Pretty Little Devils (11 page)

“Pollins residence.”

“Time for some homework?”
the growling voice asked.
“How about this: if a horse bleeds to death at a gallon a minute and a cat bleeds to death at a cup at a minute, which animal suffers more?”

Hazel's stomach clenched. Hard. “Hey, whoever? You're sick, and this isn't funny.”

“I should know the answer. I killed them both. And I need more. I'm right outside the door. Guess who's going to be next?”

Hazel slammed down the phone.

It rang again. She stared at it.

She backed away, hunched over, with her arms wrapped around her body. This was beyond a prank. This was extreme.

But…it had to be the PLDs. Didn't it?

What if it isn't?
a voice inside her asked.
What if it's the psycho who killed Jilly's horse?

Hazel hurried down the hall to check on Charlie. He was asleep, snoring softly.

The cordless in the hall blared, and a loud banging shook the front door. Hazel jumped and let out a small shriek.

She put the cordless to her ear. The voice on the other end hissed,
“Charlie's sleeping, nice and peaceful. I'm right outside. What are you going to do?”

Hazel's heart thundered as she crept toward the door. The brass knob rattled violently. Had she locked it? Yes, after Matty left. But would the bolt hold?

There was only one thing to do. She had to call the police. If she could just sneak a peek at whoever was outside first…

She took a ragged breath and moved slowly, cautiously toward the peephole.

Oh, please, please let it be a joke….

The caller's words rang in her ear.
Guess who's going to be next?

Hazel put her hand on the knob.

The door burst open—and she screamed!

H
azel leapt out of the way as the front door slammed against the wall.

“God! Oh God, Hazel! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.” Charlie's father lurched forward to grab the door, holding out a reassuring hand. “It's just me, kiddo. My key was stuck in the lock for a minute. Just me. Don't be scared.”

Hazel panted, struggling to catch her breath. She switched off the cordless and held it in both hands.

“Are you all right?”

She cleared her throat and tried to smile, having no idea if she actually managed it. She wondered how much she should tell him.

“There was a wrong number. I think it was kids pranking. But they were really trying to scare me—”

“Oh. Well, we can't have that. I'll try redialing and seeing if I can find out who they were. I'm sorry about that, Hazel. What did they say?”

She hesitated, and in that space, he asked, “How's Charlie?”

“He had a pretty good night. He's asleep now.”

Mr. Pollins sighed. His shoulders slumped. “He's still awfully overwhelmed.”

Hazel figured Mr. Pollins was pretty overwhelmed too. He looked tired. Bags formed under his bloodshot eyes. He yawned.

“These past few nights I've had to work late and I'm not as young as I used to be.” He glanced over at her. “Did Charlie talk about Isotope?”

She nodded. He looked at her very sadly. “I don't know if I should tell him this or not, but I found Isotope.”

Hazel's heart thudded. “Oh. No.”

“He'd been dead a couple of days. I think he ate something. Snail bait, maybe. I put him in the trash. Don't tell Charlie. I need to do it myself.”

“Snail bait?” she asked. “You mean he was poisoned. Not…injured?”

“Not a scratch. I can only hope he didn't suffer.” He reached for his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

 

Hazel was grateful that Mr. Pollins had insisted on walking her to her car. She set her cell phone in the cup holder between the two front seats. Then she slid in and started the engine.

“Thanks again.” Mr. Pollins gave her a wave and went back into the house.

As Hazel pulled away from the curb, her phone lit up. She grabbed it out of the cup holder.

It was a text message.

YRSECRETPAL2PURPLEHAZE: Here, kitty kitty!

“You guys,” she said, her voice wavering.

Ms. Carpentier was not at all pleased.

It wasn't a good way to start a school week.

“Your grades in this class have taken a real tumble,” the teacher scolded. She clasped her hands and leaned forward—probably something she'd learned in a seminar on how to relate to her students.

