by Stacey Longo
Rhodes nodded. “You guessed it. A zombie popped out of one of the Ferris wheel seats and dropped down on Gloria, cracking her skull open in one fell swoop. She barely had time to scream before the zombie made a meal of her. Just awful. Mr. Larson had to go on sabbatical for six months to recover and try to put his life back together. So you can understand a little better why he might, er, have difficulty accepting your sister’s presence in this school system. Can’t you?”
I could, but it still ticked me off. “It’s not Blossom’s fault the Animal’s wife was eaten by a zombie. It wasn’t her,” I fumed.
“Of course it wasn’t. I just wanted you to understand where he’s coming from. If he seems a little brusque with you and your sister, I mean. It’s not his fault, entirely.”
“It’s not Blossom’s fault either.” I winced at the whine in my voice. “She has no teeth. Why can’t you people get that through your heads? We have to mince her cerebral chow for her. My mother purees brain smoothies every morning. Do you think Blossom likes living like that? She can barely gum her freeze-dried brainy treats to the appropriate sogginess, and you all treat her like a monster. It’s not fair!”
Rhodes smiled at me sadly, and came around the desk to give me a stiff hug. “Life isn’t fair, dear. Better to learn that now rather than later.”
NINE
I was still steaming as I headed to ceramics class. Beki was late, presumably because everyone kept stopping her in the halls to ask about Jillian’s murder. “Well, this sucks,” Beki said, sliding in to a seat next to me. “I want to be known as the next Janis Joplin, not the former BFF of the dead girl. God damn you, Jillian—still stealing my thunder!” She shook her fist at the ceiling, paused, then dropped it to shake it at the floor.
I patted her arm. “Still rough out there, huh?”
“Yeah, and I just got a text from Ken asking if we can get together this afternoon. Can you believe the nerve of that guy? Gives me scabies, then dumps me for Jillian. Wonder if her skin bugs will be on the autopsy report,” she added, perking up. “I hope so.”
“Uh, wouldn’t she have taken care of those by now?”
“She might’ve. But I wouldn’t trust him to, and unless both partners get treated …” she glanced at my horrified face. “Never mind.”
“Well I just had a meeting with Rhodes. She says she doesn’t suspect Blossom of anything, but everyone else sure seems to. Plus, she told me some very interesting background on the Animal.” I filled her in.
“You should investigate,” Beki said. “Lay out everything you know in a logical manner—put it in a spreadsheet or something, and see if the evidence points to the Animal, or to someone else.”
“Great idea,” I said. “Will you help me?”
“God, no. I’m terrible at thinking things through logically.” She laughed. “Let me know what you find out, though!”
Mickey was my go-to guy. We sketched out what we had for evidence and suspects in my notebook at lunch, and he filled in what I didn’t know.
“You said you saw the Animal at the Book Barn the day that guy was killed,” Mickey said, “and of course he was at the bonfire. But what’s his connection to Blue Pixie? I don’t see him hanging out at Hot Topic.”
“Well, even if he had been at the mall the day we were there, I wouldn’t have known,” I said. “I didn’t learn who he was until after we started school. Blossom and I could’ve passed him a hundred times that day and not thought twice about it. I mean, I’m sure he goes to the mall sometimes. Those button-down short-sleeve dress shirts don’t grow on trees. They’re a Sears specialty.”
“I think we’re overlooking the obvious here. Larson has motive to set up Blossom, sure. His wife was killed by a zombie; that’s hard to get over. But what about opportunity? He would’ve had to follow you to the mall. How would he have possibly known that you and Blossom had even moved to town? If he’s got some diabolical plan to make it all look like a zombie is killing people, he must be psychic, too—he knew the perfect scapegoat had just shown up in G-bury. I don’t buy it.”
“School registration? Would he have access to that? And besides, who else could it be?” I asked, exasperated.
“Hear me out. You said you thought you’d seen Jillian at the aquarium with a guy when you were there. It had to be Ken. And Ken would’ve undoubtedly been at the bonfire with his girlfriend when she was murdered.”
“Rumor has it he was late getting there, but that he did eventually show up,” I confirmed, confused.
