All-Night Party (9 page)

“B
ecause the bread knife is missing,” Patrick replied. He pointed to the empty slot in the knife holder on the counter.

Gretchen's eyes moved to the tipped-over knife holder.

I'm becoming suspicious of everyone, she thought. I've known everyone in this room for months. And now I'm starting to believe one of them is a killer.

“I'm sorry, Patrick,” she murmured. “We're all really scared and freaked out.”

“Can you blame us?” Hannah cried.

“We can't accuse each other all night long,” Gretchen added. She tried to make her voice sound normal. “We have to be calm and try to think clearly.”

“And then what are we supposed to do?” Hannah demanded sarcastically. “Track down the killer? Give him a chance to kill another one of us?”

“What else
should
we do?” Gretchen snapped. “Stand around and cry? That's all
you've
done tonight.”

The second the words left her mouth, Gretchen regretted them.

Hannah stared at her, mouth open in surprise and hurt.

“I'm sorry, Hannah. I know you feel bad about Cindy. We all do,” Gretchen apologized. “I'm just really on edge.”

“I think we all need to cool off. Why don't we head back into the living room?” Jackson suggested. “I think we're finished in here.”

Gretchen followed after the others.

As she stepped around Cindy's body, she tried not to look. But she couldn't help it. She felt her gaze magnetically pulled down to the floor.

Cindy's blue eyes stared up blankly at the ceiling. Her mouth hung open in a silent scream. Bloodstains spattered the flour around her.

It's like a scene out of one of those slasher movies Cindy hated so much, Gretchen thought.

Gretchen felt dizzy. She leaned against the refrigerator. She pressed her face against its cool surface and took a deep breath.

When she opened her eyes, she felt better. She started walking again—but then stopped.

“Whoa! Wait a minute!” she called after her friends.

“What is it?” Jackson asked. He turned and strode back toward her. The others followed.

“What's wrong?” Jackson demanded.

“Look.” Gretchen pointed.

Pointed to a dark splotch on the floor that looked different from the rest.

What was it?

Gretchen knelt down. She felt her pulse race.

A footprint?

No, that wasn't right. Not a footprint.

She saw a pattern.

A design.

It was a bootprint.

In the flour.

They all stared down at it. No one spoke.

Slowly, Gretchen guessed at what must have happened.

Cindy and the killer were in the kitchen. They were arguing. Cindy slapped the killer. He dove at her.

Cindy backed away. She bumped the flour canister and knocked it over. Flour scattered everywhere.

The killer stabbed Cindy. She fell into the flour, bleeding.

Then the killer walked away.

Stepping into the spilled flour.

Leaving a bootprint behind.

“Such a
clear
bootprint,” Gretchen murmured.

“If the killer stepped in the flour…” Gil began.

“… Then there would be flour on the bottom of his boot,” Gretchen finished.

“I get it,” Jackson said. “The bootprint will help us figure out who the killer is.”

“We all suspect Patrick, so let's start with him,” Marco urged. “Grab him!”

Gil and Jackson dove at Patrick. They each grabbed an arm, holding tight.

“Hey!” Patrick protested. “What are you doing?” He twisted and turned, trying to break free. “Give me a break, guys!” he cried. “Come on! Give me a break! Let go!”

“Go check out his boots,” Jackson ordered Gretchen. “They should be by the front door with the others.”

Gretchen hurried out of the kitchen and raced for the front door. Their hiking boots were lined up against the wall.

She searched for Patrick's boots. Hannah's had bright red laces, while Gil's laces were neon yellow. Jackson's hiking boots were black. Marco's were olive green.

Gretchen carefully picked up Patrick's boots by their tops.

She took a deep breath.

Was there flour on the sole?

Chapter
24

Y
es.

A thin coating of white flour on the heel and sole of his right boot.

Gretchen gasped. The shock made her head spin.

She felt like dropping the boots on the floor and running out the front door.

But she took a deep breath, then studied the bottom of Patrick's boot again.

She didn't want to believe it.

She didn't want to believe that Patrick murdered Cindy.

Sweet, lovable Patrick. Always joking. Always kidding around.

He could never do something this evil. This wicked.

She didn't want to believe it. She liked him too much.

But there was no denying the evidence.

The blood on his shirt.

His cap in Cindy's hand.

And now the flour on the bottom of his boot.

Carrying the boots, she walked slowly back to the kitchen.

Everyone hovered in the doorway, waiting to learn what she had discovered.

Waiting to learn who the killer was.

Patrick.

Gretchen stepped back into the kitchen.

“Well?” Marco demanded. “What did you find?”

“There's flour on the bottom of one of his boots,” Gretchen announced. She lifted the boot so everyone could see the flour on the sole.

Gretchen's gaze fixed on Patrick. She saw disbelief wash over Patrick's face. “I don't know how that flour got there. I swear it!”

“It got there when you murdered Cindy,” Marco accused.

“But—I didn't kill Cindy,” Patrick cried. “I swear it! You've got to believe me!”

Hannah slumped into a chair at the kitchen table and began sobbing again. “Why did we ever agree to come out to the island tonight?” she wailed. “We should have stayed in Shadyside. If we had, none of this would have happened. Cindy would still be alive.”

