by R. L. Stine
The mannequin swung around. Its head lolled to one side, revealing part of a red scarf wrapped tightly around its neck.
Reva touched the ends of the scarf. It felt like one of Pam’s. Wasn’t that a gold snowflake painted on it? Definitely one of the Reva Wear scarves.
It’s ruined now, Reva thought, seeing how tightly it had been twisted.
Her gaze traveled up to the mannequin’s face.
A blond curl drooped over its forehead.
Its mouth hung open in a silent scream.
Reva snatched her hand away and stumbled backward.
No! Oh—no!
Not a mannequin!
Traci!
Ohh, no!
Traci Meecham!
Reva stared in horror at the bulging eyes, at the red scarf, knotted, knotted so tightly around Traci’s throat. At the open mouth, gaping open, open forever in a silent scream of agony.
PART TWO
Chapter 13
WHO KILLED TRACI?
Reva clamped her hands over her mouth, trying not to be sick.
She’s dead! her mind screamed. Traci is dead!
Strangled!
Reva took another step backward. Her knees shook so badly she thought she might fall.
As she tried to catch her balance, she felt something sticky under her shoes. She glanced down.
A pool of blood had formed around Traci’s feet.
Dark red blood, spreading out in a circle.
Reva clamped her hands tighter against her mouth and closed her eyes. I’m stepping in it, stepping in her blood!
Then she opened her eyes. Blood? But where did it come from? Traci had been strangled, right?
Where did the blood come from?
Shaking all over, Reva examined Traci’s body. And saw the support pole. The pole that held up a mannequin. Jammed through Traci’s back.
Someone had murdered Traci! Strangled her, then hung her from the pole like a plastic mannequin!
But who? And why?
As Reva watched, a trickle of blood wormed its way down a fold of Traci’s jacket. It gathered into a red drop, hung from the hem for a second, then broke free and splashed to the floor.
Reva tore her hands away from her mouth and screamed.
• • •
“It must have been so awful for you, Reva!” Ellie tucked a curly strand of red hair behind her ear and peered at Reva with a worried expression. “Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe you should go home.”
“She can’t,” Liza pointed out. “The police want to talk to her, remember? They want to talk to all of us.” She sighed. “I wish they’d hurry up about it.”
Reva gazed around the big showroom. Traci’s body was gone, but the pool of caked blood remained. She glanced away, shuddering.
“I still can’t believe it,” Ellie murmured. “When Liza and I heard you scream, we knew something terrible had happened. But I never thought—” She swallowed hard. “Who hated Traci enough to kill her?”
Remembering Grant’s words from last night, Reva stared at Liza.
The dark-haired model sat with her arms folded and her legs crossed, one foot swinging back and forth. She looked worried and impatient.
But she didn’t look guilty.
Of course, she might be a great actress, Reva thought. She picked up a cup of coffee and glanced into it. The stuff had turned to sludge. She set it back down.
In the front of the room, the police were still busy taking photographs. Dusting things for fingerprints. Talking to each other in low voices.
Reva glanced at her watch. Two o’clock already. If only her father weren’t at that stupid all-day business meeting, he’d make the police let her go. She’d already told them everything she knew!
She jumped from the chair and began pacing. First she wanted to go home and soak in a hot tub. And then she needed to check her list of models and find a replacement for Traci. She just hoped her father didn’t decide to cancel the whole thing.
“What about the show?” Liza asked, as if she had read Reva’s mind. “Is it still on?”
Ellie gasped. “How can you talk about the show when Traci has been murdered?”
“Sorry, but it’s how I make a living,” Liza told her. “If it’s off, then I have to start looking for other work. What about it, Reva?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Reva replied. “I really can’t think about it now.”
Actually, she cared about the show as much as Liza did. More, probably. But why admit it? She didn’t want to look completely heartless—at least, not while the police were still around.
