Prom Date (7 page)

A tearful Beth nodded. So did the police officer.

End of story, Margaret thought. And he was probably right. The pins were so common---

place. Anyone could have dropped one. But she was still convinced that it had been dropped sometime between her first trip up there and her second.

"You kids aren't supposed to come near this place," the officer said sternly. "Can't you read that sign? It's there for a reason." He shook his head. "Takes a terrible tragedy like this, a fatal accident, before you people take warnings seriously. Think you're invincible, but you're not. I guess you know that now, right?"

When they were allowed to leave, they walked in a stunned silence up the road toward the parking lot, anxious by now to get as far away from the Point, the lighthouse, and the park as possible.

Margaret, walking between Scott and Caroline, tried to focus on the officer's lecture. "A fatal accident," he had said. She wanted to believe that, more than anything. But everyone who knew Stephanie kept insisting that she wouldn't have gone to the lighthouse alone. Or gone up the stairs to the observation deck. And there was that pin. If Stephanie hadn't been wearing it, who had?

Margaret wanted to stop thinking about it, but she couldn't. Her mind raced onward without her permission, a rebellious child out of control. What if Stephanie hadn't gone up

there alone? What if she'd gone up there with someone?

Then that someone would have helped her, would have kept her from falling somehow. And if they'd failed and she'd fallen anyway, they'd have come racing back up the road to the park telephone to shout for help, like Scott had said. They would have reported the accident.

But no one had done that.

Margaret felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

Impossible that someone could have witnessed that fall to the rocks and done nothing. Someone like that would have to be totally, completely, heartless. No ... worse than that. Someone like that would have to be totally, completely, sick. How else could someone watch what had happened to Stephanie on those rocks and then return to a picnic to eat hot dogs and drink soda and play volleyball or Softball and laugh and talk, just as if everything were as normal as it had always been? It wouldn't have been for long, because Scott and Caroline must have come racing back to the park shortly after Stephanie fell. But still . . . how could someone do that, even for a short while?

The image was so sick, it made Margaret

dizzy. Her head ached fiercely. Either there had been no one on that observation deck when Stephanie fell to her death, which was what Margaret wanted fiercely to believe, or there had been someone there. Because Stephanie would never have gone up there alone.

If there had been someone up there, Margaret didn't want to think about how sick or evil that person had to be.

acquaintanceship had been. The fear came from the realization that if it could happen to Stephanie, it could happen to any of them. Death. Margaret was sure that thought had never occurred to a single one of them. It certainly wasn't something she thought about.

No wonder everyone was shaken to the core.

Mitch called out to her just as she was about to leave with her friends. "Go ahead," she told them. "Fll catch up."

Nodding dully, in that same robotic way, the three girls continued to walk slowly toward the parking lot.

"I was planning to offer you a ride home," Mitch said. His brown eyes were bleak. "But Tm taking Michael back to his house. He's really lost it. I don't think it's a ride you'd want to share. Okay if I call you tonight?"

Margaret felt no surprise. There was no room inside her at that moment for any emotion other than shock. "Yeah, okay, I'll be home all evening." She wouldn't be going anywhere on this night.

The tension lines around his mouth eased a bit. "Great. Thanks. Talk to you then. Number's in the book?"

It took her a second. ''What? Oh, yeah. Adrienne Dunne, Linder Street."

He nodded, waved, and turned to go back to Michael, who was sitting, head in his hands, on a picnic bench between Liza and David,

Poor Michael, Margaret thought, and hoped as she walked toward the parking lot that no one in Caroline's car would want to talk about Stephanie's death on the way home. She wasn't ready to talk about it.

No one did.

Margaret's mother had already heard about the accident when Margaret, drained and shaken, arrived home shortly after seven. Wrapped in a thick pink terry cloth robe, her feet bare, Adrienne was sitting on the couch reading when the front door opened. She tossed the book aside, jumped up and hurried over to Margaret. '1 just heard about that poor girl. It was on the news. I was so worried about you. Are you all right?"

Margaret nodded. "I guess." She sank onto the blue plaid sofa. "I mean, it's not like I was hurt or anything. I'm fine. It's just ... I keep seeing her floating, her yellow jacket all puffed up around her." She shook her head. Her hair, wet and grainy with salt, hung stiJBfly around her shoulders. "She was already dead when . . . when we got there."

Adrienne sat down beside her daughter.

"It's terrible, honey. Maybe CeeCee was right all along," referring to Caroline's mother. "Maybe the lighthouse should have been torn down. If it had been, this would never have happened. That girl would still be alive.'' She looked with concern into her daughter's face.

Adrienne put her arms around Margaret then, and let her cry. "It must have been awful. Try not to think about it, honey." Then she said, "You're shivering! You need a nice, hot shower, and I'll make some tea."

Margaret lifted her head. There was anguish in her eyes as she asked, "How can I not think about it? She's deadl And I was up on that deck just a little while before Stephanie. The railing could have given way then, instead of later." She pulled away from her mother, sat back against the couch again, swiping at her eyes with a sweatshirt sleeve. "If that's really what happened."

"If?" Adrienne looked startled. "Is there some question? On the news, they said the railing gave way and she feU."

Margaret hadn't meant to let the comment slip out. Her mother had enough on her mind right now, with the prom so close at hand and those three dresses to redo. Correction, two dresses. Oh, God, Stephanie wouldn't be

needing hers now. Still, the last thing in the world Adrienne needed now was something more to worry about.

Margaret didn't want any more to worry about, either. Her brain was already on overdrive. But she couldn't stop thinking about that Quartet pin. Had it just dropped off a blouse or sweater or blazer earlier, before Stephanie went anywhere near the lighthouse? The catches on the pins weren't all that trustworthy. Or did the discovery of the pin mean something?

