by R. L. Stine
She clasped her hands together on the desktop again. “Poppy,” she said, her voice hushed, “do you think the murderer is here? Do you think you know who it is?”
I shook my head. “I wish.”
“I had a long talk with the police officer who has been assigned the case,” she said. “He seemed smart. I know the police will figure it out.”
I raised my eyes to her. “I hope so.”
“In the meantime, Poppy, it might be hard for you in school. If you want to take a few days off to stay home—”
“I don’t think so,” I interrupted. “I want to stay in school. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
She’s going to suspend me.
She’s going to force me to leave school.
“Okay,” she said, nodding. “If anyone gives you a hard time, if anyone assaults you or shouts at you or makes you feel uncomfortable, let me know. Let me know and I’ll take care of it immediately. Okay?”
“Uh . . . okay.”
I wasn’t expecting that. I had a sudden rush of feeling for Mrs. Gonzalez. I wanted to hug her. She was on my side. I thanked her again and walked out of her office.
I started down the hall to my locker. People were hurrying. The first bell was about to ring. I turned the corner and saw Ivy. She was across the hall, just a few feet from me. She wore a big floppy blue wool hat to cover her head.
She saw me, but she pretended she didn’t. She spun completely around and strode off in the other direction.
I sighed. I knew I would never win Ivy over. I had to check her off my list of friends forever.
After all, she had every reason to believe that I was the one who’d nearly burned her head off. I was the last person to visit her that night, the last guest in her house. And I used her bathroom. I was in the bathroom with the shampoo bottle.
She had to believe it was me. Who wouldn’t believe it was me?
I took a deep breath and started walking again. “I can do this,” I told myself. “I can make it through the day.”
I turned the corner and nearly bumped into Keith.
“Huh?” I gasped. “Keith? You’re here?”
46
Poppy Continues
He took a step back. He shifted his backpack on his shoulders. “Of course I’m here. Where else would I be?”
“Well . . . I was at your house last night. Late. You weren’t there.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You were at my house?”
“Your mom didn’t know where you were. You weren’t in your room and—”
“I stayed at a friend’s,” he said. “I left her a note on the fridge. But I guess she didn’t see it. She never sees my notes. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
He didn’t seem like Keith. He seemed super tense, as if he was lying. Or maybe he just didn’t want to talk to me. He kept gazing down the hall, checking to see if anyone was watching us.
“You stayed at a friend’s?” I said.
“Yes. Believe it or not, Poppy, I have friends.”
He couldn’t hide his bitterness, his anger.
“Who did you stay with?”
“It’s none of your business, but it was Lucas.”
I gasped. “The creepy guy from Harlow’s?”
“He isn’t creepy when you get to know him. He’s a pretty good guy. Weird but good. We’ve become friends.” Keith snickered. “He sure has a crush on you.”
“Tell me about it!” I exclaimed. “He attacked me in the parking garage. Seriously. I . . . I can’t believe you two are friends.”
Keith sneered, an expression I’d never seen on his face before. “I don’t care what you believe.”
The bell rang right above our heads. We both flinched. He shifted his backpack again and walked away.
I watched him till he was at our homeroom at the end of the hall. I thought about him and Lucas. How strange was that? I just couldn’t imagine what they had in common. Lucas, the dropout, pushing a broom in a convenience store. Keith, planning to go into premed at Tufts.
Did it make sense in any way?
I made it through the morning without anything terrible happening. I was on super-alert, and my skin kept tingling because kids were looking at me, accusing me. It may have been in my own mind. No one said anything to me. No one tried to confront me, which was a relief.
I had lunch with my sister at a back table in the lunch room. She wanted to talk about her taking acting lessons at the drama school in the Old Village this summer. I just mumbled and tried not to say anything that would start a fight.