“Call me as soon as you can, will you?” Liza asked. “I need to know.” She glanced toward the group of police and shivered. “I really do feel bad about Traci, even though I didn’t like her. I wish Grant were here.”
Me, too, Reva thought.
“Miss Dalby?” A detective named Blake strode up. “Just a couple of questions, and then you can go.”
Finally! Reva thought.
Blake waved Liza and Ellie away, then turned to Reva. “I hope you understand, we have to talk to everybody who saw Miss Meecham yesterday.”
“Yes, but I already told you everything I know,” Reva said. At least ten times, she added silently.
Blake ran a hand over his balding head. “We’re trying to get a picture of her last day.”
“The last time I saw her alive was yesterday, in here,” Reva replied. “I’m staging a fashion show, and Traci is—was—one of the models.”
“And she didn’t tell you what her plans were for the rest of the day?”
Hardly. “No, she didn’t.”
“Did she seem upset or worried? Anything like that?”
Only upset because she had to work with me, Reva thought. She shook her head. “And I just don’t have any idea who’d want to kill her!”
Reva glanced over at Liza and remembered again Grant telling her how much Liza hated Traci.
“There could be fireworks,” he had warned.
Should she tell Detective Blake?
No. Not now, anyway.
Grant couldn’t possibly have meant anything like murder when he said that. And besides, Reva needed Liza for the show.
Reva made a point of looking at her watch, hoping the officer would take the hint. Two-fifteen! She’d scream if she didn’t get out of here soon.
“All right, Miss Dalby. Thanks for your time,” Blake told her. “If you think of anything, be sure to get in touch.”
“Of course.” Reva grabbed her jacket and bag and hurried out of the room before the detective could think of anything else to ask her.
As she stepped into the hallway, Grant’s words came back to her again. “Liza and Traci really hate each other. There could be fireworks.”
Forget it for now, Reva told herself. She zipped her jacket and hurried down the hallway. You have a show to put on.
If Liza had anything to do with Traci’s murder, let the police figure it out.
After all, that’s their job.
• • •
“Oh, no!” Reva groaned as she pulled her car to a stop in front of her house.
The battered, rusty VW sat in the drive, looking like a junkyard reject.
Groaning again, Reva stared at the front door. Pam and Willow must be inside. Why did they have to show up now, when she was so tired and upset? The last thing she wanted to do was talk to Pam and her creepy, mean-eyed friend.
Maybe I can sneak past them, she thought, climbing out of the Miata. They’re probably in the living room again. All I have to do is make it up the stairs without them seeing me.
Carefully, Reva slid her key into the front door lock. She turned the handle silently, eased the door open and peered inside.
The foyer was empty.
So far, so good.
Staying on tiptoe, she took one step. Then another.
Something moved behind the door.
Reva started to turn.
Too late.
<
br /> A hand came out of the shadows. Something glinted in the dim light.
A knife. A gleaming, sharp-bladed knife.
Before Reva could open her mouth to scream, the knife plunged deep into her back.
Chapter 14
“REVA SHOULD DIE NEXT”
“You’re dead, Reva!” a high-pitched voice cried out. “You’re dead meat!”
Reva stumbled and fell to her knees on the hard marble floor.
“I’ve got you now!” the voice cried. “You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead!”
“Huh?” Reva spun around.
Her little brother stood over her, a savage grin on his face. His ice blue eyes widened in anticipation as he raised the knife again.
“Michael, no!” Reva scrambled to her feet. “What are you doing?”
“Killing you!” Michael yelled. He raised the knife higher, then plunged it toward Reva’s chest.
Gasping, Reva threw up her arm to block it.
The blade slammed into her forearm.
And collapsed into the handle of the knife.
A retractable knife! Reva realized. A toy!
Furious, she grabbed Michael’s hand and wrenched the knife loose.
“Ow! You twisted my finger!” he wailed.
“Serves you right!” Reva snapped. “What do you think you’re doing? You scared me to death!”
