Fatal Secrets

by Richie Tankersley Cusick

  “Ryan—I’m in love.”

  “Again?” Ryan sighed. “Phoebe, something terrible—”

  “Michael Kilmer called tonight and—you’ll never guess—he asked me to the dance! He’s been working up his nerve all this time! He thought I was going with Randy—I can’t believe it—Michael Kilmer! I nearly fainted! No—no—I nearly died!”

  “Was that before or after your eyes glazed over?” Ryan shook her head indulgently. “Phoebe, listen—”

  “We went to the Coffeehouse and talked and talked—do you think I talked too much? I hate that, Ryan, I always worry—”

  “Phoebe—”

  “Anyway, a bunch of kids are getting together tomorrow night to go caroling, and I said you’d come—”

  “Will you listen? I have to tell you—”

  “We’ll meet in front of school at seven. Then we’ll go back to Michael’s afterward for a party—”

  “Phoebe—”

  “—and I bet when you’re there, someone’ll ask you to the dance—”

  “Stop—”

  “I put the word out that you’re still available—and I’m so sorry about studying tonight, but I really did try to call and—”

  “Wait—I have—”

  “Mom’s giving me the evil eye. She needs to use the phone, so I have to go, okay? See you tomorrow—bye!”

  Ryan heard the click and stared at the dead receiver in her hand. Slowly she replaced it on the stand, then sat up as a knock sounded at the door.

  “What is it?”

  Steve’s head poked in, his smile cautious. “Truce?”

  “I’m not upset with you. Come on in.”

  Steve nodded and closed the door behind him, leaning back against it as he surveyed Ryan sitting cross-legged on her bed.

  “I know, I know,” he said at last. “She’s being weird again.”

  “You can’t let her do this,” Ryan said flatly. “It’s totally insane, and you’re the only one she’ll listen to.”

  “Okay, I’ll try. But she seems to have her mind—and her heart—set on this. Ryan …” Steve grew quiet for a moment, pursed his lips, looked at the ceiling. “Your mom’s going through a really bad time right now—which isn’t to say you’re not, too”—his smile was sympathetic—“only she’s not thinking about anyone but herself. It’s not so unusual, you know, these crazy things she’s doing. She’s reacting to her grief and trying to work it all out in her mind.”

  “So we’ll all get our throats slashed in the process,” Ryan said gloomily. “While she’s working out her grief, I mean.”

  Steve looked surprised, then laughed. “Boy, you really don’t like Charles, do you? What’s with all the hostility? You just met the guy.”

  “Nothing. I don’t know.” Ryan flopped down on her stomach and propped her chin in her hands. “Okay. I know that look. What’d I say?”

  A chuckle sounded low in Steve’s throat, and he shook his head, giving in to a grin. “You’re too much, Ryan.”

  “Don’t give me that. You’re wondering something. Out with it.”

  “Okay, then. I’m wondering why you’re down on this poor guy. I know I haven’t met him yet, but I have to trust your mother’s judgment, at least a little! We don’t have any reason to doubt he’s a friend of Marissa’s, and you’re already accusing him of throat-slashing! Do you know something about him maybe the rest of us don’t know?”

  “How could I know anything about him?” Except he accused me of killing my sister. “Marissa never mentioned him. What about you? Haven’t you ever had him in one of your classes or something?”

  “Come on, Ryan, the campus is bigger than this whole town! I don’t know everybody. Though he does seem kind of familiar.”

  “So is he telling the truth or not?”

  “Well”—Steve shrugged—“his story sounds believable enough to me. And since this isn’t my house, I can’t very well throw him out if your mom wants him here.”

  “That’s the trouble. She doesn’t know what she wants,” Ryan said irritably. “I don’t trust him. He’s too …” She spread her arms in frustration. “Too nice to Mom.”

  “Thanks,” Steve said, deadpan. “Not like me, who’s a real jerk, huh? Thanks a lot, Ryan.”

  “I didn’t mean that. You are nice to Mom,” Ryan said quickly as Steve laughed.

  “Tell you what. The least we can do is find out if he’s really going to school where he says he is.”

  “How will you do that?”