What I wanted to say was, Heather, choose something else. You’re not very good-looking and you don’t have any talent. I’m not a cruel person. Sometimes I have cruel thoughts like that, but I had learned my lesson before. I learned I should never try to be honest with my sister. There was just no point to it, and it only resulted in hurt feelings.
After lunch, I saw Jack and Rose tucked away in a corner back by the music room, their arms wrapped around each other, kissing as if their faces were glued together. Jack was facing me, but I don’t think he saw me. I think his eyes were closed.
How romantic.
Seeing him there with her sent a shiver down my whole body. I had a million questions I wanted to ask him, mainly about Ivy and Jeremy. I’d always thought Jack was dangerous. But how dangerous?
I reminded myself it wasn’t my business. I was through with Jack and with Rose. I knew the police must have questioned him. I knew the police must have asked all the questions I wanted to ask.
I had to stop suspecting everyone I saw.
After school, I ran into Manny in the student parking lot. He usually greeted me with a grin, but today his face remained solemn. “How’s it going, Poppy?”
I shrugged. “Weird times,” I murmured.
He nodded. He stared at me as if he was studying me. I pulled open my car door. “Want a ride home?”
He shook his head. “No. I’ve . . . uh . . . got to be someplace.”
Why is Manny acting so nervous?
Does he think I attacked Ivy and Jeremy?
He hadn’t tried to reach me since they were attacked. He hadn’t called or texted. It wasn’t like him.
He ran a hand back through his straight black hair. “Are you coming to the play tomorrow?”
Since Mr. G’s play, starring Rose Groban, had been postponed because of our little car-accident prank, they were performing it in the auditorium in school tomorrow.
I rolled my eyes. “Do I have a choice? It’s at one o’clock. Right after lunch. Everyone has to come.”
He nodded. “I just thought . . .”
“What? That since I hate Rose, I’d stay home or something? Things are too serious for that kind of stupid jealousy,” I said. “Things got too real, Manny.”
He nodded. “Too real,” he repeated. He waved to a guy at the other end of the parking lot. Then he turned back to me, his usually grinning face still serious. “Are the police still questioning you? Have my brother and his partner—?”
“No. I haven’t seen them today,” I said. I grabbed his arm. “Why? What did you hear? Did Benny say something to you?”
“No. Not really. I’ve got to go, Poppy. Catch you later.” He took off.
Not really? What did that mean? Why did he say not really?
Did Manny think I was the attacker? Did the police still think it was me?
I slammed the car door and sat behind the wheel, staring at the brick wall outside the windshield, just stared at it until it became a rust-colored blur.
How can I make people stop suspecting me?
The horror of the next afternoon didn’t help.
47
Poppy Narrates
After lunch the next afternoon, we were all herded into the auditorium to watch the play. I wanted to sit near the back, out of sight from Rose or anyone else on stage. But I got caught in the stampede and ended up in the third row.
When some kids in the row saw me sit down, t
hey jumped up and moved to the side. Not too subtle. I guessed they didn’t want to sit next to a killer. I don’t know what they thought I might do, sitting there with my hands in my lap. But they felt they had to move away, to show me how they felt about me.
I yawned. I slid down low in my seat. Maybe I’ll take a nap.
It was noisy. Everyone was talking and laughing and kidding around. They were all happy about getting out of class for the afternoon to watch a play.
Mrs. Gonzalez came walking down the center aisle. She didn’t stop to talk to anyone. But I saw her eyes stop on me for a long moment.
I turned and saw Jack come hurrying down the steps from the stage on the far right. He hopped down the last two steps and disappeared out the auditorium door. I guessed he’d been backstage wishing Rose good luck. Or rather, to break a leg.
Andru Something-or-Other, a foreign-exchange student, sat next to me. He was very big and wide and his body kept pressing against mine, like he was overflowing his seat. I kept edging to the left, but the big guy couldn’t help but slide against me.
He was kind of good-looking, with piercing blue eyes that looked like marbles, short sandy hair, and a friendly, toothy smile. But he wore socks under his sandals and didn’t have a clue about how to dress. And he didn’t speak much English.
