April Fools (3 page)

"I ... I guess I'm just tired, that's all. I'm sorry -- "

"But not too tired to help me study for that math test this afternoon," Hildy reminded her cheerfully. She wiggled in under Frank's arm and ran her Ups lightly over his sleeve.

Belinda put a palm to her forehead and groaned. "Oh, Hildy, I forgot -- Mrs. Thome is supposed to pick me up to go meet Adam."

"How could you forget? You know I'm barely passing that class -- you always help me study -- and graduation's almost here and --"

Frank took up the plea in earnest as Belinda disentangled herself. "She'll flunk if you don't help her -- and it'll be on your conscience." He gave Belinda a smug grin, and she sighed.

**What's wrong with you helping her for a

change? YouYe on the honor roll, too, you know. Student council. Math honor society -- shall I go on?"

"But that's all instinct! You can't teach genius like mine! And anyway, I do help her study." Frank narrowed his eyes, focusing in on Rudy's too-tight sweater. "I help her study lots of things -- explore new uncharted territories, go where no man has ever gone before. ..."

Belinda didn't want to hear anymore. "Look, I'm going to try and get out of this interview, okay? But in case I can't, it shouldn't take that long. You can come over later --"

"Instead of being with me?" Frank stepped back, shocked. "No passing grade's worth that!"

"Then you'll just have to come with me," Hildy said sweetly. "I'm sure Belinda won't mind, will you, Belinda? And a little more intellectual stimulation certainly wouldn't hurt you."

"Come to think of it, any kind of stimulation certainly wouldn't hurt me." Frank ducked as Hildy swung at him, then he caught her arm and pulled her close for a kiss. Belinda sighed and hurried on ahead, but suddenly Frank yelled, "Look, Be-hnda -- there goes your bus!"

Without even thinking, Belinda started to run. It wasn't until she was already at the comer and heard Frank laughing that she realized the bus wasn't even in sight yet.

"Frank, you are such a jerk." Hildy shook her head at him, but Belinda could tell she was trying not to laugh.

"Hey, is that any way to talk to the King of Fools? It was just a joke! Behnda knows it -- / know it -- you don't see her getting all bent out of shape --"

Hildy caught up with Belinda, glowering back at Frank over her shoulder. "So Fll see you tonight, okay?"

"Sure. That's fine."

"Belinda . . . are you mad at me?"

"Of course not. I told you, I'm just tired, that's all."

Hildy nodded, a slow frown creasing her brow. "I really think... I mean... you're really worrying way too much."

Belinda shrugged and tried to smile. "I guess so. You're probably right."

"And anyway," Frank added, falling into step beside them, "how could this guy's accident be the same one? You heard the explosion --"

"Frank, please," Hildy warned, but Frank bent low and peered hard into Belinda's face.

"You know I'm right, Belinda. That car blew sky-high. Nobody -- nobody -- could have survived it."

"Oh, look, there really is your bus --" Hildy gave her a Httle push. "See you later!"

With a wave, Belinda sprinted across the street and just managed to squeeze through the doors as the bus started off again. Finding an empty seat near the middle, she sank down and lowered her head to her books, her eyes closing wearily.

Nobody -- nobody -- could have survived it.

She felt tears stinging behind her eyeUds and she

squeezed them back, only half conscious of the bumping and swaying of the bus, the drone of the motor, the squeal and swish of the doors as silent passengers got on and off. Frank was right, of course, there was no way anyone could have escaped that flaming, mangled mess . . . not anyone in that car . . . not that face trapped upside down, screaming for help . . . burning alive --

Rousing herself, Belinda suddenly realized she was at her stop and made an awkward dash out onto the curb. Her house was at the very end of the street, and she walked briskly, turning up her collar against the sharp breeze. It always felt so good to get home, to close the door behind her and just shut out the world for a while. She quickened her pace, a welcome feeling of reUef creeping across her shoulders as she spied the famihar rooftop ahead.

And then she froze, books crushed to her chest.

A police car was parked in front of her house. Two uniformed men were strolling across the lawn while several neighborhood boys watched curiously. She felt her legs carrying her forward, propelling her down the sidewalk, across the yard and up the driveway.

'
What is it?" she cried, and they were peering in through the windows, trying the handles on the doors.
*What are you doing?"