Hazel stood in front of her desk with her backpack on. Breona slouched beside her.

“Both of you are falling behind. Now, whatever is wrong between you, I want you to sort it out or go see the school counselor.”

“Like couples therapy? Hate to break it to you, Ms. C., but I don't swing that way,” Breona said, snickering. The sound was raspy, familiar. Hazel wondered: had she heard it before?

“Breona…” Ms. Carpentier rolled her eyes.

“Fine.” Breona took a breath and turned to Hazel. “I'm sorry I called you a bitch and accused you of stealing a carnation that the cheerleaders bought—
for the football team only
.”

“Apology accepted,” Hazel muttered.

“So.” Ms. Carpentier leaned back in her chair. A self-satisfied grin curled the corners of her mouth. “Are we all settled?”

Hazel nodded.

“Good. Then get to class.”

Hazel turned and hurried away. Only two minutes to get to next period!

She jogged through the halls, thinking.

Breona's weird laugh. That raspy snicker. Could Breona have made the calls to the Pollins house?

A month ago, Hazel wouldn't have thought it possible. Then again, she would never have thought Breona would have a meltdown over a carnation, either.

But it wasn't just a carnation. It was Matty's carnation.

Is that what this is about?
Hazel wondered.
Is she freaking me out to get back at me for dating the guy she wants?

No. Don't go there,
Hazel thought.
Matty's my boyfriend. Breona must know that. It would be crazy for her to think she has a chance with him.

Hazel rushed through the busy corridor. Lakshmi trotted up beside her.

“Hey, Hazel, wait up! I have something for you.” She pushed two sheets of paper at her.

“What's this?”

“Next week's chemistry quiz. I already wrote in most of the answers.”

“Oh my God. Where did you get this?” Hazel asked, swallowing hard. She and Lakshmi had never been the kind of girls who cheated on tests.

“My mom was copying it for Carpentier in the main office. Take it. Maybe you could share it with your friends. You know, let them know where you got it?”

Hazel turned. Lakshmi was blushing.

Payback,
Hazel realized. Lakshmi was looking for juice from this little favor. Too bad Sylvia would never do anything nice for Lakshmi in return. Maybe thank her. But that would be about it.

“Hey, thanks,” she said warmly, opening up her backpack to deposit the test. “That is so nice of you.” Hazel's purple PLD scrunchie was sitting on top.

“Here,” she said, impulsively handing it over. “From us. Just don't tell anyone.”

Lakshmi's eyes grew wide. “Oh, wow, thanks!”

The bell rang. Lakshmi waved the scrunchie over her head. “Thanks a lot, Haze. See you later!”

“Lakshmi! Don't wear it in school!” Hazel called after her. Then she turned and ran to class.
I'd better remember to get to Savon to replace that. If Sylvia finds out I gave my scrunchie to Lakshmi, she'll kill me.

The Darling twins stared dully at Hazel.

“We're dead,” Katie informed her.

“Not tonight,” Hazel said. “Pull that again and I'll tell Sylvia how bad you've been. And you don't want Sylvia mad at you, do you?”

The twins opened their blue eyes wide. They squealed in mock fright and ran to their bedrooms, slamming the doors behind them.

That's better,
Hazel thought.
At least they'll be out of my hair for a while.

Hazel took off her coat and strolled around the main floor. The last place she wanted to be was back at the creepy Darling house, especially after her weird night at Charlie's. Hazel's nerves were jangled for sure, but Ellen had begged until she folded.

And anyway, Hazel decided, what could be better than helping out a pair of star-crossed lovers?

Romeo and Juliet. Brandon and Ellen,
she mused.
They were all in the same boat. Of course, Romeo and Juliet's story didn't turn out so well in the end.

Hazel walked into the kitchen. The twins' mother had left a vegetable lasagna in the microwave. Hazel was supposed to open the salad packet and pour some shiitake mushroom dressing on it. That was the extent of “fixing dinner.”

