The Wrong Girl (Return to Fear Street Book 2)
The Wrong Girl: Part 4 – Chapter 48

The police took over the music room and set it up as their headquarters to question people. No one was allowed to go home.

The halls were filled with kids sobbing and hugging each other and wandering the halls in distress, despite teachers’ efforts to herd them back to their classrooms.

I’ve never seen so many people in shock before, and it was distressing and frightening, and I knew I’d have nightmares about Rose strangled in my scarf in the stage ropes for the rest of my life.

Of course, I was the first one called in to be questioned. I entered the room to replace Officer Raap seated at a table, and another cop I’d never seen before standing beside him. Benny Kline was not in the room.

“This is Lieutenant Marshall,” Raap said, his eyes studying me as I came closer.

Marshall reached out to shake hands. He was big, broad-shouldered, African American, with close-shaved hair, and a silver ring in one ear. He didn’t wear a uniform. He wore a stylish gray suit that fit him perfectly.

His hand was twice as big as mine, but he had a gentle handshake, and his expression was sympathetic, as if he realized how terrible it was for me to have to be questioned about this horrifying murder.

They motioned for me to sit down. Then Marshall sat down across from me. “Officer Raap has been telling me about you, Poppy.” He had a surprisingly light voice, almost a whisper.

I lowered my head. “Did he say anything good?”

“He brought me up to date on what happened to some of your friends.” He patted the back of my hand. “This has to be a hard time for you,” he said, locking his brown eyes on mine.

I nodded. “It’s been . . . horrible.”

“Poppy, how did your scarf get around Rose Groban’s neck?” Raap chimed in, all business. “Do you have an explanation for us?”

I swallowed. “Not really. I mean, I don’t know how it got there. I don’t—”

“Did you give it to her?” Raap asked. “Did you go onstage at all today?”

“No. No way,” I said, feeling the emotion rise in my chest. “Look. I’m totally shocked that scarf was anywhere near her. I mean, more than shocked. I don’t understand it. I really don’t.” My voice cracked.

I took a deep breath—and then I remembered something. “Lucas,” I said. “This guy Lucas. He attacked me in the taxi garage. He—he took my scarf.”

“Hold on a second,” Marshall said, raising a hand as if to say halt. “You say you were attacked?”

I nodded.

“Did you report it?”

“No,” I said softly. “I . . . I didn’t want more trouble. I just . . . wanted to forget about it. But Lucas pulled off the scarf that I was wearing, and he took it away from me.”

“We’ll talk to Lucas,” Raap said to Marshall. He turned back to me. “Is he in school today? Have you seen him?”

“No,” I answered. “He doesn’t go here. He dropped out.”

Raap narrowed his eyes at me. “He doesn’t go to school here? Then how did he wrap your scarf around Rose’s neck this afternoon?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just can’t imagine.” Then I had a thought. “Lucas has a friend here. Keith Carter. Maybe Lucas gave the scarf to Keith.”

“But why would Keith Carter murder Rose Groban?” Marshall demanded.

“Keith has been totally weird lately. I broke up with him a couple of weeks ago. And he didn’t take it well. He was angry. Well . . . beyond angry.”

Both cops stared hard at me. I could see suspicion on Raap’s pale face. I couldn’t read Marshall at all. A hush fell over the room. I could hear someone crying out in the hall.

“You think Lucas gave the scarf to Keith?” Marshall said finally. He slid an iPad onto the table and typed some words. “And Keith murdered Rose? Why? Why would he do that?”

I let out a sob. “Someone has been attacking my friends one by one. Two people I know were murdered. Jeremy and Rose.”

Raap scratched his mop of red hair. “And you think Keith might be crazy enough—”

“I don’t like ratting out my friends!” I exclaimed, suddenly losing it. “Maybe I’m totally wrong. Maybe I’m crazy. But I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to help you make it stop.”

Raap ignored my emotional plea. He turned to Marshall. “Call Randy at the station. Let’s get someone to talk to this guy Lucas.” He turned back to me. “Where did you say we could replace him?”

“I didn’t. He works at Harlow’s. You know. The convenience store on River Road. He’s, like, a janitor there.”