A tall, swarthy policeman turned and came toward her, blocking her path. "Do you live here, miss?"

Belinda swallowed hard . . . nodded.

"Then you must know a Belinda Swanson?"

"I*m Belinda Swanson." She tried to go around him, but he sidestepped neatly into her path. "I Uve here. I live here in this house -- what's wrong?"

His suspicious frown towered over her. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about a phone call, would you?"

"Phone call?" Her voice sounded as blank as she looked. From somewhere came the slow realization that the man was angry and that her stomach was churning.

"Someone called and told us you'd had some kind of accident," he challenged.

Sounds roared through her head like faraway echoes. The policeman's face swam back and then focused in again.

"Accident?" Her voice was faint.

"Do you have some form of identification?"

"My driver's license."

"Do you mind if we have a look around?"

"Of course not." She fumbled in her purse for her wallet and keys. The policeman's eyebrows were drawn down, eyes raking her over with a cold stare. He stood there with her while his partner went through the house. Belinda watched numbly, wondering how her legs were even holding her, until the other man finally reported back, shaking his head.

"Where are your parents now?"

"They're divorced. My mom's at work -- she won't be home till later. ..."

Her answer seemed to check him momentarily. He handed back her driver's license and nodded.

"Do you have any idea who might have called this in?"

"I . . . no."

Strangely enough, he seemed to believe her, for suddenly he stepped back, his voice a little kinder. "It sounded a little phony to me, but we have to check out every report. Kids don't realize how stupid these pranks can be. They -- or you -- could get in serious trouble."

"Pm sorry," Belinda mouthed, but she wasn't sure if the words came out loud enough for him to hear. She stood there forever. .. staring... thinking . . . and then the car was gone . . . and she stumbled blindly into her house.

"HeUo?"

"Hi, stranger. Think we'll ever get our schedules together again?"

"Oh, hi, Mom." Belinda sagged back against the kitchen counter, wrapping the phone cord around her arm, clinging to the warmth of her mother's voice.

**What is it, honey? You sound funny."

"Oh, nothing ... I mean, Fm just tired."

"Eough day?"

"You could say that."

"Me, too. I'm low on nurses and overloaded with patients. Oh, and while I'm thinking of it, we got the weirdest phone call here this morning. I wasn't on the floor when it came, but someone named Thorne called and was asking questions about 'Miss Swanson.' Janet took the call -- she said there were two Miss Swansons who worked here -- meaning you and me -- and --"

Belinda felt herself going cold. "Thome? She called there?"

"Uh-huh ... do you know who it was?"

'Well ..." Belinda's heart sank. "It must have been Mrs. Thome. I have a job interview with her today -- she wants me to tutor her stepson."

"Hmmm. Why would she call here, I wonder? To get references?"

"I don't know. Maybe . . . well. . . her stepson was hurt ... in some kind of accident, I think."

"Oh, honey, that's too bad. Maybe she wants to make sure you're quahfied to work with someone who's injured."

'Well... that's kind of what I've been wondering about." Belinda forced her voice to sound casual, though her palm sweated against the receiver. "I'm just not sure I want to do it, you know?"

"But it sounds so perfect for you. And I thought you really liked tutoring --"

"I know. Mom, but -- well -- this guy's sick and I just don't know if I'd be good around him --"

"After all the volunteer work you've done these past years?" Mrs. Swanson's voice chided a little. "Honey, you're a natural with sick people. Or is this lifetime dream of nursing school suddenly being reconsidered?"

"Well . . . I . . ." Belinda shut her eyes, feeling trapped. "Of course not. I'm just ..."

"Nervous." Mrs. Swanson chuckled, not unkindly. "Hey, that's natural, believe me, I don't care what job it is. Want my opinion?"

Behnda smiled in spite of herself. "Do I have a choice?"

"No." This time Mom laughed heartily. "Try it

out. Meet the young man. See how it goes between you two. You never know what might come of it."

"No," Belinda said, a stab in the pit of her stomach. "You never know."

"And that poor boy," Mom added sympathetically. "I wonder what kind of accident he had?"

"Uh, Mom, I have to go." Belinda forced down another wave of nausea and looked out the window as a horn sounded from the driveway. "Mrs. Thome's here now to pick me up."

