Funhouse (4 page)

The little red book held secrets. I kept reading, that hot, sticky day a few weeks ago, before the air had turned cool and crisp.

After Tully O’Hare went to the bank to get a loan from his friend Buddy, Lila O’Hare wrote:

I can’t believe it! Buddy turned us down. He and Tully have been friends since grade school. Now Tully is drowning and Buddy won’t throw him a rope.

Why not?

And what are we going to do now?

Bad Buddy the banker. Who
was
he? If there was a banker in town named Buddy, I’d never heard of him. Maybe he’d dumped the nickname. Maybe he’d dumped the bank. The journal was dated a long time ago. Years ago. Lots of things could have changed in that time.

The next entry explained the one before it.

We found out why Buddy turned us down at the bank. He and a bunch of his friends want The Boardwalk! As an investment. They say they have the funds to turn it into a huge money-making proposition. And
we
don’t.

But it’s ours! It’s all we have. They can’t take it from us, can they?

Why was I so sure the answer to that question was yes, they can. Maybe from watching my father make so many deals over the years. He had the money and the power, and he always won.

I was right. Because the next entry read:

It’s gone. The Boardwalk. Buddy and his friends now own it. Tully is devastated. So am I.

What will happen to us now? How will we take care of our baby when it gets here?

The next few pages were blank.

T
HE BLOOD IN
T
ESS’S
veins turned to sleet as she read, and then reread, the note’s purple words.

Who will be next?
What did that mean? Next, as in, next after Dade and Sheree and Joey? As in, look what happened to
them?

Sheree’s ruined face swam before Tess’s eyes. Then Dade’s lifeless body did the same, and Joey’s leg …

Her knees, which had been threatening all evening to buckle, did so now. Her body slid down the cabinet until it collided gently with the floor. She still held the note in her hands, clenched so tightly her knuckles were blue-white. Unable to stop herself, she glanced down at the little square of paper again.

The purple letters hadn’t rearranged themselves into a friendlier message. The words still conveyed the same ugly, threatening meaning.

Her mind, fogged by shock and exhaustion, fought to make sense of it. Was it a joke? Who did she know with such a bizarre sense of humor? And if it wasn’t a joke, then what was it?

She read it one more time. How could the meaning be mistaken? Wasn’t it proof that what had happened tonight at The Boardwalk was no accident? Or could someone with a twisted sense of humor simply be using the crash to scare her? Hinting that something else equally horrible might be in the works, just to tease her?

No. That would be too cruel. No one she knew had such a sick sense of humor.

Okay, then. How about someone she
didn’t
know? Was that possible? There
were
people like that, weren’t there? People who thrived on tragedy and horror and used it for their own benefit? Like people who read about kidnappings and then send a fake ransom note to the parents? Couldn’t the person who had written this purple poem be someone like that?

Tess stood up. She kept her eyes away from the blackness of the windows and the French doors. The person who had written the poem could be watching. Watching her. His or her sick, horrid eyes could, at this very instant, be fixed on her building.

I shouldn’t stay here tonight, Tess thought nervously. Her father’s big, very solid, well-protected house beckoned. She’d be safe there. Miserable, especially if her father was home. He’d start right in on her about Shelley, for sure. But at least, she’d be safe.

Or she could call Sam. He’d come and stay with her. But she was so rattled by the accident and now the note that she’d probably throw herself into his arms. And that would be a major mistake!

With shaking fingers, she dialed her father’s telephone number. She let it ring eight or nine times. No answer.

Why wasn’t Guy Joe home? He couldn’t still be at The Boardwalk. Maybe Trudy had talked him into giving her a ride home. If she had, who knew what time Guy Joe would finally call it a night? Trudy didn’t have a curfew. Her parents were very busy socially and seldom home. So Trudy saw no need to be, either.

If I have to spend the night alone, Tess decided, I’d rather spend it here, in my own house, surrounded by my own things. Besides, she told the grandfather clock as she passed it, that stupid note was probably a joke. A bad one, but still a joke.

