We laid our bikes on the grass and walked up the freshly painted porch steps to Mrs. Wolfson’s door. Darcy knocked, and we stood patiently waiting for Mrs. Wolfson. She walked with a cane so it took her a little longer to get around. After a minute or so, I saw the telltale flutter of the window curtains and then the door swung open.
“Girls!” Mrs. Wolfson called. “I’m so happy you’re here! Come in, come in. I baked some fudge brownies you’ve just got to try.”
“Yes!” Darcy said, doing a little shimmy as she walked through the doorway.
Darcy and I made ourselves comfortable on the big flowered couch in the living room while Mrs. Wolfson served us brownies on fancy china and milk in teacups. I was still full from breakfast, but took a bite to be polite. And, wow, that was a fantastic brownie. I suddenly wasn’t too full after all.
“I’m so glad you stopped by,” Mrs. Wolfson said. She tucked a loose strand of her long gray hair back into the bun on top of her head. “The house looks so beautiful. I wanted to thank you again for getting all your friends to help out.”
My heart felt all warm and proud. “It was no problem.”
Darcy, always one to get right to the point, said, “So, Mrs. Wolfson. We were checking out old school yearbooks and saw that you graduated from high school here in Danville.”
“Oh, yes, I sure did,” she said, nodding. “My high school is actually your girls’ middle school now.”
“We know,” I said. “We were doing some reading about …” My voice trailed off as I tried to find the most sensitive way to bring the topic up.
“Your prom night,” Darcy finished for me. “The fire. Were you there?”
The teacup paused halfway to Mrs. Wolfson’s mouth and her eyes got a faraway look to them. “Yes,” she said softly. “It was supposed to be the most magical night of our lives. Instead … it was terrible.”
“What do you remember?” Darcy said, leaning so far forward I thought she was going to fall off the couch.
Mrs. Wolfson laid her cup down on the saucer. “It started out beautifully. The music, the decorations. But then came the smell, the smoke … and the screams.”
I shuddered at the thought. “Did you know the boy who died? Charles Austin?”
The corner of her mouth lifted up in a tiny smile. “Everyone knew Charlie. He was the most well-liked boy in our school.”
I set my teacup down on the table and noticed my hand shaking a bit. That night had just been a story in the newspaper, a legend, something that happened long ago. It wasn’t until I sat here with Mrs. Wolfson, listening to her speak, that I fully realized it was something true. Charlie had been a real person. Sadness seeped through me.
Darcy said, “The article we read said that Charles wouldn’t leave the building because he was looking for ‘his girl’ but his date was already outside. Why the confusion?”
“Because his date wasn’t his girl,” Mrs. Wolfson answered matter-of-factly.
Darcy and I looked at each other.
“There was another girl?” I asked, confused.
Mrs. Wolfson looked off into the distance. Her voice took on a dreamlike quality. “Charles Austin and Helen Fallon were friends for a long time. Everyone knew that Helen loved Charles, and we were starting to think that Charlie loved her back. There were rumors that they were going to prom together. But then Betty Frazier asked Charlie to prom.”
She said that last part dramatically, but I didn’t get it. “Okay …” I said.
“I know in this day and age, it’s not a big deal for a girl to ask a boy out,” Mrs. Wolfson explained, “but back then it was very forward of Betty. Though Betty and Charlie did make sense. Betty was the prettiest, most popular girl. What boy would turn her down?”
“So he went to the prom with Betty and not Helen?” I asked, trying to keep it straight in my mind.
“Yes. Helen was so distraught that she didn’t go with anyone. She stayed home alone. Though, Charlie wouldn’t leave the building because he swore he saw her there.”
“And was she there?” Darcy chimed in.
Mrs. Wolfson gave us a skeptical look. “No. She never went to the dance. People think that the fire messed with Charlie’s mind. Maybe he felt guilty about dropping Helen for Betty and he thought he saw her in the smoke.” She paused to take a sip of tea. “In any case, we’ll never know what he saw. He perished in the flames.”
