by R. L. Stine
“I’m sorry, Patrick,” she murmured. “We’re all really scared and freaked out.”
“Can you blame us?” Hannah cried.
“We can’t accuse each other all night long,” Gretchen added. She tried to make her voice sound normal. “We have to be calm and try to think clearly.”
“And then what are we supposed to do?” Hannah demanded sarcastically. “Track down the killer? Give him a chance to kill another one of us?”
“What else should we do?” Gretchen snapped. “Stand around and cry? That’s all you’ve done tonight.”
The second the words left her mouth, Gretchen regretted them.
Hannah stared at her, mouth open in surprise and hurt.
“I’m sorry, Hannah. I know you feel bad about Cindy. We all do,” Gretchen apologized. “I’m just really on edge.”
“I think we all need to cool off. Why don’t we head back into the living room?” Jackson suggested. “I think we’re finished in here.”
Gretchen followed after the others.
As she stepped around Cindy’s body, she tried not to look. But she couldn’t help it. She felt her gaze magnetically pulled down to the floor.
Cindy’s blue eyes stared up blankly at the ceiling. Her mouth hung open in a silent scream. Bloodstains spattered the flour around her.
It’s like a scene out of one of those slasher movies Cindy hated so much, Gretchen thought.
Gretchen felt dizzy. She leaned against the refrigerator. She pressed her face against its cool surface and took a deep breath.
When she opened her eyes, she felt better. She started walking again—but then stopped.
“Whoa! Wait a minute!” she called after her friends.
“What is it?” Jackson asked. He turned and strode back toward her. The others followed.
“What’s wrong?” Jackson demanded.
“Look.” Gretchen pointed.
Pointed to a dark splotch on the floor that looked different from the rest.
What was it?
Gretchen knelt down. She felt her pulse race.
A footprint?
No, that wasn’t right. Not a footprint.
She saw a pattern.
A design.
It was a bootprint.
In the flour.
They all stared down at it. No one spoke.
Slowly, Gretchen guessed at what must have happened.
Cindy and the killer were in the kitchen. They were arguing. Cindy slapped the killer. He dove at her.
Cindy backed away. She bumped the flour canister and knocked it over. Flour scattered everywhere.
The killer stabbed Cindy. She fell into the flour, bleeding.
Then the killer walked away.
Stepping into the spilled flour.
Leaving a bootprint behind.
“Such a clear bootprint,” Gretchen murmured.
“If the killer stepped in the flour…” Gil began.
“… Then there would be flour on the bottom of his boot,” Gretchen finished.
“I get it,” Jackson said. “The bootprint will help us figure out who the killer is.”
“We all suspect Patrick, so let’s start with him,” Marco urged. “Grab him!”
Gil and Jackson dove at Patrick. They each grabbed an arm, holding tight.
“Hey!” Patrick protested. “What are you doing?” He twisted and turned, trying to break free. “Give me a break, guys!” he cried. “Come on! Give me a break! Let go!”
“Go check out his boots,” Jackson ordered Gretchen. “They should be by the front door with the others.”
Gretchen hurried out of the kitchen and raced for the front door. Their hiking boots were lined up against the wall.
She searched for Patrick’s boots. Hannah’s had bright red laces, while Gil’s laces were neon yellow. Jackson’s hiking boots were black. Marco’s were olive green.
Gretchen carefully picked up Patrick’s boots by their tops.
She took a deep breath.
Was there flour on the sole?
Chapter
24
Yes.
A thin coating of white flour on the heel and sole of his right boot.
Gretchen gasped. The shock made her head spin.
She felt like dropping the boots on the floor and running out the front door.
But she took a deep breath, then studied the bottom of Patrick’s boot again.
She didn’t want to believe it.
She didn’t want to believe that Patrick murdered Cindy.
Sweet, lovable Patrick. Always joking. Always kidding around.
He could never do something this evil. This wicked.
She didn’t want to believe it. She liked him too much.
But there was no denying the evidence.
