Give Me a K-I-L-L

  “Did Coach Walker tell you?” Ana asked. “Hernandez banned fire batons. We can’t perform with them anymore.”

  “I guess he’s right,” Gretchen murmured.

  It’s all my fault, she thought.

  She realized Ana was staring at her intently, studying her. She wondered what Ana was really thinking. Did she think Gretchen was a careless idiot who should be punished for what happened to Stacy? Is that what everyone in school thought?

  Or was Gretchen being paranoid?

  Stacy was so pretty and lively and funny and energetic. Everyone likes Stacy. And now I’m going to be remembered for the rest of my time here as the idiot girl who set Stacy on fire.

  “Have you been to the hospital?” Ana asked. “Did you go see Stacy?”

  “Well … no,” Gretchen answered, avoiding Ana’s gaze. “But Sid gives me reports about her.”

  Ana’s eyes widened in surprise. “You talk to Sid? You’ve been hanging out with him?”

  “Kind of.”

  Gretchen swallowed. Did she just say something wrong? Ana seemed more than surprised. Her questions sounded like an accusation.

  Ana appeared to be studying her even more intently. Gretchen was glad that the auditorium had gone dark, and Hernandez was stepping up behind a podium at the side of the stage.

  Four musicians, two men and two women, wearing black suits and white shirts, had taken their seats, facing each other on folding chairs in the center of the stage. The woman holding a tall cello was busily tuning it. The two men sat casually, chatting, violins perched in their laps.

  It took Hernandez a while to get everyone quiet. Some guys in the back row were loudly doing a rap song that Gretchen had heard on the radio, pounding the seats in rhythm with their beats, and others were laughing and cheering them on.

  “We’re going to enjoy a different kind of music this morning,” Hernandez told them, bringing his mouth too close to the microphone so that his words made popping sounds as he spoke.

  “But that’s a classic!” a guy in the back row shouted. Laughter spread down the rows of seats.

  Hernandez raised both hands above his head and kept them there until everyone was silent. “We have a special treat this morning,” he announced. “The four members of the Chicagoland Arts String Quartet have graciously come to our school to perform for us.”

  A mild burst of applause greeted his announcement. Onstage, the four musicians sat upright, readying their instruments.

  “And to make this concert really special,” Hernandez continued, “one of the eleventh-graders from our orchestra will be joining the quartet.”

  Gretchen suddenly felt tense. This was Madison’s big moment. She must be so nervous now, Gretchen knew. Maybe that’s why Madison wanted me to come over last night. Just to help her get over her nerves.

  Gretchen was suddenly feeling it, too. “Go, Madison! Go, Madison!” she chanted to herself.

  “Let’s bring Madison Grossman out to join the quartet,” Hernandez said. He motioned with both hands, and everyone applauded.

  Madison strode onto the stage. She wore a white blouse, pleated in the front like a tuxedo shirt, and a long black skirt. She had put her hair up high on her head. She took a funny, exaggerated bow, reacting to the applause, and everyone laughed. The laughter seemed to relax her, and she smiled for the first time.

  “Madison is going to join the quartet to play…” Hernandez raised a sheet of paper to his face and read, “… the first two movements of the Mozart Viennese String Quartet Number Eight.”

  A pleased smile crossed his face. He gestured to the musicians, turned, and walked off the stage.

  Madison sat down on the empty chair facing the cello player. Her violin case stood beside the chair. She bent and raised the case to her lap. One of the women said something to her, and Madison laughed.

  She opened the case and lifted out the violin and the bow. Then she snapped the case shut and returned it to the floor beside her chair.

  The cello player said something to her. From her seat in the third row in the audience, Gretchen couldn’t hear what they were saying. Some kids shifted in their seats impatiently.

  The musicians raised their instruments. The male violinist tapped his bow twice on his instrument. They began to play.

  Gretchen watched Madison. Madison’s face was tight, intense, her eyes narrowed on the music stand in front of her. Sitting up straight and stiff, she counted off several measures. Then she raised the violin to her chin.

