Broken Hearts (9 page)

“Call him up and tell him to stop it,” Steve advised. “It's just his dumb way of getting back at you for not going out with him.”

“He's impossible,” Josie said. “He follows me home from school. He's always at my locker. He calls sometimes and—”

She stopped abruptly. Her mouth dropped open. She pointed over Steve's shoulder toward the ice. “Steve!”

Steve caught the alarm in her eyes. “What's the matter?” He scooted his chair back and turned around to follow her gaze.

“There's someone there,” Josie told him, her voice revealing her fear. “Someone is watching us. From behind the food stand.”

Steve stared hard. “I don't see anyone.”

Josie jumped to her feet, knocking her chair over. It clattered noisily to the concrete floor. “There!”

“I see a shadow,” Steve said, “but—”

“Is it Jenkman?” Josie asked.

“I don't know.” Steve stood up too. He stepped around the table and grabbed Josie's arm. “Do you want to go?”

She nodded. “Yes, let's get out of here. Please!”

They returned their skates and hurried out the door.

As they stepped out into a cold, clear night, Steve pulled her close and kissed her. She leaned against the skating rink doorway and kissed him back. She raised her hands behind his head. His blond hair felt surprisingly soft. She held his head tightly, pulling him to her, forcing him to continue the kiss.

She realized she didn't want the kiss to end. She wanted to stay there like that forever. In the clean, cold wind. In the silent darkness. Alone with Steve.

She didn't want to think about who was spying on her inside the skating rink. She didn't want to think about the scary, threatening valentines.

Most of all she didn't want to go home.

A short while later she found herself saying good night to Steve in her driveway. The old house, bathed
in an eerie yellow glow from the porch light, hovered in front of her, cold and uninviting.

Josie leaned across the front seat of the car for one last good night kiss. Then, sighing, she pushed open the car door and reluctantly headed up to the front porch. She waved to Steve, pulled the front door closed behind her, and stepped into the dark front hallway. She could see the twin headlights of Steve's car roll down the wall as he backed down the drive.

“Anyone awake?” Josie called in a half-whisper.

It wasn't that late, she knew. Around eleven o'clock.

She tip-toed past the intercom on the wall as if not wanting to awaken it. She could see a light on in the kitchen.

“Who's here?” she asked, making her way quickly toward the kitchen. “Erica? Are you up?”

She took a few steps into the kitchen and stopped. No one there.

Who left the light on? she wondered.

There were some bowls beside the sink. Someone must have had ice cream, Josie decided.

She took a few more steps. Stopped again.

There was something sticky on the bottom of her sneaker.

Had she stepped in gum or something?

She leaned down to examine her sneaker.

And saw what she had stepped in. A dark red puddle.

Cranberry juice? Had someone spilled cranberry juice? And not wiped it up?

No. There was too much of it.

Another puddle.

And another dark puddle, even larger.

Josie followed the trail of puddles with her eyes across the linoleum to the kitchen door, which led to the backyard.

Why was the door open?

Staring in horror at the figure lying in the doorway, Josie knew at once what the dark puddles were.

She raised her hands to her face and started to scream.

S
taring in horror at the blood-soaked figure sprawled on the floor beside the open kitchen door, Josie screamed.

She shut her eyes, but the hideous sight remained with her.

“Muggy!” she cried. “Oh, Muggy!”

Opening her eyes, she took a reluctant step toward the unmoving animal.

“Muggy. Muggy,” she wailed.

The little terrier was on its back, its head twisted to the side, eyes wide in a blank, unseeing stare.

The wind battered against the glass storm door, startling Josie. She grabbed the Formica countertop for support as her entire body lurched in a tremor of horror.

Josie felt sick. She started to turn away, but something caught her eye.

What was that shiny thing in Muggy's stomach?

Pressing both hands over her mouth, she squinted at it. It took her a while to realize it was a letter opener. A silver letter opener. The letter opener from the desk in the den.

“Who did this?” she cried out loud, hot tears streaming down her cheeks.

Her horror was rapidly turning to anger. “
Who
did this?”

How had it happened? Had someone come to the back door? Had Muggy come running to investigate?

Josie tried to picture it. Someone pulled open the storm door, came into the kitchen, and murdered the poor little dog with the letter opener from the den.

But who? Why?

“Muggy,” Josie cried, shutting her eyes again, shutting them so tightly they hurt. “Oh, Muggy.”

Josie suddenly realized she wasn't alone in the kitchen.

Opening her eyes, her hands still pressed against her face, she turned to find Rachel standing right behind her.

Rachel wore a long blue-flannel nightdress. Her hair was tied back and fell forward over one shoulder. She looked very pale in the fluorescent light of the kitchen.

Rachel's emerald eyes were aglow as she stared at
Muggy's corpse, and Josie was horrified by the evil smile on her twin's face.

“Rachel!” Josie cried, turning to face her.

“There's the puppy,” Rachel said brightly, her smile growing wider. Rachel pointed down to the gruesome sight. “There's the puppy.”

Why is she so happy? Josie asked herself, suddenly frightened. Why does she think this is funny?