Marshall crossed the room, his phone to his ear. I heard him telling someone at the station to bring Lucas in. Raap continued to stare at me, his expression thoughtful, like he was trying to figure out what to ask me next.

“Can I go now?” I asked finally.

“Do you have anything else to tell us?”

“No,” I said. “But if I think of something . . .”

“Go to your homeroom and wait,” Raap said, motioning to the door with one hand. “No one goes home till we figure this out.” He pulled himself up straight. “We’re going to solve this today. I promise you that. This will all stop today.”

I climbed to my feet. I didn’t know what to say to that.

“We’ll talk to Keith next,” Raap said. “See what his story is.”

I was nearly to the door when Marshall called me back. He lowered his phone from his ear. He turned to Raap. “This Lucas has an alibi,” he said. “He’s been at Harlow’s since seven this morning. Harlow backs him up.”

Raap’s eyes were on me. “You can cross him off your list, Poppy.”

I nodded and headed out the door. I just wanted to get out of that room, away from their questions and their accusing eyes.

Some distraught-looking kids were huddled in groups in the hall, talking quietly, shaking their heads. Teachers were trying to round them up and get them into classrooms until they were allowed to leave the building.

I passed the auditorium on my way to my homeroom. The doors were open, and I could see that police officers crawled over the entire stage. They all wore blue latex gloves and blue things that looked like shower caps over their shoes.

Crime shows on TV are very entertaining. A few years ago, Ivy and I were addicted to some true-crime shows. We loved the phony reenactments.

But when you see a murder being investigated by real cops in a real murder scene, it’s a whole different feeling. It just makes you want to vomit.

I stopped and watched the cops working on the stage. The spotlight was still shining a circle of yellow light on the play backdrop. No one had turned it off.

I just couldn’t get the picture out of my mind of Rose with her eyes bulging, her body tangled in the ropes, and my scarf wrapped so tightly around her neck.

A figure came striding toward me. Mr. G, his eyes straight forward, his expression grim, hands shoved deep in his pants pockets.

“Hey, Mr. G. I—” I started.

But he walked right past me without slowing. “Can’t talk,” he murmured. He didn’t look back.

I turned the corner and stepped into my homeroom. Some kids were milling up at the front of the room. I took a seat in the back. I clasped my hands together and shut my eyes.

This is the longest, most horrible day of my life.

After a few minutes, I felt someone tap my shoulder from behind. I turned to see Miss Kellogg, the homeroom teacher. “Poppy, are you okay?”

“Not really,” I said.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Can you back up time a day?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. There are sodas for everyone in the lunchroom, if you’d like. I don’t know how long they’re going to keep everyone here.”

“Thanks,” I murmured. I kept my eyes closed tight, but it didn’t help shut out the horrifying picture of Rose strangled in the curtain.

As it turned out, the wait in homeroom wasn’t long. Miss Kellogg told me the police wanted to see me back in the music room. I made the long walk, feeling weary—weary and afraid. The auditorium was still crawling with cops.

I stepped into the music room to replace that several kids were already there. Ivy sat at the long table next to Lieutenant Marshall. Her big floppy hat had fallen to one side, revealing the bandage underneath.

Jack sat across from her. His eyes kept darting from side to side, revealing his nervousness. He glanced at me for a moment, then quickly turned away.

Manny sat two chairs down from Ivy. He sprawled on the chair, put both shoes up on the table, acting casual.

Keith stood against the wall, hands in his jeans pockets. He nodded at me as I came into the room.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned, surprised to see my sister entering the room. “Heather? You’re here?” I blurted out.

She shrugged. I couldn’t read her expression. Her top was too small for her. It made her stomach look like she had a watermelon under her blouse.

I scolded myself for thinking that. But you can’t control your thoughts, especially in tense, frightening situations.

Raap was watching me. I could tell he wanted me to take the seat next to him. But I stepped next to Keith and leaned against the wall beside him.

Heather plopped down in a chair at the far end of the table. She fiddled with her hair but seemed perfectly calm.