  Gretchen relaxed a little. Madison is doing it. She’s going to be great.

  The melodic flow of the strings floated over the auditorium. Gretchen slid down in her seat and raised her knees to the seatback in front of her.

  The music was sweet, gentle, very rhythmic and precise.

  It lasted only thirty seconds. Then a hideous, high animal scream, a shrill bleat of shock and pain, shot over the auditorium and rang off the walls.

  It took Gretchen a few seconds to realize that Madison was the one shrieking and crying.

  Madison leaped to her feet and tossed her violin across the stage. She grabbed her neck and dropped to her knees. Cry after cry burst from her throat.

  The four musicians jumped up, too. They stumbled back, eyes wide with shock, staring down at Madison as she held her neck and screamed.

  “I’m burning! It’s burning! Somebody! Help me! Help! I’m burning!”

  Screams rang out across the auditorium. Teachers ran toward the stage.

  Gretchen jumped to her feet. She could see that Madison’s neck was a flaming red. Madison gave out one last shriek and, gripping her neck, fell sideways, collapsed to the floor. Bright red blood gushed up from her neck like a fountain. The blood shot up in a wave of scarlet and then splashed down on the stage floor, splashed all around her. Madison didn’t move.

  Principal Hernandez was running across the stage now, his necktie flying over his shoulder. He pushed one of the shocked musicians aside and dropped to the stage floor beside Madison.

  A horrified hush fell over the auditorium. It was as if someone had taken the volume knob and turned it all the way down to silent. Students stood, gaping wide-eyed, pressing their hands over the seatbacks in front of them.

  It was so quiet, Gretchen could hear Hernandez’s imploring pleas as he leaned over Madison, his face close to hers. “Madison? Madison? Please answer me. Can you hear me? Madison?”

  Gretchen realized she’d been holding her breath. Her hands were clenched into tight fists. Her stomach had knotted in dread.

  “Call a doctor!” a teacher shouted from the edge of the stage.

  “Somebody—call 911!” someone else cried.

  Leaning over Madison, Hernandez raised a hand. “It may be too late,” he said. “She’s not breathing.”

  27.

  Sid wrapped his arm around Gretchen. She slid against him and pressed her head against his shoulder.

  I want to disappear, she thought. I want Sid to wrap his arms around me, shut out the light, and I’ll disappear forever.

  The real world was too hard to face, Gretchen decided. Too horrifying and cruel.

  “How could someone murder Madison?” Her words came out in a choked whisper. She hadn’t been able to think of anything else since yesterday morning in the auditorium. Just kept asking herself the same question again and again.

  And what a cold-blooded, horrifying murder it was. Someone had doused acid over the chin rest of Madison’s violin. Enough acid to burn right through Madison’s neck. It had burned through Madison’s aorta, and Madison had bled to death before anything could be done.

  About as cold and cruel as a murder can get. And Gretchen knew she had no proof. But the only person she knew who had acid was Devra Dalby. Acid powerful enough to burn paint off furniture.

  She snuggled against Sid’s chest. His warmth wasn’t enough to stop her chills.

  “The school building is completely closed off,” Sid said, shaking his head. “The Sha
dyside police are everywhere, and they are talking to everyone.”

  “They haven’t talked to me yet,” Gretchen said, her voice muffled against his chest. “I … I need to talk with them.”

  Sid’s body went tense. “Why? What do you know?”

  Gretchen pulled away from him. She sat up, arranging her hair behind her shoulders. She knew she looked a mess. She hadn’t even brushed her hair this morning. And her eyes were red and puffy from crying, her cheeks tear-stained and pale.

  She wore the jeans, torn at the knees, she’d been wearing all week. And a sweatshirt with orange food stains on the front that she’d pulled out of her laundry bag. She didn’t care how she looked. Her friend was dead. DEAD. Murdered.

  She couldn’t stop picturing the gusher of bright blood shooting up from Madison’s open throat, spouting over Madison and splashing onto the stage floor. She couldn’t stop hearing again and again the screams and horrified shrieks of everyone in the auditorium as they looked helplessly on.