A chill ran across my skin. “Do you know what happened to Betty and Helen?”
“Betty married some handsome young man and moved to the West Coast. Helen never married. Sometimes I wonder if it’s because she never got over Charlie. She’s still here in town.”
Darcy straightened. “Do you know where?”
“Yes. At the Maples Nursing Home,” Mrs. Wolfson said.
Darcy looked at me, eyes aflame. I knew that look. Helen Fallon was going to get a visit soon. From us.
On Sunday, we tried to visit Helen at the nursing home, but were told by the woman at the front desk that Helen wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t accept visitors. We’d have to try again in a few days.
On Monday morning at school, I walked the hallway with my head down, eyes peeled for the Delancey-wearing arsonist.
But by the time I reached my locker I’d already seen two girls wearing the shoes. I opened a notebook and jotted down their names, but a pit was beginning to form in my stomach. What if too many girls wore that brand? I sighed. Why did the arsonist have to be so trendy?
Darcy strolled up to my locker with a notebook in hand and a pencil behind her ear. “I’ve been patrolling the hallways, and I’ve got four shoe suspects already!”
That pit I mentioned before? Yeah, it was growing.
“You say that like it’s a good thing,” I mumbled.
Frowning, Darcy said, “This was the plan, right?”
I shrugged. “Yeah, but I figured maybe like three girls would have the shoes. Then we could rule out those with alibis, figure out who was here early the day of the fire, and bam. Arsonist exposed. But we already have six names before first period! This clue isn’t going to help us much at all.”
I gazed down at the floor as yet another pair of Delanceys approached.
“Did you guys see the posters?” Maya asked nervously.
I looked up into her worried brown eyes. “What posters?”
“We’ve been focused downward this morning,” Darcy explained, motioning at Maya’s shoes.
Maya suddenly looked uncomfortable. I wondered how she felt about owning the same shoes the arsonist wore. I noticed Darcy giving Maya a long stare, and I knew the gears were grinding in her head. But I wouldn’t suspect Maya. No way. She was friends with Zane. She wouldn’t frame him.
Maya tugged on my shirtsleeve and said, “Come with me.”
Darcy and I followed her around the corner. Even though it was hopeless, I continued to scan shoes along the way. Until I nearly walked into Violet and Amanda, only one of which was wearing Delanceys. Before I could figure out who was who and why they would stop and stand in the middle of the busiest hallway, Darcy squeezed my hand and pointed up.
The big dance banner hung on the wall, but it looked a bit different this morning. It had been vandalized.
More people came to stop and stare. Their whispers filled the hallway.
“Who would write that?”
“This is creepy.”
“I don’t even want to go anymore.”
I ignored the comments as my eyes traveled over the words that had been painted across the banner. Words that felt like a threat.
THE PROM KILLER IS BACK.
Clearly the Prom Killer was not stalking the halls of Danville Middle School. Whoever set that fire was either dead or eighty years old now. And why would they want to stir up trouble again, after all this time? Our fire had nothing to do with the Prom Killer. My logical mind knew this.
The rest of the school? Not so much.
Kids went bananas. Some were convinced that
a ghost was haunting the halls. Some were even saying they were too scared to go to the dance. Rumors flew that the field house was only the first fire. The Prom Killer was going to return on the night of the dance and burn down the gym with everyone in it.
By the end of the day, even Fiona was in a tizzy. She ran up to my locker, basically panting in panic. “There’s a rumor that Principal Plati might cancel the dance!”
I twirled my combination on the dial and opened the locker door. “Because someone wrote something stupid on a poster?” I scoffed. I hardly believed that.
Fiona stomped her foot. “Because people are freaking out and therefore their parents will freak out. Zane hasn’t been arrested yet. He’s still just a suspect. So people are starting to wonder if the Prom Killer story is coming true again. If history will repeat itself.”
I felt a flicker of doubt. “They wouldn’t cancel the dance altogether, though. Right?”