I glanced at my phone. One fifteen. Why wasn’t the play starting?
Mrs. Gonzalez strode to the center of the stage, a mic raised in one hand. She started to say something, but Mr. G came trotting over to her from the other side of the stage.
He muttered something in her ear. Then he took the mic from her. “A short delay,” he said. He pulled the mic away. It was set too loud. “We are trying to find our star. Please talk among yourselves. It should only be a moment.”
Trying to find Rose?
Wouldn’t Rose be pumped and ready to finally share her great talent with everyone?
Mr. G said something else to Mrs. Gonzalez, then handed the mic back to her. They both walked off in different directions.
Everyone started talking at once. I kept thinking about what Mr. G had said. We are trying to find our star. How weird. Jack must have seen her when he was backstage a few minutes ago.
Andru Something-or-Other bumped me and said something I didn’t understand. I asked him to repeat it, and it sounded something like, “Is there a problem?”
I smiled and shrugged. “I don’t know. I think it will be okay.”
He nodded and adjusted his big body in the seat.
Time passed. I don’t know how much. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes. Kids started to clap, encouraging the play to start. And then, finally, the auditorium lights dimmed.
I sat up as I saw the stage curtain start to move. Our curtain doesn’t slide from side to side. It goes up and down.
A bright yellow spotlight spread over the maroon curtain as it started to go up. It rose about six or eight feet—and then it stopped.
Some kids gasped when they saw there was something hanging from the curtain, weighing it down, keeping it from rising. It appeared to be a large knot of ropes.
The yellow spotlight concentrated on the large knot. From my seat, it looked like an enormous beehive. But it took only seconds to see that someone was tangled in the ropes.
Someone was in the ropes. Not moving. Arms spread straight out. Eyes wide.
The screams began as everyone recognized Rose Groban.
Rose, strangled in the ropes, her head at such an ugly angle, her hair falling down the side of her lifeless head.
I screamed, too. I screamed at the most horrifying scene I had ever witnessed. Screamed in terror and fright, even though it was Rose. Beautiful Rose. Dead in the curtain. Strangled to death.
And, oh no!
Oh no! Oh no!
Was that my scarf around her neck?
48
Poppy Continues the Story
The police took over the music room and set it up as their headquarters to question people. No one was allowed to go home.
The halls were filled with kids sobbing and hugging each other and wandering the halls in distress, despite teachers’ efforts to herd them back to their classrooms.
I’ve never seen so many people in shock before, and it was distressing and frightening, and I knew I’d have nightmares about Rose strangled in my scarf in the stage ropes for the rest of my life.
Of course, I was the first one called in to be questioned. I entered the room to find Officer Raap seated at a table, and another cop I’d never seen before standing beside him. Benny Kline was not in the room.
“This is Lieutenant Marshall,” Raap said, his eyes studying me as I came closer.
Marshall reached out to shake hands. He was big, broad-shouldered, African American, with close-shaved hair, and a silver ring in one ear. He didn’t wear a uniform. He wore a stylish gray suit that fit him perfectly.
His hand was twice as big as mine, but he had a gentle handshake, and his expression was sympathetic, as if he realized how terrible it was for me to have to be questioned about this horrifying murder.
They motioned for me to sit down. Then Marshall sat down across from me. “Officer Raap has been telling me about you, Poppy.” He had a surprisingly light voice, almost a whisper.
I lowered my head. “Did he say anything good?”
“He brought me up to date on what happened to some of your friends.” He patted the back of my hand. “This has to be a hard time for you,” he said, locking his brown eyes on mine.
I nodded. “It’s been . . . horrible.”
“Poppy, how did your scarf get around Rose Groban’s neck?” Raap chimed in, all business. “Do you have an explanation for us?”
I swallowed. “Not really. I mean, I don’t know how it got there. I don’t—”
“Did you give it to her?” Raap asked. “Did you go onstage at all today?”