“Well, here’s the part you don’t know: Ken works at the Orange Julius at Buckland Hills Mall,” Mickey said triumphantly. “See? He’s got a link to all three murders. It has to be him.”
Mickey had a point. If Ken Yothers had been at the mall, the aquarium, and the bonfire, that gave him opportunity to kill all three victims.
But what about motive?
“The guy’s a total jerkmanji.” Mickey shrugged. “Isn’t that motive enough?”
“We’ve got to interrogate him,” I announced. “Where does he hang out?”
“All those Cheney Tech bums hang out at the Whole Donut,” he said. “If you want to head over there, I could drive you.”
“What about school?”
“I’ll write us up some early dismissal passes. We can leave campus, head over there, beat that scumbag up until he talks, and be back before the end of seventh period.”
“I don’t know,” I said, worried about getting in trouble. “How would we get him to talk to us? Beki,” I remembered, before I could stop myself. “Ken wanted to see her this afternoon.”
“I can write her a pass too, no problem.” Mickey snapped his fingers. “Maybe we should bring Blossom. So she doesn’t worry if she notices you’re gone.”
That wasn’t a bad idea. Plus, my sister would be less likely to rat me out to our parents for skipping classes if she were equally guilty. Wait—why was I worrying? Nobody could understand her most of the time anyway. Still, I’d feel better if Bloss was with us. “You get working on the passes, and I’ll go find Beki and Blossom,” I said.
My pulse was beating a rapid tune in my ears. I was the good girl, after all. I never did things like cut class.
Beki was all for skipping out of school for the afternoon, though she wasn’t excited about seeing Ken. “I don’t want to lead him on,” she said. “It took me three special skin treatments to get rid of the scabies. Three!”
“Please, Beki, I need to ask him some questions, and you’re my only hope of doing that,” I begged. She sighed, then shot Ken a text saying she’d meet him at the Whole Donut at one o’clock. She and I then stood outside of Blossom’s history class.
When the bell rang to signal the end of fifth period, I waited for Blossom to roll out of the room. “Hey, sis,” I greeted her, grabbing the handles on the back of her wheelchair and aiming toward the exit to the quad. “We’re going on a field trip.” Beki and I waved our passes at Vice Principal Rhodes as we pushed Blossom down the hallway. Rhodes was occupied with a crying student, which was fortunate, since if she’d taken a closer look at our blue “get out of jail free” cards, she would have spotted her own forged name at the bottom.
Blossom was sputtering and indignant, but once she saw Mickey in his rusted SUV waiting for us at the curb, she calmed down. “Naagluuufah?” she asked.
“Whole Donut,” I answered quickly, shoving her in the back seat and fighting with her wheelchair to get it to collapse. “We’re going to interrogate a suspect. Since you’re the one who would benefit the most if this guy confesses, we thought you might like to come along.”
I sat in back with Blossom, and Beki took shotgun. “You okay back there?” Mickey asked. It was sweet of him to worry. As I was about to answer, Blossom piped up. “Yugg blaar.” We’re good.
The Whole Donut was about thirty minutes from school, right on the Manchester/Glastonbury town line. Ken’s flashy blue convertible was parked out front. “Oh, good, he’s already here,”
I said. “C’mon, Beks.”
“Blossom and I are gonna hang here in the parking lot,” Mickey said. “You know, with Ken’s and my history, I don’t think I should go in.”
“Thanks, Mickey,” I said, smiling at him. He was being super-sweet about Blossom. Oh no, I thought briefly. I hope he’s not crushing on me now. I already have an almost-boyfriend—he knows that!
I’d deal with Mickey’s feelings later. It was time to confront the suspicious boyfriend of one recently deceased Jillian Mott.
A bell above the door jangled as we entered. At a corner table, Ken Yothers, in all of his pimply glory, was holding court with two other greaseballs. As soon as he spotted Beki, he stood and came over, arms wide.
“Beks,” he said, tilting his head and trying to look sad. “Thanks for coming. It’s been . . . so hard.” He should’ve been talking about the emotional toll Jillian’s death was taking on him, but it sounded like he was talking about something entirely different and dirty.
“Ken,” Beki said, holding him at arm’s length when he tried to go in for a hug. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Ken sighed heavily, then looked at me. “Who’s she?”
