Broken Hearts (18 page)

“Then why did you send me those disgusting valentines?”
Melissa snapped, the words bursting angrily from her.

“Huh?” He jumped to his feet in surprise. “What valentines? What are you talking about?”

“Don't act innocent,” Melissa said sharply. “You know what valentines. The ones with the ugly threats. Just like you sent to Josie.”

“Huh?” He scratched his greasy hair, his eyes studying her face. “Melissa, you don't think that I—”

“Come off it, Dave,” Melissa shouted. “You sent them to me. They're in your handwriting.”

“Get real,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You're messed up. Really.”

She glared at him angrily but didn't reply, waiting for him to drop the innocent act and confess.

“Show them to me,” he demanded. “Get them. I want to see.”

“Fine. Here.” She pulled open the top drawer of her desk, grabbed the two valentines, and tossed them at him.

They fell to the floor beside his muddy sneakers. He bent to pick them up. Then holding them close to his face, he examined them carefully, reading each one again and again, squinting as he studied the handwriting.

When he finally finished and set the cards down on the bed, Melissa saw that he was breathing heavily, his eyes glowing with excitement. “Now I
know
who the killer is!” he exclaimed, leaping to his feet.

“Who?” Melissa demanded.

He didn't seem to hear her. Lost in his own thoughts, he hurried to the open window, and pulled
his knees onto the windowsill as he reached for the tree branch.

“Who?” Melissa repeated. “Who is it, Dave? Tell me!”

Without replying, without a goodbye, he dropped out of view, scrambling down the tree trunk.

“Who is it? Who?” she called after him, leaning out into the cold, still night.

But he had disappeared into the darkness.

“W
here is Erica?” Rachel asked.

Melissa took Rachel's hand and led her down the driveway. “Erica is at school,” she replied. “She had to stay late today. She's rehearsing a play. She asked me to take care of you.”

“I go to school too,” Rachel said, smiling.

“It's such a pretty day,” Melissa said, holding Rachel's hand as they walked. “I thought it might be nice to take a walk.”

“I'm very smart in my school,” Rachel said proudly.

The late-afternoon sun, still high over the winter-bare trees, felt surprisingly warm. The soft breeze more like spring than early February.

Abruptly Rachel pulled her hand out of Melissa's. “I can go outside by myself,” she said crossly.

Melissa smiled at her, concealing her surprise at
Rachel's sudden anger. “Really? Do you go out by yourself a lot?”

Rachel didn't reply for a long while. They descended the driveway and turned right, walking up Fear Street, which was silent and deserted except for the excited cries of a group of children playing some kind of game in a backyard down the block.

“I
can,
” Rachel insisted suddenly. “I
can
go outside by myself.”

“That's nice,” Melissa told her as a wave of sadness swept over her. Poor Rachel, she thought. She used to be so terrific, really popular, smart, a great student, a great friend.

She was still beautiful, though, as beautiful as any fashion model. But there was something missing behind her eyes. She became more and more like a dreamy child.

“Oh, look!” Rachel cried suddenly.

“Wait!” Melissa called.

Rachel ignored her and ran full speed toward a big mound of dead brown leaves near the curb. Laughing gleefully, Rachel dove into the pile, thrashing her arms wildly as if swimming in them.

Melissa had to laugh, watching Rachel's innocent joy.

Flopping around in the leaf pile, Rachel was having the time of her life.

It was so sad, so tragic, and so touching all at the same time.

“Hey Rachel—make room!” Melissa cried. She took a running dive into the pile too. Rachel laughed
gleefully. The two of them had a rousing leaf fight, rolling around, tossing handfuls of leaves, laughing together.

About half an hour later Melissa and Rachel were in the front yard playing catch with a large rubber ball when Erica arrived. “Hey, what's going on?” she asked Melissa, surprised to find them outdoors.

“It was such a pretty day,” Melissa said, smiling. “Rachel and I have been having fun.”

“You have to watch her really carefully outdoors,” Erica said nervously.

“I can go outside by myself.” Rachel insisted.

“No, you can't,” Erica scolded. “You have to wait for someone to
take
you outside. Remember?”

Rachel frowned and didn't reply. She dropped the ball to the ground and kicked it toward the house.

“It was nice of you to watch her so I could go to rehearsal,” Erica told Melissa. “I hope she wasn't too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Melissa replied. Then she added, “I saw Dave last night.”

Erica paled at the sound of his name. She raised her eyes to Melissa's, her expression troubled. “What did he say? What did he want?”

“He says he knows who killed Josie,” Melissa told her. “He's come back to clear his name.”

“Who?” Erica demanded eagerly. “Who killed Josie? Who? Who stabbed me?”

Melissa frowned. “He wouldn't say. He just said he knew.”

Rachel laughed suddenly, a loud, mocking laugh. “Someone hates Erica,” she sang. Then she began to
chant it over and over. “Someone hates Erica. Someone hates Erica. . . .”

“Come on,” Erica said, putting an arm gently around Rachel's slender shoulders. “Let's get you inside. Say goodbye to Melissa.”

Melissa called goodbye, then turned and jogged across the street to her house. The sun was a glowing red ball now, lowering itself behind the trees. The air had taken on an evening chill.