Locking all the doors and windows was the first step. Then, feeling just a tiny bit silly but willing to take no chances, she pushed the heavy oval table in front of the French doors. That done, she thought about calling Gina to read her the note, but decided against it. It was too late. Why wake up the whole Giambone family? Especially since Gina would probably just confirm what Tess had already decided that the note was a rotten joke.

But when Tess left the kitchen, she didn’t turn off the light. The note still in her hand, she made her way through the spacious condo, flipping on light switches as she went. All of the rooms were large and airy, decorated by Shelley in French country style, the walls painted a soft gray-blue or wallpapered in tiny floral prints. The furniture was comfortably cushioned in blue-and-rose plaid. Shelley had added wicker baskets, hanging plants at the windows, and an abundance of white floor-to-ceiling bookcases. This home was prettier, warmer, and cozier than the Landers’ mansion.

But as Tess passed from kitchen to dining room to wide, open, French-doored living room, she suddenly found herself wondering how she would defend herself if someone broke into the house. She’d never had such thoughts before. They made her skin feel as if something ugly were crawling on it.

Picking out a heavy brass poker from the set beside the white brick fireplace, she settled, still fully dressed, on the roomy couch. Covering her legs with a quilted throw, she turned on the television set for company and positioned the poker at her side. She wouldn’t sleep. She couldn’t. She’d stay alert tonight and sleep during the day. People didn’t break into houses in broad daylight, did they?

But the horror of the night had exhausted her and the need for sleep won out over her resolve.

When she finally gave in and closed her eyes, every light in the house was still blazing brightly.

T
ESS AWOKE, STIFF AND
headachey, to sunlight streaming in through the French doors and a cartoon blaring at her from the television set. When the memory of the previous night’s events flooded back into her mind, she made a decision.

Fifteen minutes later, after pulling on a full, flowered skirt and a white short-sleeved blouse, and clipping her hair on top of her head with a wide gold barrette, she grabbed her purse and the note and drove straight to the police station.

Chief Chalmers wasn’t there.

“Doesn’t come in on Sundays,” the desk sergeant informed her. A heavyset balding man with a mustache and round eyeglasses, he sat with his feet up on the desk, which was littered with papers. No one else was in the small, wood-paneled front office. Dying plants lined the windowsills behind the policeman and half filled coffee cups seemed to be everywhere.

“Sunday’s his day of rest,” the desk sergeant continued. He shook his head. “Not today, though. Today’s he’s seeing to that mess over there at The Boardwalk.” Another shake of his balding head. “Terrible thing, terrible thing.”

“I need some help,” Tess said, extending the note toward him.

“You got a problem, little lady?” he asked, swinging his feet to the floor and sitting up straight. His light blue uniform was clean except for a tiny coffee stain on his navy blue tie. “What’s the matter, you missing a boyfriend? Nah, that can’t be it. Fellow’d have to be crazy to walk out on a pretty little thing like you.” He smiled at her, obviously expecting her to return the smile.

She didn’t. Standing up very straight, grateful that she’d worn her black heels, she said crisply, “I’m not little. And my problem isn’t a boy. It’s this note.” She tossed the white piece of paper onto his desk. “Someone slid it under my door last night. I need to know what I should do about it.”

He picked it up. “What’s this? A love note?”

“Not exactly. Could you look at it, please?” The emptiness of the station wasn’t very reassuring. Didn’t Santa Luisa have more law enforcement than this? Where was everyone? Did they think criminals took Sundays off, like Chief Chalmers?

She watched as he read the note. Now, maybe he would take her seriously. The note should worry him, shouldn’t it? It had certainly worried
her.

But it didn’t seem to worry him. “This thing doesn’t make any sense at all. And it looks like a kid’s handwriting to me. Written in crayon, right?”

“Magic Marker.” Did he think crazy people who wrote threatening notes used only the finest writing tools? “It wasn’t written by a kid,” she insisted. “Don’t you recognize those names?”

“Sure. They’re the kids hurt last night. Devil’s Elbow. Bad business, over there. Terrible accident.”

Tess leaned forward, placing the palms of her hands on his desk. “But doesn’t that note sound like the crash wasn’t an accident? And doesn’t it sound like the person writing it was warning that there might be other accidents?”