  “Look through my directory. And if he’s not there, call the admissions office.”

  “But will they tell you? Is that confidential or something?”

  Steve shook his head. “The only problem will be finding someone in the office over the holidays.”

  “You won’t forget, will you?” Ryan was relieved when he smiled.

  “Not if it’ll make you feel better. Just let’s not talk about this in front of your mom, okay? I don’t want to upset her any more.”

  Ryan sighed. “Just don’t tell me I have to be nice to him.” She put a hand to her forehead as the doorbell rang. “That’s probably him now. We better not let Mom catch us talking.”

  “Right.” Steve opened the door and peered cautiously out into the hall. He gave Ryan a thumbs-up sign and left.

  I really am going to flunk that history test tomorrow. Once more Ryan opened her textbook, but before she could tackle her notes again, another knock sounded on her door. This time it was Mrs. McCauley who looked in, and Ryan could tell from the expression on her mother’s face that she wasn’t going to like whatever was about to happen.

  “Ryan, I want you to let Charles have your room.”

  “What!”

  “He’s going to be here for a few days, at least, and—”

  “At least! Mom, are you—”

  “And I can’t put him on the couch. If it were for a night, that’d be different, but he’ll need some privacy.”

  “What about me?” Ryan sat up, her voice thin and tight. “It’s my room—I don’t see why I have to give it up for—”

  “You can sleep in Marissa’s room,” Mrs. McCauley said quickly, and Ryan stared at her as she rushed on. “It makes perfect sense to do things this way, and you’ll be just across the—”

  “Why don’t you put him in Marissa’s room? He was her friend!”

  “No!” Mrs. McCauley burst out. She put her hand on the wall to steady herself, and Ryan could see her fingers clenching. “I don’t want some stranger sleeping in there, do you hear me? I don’t want some stranger in Marissa’s bedroom—”

  “But it’s okay for some stranger to be in my room.” Ryan looked at her accusingly. “It’s okay for some stranger to be in our house.”

  “Hey,” a voice in the doorway startled them both. Charles was standing there, a regretful smile on his face. “Hey, look, the last thing I want is to cause problems. I think it’d be best for all of us if I just leave.”

  “You can’t!” Mrs. McCauley caught him by the shoulders, recovered herself, then pretended to straighten his collar. “No, Charles, please”—her eyes swung to Ryan … pleading—“I want you to stay. We all do. Don’t we, Ryan?”

  For an endless moment Ryan locked eyes with her mother. Then she looked at Charles. His expression was politely unreadable, yet somehow she sensed cunning watchfulness just below the surface. Very slowly she closed her book and got up.

  “I’ll move my things,” she said. But I won’t stay in Marissa’s room, I’ll pack a suitcase and go over to Phoebe’s, and I’ll live there till this creep is out of our house.…

  But deep inside she knew she wouldn’t.

  She could never go off and leave her mother alone with him.

  Chapter 5

  So he’s really staying in your room?” Phoebe’s mouth opened in disbelief, and she leaned against her locker, blue eyes wide. “And you slept in Marissa’s room last night?”

  “No.” Ryan sighed. She put one hand to
her mouth to stifle a yawn, then rubbed her forehead. “I slept on the couch. I watched TV and studied till I fell asleep.”

  “Oooh.” Phoebe gave a shiver. “I don’t blame you. I’d feel really creepy sleeping in there … you know … where she used to be. So what else about this guy? What’s his name—Charlie?”

  “Charles. Eastman. And that’s all I know about him—nothing. Oh, Phoebe, what am I going to do?”

  “Well, what does Steve think about it?”

  “He’s going to try and find out if Charles really went to school with Marissa. Steve doesn’t like the idea of him being with us, either”—Ryan shrugged—“but what can he do? He can’t force Mom to listen. She’s really determined about this.”

  “What’s he look like? Charles, I mean. Is he cute?”

  “You’d probably think he is.” Ryan sighed again and shot her friend a look. “Don’t get any ideas, Phoebe, okay?”

  “Well, he does sound intriguing.” Phoebe grinned. She pulled some books from her locker and slammed the door. “I think you’re way too paranoid. Let’s just analyze it. Maybe this is a sign. Maybe you’re looking at it all wrong.”

