by R. L. Stine
“Clay, we’ve got to go to the police. We’re not murderers. We didn’t take anything. We’ve got to tell them the truth,” Pam pleaded.
Clay didn’t reply for a long moment. Then he said, “Pam—no one would believe us.”
Chapter 18
ANOTHER PRESENT FOR REVA
“Please! Please!” Michael begged. He lunged across Reva’s bedroom, threw his skinny arms around her waist, and hugged her. “Please? You’re the best sister! The best!”
Reva struggled out of his grasp. “Michael—give me a break!” she cried impatiently. “I’m trying to get dressed. You’re going to make me late for work.”
It was Monday morning, and Reva had promised her father that she’d be ready on time so that they could drive to the store together.
“But you promised!” Michael whined. “You promised!”
“I know I promised,” Reva told him, studying her face in the mirror as she brushed her hair. “I’ll take you to see Santa. Just not today.”
“Why not?” he insisted, pouting comically, his hands on his hips like a crotchety old man.
“Because today isn’t a good day,” Reva said brusquely, adjusting her sweater, then stepping past him and striding out to the hallway.
“I’ve made my list,” her brother called, chasing after her. He caught up with her at the head of the stairs, pushed his way past, and slid down the wooden banister. “Dad helped me. I said what I wanted, and he wrote it down.”
“How many presents are on your list?” Reva asked, thinking about which coat to wear.
“Thirty, I think,” he said. “That’s why I’ve got to see Santa right away. Before he runs out of stuff.”
Reva was only half listening. She was already wondering how she’d ever get through another long week behind the perfume counter. “Maybe tomorrow,” she told her brother, patting him on the head. His curly red hair felt even softer and silkier than hers.
“You’re a butt head,” he said angrily and scrambled off to find Yvonne.
“Ready to go?” Mr. Dalby appeared in the hallway, already in his overcoat. His eyes were bloodshot and tired. His expression was troubled.
He’s been obsessing about the break-in all weekend, Reva thought, allowing him to help her into her coat. I wish there was some way I could cheer him up.
They stepped out into a gray day, heavy, charcoal-colored clouds hovering low. “It’s cold enough to snow,” her father said, sniffing the air. “Smells like snow.”
“We haven’t had a white Christmas since I was little,” Reva said, climbing into the passenger seat of the BMW.
“Sure you won’t need your car today?” he asked, glancing at the silver Volvo in the garage.
“No. Maybe I’ll wait around and come home with you,” Reva said, settling into the seat. The heater came up right away, the air warm and soothing. Reva snuggled deeper into her coat, watching the familiar houses roll by in the gray morning light.
“I might be there awhile,” Mr. Dalby said thoughtfully. “I mean, what with the robbery and all. I imagine there will be more police around today, more questions to answer. I talked to the insurance company for an hour on Saturday and two hours yesterday.” He shook his head unhappily. “Can you imagine? On a Sunday? They were all upset because our surveillance wasn’t working. I know my premiums are going up now.”
They slowed for a four-way stop. Small, wet snowflakes began to fall onto the windshield, sticking for just a second before turning to water.
“What’s their problem?” Reva asked, gazing at the windshield.
“There are just so many unanswered questions,” Mr. Dalby said, driving with one gloved hand, scratching his smooth jaw with the other. “For instance, how did the robbers get into the store?”
“They broke in—right?” Reva asked.
They drove past her school, dark and empty. In front someone had decorated one of the trees with a roll of toilet paper.
Kids are so immature, Reva thought.
“No, they didn’t break in,” her father said, his expression troubled. “There were no doors broken, no windows smashed. No sign of a break-in. And that’s not the only question.”
He slowed to a stop at Division Street and clicked on the windshield wipers. The snowflakes hitting the windshield were larger now, sticking longer.
“How did they know we had a safe on the first floor?” he asked, talking as much to himself as to Reva. “That safe is hidden. Very few people know about it. The main safe is on the sixth floor, in my office.”