  Sid waited patiently for her to explain.

  Gretchen took a deep, shuddering breath. “Madison called me the night before the music assembly,” she began. “She sounded kind of frantic. She said she had something important to tell me, something she didn’t want to tell me over the phone.”

  Sid frowned at her. “What was it?”

  “I-I don’t know,” Gretchen stammered. “I started over to her house, and my mother stopped me. She wouldn’t let me go over there.” She uttered a low growl. “So typical. She’s just always in my way.”

  Sid patted her hand. “Let’s leave your mother out of this,” he said softly. “You have no clue as to what Madison wanted to tell you?”

  “No clue.” Gretchen lowered her eyes to the floor and stifled a sob. She’d already cried so much. She was desperate not to start again.

  Sid swept a hand back through his dark hair. “Do you think Madison was killed because of what she wanted to tell you? Do you think someone killed her to shut her up?”

  “Wait. I have to tell you this. A while ago, Devra told me she had a powerful acid,” Gretchen blurted out. She had been holding that information in for too long. Just knowing it felt as if it was burning a hole in her.

  Sid’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me? Say that again.”

  “I was at Lefty’s. Devra sat down at my table. She wanted to bribe me not to win the cheerleader tryout. And she said she was working on a cabinet to surprise her dad. She told me she was using acid to remove the paint.”

  Sid stared blankly at her, as if her words didn’t make sense to him.

  “Don’t you see?” Gretchen urged impatiently. “Don’t you see?” She tugged his sleeve. “A while ago, Madison told me she knew some things about Devra.”

  “Some things? Like what?”

  “She never told me,” Gretchen said. “Maybe she wanted to tell me the night before she was killed. And—”

  “And Devra doused Madison’s violin with acid to keep her from telling?”

  “It sounds crazy.…” Gretchen said softly.

  “Yeah. Crazy,” Sid murmured. “Devra is a crazed killer? Crazy.”

  “Hernandez and Coach Walker questioned me about Stacy,” Gretchen said, squeezing her fingers around his arm, as if holding on to a life raft. “I told them my suspicions about Devra. I mean, why Devra backed away and didn’t take the fire baton, so Stacy had to take it.”

  “And what did they say?”

  “They said they’d talk to Devra. But nothing came of it. They probably thought I was just trying to get Devra in trouble. You know. Because of the competition, because of the troubles between us.”

  Sid shook his head. “It’s hard to believe. Devra burned Stacy and murdered Madison? That’s like … impossible.” He turned to her. “But you do have to tell the police what you suspect. I mean, lots of people could buy acid. Just because Devra was using acid doesn’t mean…” His voice trailed off. “But what if you’re right? What if Devra really is crazy? What if she really did those things?”

  Gretchen could see his mind spinning. She could tell he didn’t want to believe that Devra was a cold-blooded murderer. The whole idea that someone they knew could deliberately kill …

  “Shouldn’t you be at the hospital? What about Stacy?” Gretchen asked suddenly.

  Sid didn’t answer. Instead, he wrapped her in a tight hug. They kissed.

  “Stacy and I … I told you, it’s over,” he said when the kiss ended. “It’s over but she refuses to accept it. I told you. And as long as she’s in the hospital, I can’t really fight with her or argue or try to make her see the truth.”

  He sighed. “I have to be there with her. I can’t upset her. She’s … she’s really messed up.”

  They held onto each other. They kissed again.

  Sid stood up to leave. “I’m sorry. I have to go check in on Stacy.”

  Gretchen’s mind was still on what they had talked about. “What if Devra really is a murderer? And we’re the only ones who know it? What does that mean? What does it mean, Sid?”

  He stared at her. “That she’ll come after us next.”

  28.

  “Polly—I wish you were here.” Gretchen gazed into her laptop screen.

  “But FaceTime is almost as good,” Polly said.

  “Did you add highlights to your hair?”

  Polly grinned. “Think it works?”

  “Definitely.”

