All-Night Party (8 page)

B
eside Gretchen on the couch, Hannah continued crying.

“It wasn't me,” Patrick protested. “I wasn't even inside the cabin. I went outside, too. I felt drowsy. I thought some fresh air would wake me up.”

Someone is lying, Gretchen thought.

Jackson's voice was the one I heard in the kitchen. I'm sure of it. And when I left the cabin, Patrick said he wasn't going to budge.

As for Marco, he was outside with me. And Gil was with Hannah.

“Would you stop crying?” Gil snapped at Hannah. “You're driving me nuts.”

“I'm sorry. I'm so upset,” Hannah sobbed. “I can't believe Cindy is dead. Tonight was supposed to be
such a special night. And now she's never going to have another birthday.”

“You don't care,” Gil sneered. “You were ready to scratch her eyes out tonight.”

“That's because she was throwing herself all over you,” Hannah shot back. “And you were encouraging her.”

“I was not!”

“Yes, you were!” Hannah narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you really think Cindy liked you? She was just flirting with you to get back at me.”

“Are you for real?” Gil shot back. “If it wasn't for Cindy's parents, she and I would still be going out together. You're jealous. You were always jealous of her.”

“Stop it!” Gretchen cried. “Before you both say something you'll regret.”

Hannah ignored Gretchen's advice. She jumped off the couch and stood in front of Gil.

“Cindy didn't care about you,” she told him. “If she cared anything at all about you, she wouldn't have dumped you.”

“That's not true!”

Hannah nodded. “Yes, it is. Cindy always wanted what she couldn't have. She always had to steal things from other people. That's why she was always flirting with you. All that mattered was stealing you away from me.”

“She didn't have to steal me away from you!” Gil screamed. “I was going to break up with you!”

“I hate you!” Hannah sobbed, tears streaming
down her face. “You're horrible! I wish you were dead!”

“Like Cindy?” Gil taunted. “With a killer on the loose, maybe your wish will come true. Maybe I'll be dead by tomorrow morning. Or maybe I'll get lucky and
you'll
be dead!”

Gretchen couldn't believe Hannah and Gil were saying such horrible things to each other.

“Stop it!” she cried, pushing herself between them. “Stop it! Stop fighting! How can you say those things when there's a murderer out there? How can—”

Gretchen gasped as the front door burst open. It slammed hard into the wall.

She spun around.

“Who's there?” she cried.

Chapter
21

N
o one there.

“The wind,” Jackson murmured. “The wind blew the door open.”

Gretchen sighed. She had expected to see the killer standing in the doorway, waving a bloody knife, threatening to kill them all.

Jackson strode to the door and shut it. “I guess I didn't close it all the way.”

Hannah sniffed. She sat back on the couch, drawing her knees up to her chest.

“The next time the door slams open, it could be the killer, getting ready to finish what he started with Cindy,” she choked out.

“Why would the killer come back? Why would he come after any of us?” Patrick asked.

“Why did he go after Cindy?” Hannah demanded. She huddled in a corner of the couch. “All I know is that I'm scared. I want to go home.”

“We can't go home,” Patrick said. “Not until the police get here.”

“By the time the police get here, we could all be dead!” Hannah cried.

Marco turned from the fireplace. “That's not very likely. We have a slight advantage. I mean, there are six of us and one of him.”

“Not if he kills us off one by one,” Hannah reasoned, wiping tearstains from her face.

“Hannah is right,” Gretchen agreed. “I think we all need to stick close together. I don't think any of us should go off by ourselves. It's too risky.”

Gretchen pictured Cindy's body sprawled in the flour.

What were Cindy's last thoughts before she died?

Gretchen gazed around the cabin at her friends. She felt as if she were seeing them for the first time.

She thought she knew them—but did she?

Could one of them have murdered Cindy?

Was that why Cindy's eyes were filled with such terror?

Had she been unable to believe that someone she trusted had killed her?

No, Gretchen thought. It can't be.

It had to be that escaped prisoner.

If he had been hiding in the Fear Street Woods, he could easily row over to the island.

It
was
the prisoner, she told herself. It
had
to be.

Because if it's not the prisoner, one of my best friends is a murderer
.

Gretchen shuddered. “We're safer if we all stick together,” she said.

“Yes,” Jackson said. “We stay together at all times. Starting now. Follow me. We all have to go back to the kitchen.”

“Huh?” Hannah gripped her stomach. “I can't even
think
of going in there again.”

Jackson sighed. “It's important. I want to check out Cindy's body one more time.”

“Why?” Gretchen asked. She couldn't help feeling suspicious.

“Maybe it will help us figure out what happened,” Jackson replied.

Hannah shook her head furiously. “I can't go back into the kitchen. I can't!”