“So what do you think?” Reva asked. She hated to see her father so troubled, so upset.
“Well, I have to think it could have been an inside job,” Mr. Dalby said, turning down the heat a little. “One of my employees. But that doesn’t make sense, either. If it was an employee, they wouldn’t have killed the guard, would they? Ed Javors was a friendly, well-liked guy. If the robber was an employee, he’d most likely know Ed. So I don’t think he’d kill him.”
“Strange,” Reva said. They were nearly to the store.
“Javors was shot in the back,” Mr. Dalby revealed, lowering his voice nearly to a whisper. “That doesn’t make sense, either.”
“How do you mean?” Reva asked.
“Let’s say Javors entered the electronics department and discovered the burglary taking place. Why would he turn his back on the burglars?”
Maybe he was running away from them, Reva thought. But she didn’t say it out loud. She didn’t want to think about the robbery or the murdered guard. She had her own problems.
As if reading her thoughts, Mr. Dalby asked, “What was all over your sweater Friday? I’ve been so preoccupied with the robbery, I never talked with you about it. What a scare! I thought it was blood!”
It was blood, Reva thought. But she was determined not to upset her father any more than he already was.
“It was just a stupid practical joke someone played on me,” she said.
Should she tell him she was pretty sure it was Hank? Should she ask him to get rid of Hank?
No. Reva wasn’t the most thoughtful person in the world, but even she knew that this wasn’t the time.
“Who?” he asked. “Who would do such a dumb thing during working hours?”
Reva shrugged. “Beats me.”
“Well, I wish the person would stop,” he said sternly. “I have enough trouble in the store without stupid jokes.” He pulled into his private parking space, shifted into Park, and cut the engine. “Worst Christmas season I ever had,” he muttered.
He was still muttering as Reva followed him up to his office. She gave him a quick kiss on the forehead, asked to deposit her coat in his closet, then headed back to the elevator to take her down to the main floor.
Hank was at his post in front of the bank of security monitors. He raised his head expectantly as she approached. But she cut him dead, sharply turning her face toward the opposite wall as she passed.
The morning dragged on forever. There were few customers even though it was so close to Christmas.
Ms. Smith wanted to discuss the horrible crime. “That poor guard. I knew him,” she said, wringing her bony hands.
Reva tsk-tsked, but didn’t add anything to the discussion.
At lunchtime she was surprised to see Mitch in front of her counter, wearing standard stockroom attire of faded jeans and a plain gray sweatshirt. “Reva—can I see you?” he asked, an urgent look on his face.
Reva smiled at him. “You’re seeing me.”
He didn’t smile back. “No, I mean can I talk to you. In private.” His eyes searched the long counter.
“Well, my supervisor just went to lunch,” Reva said, studying his face, trying to figure out what he wanted to talk to her about so urgently. “I’m not supposed to leave till she gets back.”
“It’ll only take a few minutes,” Mitch said, his dark eyes pleading with her.
“Well, okay. Wait a sec.” Reva asked the salesgirl at the counter a
cross from hers, a redhead named Mindy, to watch her booth. The young woman was reluctant, but Reva took Mitch’s arm and hurried off without giving her a choice.
Mitch led her back to the electronics department. One aisle, the middle one, had been roped off by the police. Several police officers were in the department now, along with two photographers who seemed to be taking flash pictures of every display and counter.
The stockroom behind the electronics department was empty. Reva shivered as she followed Mitch to a low bench in the corner. It was at least twenty degrees colder in there than in the rest of the store.
“We keep the doors to the outside open,” Mitch explained. “It makes it easier to work if you’re a little cold.”
“Fascinating,” Reva said sarcastically. She sat down on a low bench. Mitch dropped down beside her and immediately reached for her, pressing his face up close to kiss her.
She let him kiss her for only a few seconds, then pulled her head away. “Aren’t you afraid Lissa might walk in and catch us again?” she asked coyly.
