April Fools (8 page)

"Belinda, are you crazy? Get that thing away from me!"

"I mean it, Hildy, I want to know the truth." Belinda squatted on the grass in front of her and ignored the first bell as the campus cleared. Hildy's mouth dropped open in surprise.

"This isn't a joke?"

"You tell me. Someone put it in my mailbox yesterday." She shuddered at the memory, but kept her eyes on the other girl's face. "Hildy?"

"Oh, God, Belinda -- it's making me sick--" Hildy got down on the ground beside her and clutched at her stomach. "Look, there's Frank now. Why don't you ask him?**

"Truants! Get to class!" Frank flashed his most disarming grin, and bent to give Hildy a kiss. "My

fan club awaits me and --" As his senses suddenly became aware of the doll's head, his whole face looked repulsed. 'What the hell is that?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Belinda said coolly.

Frank stared at her for a long moment, a faint touch of mockery flickering in his eyes. "Oh, so I see Fm still on your hit list, huh, Belinda?"

"Come on, Frank, if you did it, just say so."

'Well, aren't we feeling just a tiny bit paranoid today?" He kicked out at the head, sending it rolling onto the ground. Its sockets gaped up at him. "Is this supposed to remind me of something?"

"Frank, please." Hildy grabbed his arm. "We'd all like to just forget --"

"Yeah? Well, tell that to your neurotic friend here. Tell her to forget it instead of driving the rest of us nuts."

"Frank!" Hildy pleaded, but he shook her off, throwing one arm around Belinda and pulling her close.

"If anyone finds out anything" he smiled sweetly, leaning down into Belinda's face, "it'll be because of you. And you wouldn't want anything to happen to me, would you, Belinda? Because you know and / know, that you still think I'm pretty wonderful --"

"Oh, Frank, just stop it." Behnda pushed at him, but he held her tighter, his grin widening.

"You think about what's at stake here -- if any questions come up, / wasn't the one driving, remember?"

The look on Hildy's face was positively stricken. Belinda saw it through a haze of anger, and thought for a split second that Hildy was going to faint.

"And I promise you, Belinda Swanson," Frank added, his finger wagging back and forth, playfully, in front of her face, "I'll swear Hildy wasn't driving, either."

Belinda felt numb as he sauntered away. She was trembling all over, drenched in cold sweat. Hildy was as pale as marble, and as Belinda prodded the doll's head back into the bag with her shoe, Hildy reached weakly for her arm.

"Belinda . . . just don't pay any attention to him, okay? He's just being --"

"Frank," Belinda sounded more drained than angry. 'When are you going to stop making excuses for him?"

"He had a bad day at practice yesterday," Hildy went on as if she hadn't heard. "He's always weird when he's been bad at practice."

"Oh, Hildy . . ." On an impulse Belinda leaned over and hugged her friend tightly. 'Why don't you come over later. I haven't even had a chance to tell you about Noel."

It worked, as she knew it would. Hildy perked up.

"Who's Noel?"

"Mrs. Thome's son. He came home yesterday. He has this wonderful dog named Sasha and --"

"Forget the dog -- I want to hear all about this guy." She laughed, her old self again. "How about seven?"

*Terfect. FU get pizza."

"And I won't bring Frank."

They laughed and ran to class, but Belinda found it hard to concentrate on anything. She'd dumped the doll's head in the trash, but the memory wouldn't go away that easily. Every time she tried to keep her mind on her books, the image of Adam would snake into her thoughts, and she debated whether to even go back to his house today.

But I have to find out the truth . . . and I have to help Adam. ... If Belinda thought it once, she thought it a hundred times -- and she was still thinking it when she got off at her bus stop that afternoon. Fll wait you out, Adam Thome, Fll wait you out even if it kills' me.

But Cobbs didn't look particularly encouraging when he met her at the door.

"You are a glutton for punishment," he said dryly.

"How is he today?"

"At his most enchanting: unconscious."

"Oh . . . the medicine. Darn it, Cobbs, what am I going to do?" Belinda sighed and plopped down on the porch, spilling her books at Cobbs's feet. She waited for him to answer, but when he didn't, she glanced up into his thin, old face.

What she saw there made her draw back . . . and stare.