The blood on his shirt.
His cap in Cindy’s hand.
And now the flour on the bottom of his boot.
Carrying the boots, she walked slowly back to the kitchen.
Everyone hovered in the doorway, waiting to learn what she had discovered.
Waiting to learn who the killer was.
Patrick.
Gretchen stepped back into the kitchen.
“Well?” Marco demanded. “What did you find?”
“There’s flour on the bottom of one of his boots,” Gretchen announced. She lifted the boot so everyone could see the flour on the sole.
Gretchen’s gaze fixed on Patrick. She saw disbelief wash over Patrick’s face. “I don’t know how that flour got there. I swear it!”
“It got there when you murdered Cindy,” Marco accused.
“But—I didn’t kill Cindy,” Patrick cried. “I swear it! You’ve got to believe me!”
Hannah slumped into a chair at the kitchen table and began sobbing again. “Why did we ever agree to come out to the island tonight?” she wailed. “We should have stayed in Shadyside. If we had, none of this would have happened. Cindy would still be alive.”
“We don’t know that,” Gil stated. “If Patrick wanted Cindy dead, he could have killed her anywhere.”
“I didn’t kill her!” Patrick insisted. “The escaped prisoner did it. Gretchen, you believe me—don’t you?”
Gretchen swallowed hard. She didn’t know how to answer.
She wanted to believe Patrick was innocent. His pleas sounded so truthful and honest.
But all the evidence pointed to him.
“I want to believe you, Patrick,” she whispered. “Really, I do. But I can’t.”
“What do we do now?” Gil asked.
“First, let’s tie Patrick up,” Marco suggested. “Then we can decide what to do without having to worry about getting killed.”
He pulled open kitchen drawers until he found a coil of rope.
Gretchen stood behind Hannah as Gil and Jackson pushed Patrick into a kitchen chair. Then Marco wound the rope around Patrick’s body.
“No!” Patrick protested, trying to break free. “This isn’t fair! I didn’t do anything.”
“Don’t hurt him,” Gretchen begged, as Marco forced Patrick back down.
“We’re not going to hurt him,” Marco told her. “We’re just making sure he doesn’t hurt us.”
After tightly securing Patrick to the chair, Marco stepped back.
“Now what?” Gretchen cried.
“We search through his things,” Marco replied.
“Why?” Gretchen asked.
“What’s the point?” Hannah demanded.
“To see if he’s hiding anything,” Marco explained.
“You can’t go through my things!” Patrick protested.
“Don’t tell us what we can do,” Marco snapped. “We’re in charge. Not you.”
“Go ahead,” Patrick sneered. “Look through my things. You won’t find anything—because I didn’t do anything. You’re wasting your time.”
Gretchen left the hiking boots on the kitchen table and followed after Gil, Jackson, and Marco.
&nb
sp; She paused in the kitchen doorway. “Hannah, aren’t you coming?”
Hannah didn’t answer. She slumped over the kitchen table, her head in her hands, her body trembling. She looked paralyzed with fright.
“Hannah, get up and come with us,” Gretchen said calmly. “The guys need our help.”
Hannah nodded. She stood up shakily and followed Gretchen out of the kitchen.
The front room was cold and dark. The fire had died down, and only a few candles were still burning.
Gretchen shivered.
Was it only a few hours ago that they’d been laughing and partying?
It seemed like a lifetime ago.
“I found Patrick’s backpack,” Marco announced, lifting it from behind the couch.
Marco opened the backpack and spilled the contents onto the coffee table. Gretchen saw a pair of white socks fall out first. Then a rolled up T-shirt. A pack of chewing gum. Patrick’s toothbrush and toothpaste. Some loose change and a motorcycle magazine.
Gil, Jackson, and Marco sifted through the items. So far, nothing looked very interesting. Maybe they wouldn’t find anything.
Maybe, despite all the evidence, they were wrong, and Patrick hadn’t killed Cindy. Maybe he was telling the truth.