Keith was sweating and his face was pink. Standing next to him, I could feel the heat coming off his body. I guessed that the two cops had questioned him pretty hard.

I knew that Keith didn’t like a lot of questions thrown at him. He panicked at tests, too, and sometimes had to take them over again.

He was gazing straight ahead, breathing a little hard. It gave me a chance to study him. What had he told them? Did he know anything about Rose’s death? Jeremy? Ivy’s acid attack?

“I think we have the whole group together,” Raap said, his eyes still on me. “Have we left anyone out?”

No one answered.

“We are determined to solve this right away,” he continued. “We have been gathering DNA evidence on the stage. Lieutenant Marshall and I have talked to you all. And we have—”

“But have any of you thought of anything else that could be helpful?” Marshall interrupted. “Anything at all? Something you heard. Something you saw. A rumor. Gossip of any kind.”

“Poppy was the last one to visit me at my house,” Ivy said. She didn’t turn around. She kept her back to me. “No one else could have put the acid in my shampoo bottle.”

“We talked about this,” Raap said, sounding impatient. “We already said what if someone sneaked into your house and you didn’t know it, Ivy.”

A picture flashed into my mind. “Oh, wow,” I murmured.

“Poppy, what is it?” Marshall asked.

“Oh, wow. I just thought of something.” I glanced at Jack. He was tapping his fingers on the table. He didn’t look at me but kept his gaze on the table.

“Tell us,” Marshall urged.

I hesitated. It was hard to talk about someone when they were right in the room with you. And . . . how dangerous was Jack? Would he attack me if I told what I’d seen?

“Come on, Poppy,” Raap said, motioning for me to hurry up. “What is it? What were you going to tell us?”

I kept my eyes on Jack. His lips tightened and he glared at me, warning me. But I didn’t care. It was too late to be scared. Too many people were dead or ruined.

“I saw Jack running from the stage,” I said. “Just before the curtain was pulled. He must have been backstage. And I saw him run down the stairs and out the side door of the auditorium.”

I got all that out in a single breath. And I watched Jack the whole time I was talking. Watched his face grow tighter and his eyes grow wider. Watched him clench his hands into fists on the tabletop.

I could feel the tension in the room rise. Keith shifted his weight, edged away from me. The two cops turned to Jack. Marshall’s fingers were squeezing the table edge.

All eyes were on Jack because of my accusation.

“What’s the story?” Raap asked him.

Jack cleared his throat. His face was tomato red now. “I . . . was looking for Rose. That’s all. I wanted to tell her to break a leg. I knew it was time for the play to start. But I just wanted to wish her good luck. You know.”

“And did you wish her good luck?” Marshall asked.

Jack scowled at him. “Obviously not. I couldn’t replace her. She wasn’t with the other actors in the wings. And she wasn’t in the dressing room.”

He brushed back his hair with a swift motion. His eyes were still wide, as if frightened. “I didn’t replace her. So I left the stage and walked out of the auditorium. That’s all. I didn’t run out, like Poppy just said. I walked down the steps and out the door.” He stared at the officers, as if defying them. “That’s all. Really. No more to the story.”

“We’re wasting our time,” Ivy suddenly chimed in. She turned and glanced at me, then quickly turned back to the two cops. “We all know Poppy killed Rose,” she said. “We all know that Poppy hated—”

“Stop!” I screamed. “What are you saying? Are you crazy?” I took a few steps toward Ivy.

Marshall jumped to his feet, his arms stretched out at his sides, ready to stop me if he needed to. “Stop right there, Poppy. Let her finish.”

I stood there, off balance, ready to pounce, breathing hard.

“Did Poppy tell you how much she hates Rose?” Ivy said to the cops. “Did Poppy tell you she swore she’d get revenge on all of us? Did she tell you that?”

Ivy swung around in her chair. Her eyes were wild and her face was tight with anger. The hat slid off her head, and I could see the deep black burn marks poking out from the edge of her bandage.

“Why don’t you just confess, Poppy?” she screamed. “Everyone knows it was you. Why don’t you just tell the truth and end all this?”

I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I said breathlessly, my heart pounding, my chest heaving up and down. “Okay. I confess. I did it all.”