“This is my friend Jasmine.”
“Nice.” He let his eyes rake down my body like I was on the menu. “Can I get you ladies anything?”
I was about to refuse when Beki said, “Sure!” Ken turned to head for the counter, and that’s when I spotted the Adidas logo blazoned across the back of his coat.
Who had mentioned an Adidas jacket recently?
“I’ll take a chocolate sprinkle,” I said, following Ken and Beki to the counter.
Once we had our food, Ken led us back to his table. He cleared a spot for Beki, and I shoehorned in between two guys whom Ken introduced as Snake and Flea. “So,” I started, clearing my throat. “How’re you holding up?”
“It’s rough,” Ken said, letting his eyes fill and looking skyward. “I loved her so much. It’s going to take me a long time to get over her. Maybe never. Only the love of a good woman will help me through this.” He looked at me, licking his lips.
So gross. I tried not to wince. “What happened to you that night? Were you there, I mean, at the bonfire?” I hoped I wasn’t being too insensitive, but I needed my questions answered. Plus, he was skeeving me out, and I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.
“I wasn’t there for her,” he said, his voice hitching. Oh, brother, I thought. This guy should get an Academy Award for this performance. “I had to work at the Julius ’til 5:30, and then I got a speeding ticket on the way to the bonfire. Stupid pigs. They’re the reason Jillian’s dead, I tell you. If they hadn’t stopped me, I could’ve saved her.” He leaned forward and winked at me. “I’d save you.”
Soooo very gross, I amended in my head. This guy was a piece of work.
“You’re a real piece of work,” Beki said. “Here I thought I’d be nice and meet you, offer you a little comfort, and you’re hitting on my friend! You’re the most insensitive, insatiable—ugh! That’s it, Ken Yothers. We’re through!” Beki stood up quickly, and I followed suit. She strutted out of the Whole Donut, chin up, looking like an Amazonian goddess. I tried to imitate her walk, pushing my shoulders back dramatically and doing my best to flounce. The rubber sole of my Sketchers caught on the polished linoleum as we exited, but I pretended I meant to do it.
Mickey and Blossom were outside, watching through the front window. “Let’s go before I change my mind,” Beki said quickly, and we piled back into the Chevy.
“Um, what?” I asked.
“It always turns me on when he pretends he’s not interested in me at all,” she said huskily. “Another minute there and I totally would’ve caved.”
Blossom tugged on my sleeve as we drove back to Glastonbury High. “Blaargh gughhh naaaarrr?” Did you see his jacket?
“Yeah, I did. Who was talking about that lately?”
“Mnuuuh Adidas rrrrraaaaawwwllll,” she said excitedly. Me. There was a guy in an Adidas jacket following us at the mall. He’s definitely suspicious.
“Are you talking about Ken’s jacket?” Mickey interjected, looking at us in the rearview mirror. “They’re a dime a dozen. I think I even have one in my closet somewhere.”
“Mickey’s right, Bloss. The Adidas jacket doesn’t really have anything to do with the case. And I don’t think Ken killed anyone,” I admitted. “Remember we saw that cop car on the way to the bonfire? I think Ken was the one they pulled over. No wonder Dad hasn’t mentioned him as a suspect. The cops are his alibi.”
We drove on in silence, making it back to school right as seventh period was ending.
We all had our passes in hand as we slipped back into the building. We fanned out to head to our separate classes, and I was three steps away from my French class when I heard a disapproving voice behind me. “Where are you sneaking in from, missy?” the Animal barked.
I held up my pass, unable to meet his eyes. “I had to run home with my sister,” I said, thinking quickly. “She—uh—spilled her smoothie down the front of her shirt at lunch, and students were complaining about the stench.” I cringed at my own words. Please don’t be thinking about what was in her smoothie, I prayed.
The Animal glared at me, then looked at my phony pass again. Something must have been bothering him about Mickey’s forgery, but as he opened his mouth to rumble again, Ms. Youngquist rounded the corner.
“Why, Jasmine! Shouldn’t you be in class?” She looked from me to Mr. Larson. “Is something wrong?”
“I am on my way to class, Ms. Youngquist,” I explained quickly. “Blossom had an accident at lunch, and I had to leave school to help her clean up. But I made it back in time for my last class, until Mr. Larson stopped me.” I smiled innocently.