The doorbell rang. The twins burst out of their bedrooms and thundered toward the front door.

“Katie, Chrissie! Let me get it!” Hazel shouted. But before she could stop them, they unlocked the door and jerked it open.

Sylvia stood on the threshold, blinking at her in surprise.

“What are
you
doing here?” she asked, walking into the room.

“I'm…I'm taking care of the twins,” Hazel answered.

“But this is
Ellen's
gig,” Sylvia argued.

“I offered to take it for her. Because…um, something came up.”

For a moment, Sylvia remained silent.

“No, no, no, Hazel,” she said after a moment. “This is not something we do. We don't trade assignments.”

The twins were intrigued, looking from one PLD to the other.

“The parents like consistency,” Sylvia explained. “That's one of the reasons they come to us. They know what to expect. They call and I arrange the schedule. It's part of our service.”

“Oh.” Hazel knit her brows together, confused. “I'm sorry. I was just trying to help out.”

Sylvia sighed and shook her head. “What am I saying? Of course you didn't know better. This is
Ellen's
fault.”

The microwave dinged. Hazel went into the kitchen while Sylvia and the twins waited in the living room.

She popped open the microwave door and checked the lasagna. It was only lukewarm, so she added a few minutes. She dumped the salad into a white ceramic bowl, unscrewed the cap on the bottle of dressing, sniffed it experimentally, and poured it on.

She placed the salad on the spotless slate table in the breakfast nook. The Darlings had a maid service. Hazel had found that out the first time she sat for the girls. She had told Katie to help clear the table after dinner. Katie had said, “Oh, don't worry. We have people for that.”

The microwave beeped. Hazel put on a pair of hot mitts and took out the lasagna.

“You guys?” she called. “Dinner's ready.”

After a couple of minutes, the twins and Sylvia swept into the room.

“Oh! Tell me you're not having any of
that
!” Sylvia said, wrinkling her nose.

“I, well…” Hazel glanced at the tray, disappointed. She had never had vegetable lasagna. In her house, it would be considered “fancy.”

Sylvia picked up two plates and said to Hazel, “Give them some milk. Then come with me. I have something cool to show you.”

Hazel's stomach growled. Thankfully, no one else heard it. She poured two glasses of milk and set them down before the twins.

“Eat,” she urged.

“We don't eat,” Katie said. “We're dead.”

“No. You're in huge trouble if you don't eat,” Sylvia cut in. “We're back in ten, and if you haven't eaten half of that…” She drew a finger across her throat.

Katie and Chrissie quickly picked up their forks and dug in.

On their way down the hall, Sylvia whispered to Hazel, “Do you know what's in that stuff? Wheat paste. The same kind we used to glue construction paper together in elementary school.”

“Ew,” Hazel said, grimacing.

“Exactly. But come see something tasty.”

Sylvia pushed open the door at the end of the hall. She wiggled her fingertips at Hazel as if to say,
This way
. Hazel followed her—right into Cynthia Darling's bedroom.

“Um…isn't this off-limits?” she asked.

Sylvia went straight to the Macintosh on the desk next to the closet. “Don't be silly. Watch this.” She typed in a line and clicked the mouse.

As Hazel bent over her shoulder, the screen filled with the words
BROOKHAVEN HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT RECORDS
.

“Oh my God! Really?” Hazel asked, leaning closer.

“Really,” Sylvia said. She hit enter.

RESTRICTED
:
ACCESS CODE REQUIRED
.

“Oh,” Hazel said, deflated. “Too bad.”

“Pffft,” Sylvia scoffed. She typed in a string of characters—they came out as asterisks—and hit return. The log-in screen dissolved, and a list of files blinked into view. “I don't believe it! You're in!”

“
Mais oui!
So. Who do you want dirt on?” Sylvia asked. A list of names scrolled down the screen.

Hazel watched, stunned. These were students' “permanent records”—all the stuff the administration put in student files…and never let them see.