“We don't know that,” Gil stated. “If Patrick
wanted Cindy dead, he could have killed her anywhere.”

“I didn't kill her!” Patrick insisted. “The escaped prisoner did it. Gretchen, you believe me—don't you?”

Gretchen swallowed hard. She didn't know how to answer.

She wanted to believe Patrick was innocent. His pleas sounded so truthful and honest.

But all the evidence pointed to him.

“I want to believe you, Patrick,” she whispered. “Really, I do. But I can't.”

“What do we do now?” Gil asked.

“First, let's tie Patrick up,” Marco suggested. “Then we can decide what to do without having to worry about getting killed.”

He pulled open kitchen drawers until he found a coil of rope.

Gretchen stood behind Hannah as Gil and Jackson pushed Patrick into a kitchen chair. Then Marco wound the rope around Patrick's body.

“No!” Patrick protested, trying to break free. “This isn't fair! I didn't do anything.”

“Don't hurt him,” Gretchen begged, as Marco forced Patrick back down.

“We're not going to hurt him,” Marco told her. “We're just making sure he doesn't hurt
us.”

After tightly securing Patrick to the chair, Marco stepped back.

“Now what?” Gretchen cried.

“We search through his things,” Marco replied.

“Why?” Gretchen asked.

“What's the point?” Hannah demanded.

“To see if he's hiding anything,” Marco explained.

“You
can't
go through my things!” Patrick protested.

“Don't tell us what we can do,” Marco snapped. “We're in charge. Not you.”

“Go ahead,” Patrick sneered. “Look through my things. You won't find anything—because I didn't do anything. You're wasting your time.”

Gretchen left the hiking boots on the kitchen table and followed after Gil, Jackson, and Marco.

She paused in the kitchen doorway. “Hannah, aren't you coming?”

Hannah didn't answer. She slumped over the kitchen table, her head in her hands, her body trembling. She looked paralyzed with fright.

“Hannah, get up and come with us,” Gretchen said calmly. “The guys need our help.”

Hannah nodded. She stood up shakily and followed Gretchen out of the kitchen.

The front room was cold and dark. The fire had died down, and only a few candles were still burning.

Gretchen shivered.

Was it only a few hours ago that they'd been laughing and partying?

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“I found Patrick's backpack,” Marco announced, lifting it from behind the couch.

Marco opened the backpack and spilled the contents onto the coffee table. Gretchen saw a pair of
white socks fall out first. Then a rolled up T-shirt. A pack of chewing gum. Patrick's toothbrush and toothpaste. Some loose change and a motorcycle magazine.

Gil, Jackson, and Marco sifted through the items. So far, nothing looked very interesting. Maybe they wouldn't find anything.

Maybe, despite all the evidence, they were wrong, and Patrick hadn't killed Cindy. Maybe he
was
telling the truth.

At the edge of the coffee table, Gretchen noticed a folded-up piece of paper that had fallen out of the backpack.

Curious, she picked it up and unfolded it.

She read the few words written on it.

And gasped.

Chapter
25

S
he held out the sheet of paper to the others.

“You can stop looking. Here's all the proof we need,” she declared. She heard her own voice tremble. “Patrick is definitely the killer.”

“What is it?” Jackson demanded. “What did you find?”

“A note from Cindy to Patrick,” Gretchen answered.

“Read it,” Jackson urged. “Tell us what it says.”

Gretchen cleared her throat and lowered her eyes to the note. She read:

Patrick, I can't keep our secret anymore. I'm going to tell my parents—no matter what happens. Don't try to stop me. Cindy.

Gretchen heard Hannah gasp.

What kind of secret could Patrick and Cindy have been keeping?

“Could something have been going on between Cindy and Patrick?” Gretchen whispered. “Without any of us knowing?”

“Why wouldn't they tell us?” Hannah asked.

“You know how strict her parents are,” Gretchen reminded them. “Maybe Cindy didn't think they'd let her see him.”

“Tell me about it,” Gil muttered. “They didn't think any guy was good enough for Cindy.”

Marco shook his head. “It can't be that. Even if Cindy didn't want her parents to know she was seeing Patrick, she would have told
us
. We were her best friends. It has to be something else.”

“Like what?” Gretchen asked. She couldn't think of any other explanation. She felt so confused.

“Let's keep looking through Patrick's stuff,” Marco urged. “We found the note. We may find something else.”

Gretchen sighed and headed across the living room to the corner where the sleeping bags were piled up. She searched for Patrick's sleeping bag and found it on the bottom of the pile.

“This is probably going to be a waste of time,” she said, pulling it out.

Gretchen unrolled the sleeping bag. “Oh no,” she moaned. “Oh no! Oh no!”

Gretchen staggered back from the sleeping bag, covering her eyes with her hands.

Jackson rushed to her side. She felt his hand on her arm, steadying her. “What is it?” he cried.

Marco, Gil, and Hannah hurried over, surrounding her. “What's wrong?” Marco asked. “What did you find?”

Gretchen pointed to the floor.

There, in the middle of Patrick's sleeping bag, was the missing bread knife.