The man reread the note, pursing his lips in concentration. When he’d finished, he looked up and said, “I don’t see that here. Where does it say that?”

Impatiently, Tess pointed to the words
Who will be next?
“There! Isn’t that a warning?”

“Could be, I guess. Hard to say. Could be a joke. Someone trying to scare you. You have a fight with your boyfriend lately?”

Stunned by the question, Tess fought the telltale flush that crept up her cheeks.

“I thought so.” The policeman nodded with satisfaction.

As if, she thought bitterly, he’d just solved the crime of the century.

“Look, miss, I’m not trying to give you a hard time. It’s just that we get stuff like this in here all the time. Young fella gets mad, says things he doesn’t mean, the girl comes in all worried and upset and we have to calm her down. Lots of times, the guy writes notes. Never amounts to a hill of beans.”

“My boyfriend,” Tess said coldly, “would never scare me like this! He would never write a crazy note like this.”

The frown on his face then told her she’d worn out her welcome. “It’s like this, miss. Chief Chalmers has his hands full right now with this Boardwalk business. But soon as he comes in, I’ll give him your note and see what he thinks. You can rest assured that if there’s anything connecting this note with that crash last night, the chief will take care of it. He’ll probably call you. Okay?” And with that, he turned away from her, picking up a sheet of paper and studying it.

Tess knew she’d been dismissed. And she hadn’t accomplished anything.

“Could I have my note back, please?” It suddenly seemed important to have it. That was probably the only way to keep it from sailing straight into the wastebasket the minute she turned her back.

A dubious shake of the man’s head. “I’d better keep it, miss. We intend to follow up on this, I promise you that.” Opening his desk drawer, he dropped the note into a jumble of papers.

She’d have to leave.
Without
her note.

“It’s not that I don’t believe there was a note, Tess,” Gina said half an hour later, as they shared a booth at Kim’s, an ice-cream shop not far from Gina’s house. “I do. You wouldn’t make up something like that.” Wearing the red silk dress she’d worn earlier to church, she sat opposite Tess, who was toying with the straw sticking up out of her vanilla milkshake. “It’s just that it
has
to be a joke. A really mean one, but a joke. I hate to see you get all upset over it.”

Tess began tapping her long-handled spoon on the Formica table. “I told you exactly what it said. Doesn’t it sound to you like it means the crash was no accident?”

But she knew it was hopeless. Gina’s cheerful, uncomplicated way of looking at things didn’t include deliberate acts of terror or threatening notes. That was just the way she was. Which, Tess decided in all fairness, was probably why she smiled more than most people. There weren’t any scary demons or ghosts running around in her head.

“Let’s wait and see what the police say, okay?” Gina urged. “And by the way, I did ask my dad about any other accidents at The Boardwalk,” she added in an obvious effort to make peace. “He hates talking about stuff like that, so it didn’t make him very happy.”

Like father, like daughter, Tess thought drily.

“But he did say some guy committed suicide in the Funhouse a long time ago. Hung himself.”

“Yuck! No kidding? No wonder I was never crazy about that place. Who was it?”

Gina stirred her Coke with her straw. “Daddy wouldn’t say. And Mom made us change the subject.”

“I wonder why we never heard about it before?”

Gina shrugged. “It happened a long time ago. Before we were born. I guess it’s not the kind of thing people like to talk about.”

As they left the restaurant, Gina tried one more time to cheer up Tess. “Let’s just wait and see what Chief Chalmers comes up with before you start running around town like Henny-Penny, shouting that the sky is falling. Okay?”

“Just don’t be surprised,” Tess said darkly, “if it turns out that I’m right. And I
am
going to say I told you so.”

Gina laughed. “Of course you are. Anyway, we probably won’t hear anything about it until tomorrow. So, since you’re so jittery, why not stay at my house tonight? No school tomorrow, did you know that?”

Tess hadn’t known. She was relieved to hear it. The atmosphere in school would have been grim.

“The school board gave everyone the day off out of respect for Dade,” Gina continued. “We could see a movie this afternoon. Something really funny, to take your mind off all this stuff.”