always pretty.
The first page number after her name was 34. Larry slipped a matchbook into the index to mark his place, turned to the front of the annual and thumbed through its pages until he found page 34. Blocks of small, individual photos showing members of the senior class. Boys in sport coats and neckties. Girls in dark pullover sweaters, each wearing a necklace.
The first name in the upper left-hand corner was Bonnie Saxon.
Larry shifted his eyes to the photo.
He moaned.
She was lovely. Radiant, adorable. Her gleaming blond hair swept softly across her brow, flowed down to her shoulders. Her eyes seemed to be directed at something wonderful just beyond the camera. They looked eager, cheerful. She had a small, cute nose. Her high cheeks curved smoothly above the corners of her mouth, as if lifted and shaped by her smile.
This was Bonnie.
She looked quite a bit like Lane.
She looked very little like the corpse in the attic of his garage, but her hair and teeth and the general shape of her face convinced him that he had made no mistake: the body was Bonnie Saxon. No doubt about it.
The hideous cadaver had once been the girl in this photo — beautiful, glowing with youth.
Larry gazed at the picture.
Bonnie.
He felt very strange: excited by his find, enthralled by her beauty, depressed. When the photo was taken, she must’ve thought a whole, wonderful life waited in her future. But she had only months, and then someone ended it all by pounding a stake through her chest.
This was no vampire.
This was a sweet, innocent kid.
Probably a real heartbreaker. Every guy in school must’ve longed for her.
Had one of them killed her? A jealous boyfriend? She’d broken his heart, so he drove a stake through hers? Possible, Larry thought. But the stake in her chest and the crucifix on the staircase wall sure made it seem that somebody believed she was a vampire.
Larry gazed a little longer at the photo, then checked the index and turned to page 124. There, he found group pictures of the Public Relations Committee, the Program Committee, and the Art Club. He didn’t bother studying the lists of names. He wanted to search for Bonnie, to pick her out, to enjoy the surprise of recognition.
The Public Relations Committee photo was overexposed. Most of the faces were little more than pale blurs, their features washed out and faint. Bonnie didn’t seem to be in this group, but Larry glanced at the names to make sure.
Then he went on to the Program Committee photo. He half expected to find her here. Though he wasn’t sure about the functions of the Program Committee, Bonnie looked like the sort of girl you might find in charge of decorating the gym for a dance. He studied the face of each girl in the picture. No Bonnie.
He found her with the Art Club.
In the front row, second from the left, between a couple of gals who looked fat and dumpy.
Bonnie looked grand. She stood straight, arms at her sides, head up, smiling at the camera. This wasn’t a close-up like the senior photo, but it made up for that by showing her from head to foot. She wore a short-sleeved white blouse, a straight skirt that hung to the tops of her knees, white socks and white sneakers.
Larry lifted the book, watching her grow as the page neared his eyes. He studied her face. In spite of the distance from which the photo had been taken, it had very good definition. All her features were clear. The collar of her blouse was open. He looked at her neck and saw the hollow of her throat, the faint curves of her collar bones. Lower, the rise of her breasts was no more than a hint. Larry followed her arms down to her hands. Her hands were open, fingers curled slightly inward against the fabric of her skirt. His gaze lingered on the slender curves of her bare legs.
One of her white socks was slightly lower than the other. If she’d known that, she probably would’ve fixed it. Larry could almost see her bending over and pulling up the sock. The image gave him a little ache, as if he’d missed something important by not being there.
He lowered the book and read a short description of the Art Club’s activities. Bonnie, he learned, had been the secretary.
Must’ve been smart. You don’t appoint someone secretary unless she’s intelligent and responsible.
Probably a straight-A student, he thought. One of those kids who has everything going for her — looks, a terrific personality, brains.
He checked the index again, and discovered that the next photo was on page 126. He turned back to the Art Club, flipped the next page, and immediately recognized Bonnie in the top photo. She’d been in the school’s Legislative Assembly, whatever that was. A quick scan of the small print informed him that the group was responsible for “passing school laws and putting them into action.”
Bonnie was seated on risers, feet on the floor, legs together, hands cupping her knees. She was dressed just the same as in the Art Club picture. In this one, her socks were even. Larry smiled. She had a bemused look on her face. Her bangs hung a little crooked, showing a vee of uncovered brow.
Larry brought the book closer to his face. Her head was turned slightly. Her hair was swept back behind one pale ear. She seemed to be leaning forward. Her blouse looked snug against her belly, and her breasts cast a vague, horizontal shadow across the white fabric.
He was about to turn to the index when he spotted Bonnie on the opposite page. She was in the top photo, front row, third from the right. A member of the Social Activities Committee.
“Ah-ha!” Larry whispered.
So she decorated the gym for dances, after all.
“I knew it.”
In this photo she wore a crew-neck sweater with a large B on its chest.
A cheerleader?
Figures, he thought. I should’ve guessed.
Bonnie looked different, somehow. Larry stared at the picture. She had been caught without her smile. The glimmer was gone from her eyes, and her lips were pressed together in a soft, straight line.
Something was obviously troubling her.
Maybe she was feeling sick, that day. Maybe she’d messed up a test. Maybe her boyfriend had dumped her.
Something had happened. Something, at least for a moment, had robbed her of happiness.
It didn’t seem fair. Bonnie’s life should’ve been perfect — there’d been so little of it left.
Larry felt a tightness in his throat.
He turned quickly to the index, then searched out page 133.