“There's the puppy,” Rachel repeated in her singsong voice.

“Rachel, you shouldn't be down here,” Josie scolded, still gripping the top of the counter.

“But there's the puppy,” Rachel insisted, smiling, her green eyes shiny and excited.

Without warning, Erica appeared behind Rachel. “When did you get home?” she asked Josie. And then her eyes fell on the murdered dog. “Oh no!” Erica cried weakly. Her mouth dropped open in horror.

“There's the puppy,” Rachel said, pointing.

Rachel's words seemed to break Erica out of her silent spell.

“Oh, no,” she muttered. “Oh no, no, no, no.” Then Erica's expression changed. She grabbed Rachel's shoulders, her features tight with concern. “Come away, Rachel. Come with me.”

“But there's the puppy,” Rachel protested.

“Don't get upset, dear,” Erica told Rachel sternly. “Don't get upset. Come upstairs.” She dragged the still-smiling Rachel out of the kitchen.

Josie, left alone, shut her eyes once again. Why
was Rachel so happy? she asked herself, suddenly feeling exhausted and drained. Why was Rachel so happy?

And who came into my house and murdered my dog?

M
elissa pushed back the curtains from her bedroom window and stared out into the night. The sky hovered low and purple, dotted with pale white stars. The trees in the front yard appeared to shiver from the cold.

Across the street the McClains' house was dark except for the yellow porch light. Melissa had been at her window a few minutes before, at a little after eleven. She had seen Steve's car pull up the drive. She had seen Josie get out of the car and walk slowly up to her house.

Josie's spending all her time with Steve these days, Melissa realized. And as little time as possible at home.

It must be hard for her, Melissa thought, surprised to be feeling any sympathy for Josie.

Earlier in the evening Melissa had walked across the street and paid a visit to Erica and Rachel. Erica had
been glad to see her. Rachel seemed preoccupied. She hadn't even acknowledged that Melissa was there.

Even during the short visit, it was easy for Melissa to pick up on Erica's growing resentment and unhappiness. She was spending more and more time with Rachel because Josie was seldom home.

If only the McClains could afford full-time help for Rachel. They had a nurse who came on weekends. That was all they could afford, Erica had unhappily explained. Mr. McClain's hardware stores were struggling, and times were tough. Mrs. McClain worked long hours, but her salary barely paid the household expenses.

After the visit Melissa had returned home. She had called Dave, but his mother said he'd gone out. She had no idea where.

Melissa spent the rest of the night doing a little studying and a
lot
of pacing back and forth and staring out the bedroom window.

She pulled the curtains back into place, glanced at the clock radio—nearly eleven-thirty—and decided to see if Dave had returned home.

He picked up on the second ring.

“Where've you been?” Melissa demanded, not intending to sound so shrill.

“Huh? Nowhere,” Dave replied, surprised by her burst of anger.

“I called you before. Your mom said you went out,” Melissa said, softening her tone. She stood in front of her dresser mirror as she talked, toying with her sleek, black hair, pushing strands off her forehead, tugging at strands on the sides. “I was over visiting Rachel. Then
I came home and called you. I—I was worried about you.”

“Well, I'm
terrible,”
Dave said glumly. “I've been cruising around all night. Just driving. I couldn't even tell you where I went. I'm so deranged.”

“You're always deranged,” Melissa teased, trying to cheer him up.

“Ha-ha,” he said bitterly. “Coach kicked me off the wrestling team after school today,” Dave said softly, so soft Melissa could barely hear him.

“Huh?”

“You heard me. I'm definitely off the team. Because of Josie.”

“Oh no!” Melissa exclaimed. “When you said it before I didn't really think he'd kick you off.”

“There goes my wrestling scholarship. There goes college. There goes my whole life,” Dave moaned.

“Don't exaggerate,” Melissa scolded.

“All because of Josie,” Dave said bitterly, ignoring her.

“You shouldn't blame Josie,” Melissa said softly.

“Why not?” Dave demanded angrily. “Why shouldn't I blame her?”

“She
didn't cheat on the math test,” Melissa said.

Dave uttered a low curse. “Josie's messed up my life. I hate her. I really do.”

“Don't talk like that,” Melissa said, turning away from the mirror and shutting her eyes. “You frighten me when you talk like that. You really do.”

“I don't feel like talking now,” Dave said abruptly. “Bye.” He hung up without giving her a chance to reply.

“Hey!” Feeling hurt, Melissa stood staring at the phone. She was tempted to call him back. He had no reason to hang up on her like that.

She set the receiver down instead.

Sometimes when Dave got like this, it was best to leave him alone. Let him simmer by himself for a while.

Sighing, she started to get undressed.

What was that flashing red light outside? Flying saucers?

That was Melissa's first thought.

She hurried to the window and immediately saw that the flashing light was atop a black-and-white police car parked in the McClains' driveway.

The McClains' front door was open. The police officers must have gone inside.

What's going on? Melissa wondered. I hope everyone's okay.

A short while later Melissa, her forehead pressed against the cool glass, saw two police officers come walking out. Their faces, caught in the porch light over the McClains' front door, were grim. One of them was shaking his head.