For just a fleeting instant -- no more -- he'd had the strangest, almost frightening look in his eyes.

"Cobbs?" she murmured.

"Perhaps you should leave, miss."

"What?"

"And never come back here."

Belinda's laugh was strained. "That sounds like some kind of warning or something."

"Does it?" Cobbs drew himself up even straighter. And then the mask was back again, settling stiffly over the sharp features of his face. "I need to shut the door," he said.

"Does that mean you're going to throw me out?"

"It means you might as well come inside."

Watching him now, it was as if their brief exchange had never taken place. Belinda nodded and followed him into the kitchen. Sasha was peeking in one of the patio doors, barking a welcome, and Belinda wondered where Noel was.

"Please, Cobbs, could I let her in? She looks so lonely out there."

"It would thrill me no end."

Smiling to herself, Belinda opened the door, and was immediately bowled over by the deUghted dog. For several minutes she sat there on the kitchen floor scratching Sasha's ears while Cobbs stacked plates in the cabinets.

"Tea, miss?"

"Fd love some. But only if you have some, too."

"As you wish."

"Have you heard from Mrs. Thorne? Will she be in New York a long time?"

"One can only hope." Cobbs put the kettle on to boil and began unloading the dishwasher.

"This is probably awful of me, but I'm glad she's

gone," Belinda thought out loud. "I'll bet she's hard to work for."

"Attila the Hun would be a dream."

Belinda looked back at him and laughed. "If you don't like her, why do you even stay?"

"I work for Mr. Thome, miss. And as long as he is my employer, I stay."

Belinda read the unspoken message. "I'm sorry, Cobbs. Is there any change?" She put her nose against Sasha's fur as he shook his head.

"It's difficult when one can do nothing." He rinsed out a dishrag and slowly began wiping the countertop as Belinda scooted closer to him across the floor. Sasha climbed into her lap, spilling comfortably over each knee.

"I don't Uke feeling helpless," Belinda murmured. "It's one of the worst feelings in the world. If I can ever . . . well. . . you know ... if you ever need to talk. ..."

"I'll alert you straightaway."

BeUnda smiled at the sarcasm and hugged Sasha's soft neck. "But it's nice to have someone to talk to. Like you and me talking now --" She glanced away, embarrassed. "My best friend and I don't talk anymore. My mom's never home. Did you and Mr. Thome talk a lot?"

Cobbs shook his head, poured the tea. "The Thomes have always been uncomfortable with de-monstrativeness. I was needed, and I did my best for him."

"I'll bet you mean a lot to him. Even though he

never showed it." Belinda looked wistful. "You'd mean a lot to me."

This time Cobbs stopped. He stood rigidly at the table as if her remark had caught him offguard. After a moment he said, "Mr. Thome was a selfish man. A driven man. Still, in his own way ... I like to think he cared."

Belinda nodded. She felt sad. "So what will you do? Work for Mrs. Thome?"

"God forbid."

He pulled out a chair and waited for her to sit. Sasha got up obligingly and resettled herself under the table at Belinda's feet. For a while there was only the clink of china cups and the gentle silence of sharing.

"I worry about Adam," Belinda said at last. "I worry that he's so full of hate."

"It has nothing to do with you."

But it mighty Cobbsy if might have everything to do with me. She met his eyes unhappily. "I don't know what to do -- I can't force him to see me. But he really needs a friend, don't you think?"

"He wouldn't know a friend if he stepped on one . . . which I'm certain he's done many times."

"But . . . shouldn't I try?"

"Drink your tea."

Puzzled, Belinda drained her cup. She closed her eyes, savoring the last mouthful, then opened them again to see Cobbs watching her.

"I like you, Cobbs," Behnda said quietly. "You're really nice. You're . . . you know . . . easy to talk to."

"One of my many talents, miss." He reached for the teapot but Belinda shook her head.

"No thanks, I should get home. If Adam won't study, there's no reason for me to hang around, I guess."

"Gracious, no," Cobbs rolled his eyes. "Especially now that you've taken your afternoon refreshment."

She couldn't be sure, but she almost thought she'd seen a twinkle far back in his eye. She gathered her things, giving Sasha a last fond pat.

"I hope you don't think I'm taking you for granted, Cobbs. You happen to be the high point of my day."