“Yeah, they would,” Darcy said, coming up behind me. She hefted her backpack up over one shoulder. “They take this stuff seriously. If there’s even a small chance the dance is unsafe, it will be canceled for sure.”
I could feel the blood draining from my face. Only a few days ago, everything had been wonderful. Zane was about to ask me to the dance. Then Zane was framed. We didn’t solve the case. And now the dance might be canceled.
My throat tightened as a mixture of anger and sadness rushed through me. “It’s just so unfair. All of this.”
“I know!” Fiona agreed, raising her fist in the air. “The Dance Committee worked so hard. We’re having our last meeting Wednesday afternoon to make decorations. Saturday night is going to be perfect. Unless it gets canceled.”
“It won’t if we solve the case first,” Darcy said, trying to remain hopeful.
But I wasn’t so sure.
Tuesday afternoon, Darcy and I decided to try and visit the Maples Nursing Home again.
The same woman was behind the desk. She had a big pouf of hair that she’d probably meant to dye red but looked kind of pink. She remembered us. “Here to see Helen?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered. “If she’s well.”
The woman made a face that worried me. “As well as she’s going to get, I’m afraid. Go on down the hall. She’s in the first room on your right.”
“That was kind of ominous,” Darcy whispered as we walked.
We found Helen’s room quickly enough. It was large and homey looking, with a bright and big window, a bed, a television set, a small couch, and a rocking chair. A thin, frail-looking woman rocked in the chair while staring out the window.
Darcy coughed into her hand. “Excuse me? Are you Helen Fallon?”
The woman slowly turned her head toward us. She wore a flowered housedress and had short, thinning white hair. “Yes, I am,” she said, glancing from Darcy to me in confusion.
I gingerly approached the chair, suddenly nervous. She was just a little old lady, nothing to be scared of, but something about her seemed ghostlike and sad. “We’d like to talk to you for a few minutes, if that’s all right.”
“About what?” she asked warily.
I opened my mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come.
Darcy had no such problem. “About prom night, 1948.”
The woman’s eyes widened. After a long pause, she motioned to the couch opposite her chair. “Have a seat.”
Darcy and I settled in on the couch, and Helen turned toward us. She was too skinny and seemed sickly. She let out a bone-shaking cough into her fist.
I looked at Darcy and grimaced. That must have been what the woman behind the desk meant. Helen was dying. I felt guilty interrogating her about something that had happened so long ago. We should let her sit in peace. Yet, at the same time, she’d invited us to stay. Maybe she wanted to talk about it.
“So,” Helen said. “What do you want to know?”
I nudged Darcy with my elbow. She could start.
Darcy cleared her throat. “Um, I don’t know if you heard, but our field house burned down. At your old school.”
Helen nodded. “Unfortunate. I read about that in the paper.”
“We were supposed to have our dance in that building,” Darcy explained. “So, our fire has brought up stories about …”
“My fire,” Helen said matter-of-factly.
“Yes,” I chimed in. “Rumors and ghost stories. We know that you and the boy who died were close, and I feel bad even asking you these questions, but we were hoping —”
Helen put her hand up. She held me in a steely gaze, like she was making some momentous decision. After what seemed like forever, she simply said, “It’s time.”
“Time for what?” I asked. Time for us to leave?
“It’s time for the truth,” she said, and her voice didn’t sound frail anymore. It had force behind it. She sat up a bit straighter in her seat and said, “I’ve kept it in for so long. A lifetime really. It’s time for my story to be told.”
I could feel Darcy trembling with anticipation beside me. “Okay …” she said.
Helen clasped her hands on her lap and met our eyes. “I set the fire.”
I stared at her in shock. “What?”
“Prom. Nineteen forty-eight. I set the fire,” she repeated.
Darcy and I sat in stunned silence. If I were the fainting type, I would have dropped to the floor.
“I loved Charlie Austin,” Helen began. “And I do believe he was starting to return my feelings. Even though he was much more popular than I was, he’d asked me to prom. It was a dream come true.”