He shook his head, a grin spreading across his face, the dimples appearing in his cheeks. “No. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Reva.”
“Well?”
“Well. Lissa broke up with me.”
He stared at her, expecting a big reaction. But Reva decided not to give him the satisfaction. “Why’d she do that?” she asked, playing innocent.
“Because of you,” he blurted out. “I mean, because of me and you.”
That was easy, Reva thought, enjoying her triumph over Lissa secretly.
If only Mitch weren’t such a wimp, she thought, I’d enjoy this even more. But the sight of him running after Lissa the other day, ready to beg Lissa to forgive him, had made Reva decide that Mitch wasn’t worthy of her attention.
“That’s too bad,” she told Mitch, pouring on the sympathy in her voice.
“Huh?” His face filled with surprise at her reaction. “Well, Lissa was really mad. But I guess it’s for the best,” he said, recovering quickly. He put a hand on her shoulder. “I mean, after last week, I thought—well . . .”
She stared at him as if she had no idea what he was talking about.
“Well, since I’m not going with Lissa anymore,” he continued uncertainly, “I thought maybe you and I could—uh—well, maybe go to a movie or something Saturday night.”
Reva removed his hand from her shoulder and stood up. “No, I don’t think so, Mitch,” she said coldly.
“You have another date?”
“No,” she said, her face hard and expressionless, not revealing how much she was enjoying herself. “I just don’t think so.”
She started to walk back to the selling floor, but he caught up with her and grabbed her arm. “You don’t want to go out with me?”
“That’s the general idea,” she said flatly.
She stared hard at him until he let go of her arm and took a step back, his face red, his dark eyes wide with anger. “I don’t get it,” he said.
“That’s right,” she replied and smiled for the first time.
“You can’t do this to people, Reva!” he screamed, starting to lose his temper.
“Looks like I just did,” she told him smugly.
“You can’t come on to somebody and—and—” Out of frustration at not being able to say what he wanted, he picked up the wooden bench they’d been sitting on and heaved it against the wall.
“Very impressive,” Reva cracked. Ignoring his angry curses, she ambled slowly and deliberately from the stockroom without a glance back.
What a baby, she thought scornfully. What on earth did I ever see in him?
When she got back to the perfume counter, Mindy was on the phone. “It’s for you,” she told Reva after pushing the Hold button. “Your cousin Pam?”
Reva waved her hand, refusing to take the receiver. “Tell her I’m not in today,” she said. “Tell her you haven’t seen me.”
Mindy hesitated for a moment, gave Reva a curious look, then spoke into the phone, giving Pam the message.
I don’t feel like having a boring lunch with Pam today, Reva thought, glancing at the big clock on the far wall next to the Christmas tree. Pam is such a downer. She’ll just want to complain about her life. She’s always making me feel guilty for having more than she does.
Well, I’m just not in the mood to feel guilty today.
Not about Mitch and Lissa. And not about Pam.
Mindy was off the phone now and hurrying across the aisle to her counter. “That package—it came for you,” she called back to Reva, pointing.
Reva turned to see an enormous brown carton behind her in the cash register alcove. The carton was nearly as tall as she was. It wasn’t gift wrapped, but it did have a wide red ribbon tied around it with a large bow on top.
Oh, no, Reva thought dispiritedly. Another stupid practical joke.
Who was doing this to her? What kind of dumb, obnoxious gag was it this time?
Shaking her head, she found a pair of scissors in the supply drawer beneath the register, cut open the carton, pulled back the lid, and peered inside.
It took her a second to realize that she was staring at a stiff, folded-up human corpse.
Then, still gripping the carton lid tightly with both hands, she started to scream.
Chapter 19
I SAW WHAT YOU DID
Reva was still screaming when Ms. Smith appeared. She and Mindy pulled Reva away from the carton and peered inside.
“It’s a mannequin!” Mindy shouted.
Reva didn’t seem to hear.
“It’s a mannequin. Only a mannequin,” Ms. Smith repeated, taking Reva firmly by the shoulders.