"Naturally. Now if you'll allow me to drive you --"

"Thanks, but I'll catch the bus." She glanced toward the stairs on their way out. "I guess I'll try again tomorrow -- maybe he'll be in a better mood --"

"I'll hold my breath." Cobbs opened the door for her, peering out into the late afternoon. "It's getting very gloomy --"

"Oh, don't worry. I always take a shortcut through the park -- it saves a lot of time --"

"A shortcut?" he frowned. "A safe one, I assume."

"Oh, sure, I don't think too many people know about it -- it's an old parking lot on the east side of the park. Well, see you tomorrow!" She started down the drive, but almost at once had that feeling of being watched. At the street she pretended to

check her books just so she could glance at that upstairs window without being obvious.

Nothing moved.

No shadow withdrew into the darkness beyond.

Unsettled, Behnda started off again, her mind buzzing with frustrations. What was she going to do about Adam? How would she ever get close to him if he wouldn't let her? And why had Cobbs said what he did, about her never going back to that house? He'd looked so different when he'd said it . . . almost sinister^ she realized now.

Belinda forced the thoughts away as she hurried through the park. She hadn't reahzed how really dark it was -- she hadn't meant to stay so long talking with Cobbs. The park seemed more deserted than usual this evening , . . the only sounds were of distant traffic and birds settling themselves for the night. Belinda glanced up and felt a twinge of uneasiness. Low clouds were gathering, swept along by a chilly breeze, playing hide-and-seek with a pale sprinkling of early stars. She let herself through the secret opening in the fence, hoping she could make it to the bus stop while there was still enough light to see by.

Her shoes made staccato sounds on the pavement -- sharp clicks that stabbed at her raw nerves. She hated the echo of footsteps when there were no others to join them. They made her so terribly aware of her aloneness. . . .

She walked faster, her heart pounding.

Silly . . . you've been this way lots of times. . . .

Except tonight it seemed different for some reason. Tonight she had a strange feeling of dread that she'd never had before.

Forcing back a shiver, she kept her eyes straight ahead, on the fence at the opposite end of the lot. All around her, sad heaps of junk crouched like sluggish animals, their hulking shapes ominous against the fast-darkening sky. As Belinda focused in on her destination, she could hear the whine of wind through rusted pipes, the occasional scurrying of some startled animal . . .

The soft, steady hum of a motor.

She stopped, suddenly alert, every nerve prickling. For just one wild moment she was sure she'd heard the sound of a car ... an engine purring beneath the hushed sounds of evening.

She looked around, eyes straining through the dusk, probing the shapeless blobs of shadow that hemmed her in.

Nothing moved. The lot was as still as a cemetery.

Swallowing fear, Belinda began to run. All logic told her she was being ridiculous, that she couldn't really have heard the sound of a car -- but as she glanced back over her shoulder, a scream rose up in her throat.

One long, low shadow was oozing out from the others . . . and gliding after her across the concrete. . . .

"Oh, God --" As panic exploded inside her, Belinda flung herself forward, every instinct targeted

on the fence twenty yards ahead. She could hear her footsteps pounding in her ears, her breath ragged in her throat -- as she took another look behind her, a new burst of fear shook her from head to toe.

It really was a car.

Only, now, curiously, frighteningly, it didn't seem to be coming after her -- only sitting there in the gloom . . . patiently . . . waiting.

Without warning BeUnda tripped, sprawHng onto the pavement, purse and books flying in all directions. As she got painfully to her knees and grabbed at her things, a sudden glare of light bhnded her and pinned her to the ground.

The car's headlights were on.

Like huge spotlights they trapped her there as she threw up her hands to shield her eyes.

Helplessly, Belinda twisted herself out of their way, scraping her arms and face as she lay flat, mind racing, wondering what to do. At any minute she expected to hear the engine start up, to see the phantom car bearing down on her --

But instead there was only deep, endless silence . . . and that was most terrifying of all.

"Who are you?" Behnda screamed. "What do you want?"

Beyond the circles of light, the night stilled and deepened. Choking back a sob, Belinda pressed her face against folded arms, gathering all her strength to jump up and escape.

And then the lights went out.

As suddenly as the darkness had been shattered.

it closed in around her once more . . . thick . . . secretive . . . safe.