“Everything okay?” Ms. Youngquist quirked a brow at Mr. Larson.
“I’m not sure,” the Animal said slowly. “Something seems a little off.”
“I can assure you, Vice Principal Larson, Jasmine here is one of my best students. She doesn’t have a scheming bone in her body.” Youngquist beamed at me. “I’m sure her story is exactly as she says it is. Now shouldn’t we let her head on to class?”
“I suppose so.” Larson scowled at Youngquist. He reluctantly handed my pass back. “Move along. But no running in the hallway,” he added sternly. I thanked him politely and stepped away. I’d really liked Ms. Youngquist as a teacher before. Now, she’d just propelled herself to the top of my all-time favorite teachers list.
~~**~~
On the bus ride home, Blossom and I told Nanette and Jordan what we’d found out about both Ken Yothers’s alibi and the Animal’s wife. Nanette was skeptical.
“Not for nothing, Nancy Drew, but don’t you think you should let the cops handle this? I mean, I appreciate that you want to help your sister, but you’re no detective,” she said.
“Yeah, but think about it. Would the police even look at someone like the Animal? I mean, he’s a respected authority figure.”
“They’re not stupid, Jasmine. If the evidence points to him, they’ll go after him. Give the cops some credit—they’ve got a lot more experience than you do.”
My brow creased. “Halph-baat,” Blossom said, leaning closer to me. What’s her problem?
Good question. “Geez, sorry. I had no idea my brainstorming would upset your sensibilities. Forget I said anything.” I pulled out my phone and started playing Angry Birds, pointedly ignoring Nanette for the rest of the ride. Blossom followed suit, drawing pictures in her drool on the window. United in sisterhood, we were.
When we got home, Blossom and I sat on the living room rug and mapped out our information.
“I’m not so sure how helpful this is,” I admitted, looking at our yellow sticky notes spread haphazardly across the green carpet. “Ken Yothers is a dirtbag, but he’s got a strong alibi, at least for Jillian’s murder. Larson was at the bonfire, and we saw him in Niantic the day Sex Pistol died, so h
e’s a convincing suspect. Nanette’s attitude problem on the bus was suspicious, too, so we can’t rule her out. Hell, even Mickey could be the killer, given he dated one of the victims.”
“Ruuuhrrr nah gluh,” Blossom said quickly. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not Mickey.
“You’re right, he’s too wimpy to try something like this. Whoever it is, though, certainly wants you to be blamed, given the modus operandi, so to speak. Who’ve you upset lately, Bloss?”
She croaked out what passed as a laugh. “Leegsh. Suuuugurmm. Gaaahaaa.” I’m a zombie. I think that upsets the sensibilities of everyone in this pristine little town. She met my eyes and smiled. “Bajarguh,” she said softly. “Ungna.” But thanks for being on my side in this.
“Nobody messes with my sister,” I said, and meant it.
TEN
Andy asked me the next morning if I’d skipped class the day before to avoid him, the way our date ended and all. I informed him I’d been summoned to Rhodes’s office, not telling him that it was my afternoon classes I’d purposely skipped, and that I was well on my way to becoming a juvenile delinquent.
Andy seemed to forgive me pretty easily. Perhaps it was because I was trying out my new Pucker-Up Pomegranate lip gloss, which promised to inspire instant adoration in the opposite sex.
“You’ve got something on your mouth,” Andy said. “Were you just drinking Kool-Aid or something?”
I hurriedly wiped my lips on my sleeve and smiled at him. “Better?”
“Now it’s on your teeth.”
Andy asked if I’d be interested in going to the mall with him Friday night. I agreed, pending my parents’ approval. When I mentioned it over dinner that night, Mom was fine with it, but Dad got all protective again.
“You’re too young to be going out on a date with a boy alone. You can go only if Blossom goes with you.”
“But Dad,” I whined. “Why should Andy and I have to babysit Blossom all night? That’s so not fair!”
“Bnugg? Yarah yeneh ha!” Blossom spat, making a circle with one hand and pointing with the other in an unmistakably obscene gesture. Babysit me? How about how I don’t wanna chaperone you and your horny date?