"I have to run, too -- all hell's breaking loose down here! What can I say, huh? The emergency room can't manage without me!"

Belinda said goodbye and hung up the phone with a sad smile. / can't manage without you, either, Mom. Fm doing a lousy job, and oh, by the way, did you know your daughter, the future Florence Nightingale, murdered someone about two weeks ago? Just a joke, Mom. ...

Mrs. Thome gave a polite greeting as Belinda climbed into the Mercedes beside her, but she seemed even more strained since their last meeting. Several times she glanced over as if wanting to say something, then turned her eyes quickly back to the windshield. Behnda tried to fill the awkward silence by chatting about school and graduation, but when that didn't work, she gave up and simply gazed out at the wealthy neighborhoods as they drove through -- the lush lawns and sprawling houses so different from those on her own street.

Frank. It had to have been Frank who played that trick on the police. The thought had been

SO

pounding at her ever since the two officers had left, and now she gave in to it angrily, even more angry at herself. Frank and Hildy had been trying to get through to her all this time, and maybe it was time she finally listened. This accident of Mrs. Thome's couldn't have anything to do with April Fools' Day -- coincidences like that were just too ridiculous -- too impossible. She didn't want to think about what the policeman had said to her -- "they said you'd had some kind of accident" -- she didn't want to think about any kind of accident -- she just wanted to stop worrying and get on with her life --

"Belinda, are you all right? You look a little upset."

Belinda jumped, her mouth struggling to smile. "No, I'm fine."

"You should have told me you get carsick -- I surely would have gone slower."

"No, I never get carsick. I'm sorry ... it must be 'cause I skipped lunch today."

"I'll have Cobbs fix you something when he gets home," Mrs. Thome said.

^Who's Cobbs?"

"He's been with my husband's family for years." Mrs. Thome waved one hand, diamonds sparkling on her fingers. "He keeps the household running smoothly; he knows how disruptions upset me. And Adam, God knows --" As she spoke his name, her mouth pressed into a hard line, and Belinda glanced at her questioningly. "Belinda," Mrs. Thome said carefully, her eyes fixed on the road ahead, "perhaps I should warn you about Adam."

Belinda threw the woman a startled glance, receiving a grim smile in return.

"Am I making it sound ominous? It's very simple, really -- he probably won't want you there. I feel I should prepare you for that."

Belinda nodded and waited for her to go on. Mrs. Thome drew a deep breath, her hands tightening on the wheel.

"He's very hostile."

"You mean . . . dangerous?"

Her shrug was noncommittal. "He doesn't want to be helped. He won't trust you, I can promise you that."

"But you did tell him, didn't you? About me coming, I mean?"

The woman seemed not to have heard. "There have been . . . other problems ... in the past. I'm sure it's obvious to you that we don't get along. Quite simply, I hate Adam and Adam hates me."

Belinda didn't know how to respond. The car slowed, turned through a remote-controlled gate onto a wide, flower-hned driveway, stopped alongside a magnificent house surrounded by low-sweeping trees and thick shrubbery. It was breathtaking, and yet Behnda sensed something missing, some feeling of warmth and personality. She stared at the brick and stone walls, the windows speckled with deep shade and leftover raindrops from that morning's shower. Mrs. Thorne patted a wisp of bleached blonde hair into place.

"My husband loves this house -- it's not right that Adam's here and he's not. Adam should be in

that hospital dying, not Fred. If it were up to me, I'd never see Adam again. And once his father dies, I won't have to." She switched off the motor, making no move to get out. "If he's angry or aloof, it has nothing to do with you."

"Is he in pain?" Belinda asked quietly.

Mrs. Thome hesitated, and Belinda forced herself to ask the question she'd been most dreading to ask.

"How badly was he hurt?"

Again the woman shrugged. She looked impatient as she opened her door. "At least he doesn't need a nurse. That's one expense we don't have to fool with." Belinda looked at her, shocked, but she was already heading for the front door. "Come along. Just meet Adam for yourself."

But you don't understand, Belinda wanted to scream, I don't want to meet Adam -- I don't even want to be here. She followed Mrs. Thome into the house, her heart fluttering. Just a coincidence, Hildy and Frank had said. Nothing to worry about. And they must know what they're talking about because this place looks so normal and so safe. . . .