  “Whatever you mean, I don’t think I’m going to like it.” Ryan looked suspicious as Phoebe locked arms with her and maneuvered along the crowded hallways. “I know that gleam in your eye, and it usually means trouble for me.”

  “Okay, just listen.” Phoebe talked fast, knowing they were already late for class. “There’s no reason that I can see for you to be nervous. Charles has to be a friend of Marissa’s. What other possible reason could he have for wanting to bring presents and stay with you for the holidays? I think it’s really sweet that he liked Marissa so much, he’d want to get to know her family better. He’s probably thinking it will help somehow, if he’s there to cheer up your Christmas.”

  Ryan frowned, still skeptical. “Well …”

  “And it’s a real compliment to you and your mom that he’d feel so comfortable, he’d even want to stay.”

  “But he’s not the same to me as he is to Mom,” Ryan argued.

  “How?”

  They paused outside their classroom door. Ryan could see Miss Potter inside glancing from the clock to the bundle of papers in her hands.

  “I … I don’t know how to explain it. He’s just different.”

  “Are you sure you’re not imagining things?”

  “Phoebe—he practically accused me of killing Marissa!”

  “Oh, Ryan, honestly, you must have heard him wrong! What a horrible thing to say!” Phoebe almost laughed. “I mean, why would someone come on a mission of mercy and say something so outrageous? It just doesn’t make sense! I’m sure you misunderstood him—like you’ve been getting your assignments wrong all week. You’re not listening very well these days. You said so yourself.”

  Ryan saw Miss Potter’s frown deepen as she gestured for them to hurry. Phoebe took Ryan’s arm and shook it.

  “It’s a sign, Ryan. Charles Eastman came into your life to take you to the New Year’s dance.”

  As Ryan gaped at her, Phoebe turned and hurried to her desk, leaving Ryan to trail behind.

  “So glad you could spare some time for us, ladies,” Miss Potter greeted them. And as Ryan slid miserably into her seat, she could already see the big fat F slashed across the top of her history test.

  “Mr. Partini!” Ryan paused in the workshop door-way, relieved when the toymaker grinned up at her from his bench.

  “Ah! You sneak up on me, Bambalina! You feel better, eh?” He held up a grinning marionette, squinting at it from behind his spectacles. “This customer—he wants it delivered! Today! So now Guido Partini is a taxi again!”

  “You’ve got to stop making all those deliveries for people,” Ryan scolded him lovingly. “They have just as much time in their day as you have. It wouldn’t hurt them one bit to get themselves over here and save you some trouble!”

  “Ah, no, Bambalina, no trouble!” Mr. Partini shook his head, catching his glasses as they slid down his nose. “Is a little thing for me. I help them out, eh? No bother!”

  “Then let me do it for you. I’d like to.”

  “You do plenty. Too much sometimes. I no deserve you.”

  “And you’re too nice.” Ryan tried to frown but felt the corners of her mouth turning up. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times. You’ve got to quit being so nice!”

  “Then I be mean to you!” He tried to put on his fiercest expression, but his twinkling eyes gave him away. “I be mean to the toys! I tear down the dollhouse! We punish those bad dolls for giving you such a scare!”

  Ryan laughed and went out into the shop. The afternoon went quickly, with a steady flow of customers to keep her busy, and she was totally absorbed in demonstrating a jack-in-the-box when Mr. Partini politely excused himself and took her aside.

  “I go now to deliver the puppet, Bambalina. You can watch the shop, eh? Lock up when you go home?”

  “I think I can handle that,” Ryan teased. “But I still wish you wouldn’t go running all over town. You look tired.”

  “Ah, is such a little thing,” he protested, waving her back to her customer. “Just a little way to say thank you for buying my toys, eh? I see you in the morning!” Laughing delightedly, Mr. Partini went out the back door, leaving Ryan to tend the shop alone.

  She was exhausted when six o’clock came. Her lack of sleep the night before was catching up with her, and the last customer was a picky, rude woman who couldn’t make up her mind. As Ryan’s eyes went impatiently to the window, she suddenly stiffened and gripped the counter with both hands.