At the edge of the coffee table, Gretchen noticed a folded-up piece of paper that had fallen out of the backpack.
Curious, she picked it up and unfolded it.
She read the few words written on it.
And gasped.
Chapter
25
She held out the sheet of paper to the others.
“You can stop looking. Here’s all the proof we need,” she declared. She heard her own voice tremble. “Patrick is definitely the killer.”
“What is it?” Jackson demanded. “What did you find?”
“A note from Cindy to Patrick,” Gretchen answered.
“Read it,” Jackson urged. “Tell us what it says.”
Gretchen cleared her throat and lowered her eyes to the note. She read:
Patrick, I can’t keep our secret anymore. I’m going to tell my parents—no matter what happens. Don’t try to stop me. Cindy.
Gretchen heard Hannah gasp.
What kind of secret could Patrick and Cindy have been keeping?
“Could something have been going on between Cindy and Patrick?” Gretchen whispered. “Without any of us knowing?”
“Why wouldn’t they tell us?” Hannah asked.
“You know how strict her parents are,” Gretchen reminded them. “Maybe Cindy didn’t think they’d let her see him.”
“Tell me about it,” Gil muttered. “They didn’t think any guy was good enough for Cindy.”
Marco shook his head. “It can’t be that. Even if Cindy didn’t want her parents to know she was seeing Patrick, she would have told us. We were her best friends. It has to be something else.”
“Like what?” Gretchen asked. She couldn’t think of any other explanation. She felt so confused.
“Let’s keep looking through Patrick’s stuff,” Marco urged. “We found the note. We may find something else.”
Gretchen sighed and headed across the living room to the corner where the sleeping bags were piled up. She searched for Patrick’s sleeping bag and found it on the bottom of the pile.
“This is probably going to be a waste of time,” she said, pulling it out.
Gretchen unrolled the sleeping bag. “Oh no,” she moaned. “Oh no! Oh no!”
Gretchen staggered back from the sleeping bag, covering her eyes with her hands.
Jackson rushed to her side. She felt his hand on her arm, steadying her. “What is it?” he cried.
Marco, Gil, and Hannah hurried over, surrounding her. “What’s wrong?” Marco asked. “What did you find?”
Gretchen pointed to the floor.
There, in the middle of Patrick’s sleeping bag, was the missing bread knife.
Its blade covered with dark stains.
Chapter
26
“The knife used to kill Cindy,” Gretchen murmured.
They all stood staring down at the sleeping bag.
At the knife.
Gretchen’s gaze fixed on the razor-sharp edge of the blade.
She shivered and tore her eyes away. The thought of the knife slashing into Cindy made her feel sick.
She hugged her arms around her stomach. And forced herself not to look at it again.
“I can’t believe it,” she heard Hannah moan. “I can’t believe that Patrick…”
Gretchen suddenly felt light-headed. She staggered to the couch and sat down. She dropped her head down to her knees and swallowed deep breaths.
She heard someone walk toward her.
“Are you okay?” Jackson asked softly.
Gretchen pushed her hair out of her face. “I’m okay,” she answered. “I guess.”
“This is all the proof we need,” Marco said. “Let’s see Patrick try to deny this!”
Marco led the way back to the kitchen.
“I can’t go back in there,” Hannah whispered. She clutched Gretchen’s arm. “Stay out here with me. Please?”
“I want to hear what Patrick says when he sees the knife,” Gretchen told her.
She put her arms around Hannah and gave her a hug. “I’ll come back in a minute, okay?”
“Okay,” Hannah nodded. She twisted the bottom of her sweater in her hands. “I’ll wait out here, by the door. I’ll be okay.”
Gretchen turned from Hannah and stepped into the kitchen.
Marco, Jackson, and Gil stood in a grim circle around Patrick.
“I knew you wouldn’t find anything,” Patrick said angrily. “Now untie me!”
“You’re wrong, Patrick,” Gretchen said. “We did find things. Two things.”
All the blood drained from Patrick’s face. His mouth fell open, and he stared at Gretchen as if he hadn’t heard her correctly. “Excuse me?”