“Hey!” She was startled to find Luke coming around the side of the house.

“Hi,” he said somewhat shyly.

“Hi,” she repeated, staring at him curiously. “What a nice surprise.”

“Well, yeah. It's a surprise for me too,” he said, an odd grin spreading across his face. His glasses glinted, catching the red glow of the sun. “Guess what I did?”

She stopped and stared at him. “You won the lottery?”

He laughed dryly. “Guess again.”

“I can't guess. Why do you look so sheepish?”

“I locked myself out,” he explained with a shrug. “I must have left my keys in school or something.” He rolled his eyes. “Dumb or what? I couldn't get into my house, so I came over here.”

“Well, I'm glad you're dumb!” she replied, grinning. “I've been taking care of Rachel. Now I guess I'll have to take care of you!”

She reached into her coat pocket for her keys. Not finding them, she reached into her other pocket. Then, a disconcerted look formed on her face as she searched her jeans pockets.

“Guess what?” she wailed, holding up her empty hands. “No keys. I'm dumb too!”

“We're both dumb,” Luke agreed, smiling.

“Come here, Dummy.” Melissa put her arms around his neck and gave him a long, enthusiastic kiss. “We make a good team,” she said, leaning against his chest.

She kissed him again, wrapping her arms around his waist.

When the kiss ended, she raised her eyes to his. “You know, I really do think we make a good team,” she said seriously.

Melissa felt very happy. But to her surprise, Luke seemed very embarrassed and more than a little troubled.

♦ ♦ ♦

A little after eleven that night, Melissa was studying up in her room. Hunched over her desk, the small desk lamp casting a circle of light onto her open textbook, she struggled to concentrate.

She yawned and rubbed her tired eyes. She stretched her arms high over her head.

Then she heard sounds down in the front yard.

A
thud.
Followed by rapid footsteps. Followed by the
clang
of a metal garbage can toppling over onto the drive.

Startled, Melissa leapt to her feet, knocking over the desk chair as she scrambled to the window.

Is it Dave again?

That was her first thought.

Is he climbing up to my room again?

Has he fallen out of the tree?

It was such a warm night, she had left her bedroom window open.

Tingling with fear, Melissa peered out. The roof over the porch blocked her view of the driveway, but she could see a figure running away from the house. Running toward the street.

“Who is
that?”
Melissa cried out loud, squinting into the darkness.

Melissa couldn't see the face of the girl running across her front yard. All she could see was the long red hair trailing behind her.

“I
don't believe it!” Melissa muttered, squinting against the darkness.

She heard a car roar away, its tires squealing.

I saw Rachel, she told herself, the night air cold against her hot cheeks. I saw Rachel running across the yard.

But that's impossible.

And whose car sped away? Did Rachel get into it? Rachel can't drive.

And why would Rachel drive anyway? She lives right across the street.

Feeling confused and upset, Melissa moved away from the window. Her heart was pounding. She suddenly felt chilled all over.

Rachel? Running outdoors? By herself in the middle of the night?

As she pulled on her robe, Melissa realized that her
parents were awake. “Melissa!” Her father's heavy footsteps thundered in the hallway. “Melissa, are you all right?”

He poked his head into her room, the door swinging open, the yellow hall light revealing him in pajama bottoms, his hair disheveled, his expression worried. “Are you okay?” he asked, surprised to find her standing by her closet. “I heard a prowler. I called the police.”

“I—I heard it too,” Melissa told him. She started to tell him that she saw Rachel running across the yard. But he was already halfway down the stairs.

Melissa tied her robe and headed to the stairway, nearly colliding with her mother on the stairs. “Your father called the police,” she told Melissa, flashing a tense frown at her daughter.

They hurried down the stairs. The living room lights had been turned on. The hall and kitchen were also lit up. Mr. Davis had turned on all the lights in the house.

“The doors are locked,” he called to them, sounding bewildered. “No sign of a break-in.”

“Then what on earth—” Mrs. Davis started, following his voice to the kitchen.

Melissa's father was peering out the kitchen window at the garage. “Everything looks normal out there,” he reported. “Garage door is closed.”

Shivering, Mrs. Davis wrapped her arms around herself. “Weird,” she muttered.

“I saw Rachel McClain outside,” Melissa finally managed to say.

Both her parents turned to stare at her, squinting in disbelief. “What did you just say?” Mr. Davis asked, scratching his head.

“I saw her. I saw Rachel. She was running across the yard,” Melissa insisted.

“But that's impossible,” her mother said quickly, still hugging herself.

Mr. Davis stepped behind his wife and put an arm around her shoulders. “You must have been dreaming,” he told Melissa, staring hard at her.

“But I
saw
her!” Melissa said shrilly. “I heard a noise. A crash. I ran to the window, and—”

“But Rachel isn't allowed out by herself,” Mrs. Davis said. “She
can't
go out by herself.”

“What would Rachel be doing in our yard?” Mr. Davis added. He shook his head. “Come on, Melissa—”

Melissa angrily pounded her fist on the kitchen counter. “I'm
not
crazy!” she shouted. “I saw Rachel out there!”