  She saw the lumpy coat and the black ski mask. She couldn’t see the eyes, but she knew they were looking at her, could feel them as if they were only inches away.

  “—please?” The woman stepped between Ryan and the window, waving a doll under Ryan’s nose. Startled, Ryan jumped back.

  “Excuse me?” She was craning her neck, trying to see around her customer, but the woman kept side-stepping, blocking Ryan’s view.

  “Too expensive.” As the woman turned to leave, Ryan saw that the window was empty.

  “Wait!” she called, hurrying around the counter, but the woman stomped out the door. Ryan stood for a moment peering out at the street. Unsettled, she put her hand on the latch to lock it, but a shadow suddenly filled the doorway, and she screamed as the door burst open.

  “God, McCauley!” Jinx stood there, looking just as startled. “What’d you do—see your own reflection?”

  “Come in here!” Ryan yanked him out of the way so she could lock the door. She glanced outside again, but the street was empty. “We’re closed, Jinx. Go home. No! Stay here.”

  “I love a girl who knows her own mind.”

  “Did you see that man a minute ago?” Ryan looked again, half expecting the strange figure to materialize at the window.

  “What man?”

  “Big coat. Ski mask. At the window.”

  “Yeah. He robbed the place next door and took off.”

  Ryan gave him a withering look. “I’m serious.”

  “You’re seriously demented. No, I didn’t see anyone. Why?”

  “He was there yesterday, too. Just looking.”

  “Uh-oh,” Jinx said gravely. “A compulsive window-shopper. Quick! I’ll call nine-one-one—”

  “No, you jerk, he was watching me.”

  “Even worse. The guy is desperate beyond hope.”

  “Don’t you have someone else to bother?” Ryan headed for the back room, sighing as Jinx followed.

  “I have to get Phoebe something for Christmas,” he announced.

  “Well, that’s nice of you for a change.”

  “Yeah, Dad’s making me.”

  “If you really want to make her happy, why don’t you move out?”

  “Suffering gives her character.” Jinx grinned. “Dad said there was something here she wanted.”

  “That teddy bear over the
re.” Ryan began turning off lights in the back room. “I was going to get it for her, but you can if you want.”

  “Why does she want this dumb thing anyway?” Jinx picked it up and studied it, frowning. “How much?”

  “There’s a price tag on it. I thought you finally learned how to read last year.”

  “Kind of touchy tonight, aren’t you?” Jinx gave a slow grin. “Couldn’t be that new guy, could it? Got your fantasies working overtime?”

  Ryan bristled. “The only fantasy I have of Charles is him getting in his car and leaving.”

  “Right. After the New Year’s dance, you mean.”

  “I mean now. The sooner the better. I can’t stand the guy.”

  “That’s not what Phoebe said.”

  “Phoebe’s too wrapped up in Michael Kilmer to know what she’s saying.” Ryan gave a last look around the shop. “Are you buying that or not?”

  “Yeah, okay. You don’t have to bite my head off.” Jinx sauntered over to the counter as Ryan rang up the sale. “Can you wrap it for me?”

  “Now?”

  “Well … sometime before Christmas.”

  Ryan made a point of sighing loudly. “Just leave it here, and I’ll wrap it tomorrow when I come in.”

  “Could you hide it, too? She might find it at home.”

  “Jinx, no one could find it if you hid it in your bedroom.”

  “Okay, then, if she’s not surprised, it’ll be your fault—”

  “Well, she spends as much time at my house as she does yours!” Ryan slammed the drawer into the register. “Okay”—she sighed again—“I’ll put it somewhere.” She pushed past him to the door and stood staring out. “Oh, great—”

  “What?”

  “It’s snowing.”

  “I coulda told you that. I thought you liked snow.”

  “I do. I just don’t feel like walking home in it right now.”

  “Come on …” Now Jinx sighed loudly. “I’ll give you a ride.”

  “In your car? The last time I saw your car, it looked like your room. There’s probably something contagious in there.”

  “Relax.” Jinx grinned and reached above her, holding open the door just wide enough for her to squeeze through. “You’re so ugly, nothing in my car would jump on you anyway.”