“Come on, Hannah,” Gretchen coaxed, pulling her by the arm. “You know we're right. We have to stick together. You can't stay out here alone.”

As soon as Gretchen led Hannah into the kitchen, Hannah raced to the other side of the room. As far away from Cindy's body as possible.

Gretchen saw her turn to the wall with her eyes squeezed closed.

Gil and Marco hopped up on a kitchen counter while Patrick leaned against the refrigerator. Ignoring the others, Jackson began walking around Cindy's body.

Gretchen stood in the center of the kitchen, inches away from the corpse. She stared down at the floor. She was standing so close to the body, her foot was practically touching Cindy's hand.

She noticed red nail polish on Cindy's fingernails, some of it chipped away. A gold charm bracelet dangled around her wrist.

But that wasn't all.

Gretchen's eyes widened.

How had she missed it earlier?

A baseball cap.

Gripped in Cindy's hand.

Cindy hadn't worn a baseball cap to the cabin.

If the cap wasn't hers, where did it come from?

Had someone else been wearing it?

The killer?

Did she grab it off her murderer?

Gretchen raised her eyes to the others. Jackson was watching her. She returned his stare.

“What is it?” Jackson demanded.

Gretchen swallowed hard to clear her throat. “Cindy is holding a baseball cap,” she replied.

Hannah's eyes popped open. “What did you say?”

“Cindy is holding a baseball cap,” Gretchen repeated. “She didn't wear one to the cabin.”

Her hand trembled as she pointed to the cap.

“Who does it belong to? Whose cap is it?”

Chapter
22

P
atrick's mouth gaped open in shock. “It—it's mine,” he sputtered.

“Yours?” Gretchen gasped.

Marco jumped off the kitchen counter. His eyes narrowed as he studied Patrick.

“How did your baseball cap get in Cindy's hand?” he demanded, narrowing his eyes at Patrick.

Patrick shrugged. “Hey, come on. Give me a break. I don't know. Why are you asking
me?”

“Because it belongs to you,” Gretchen said sharply. “You admitted it.”

“Just because my cap is in Cindy's hand, you think I killed her?” Patrick exclaimed. “That's the stupidest thing I ever heard!”

Hannah's eyes shot to Patrick. She backed away from him.
“You
killed her?”

“Of
course
I didn't kill Cindy,” Patrick insisted. He took a step toward Hannah.

“Stay away from me!” Hannah screamed. She darted to Gil's side. “Don't come any closer!”

“Hey—come on, guys!” Patrick pleaded. “You know me. We've been friends forever. Why would I kill Cindy? It's totally dumb.”

“Then why is your cap in her hand?” Marco demanded again. “How did it get there?”

Patrick threw his hands up in the air. “I don't know!”

“Is that all you can say?” Gil cried. He had his arms around Hannah, who was shaking. “That cap is real evidence, Patrick. It points right to you.”

“I want to go home,” Hannah sobbed. “I wish we'd never come to this horrible cabin.”

“It doesn't prove anything,” Patrick insisted. “I don't know how my cap got in Cindy's hand. I hung it on the coatrack by the front door when we came in.”

“Nobody saw you do it,” Jackson told him.

“I am not lying! You
have
to believe me!” Patrick pleaded. “I hung my cap by the front door. Maybe Cindy decided to wear it.”

Hannah uttered a bitter cry. “You're pathetic! Do you really expect us to believe that?”

“Cindy
is
wearing a jacket,” Gretchen pointed out.

“You're right,” Gil said. “It's my grandfather's lumber jacket. From the hall closet.”

“So maybe Cindy was going outside for some air,” Gretchen continued. “Maybe it was raining, and she didn't want to get her hair wet. So she grabbed Patrick's cap off the rack. Cindy freaked out if her hair got the least bit frizzy. Everyone knows that.”

Patrick nodded. “That makes sense to me,” he said.

“But if she was worried about her hair in the rain, why was she clutching your cap so tightly
after
she was stabbed?” Gretchen asked.

“I think she was trying to leave a clue to the identity of her killer,” Marco said. “Maybe the killer was wearing the cap—and she pulled it off his head while he was stabbing her.”

“No!” Patrick gasped, shaking his head. “No.”

“You have blood on your shirt,” Jackson pointed out.

“And Cindy is grasping your cap,” Gil added.

“So what?” Patrick cried. “That doesn't make me a murderer.”

“But it does make you look very guilty,” Hannah blurted out.

“I have a gun—remember?” Patrick cried heatedly. “If I wanted to kill Cindy, I'd
shoot
her. I wouldn't stab her with a bread knife!”

Gretchen felt horror wash over her as she listened to Patrick's words.

She stared down at Cindy's blood-caked wound.

“How do you know it was a
bread
knife?” she gasped. “Tell us, Patrick—how do you know what kind of knife the killer used?”

Chapter
23