Helen beamed at the memory. Then the smile slipped from her face as she said, “But then Betty Frazier and her boyfriend suddenly broke up. She was beautiful, a stunner really. And she decided she wanted Charlie by her side at the prom.”
“What did he do?” Darcy asked.
“He dropped me. Just like that. The day before prom. I was dateless and heartbroken. Embarrassed and ashamed.”
My heart sank, imagining how Helen must have felt. But then I remembered … she wasn’t so innocent after all. I said, “But you went to prom night anyway.”
Helen took a deep breath. “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, you should know that. All I wanted was to spoil the prom. Since it had already been ruined for me. I set a small fire in a darkened corner. I figured it would start slowly, they’d all run out, and the dance would end early. But the decorations caught and the flames spread too quickly.”
I shuddered, picturing the moment. My fingers crept toward Darcy until they found her hand to clasp on to. Hers felt as clammy as mine.
Helen’s eyes were wild and the words started to come faster. “There was panic and horror. Everyone made it out but Charlie … he spotted me. I ran out the back door. He went out front and didn’t see me in the crowd. So he went back in and refused to come out until he’d found me. He felt guilty, I think. But he didn’t realize I’d left the building … and he died in there.”
I clutched my stomach, feeling sick. Darcy looked even paler than usual.
Helen continued, “When he was still in the building searching for me, I was halfway down the street, running home, gripped with guilt over what I’d done. And I was only feeling terrible about the fire. I didn’t find out anyone was hurt until the next morning. Charlie was dead, and it was my fault.”
Helen’s bloodshot eyes were wet and glassy. Her voice broke. “I never got over it. I never allowed myself to date or marry or have children because Charlie would never have those things.” Her voice cracked, and she let out a rattling cough.
I recoiled deeper into the couch. I wished I could click my heels three times and be back at home, without these scary images in my head. But Darcy squeezed my hand, silently telling me to be brave.
After she regained her composure, Helen said, “His death was accidental. But that doesn’t make it any less my fault.” Tears slicked her face as she focused her gaze on us. “You can do what you wish with this informat
ion. Go to the police. Whatever you feel you have to do. But learn this lesson from me, girls. Love can be the most wonderful thing. But jealousy will bring about your darkest hour.”
Helen launched into another coughing fit. She turned her back to us and resumed gazing out the window, perhaps thinking about her crime. Darcy and I exchanged a glance and managed to walk numbly out of her room. We didn’t speak a word as we got to our bikes, still dazed.
Darcy broke the silence. “Well, that was unexpected.”
I nodded. When I’d entered Helen’s room, I never for a moment guessed that she would be the infamous Prom Killer. I swallowed hard. “What should we do? She’s guilty of something horrible.”
Darcy shook her head. “I know. But she never meant to harm anyone.”
Thinking out loud, I said, “Yeah, but doesn’t she need to be punished?”
“She punished herself for her entire life,” Darcy said. “Plus, you saw her. She’s not going to live much longer.”
That was true. What did I want … for her to spend the last week of her life in jail? “The whole thing is just so sad,” I said. “The tragedy could’ve been prevented to begin with. But once it happened, Helen should’ve been brave and told the truth right away.”
“I agree,” Darcy said. “But it’s in our hands now. So what do we do about it?”
I took a deep breath and thought about everything we’d learned. “I think what Helen and Charles would want is for people to learn from the mistakes they made, and to not repeat them.”
Darcy nodded. “When this is all over, we’ll talk to Mrs. Wolfson. She’ll help us figure out the right thing to do.”
Wednesday, I still felt rattled from our discovery of the real Prom Killer. But in addition to all these mixed-up feelings about 1948, I also felt heartened. We’d done it. We followed the clues right to the real Prom Killer. I felt a flicker of hope that we’d be able to do the same for our very own fire starter.
When I got to the Dance Committee meeting, I could hear squeals of excitement from the girls inside. I walked in just as Fiona was banging her gavel on the podium to start the meeting.
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