“Good!” He grinned again. “That’s what the Evil Avenger is supposed to do!”
“Listen, Michael, I’m totally upset and exhausted!” Reva said. “I’m definitely not in the mood for your stupid games!”
“It’s not a game!” he protested. “The Evil Avenger never plays games!”
As Reva scowled at him, footsteps sounded behind her. She jumped and spun around.
The droopy-haired maid stood in the living room doorway.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Reva snapped.
“Sorry, Miss,” the maid muttered. “I came to tell you that you have visitors. They’re waiting for you in the living room.”
“No kidding.” Reva rolled her eyes. Daddy absolutely had to get rid of this one! “Next time I’m not here, don’t let anyone come in and wait for me.”
“Sorry.” The maid blew a strand of hair away from her face. “Shall I tell them you’re here now?”
“Not yet,” Reva said impatiently. “First, I’m going up to my room. I’ll be back down when I’m good and ready.”
As Reva turned away, Michael dove after her. Laughing wickedly, he snatched the fake knife from her hand and raced up the stairs.
Reva stared after him. Talk about a disturbed kid! No wonder Daddy is worried. Ever since my kidnapping, all Michael does is act out these violent fantasies.
I’m glad that’s all they are—fantasies!
• • •
Pam sat in one of the big wing-chairs near the fireplace in the living room. “I wish Reva would hurry up,” she declared.
Willow snorted. “I have the feeling she’s going to take her sweet time about coming down to see us.”
“The maid said she looked upset,” Pam reminded her. “I don’t blame her. I mean, she’s the one who found Traci.” She shivered. “Not even Reva could stay cool after finding a strangled girl with a pole jammed through her back. Maybe she’s lying down for a few minutes.”
“A few long minutes,” Willow complained, glancing at the clock on the mantel. “Look, what happened to Traci is awful. But it’s not like she was Reva’s best friend or anything. Right?”
“Hardly,” Pam said. “They couldn’t stand each other. I think Uncle Robert forced Reva to hire Traci to model the scarves.”
“To model our scarves, you mean.” Willow paced back and forth in front of the windows. “Come on, Pam. Reva might be upset. But that’s not why she’s hanging out in her room right now.”
“You’re probably right,” Pam agreed, sighing. “She likes to keep people waiting. Especially me—her own cousin!”
“We’ll just outwait her, that’s all.” Willow continued to pace, her face hard and determined. “We have to get her to make that business deal with us.”
“I know.” Pam felt annoyed with herself. They should never have let Reva get her hands on those scarves until they had some kind of contract. “I feel like such a jerk. I mean, I know Reva! She uses everybody, and now she’s using us.”
Willow laughed harshly. “Not for much longer. You can count on that.”
Pam stared at her. Dressed in black, pacing back and forth, Willow reminded her of a panther on the prowl. “What do you mean?” she asked. “If she doesn’t make a deal with us, do you think we should take the scarves back or something?”
“Maybe,” Willow muttered. “Or maybe—” She broke off as Reva entered the living room.
Pam jumped up from the chair. “Reva, hi. How are you?”
“Oh . . .” Reva sighed and shook her head. “Still kind of in shock, I guess. I really need to rest.”
“It’s terrible about Traci,” Pam agreed. She cleared her throat. “Listen, Willow and I know this is a bad time. But we have to work out a business arrangement with you. We need some sort of contract.”
“Are you crazy?” Reva’s blue eyes blazed. “There was a murder! I’ve been through a total nightmare! I found the body, remember?”
“Like you’re really going to let anybody forget,” Willow muttered.
Reva frowned at her, then turned back to Pam. “I can’t believe you two actually came here to talk business when one of my models is dead!”
“You don’t have to shout,” Pam told her. “I feel awful about Traci. But we still have to think about the show.”
“The show?” Reva asked sarcastically. “You can probably forget the show. The murder happened in the middle of Dalby’s, in case you’ve forgotten. Daddy is probably going to cancel the whole thing!”