Gretchen stared hard at Patrick.
Either he’s telling the truth and didn’t murder Cindy. Or he’s giving the performance of his life, she thought.
“We found two things,” Gretchen repeated. “We found a note in your backpack. From Cindy. She said she was going to tell her parents about the secret the two of you shared. She said she couldn’t keep it anymore.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Patrick said through gritted teeth. “Cindy and I didn’t share any secret. The note is a fake. It has to be a total fake. I never got any note from Cindy.”
They all stared hard at Patrick, studying his face.
Patrick sighed. “What else did you find?”
Gretchen took a deep breath. “The missing bread knife… smeared with blood… in your sleeping bag.”
“You murdered her!” Gil cried suddenly.
“I didn’t! I didn’t!” Patrick screamed.
“But Patrick,” Gretchen cut in. “How do you explain the knife in your sleeping bag?” Gretchen asked.
“I don’t know. I really don’t. I didn’t put it there,” Patrick insisted.
“But it was there,” Gretchen stated. “And it’s smeared with blood.”
“I didn’t murder Cindy!” Patrick cried. “Why won’t anyone listen to me? If you’d only untie me, I could help you figure this out.”
“Save it,” Gil ordered harshly. He moved closer to Patrick. “We’re not untying you. We’re going to hold you until we can get the police. When they get here, you can tell them that you’re innocent.”
“Please,” Patrick begged. “You have to listen to me.”
Gretchen shook her head. “There’s nothing left to say,” she told him. “There’s just too much proof.”
“That’s the whole point!” Patrick exclaimed. “If I killed Cindy, would I make it so easy for you? Would I leave so much evidence around?”
Patrick’s eyes darted frantically around the kitchen.
“If I was the killer, would I hide the knif
e in my sleeping bag?” Patrick demanded. “Would I walk around in a bloody shirt, and leave flour on my boots? Would I leave my cap in Cindy’s hand? And leave her note in my own backpack?”
Patrick’s eyes pleaded with Gretchen.
She suddenly felt uncomfortable.
Patrick’s words made sense.
“Gretchen,” Patrick pleaded, “you’re the only one willing to keep an open mind. You know I couldn’t have done this.”
Gretchen swallowed hard and stared down at the floor.
“Please, just think about it,” Patrick continued. “Somebody is trying to make me look guilty. I’m not stupid. If I were the killer, I wouldn’t leave clues all over the cabin.”
He let out an angry cry. “Don’t you see? Someone is trying to pin the blame on me. It has to be one of you.”
Gretchen turned to the open doorway. She saw Hannah standing there. Their eyes met.
Sometimes I wish she was dead!
Hannah’s words about Cindy echoed in Gretchen’s mind.
“You’re not going to listen to him, are you?” Hannah asked shrilly. “He’ll say anything so we’ll untie him. If we let him loose, we’ll all be in danger.”
“Don’t you see what’s happening here?” Patrick demanded. “Someone in this cabin is trying to frame me.”
“Frame you?” Gretchen asked. “Why would someone want to frame you?”
“I don’t know!” Patrick exclaimed. “But they went too far. They planted too much evidence! If I killed Cindy, I’d try to hide the evidence. I wouldn’t leave it all lying around.”
From his seat at the table, Jackson cast a doubtful look in Gretchen’s direction. She could see the question in his eyes. He had his doubts, too.
Gretchen turned to Gil and Marco, sitting on the counter. Both looked uneasy. She could tell they were also unsure.
“He’s right,” Jackson agreed. “We’ve been stupid.”
Gretchen didn’t know what to believe. She paced the kitchen. She took Cindy’s note out of her pocket and read it again.
She saw Patrick watching her, straining at the ropes to see the note. “Is that the note you found?” he asked. “Let me see it.”
Gretchen stopped in front of Patrick’s chair. She unfolded the paper and held it up in front of him.
Patrick leaned forward, pulling the ropes taut.