  Gretchen studied her friend on the screen. Polly was so light and small. With her flood of auburn curls bouncing on her round face, pale creamy cheeks, and those huge brown eyes, she looked like a little doll. Everything about her said energy and dynamo and electricity and pep.

  She was the best cheerleader at Savanna Mills. So light and springy and a total daredevil. Gretchen sometimes felt like an elephant beside her, although Polly never stopped talking about how much she admired Gretchen’s skill and athleticism and mature good looks.

  A perfect team.

  “So tell me what’s happening,” Polly said, her expression turning serious. “This must have been a total nightmare for you, Gretchen.”

  Gretchen nodded and once again stifled a sob. “Madison was my friend, the only friend I’ve made in Shadyside.”

  Polly brushed a strand of curls off her forehead. “Have they caught the murderer?”

  Gretchen shook her head. “It’s Devra Dalby. I told you on the phone last night, I know it’s Devra. I’m so terrified. I’m the only one who knows.”

  Gretchen raised her eyes to the clock over the sink. “I have to go to a cheerleader meeting in a little while. I … I’m dreading it, Polly. I’m afraid to be in the same room with Devra.”

  “And what about the retreat?” Polly asked.” You said there was a cheerleader retreat…?”

  Gretchen nodded. “Can you imagine? We’re all going to be staying in cabins in the woods. In the woods with a crazed killer? A crazed killer who hates me. I’m so scared, Polly, I can’t even think about it.”

  “Did you talk to the cheerleader coach?” Polly asked. “Did you talk to the police?”

  “I finally talked to two officers last night,” Gretchen said. “I told them everything. About the acid Devra was using on a cabinet. Everything.”

  “And?”

  “They said they were following all leads.” Gretchen sighed. “They were very nice. I told them what good friends Madison and I were. I think they were being careful not to upset me. But they didn’t seem terribly interested in what I had to say.”

  “Weird,” Polly muttered. “And are they opening your school again?”

  Gretchen nodded. “Tomorrow. It’s been closed for two days. But it’s opening tomorrow, and guess what? The principal decided to go ahead with the football game Friday night.”

  Polly’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”

  “Really. He said it would be good for school morale.”

  Polly twisted a corner of her mouth up as she thought about that. A ti
ny dimple formed in her cheek. She really does look like a toy doll, Gretchen thought, even when she’s being totally serious and thoughtful.

  She’s so sweet. The best friend I could ever have.

  “I have to go to the cheerleader meeting,” Gretchen said. “I’m so glad we had a chance to talk. It really helps, Polly. It really does.”

  Gretchen clicked off the connection. She had to drive to school now. She had to see what Coach Walker had to say to the cheerleaders. She had to stand in the same space as Devra Dalby.

  Was she in total danger? She never dreamed she’d be in the same room as a murderer.

  And one chilling question kept repeating in her mind: Would Devra kill again?

  29.

  Gretchen drove through a gray afternoon, rain clouds low in the sky. A few raindrops drizzled onto the windshield. Gusts of wind sent dead brown leaves toppling from the trees, dancing in the air as they fell.

  The high school was dark, she noticed, as she slowed and pulled the car around the side of the building to the student parking lot. Only two other cars parked back here. And a single black-and-white police cruiser parked at an angle at the back entrance.

  Why are the police still here? It’s three days later. What could they possibly find?

  She tried to shake her thoughts from her mind as she entered the empty building. The hallway was dimly lit and cold, as if they had turned off the heat while everyone was away.

  The gym was even colder. Coach Walker was scurrying along the wall, turning on lights. Basketballs, normally stacked in the equipment room, were scattered across the gym floor as if they’d escaped their prison.

  Gretchen spotted Courtney doing stretching exercises on the floor in front of the coach’s office. Ana and Devra were against the far wall, chatting quietly. Becka and Shannon sat cross-legged on the floor, backs against the wall, studying their phones.

  Gretchen looked for Sid, but then remembered he hadn’t been invited to this meeting. She swung her bag off her shoulder and tossed it against the wall. She rubbed her hands together, trying to warm them. “You can almost see your breath in here,” she told Coach Walker.