“Oh, no!” Pam felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Cancel the show? After all the work they had done? “Reva, do you really think he’ll—”
Before Pam could finish, Robert Dalby strode into the room. He nodded a greeting to Pam and Willow, then held his arms out to Reva. “Honey, are you all right?”
“Daddy!” Reva cried, rushing over to him. “I’m so glad you’re here! I’m so upset about Traci!”
“It’s terrible—terrible!” Mr. Dalby agreed, hugging her. “I was so worried about you when I heard the news!”
“I’m fine,” Reva assured him. “I mean, it was awful and everything, but I’m okay.”
“Thank goodness.” Mr. Dalby gave her another hug.
“Daddy, what about my fashion show?” Reva asked. “Are you going to cancel it?”
Robert Dalby frowned. “No,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t see any real reason to.”
Pam exchanged a glance with Willow. Willow tilted her head toward Uncle Robert and mouthed the words, Tell him now.
Pam nodded. “That’s really great, Uncle Robert,” she said. “Now Willow and I can go ahead and work out our business agreement with Reva.”
Her uncle stared at her in surprise. “Why, Pam, are you involved in Reva’s scarf show, too?”
• • •
Reva’s scarf show! Pam gritted her teeth and took a deep breath as she and Willow drove away from the Dalby mansion a few minutes later.
Uncle Robert still didn’t have a clue that she and Willow had designed the scarves. Just as Pam had started to tell him the truth, the maid interrupted. He had an urgent call from New York. Uncle Robert rushed upstairs to take it.
And Reva—still pretending to be freaked out over Traci—told them she had to lie down. “We’ll talk business some other time,” she promised.
Sure, Pam thought.
Some other lifetime.
“Can you believe it?” she asked, glancing at Willow. “Reva didn’t even tell Uncle Robert that we’re making all the scarves. She’s taking credit for everything!”
“I can believe it.” Willow gr
ipped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Reva should die next,” she declared in a harsh, angry voice. “She really should.”
“Willow!” Pam cried, shocked. “What’s wrong with you? Don’t ever talk like that again. I mean it!”
Willow’s lips curved in a grim smile, and her eyes flashed with a cruel anger.
A chill ran up Pam’s spine as she gazed at her friend’s expression.
I haven’t known her that long, Pam thought. She’s tough, I know that much. Very tough.
But she isn’t really capable of murder.
Is she?
Chapter 15
PHONE CALLS
“Rory, no! Please!” Grace sat tensely on the edge of the bed, clutching the phone with both hands. “Please go away. You got what you came for, didn’t you?”
She heard Rory’s laugh—and flinched as if he’d hit her. So much bitterness in his voice! So much hatred!
What had she done to make him hate her so much?
Rory continued talking, but the words didn’t matter. All Grace heard was the savage fury behind them. Her heart pounded in her chest and her hands were so slick with sweat she almost dropped the phone.
“Stop it!” she gasped, breaking into the stream of hatred pouring into her ear. “Rory, please, please go away! Get out of Shadyside and leave me alone!” She gently fingered her black eye. “Haven’t you hurt me enough? Aren’t you satisfied yet?”
Rory didn’t bother to answer. He just started in where he’d left off. It’s as if he didn’t even hear me! Grace thought. He doesn’t care how I feel.
All Rory cares about is revenge!
“You’re crazy!” she cried, interrupting him again. “Do you hear me? You’re totally—”
Grace broke off suddenly and looked up.
Reva stood in the doorway, staring at her with a mixture of curiosity and distaste. “Is that Rory?” Reva whispered.
Grace shook her head. If Reva knew it was Rory, she would insist on calling the police. And I can’t! Grace thought. I’m afraid of what might happen!
Grace spoke quickly into the phone. “Sorry, I have to go now. Bye.” She hung up and forced a smile. “Hi, Reva.”