“It sure looks real,” Mindy said, shaking her head.
Reva, trembling all over, watched in silence as Mindy tilted the carton onto its side and pulled the lifelike mannequin out.
“Who sent this?” Ms. Smith snapped angrily, staring at Reva as if accusing her.
Reva was still too overcome to speak.
The mannequin stared up at Reva with wide, pale blue eyes, a wry smile painted on its face.
It looks as if it’s laughing at me, Reva thought.
Everyone is laughing at me. I’ve made a complete fool of myself.
But it looked so real, so . . . dead.
“Look—there’s a gift card!” Mindy exclaimed. She pulled a small white card off the mannequin’s wrist.
Ms. Smith grabbed it out of Mindy’s hand and tore open the envelope. She read it silently to herself, then held it up to Reva.
In scrawled block letters were the words: HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM A FRIEND.
What’s going on here? Reva wondered, staring at the card. This isn’t funny. This isn’t funny at all.
When she raised her head, she noticed a blur of faces. The perfume counter was surrounded by a huge crowd of people, their expressions troubled, curious. All of them were staring at her.
“Who sent this?” Ms. Smith asked, her voice shrill and accusing. “Is this some kind of a joke?”
“What an awful joke,” Mindy said with disgust.
The mannequin continued to stare up at Reva, the wry smile frozen on its pretty painted face.
The store suddenly got much noisier, the voices around her rising in a wave, as if the volume had been turned up. The circle of onlookers seemed to close in. The ceiling came crashing down. The floor rose up to meet it.
“No—please!”
Reva had to get away, away from the crowd, from their eyes, their chattering voices. Away from the cold, staring body.
Straight-arming Mindy, she pushed out of the alcove and kept running.
“Reva! Reva!” She could hear Ms. Smith’s shrill, alarmed voice behind her.
But she didn’t stop, didn’t turn around.
She kept running, running blindly through a blur of startled faces, not sure where she was running, just running away.
HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM A FRIEND.
/> The words on the card followed her down the aisle.
Someone is trying to frighten me, she realized.
Someone is trying to terrify me.
Who could it be? she wondered. And why? Why are they doing this?
And just how far will they go?
♦ ♦ ♦
Mr. Wakely, the collar of his worn leather jacket pulled up around his neck, padded through the living room and stopped at the front door. “You kids need anything, help yourselves,” he said.
“Thanks, Mr. Wakely,” Pam said uneasily. She was sitting on the edge of the worn couch, Clay beside her. Mickey was standing at the window, staring out at the snow-covered trees.
“Where you going, Dad?” Mickey asked. “The roads are pretty slick.”
“Just down to the corner for a few beers,” Mr. Wakely replied, pulling open the door. “I think I can make it. I’m not entirely feeble, you know,” he added sharply.
He slammed the door behind him. Through the window, Mickey watched him make his way down the drive on foot, heading no doubt to Pat’s, a dreary little bar just half a block away.
“Has he improved any?” Pam asked Mickey. “His spirits, I mean?”
Mickey shook his head. “He goes out for his beers now instead of downing them at the kitchen table. Call that an improvement?”
He continued to stand at the window for a while longer, then joined his friends across the room. He slouched low into a folding chair and sighed. “I keep expecting a knock on the door,” he said quietly.
“You mean the police?” Pam asked, automatically checking the door.
“Yeah,” Mickey replied. “It’s been three days. I can’t figure out why we haven’t been caught yet.”
“Maybe we’re not going to get caught,” Clay said, breaking his silence. He’d been staring at his sneakers since he’d arrived about an hour before. “Maybe we got away with it.” He narrowed his gray eyes and stared at Mickey as if challenging him.
Mickey glanced at Pam and didn’t say anything.
“We got away with murder,” Pam muttered, thinking out loud.
“We didn’t murder anybody!” Clay insisted loudly, jumping to his feet and pacing. “I told you—my gun wasn’t loaded.”