“No. No way,” I said, feeling the emotion rise in my chest. “Look. I’m totally shocked that scarf was anywhere near her. I mean, more than shocked. I don’t understand it. I really don’t.” My voice cracked.
I took a deep breath—and then I remembered something. “Lucas,” I said. “This guy Lucas. He attacked me in the taxi garage. He—he took my scarf.”
“Hold on a second,” Marshall said, raising a hand as if to say halt. “You say you were attacked?”
I nodded.
“Did you report it?”
“No,” I said softly. “I . . . I didn’t want more trouble. I just . . . wanted to forget about it. But Lucas pulled off the scarf that I was wearing, and he took it away from me.”
“We’ll talk to Lucas,” Raap said to Marshall. He turned back to me. “Is he in school today? Have you seen him?”
“No,” I answered. “He doesn’t go here. He dropped out.”
Raap narrowed his eyes at me. “He doesn’t go to school here? Then how did he wrap your scarf around Rose’s neck this afternoon?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just can’t imagine.” Then I had a thought. “Lucas has a friend here. Keith Carter. Maybe Lucas gave the scarf to Keith.”
“But why would Keith Carter murder Rose Groban?” Marshall demanded.
“Keith has been totally weird lately. I broke up with him a couple of weeks ago. And he didn’t take it well. He was angry. Well . . . beyond angry.”
Both cops stared hard at me. I could see suspicion on Raap’s pale face. I couldn’t read Marshall at all. A hush fell over the room. I could hear someone crying out in the hall.
“You think Lucas gave the scarf to Keith?” Marshall said finally. He slid an iPad onto the table and typed some words. “And Keith murdered Rose? Why? Why would he do that?”
I let out a sob. “Someone has been attacking my friends one by one. Two people I know were murdered. Jeremy and Rose.”
Raap scratched his mop of red hair. “And you think Keith might be crazy enough—”
“I don’t like ratting out my friends!” I exclaimed, suddenly
losing it. “Maybe I’m totally wrong. Maybe I’m crazy. But I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to help you make it stop.”
Raap ignored my emotional plea. He turned to Marshall. “Call Randy at the station. Let’s get someone to talk to this guy Lucas.” He turned back to me. “Where did you say we could find him?”
“I didn’t. He works at Harlow’s. You know. The convenience store on River Road. He’s, like, a janitor there.”
Marshall crossed the room, his phone to his ear. I heard him telling someone at the station to bring Lucas in. Raap continued to stare at me, his expression thoughtful, like he was trying to figure out what to ask me next.
“Can I go now?” I asked finally.
“Do you have anything else to tell us?”
“No,” I said. “But if I think of something . . .”
“Go to your homeroom and wait,” Raap said, motioning to the door with one hand. “No one goes home till we figure this out.” He pulled himself up straight. “We’re going to solve this today. I promise you that. This will all stop today.”
I climbed to my feet. I didn’t know what to say to that.
“We’ll talk to Keith next,” Raap said. “See what his story is.”
I was nearly to the door when Marshall called me back. He lowered his phone from his ear. He turned to Raap. “This Lucas has an alibi,” he said. “He’s been at Harlow’s since seven this morning. Harlow backs him up.”
Raap’s eyes were on me. “You can cross him off your list, Poppy.”
I nodded and headed out the door. I just wanted to get out of that room, away from their questions and their accusing eyes.
Some distraught-looking kids were huddled in groups in the hall, talking quietly, shaking their heads. Teachers were trying to round them up and get them into classrooms until they were allowed to leave the building.
I passed the auditorium on my way to my homeroom. The doors were open, and I could see that police officers crawled over the entire stage. They all wore blue latex gloves and blue things that looked like shower caps over their shoes.
Crime shows on TV are very entertaining. A few years ago, Ivy and I were addicted to some true-crime shows. We loved the phony reenactments.