"Sure," Margaret said heartily, standing up, "sure, that's what happened. That railing was so old and rickety, it was ready to go at any moment. I had to yell at Mitch to quit leaning on it, or he'd have been the one to go flying off the top of the lighthouse instead of Stephanie."

"Mitch?" Adrienne asked with interest.

Margaret was relieved to change the subject and talk about Mitch. Not that there was that much to tell. But then, after a long drought even a few drops of water were a blessing. Adrienne had been waiting a very long time to hear that her daughter Margaret had spent some time with a cute, popular boy. So it probably didn't matter to her that it had been perfectly innocent, that he hadn't asked for a date,

or that the two of them hadn't fallen madly, passionately in love. Margaret didn't add that he might be calling that night. Because what if he didn't?

Adrienne hung on every word as she put the kettle on for tea.

Margaret almost smiled at the obvious effort her mother was making not to overreact. She gets an A for restraint, she thought fondly. No jumping up and down, no hugging her daughter and crying out, "Oh, at last, at last, I knew this day would come!" Adrienne nodded and asked a question here or there and smiled a lot, but she didn't rush to the telephone and order wedding invitations. Possibly because there had been bad news, as well.

"It was just friendly. Mom, that's all," Margaret concluded, accepting the cup of steaming tea her mother handed her. "He's nice. Not full of himself like some of those guys."

"K it hadn't been for that terrible accident, he might have asked to bring you home," Adrienne said, unable this time to hide the excitement in her voice.

She's thinking prom, Margaret told herself, suddenly annoyed. "Mom, the only reason he started talking to me was that business at the store with the dresses. His brother was one of the cops."

Adrienne's expression changed from excited to alarmed. "Oh, heavens, Margaret, you didn't talk to him about that, did you? I don't want that nasty business spread all over town. Fve still got a dozen dresses to sell. If that story gets out, they'll be hanging on the rack when the prom is long gone. I'll be stuck with them."

"Mitch isn't going to say anything. I promise." Margaret was suddenly completely exhausted, as if she'd run all the way from the Point. The long, hot shower her mother had mentioned seemed like a wonderful idea. "Look, thanks for the tea, but I've got to go upstairs. I'm going to take a shower and collapse. Thanks for listening." She managed a wan smile. "It helped, honest."

And it had. She wouldn't have wanted to come home to a dark, quiet house. Not after what had happened. Wouldn't have wanted to go straight to bed with the horrible memory still as fresh and raw as an open, gaping wound. Walking in the front door and finding lights on and her mother there, having someone to talk to, had eased the shock and pain.

Or maybe it was just that she was so grateful. Unlike Stephanie Markham, she had been allowed to return to her life. And had found it

waiting for her when she walked in the front door.

She had taken her shower and was sitting in bed, a textbook open on her lap although her brain was in no shape to be studying, when Mitch called.

They talked for a long time, both careful to avoid the subject of Stephanie's death. They talked about school, and graduating and what might happen next. They had both been accepted at State. Mitch planned to go into law, Margaret wanted to study graphic design.

But each was painfully aware of the bomb waiting to explode into their conversation.

Finally, Mitch sighed and said, "Look, this is silly. Something happened today, we both saw it, and we can't keep tiptoeing around it as if it didn't. Anyway, I think you should know that it definitely wasn't an accident."

Margaret's mouth went dry. Her fingers tightened around the receiver. ''Not an accident?" she echoed hoarsely.

"No. This is between you and me. Eddie would kill me if he knew I'd said anything before the news was released to the public. That'll be tomorrow morning. So don't teU anyone else, okay? See, she didn't fall ri^t away. They know that now. They figured out that

she fell but grabbed onto something with one hand. Part of the railing, maybe. With the other hand, she clawed at the side of the lighthouse. Some of the nail polish from that hand rubbed off on the stone."

The image of Stephanie dangling so high above the rocks, knowing that if she couldn't pull herself back up to the deck she was going to die, sickened Margaret.

''But the knuckles on the first hand," Mitch continued heavily, "were bruised and scraped, and the medical examiner found traces of shoe polish in the cuts."

"Shoe polish?"

"Right. Not Stephanie's. She was wearing sneakers. This was black shoe polish. As if someone had kicked at her hand until Stephanie had to let go."

Sour bile rose up into Margaret's throat. "Kicked?" she whispered. "Someone kicked her hand away from the only hold she had on that railing?"

"Yeah."

The silence lasted several seconds. "Do they know who it was?" Margaret finally managed.

"I guess not." Mitch hesitated, then added, "Don't say anything to your mom or Caroline,

okay? They'll find out in the morning. The whole town will know by then."

"Listen, Margaret," Mitch said then, "maybe this isn't the right time. I mean, I know it's not. But the prom is only two weeks away if they don't cancel it because of Steph and I don't think they will, so if I'm going to ask this, I have to ask you now. Do you already have a date?"

Margaret had waited so long for this moment. Through four long years of high school, she had waited. And now that the moment had actually arrived, she couldn't take it in. The prom? He was asking her to their senior prom? No, that couldn't be right. She must have misunderstood.

"Margaret? Did you hear me? You're already going with someone?"

She struggled to clear her head. She hadn't misunderstood. "No, I ... no, I don't have a date."

"Oh, great." He sounded relieved. "Like I said today, I hadn't planned to go because I was seriously out of funds. But when I got home tonight there was a graduation check from my grandmother waiting for me, so I'm solvent again. Will you go with me?"

Margaret thought, I need to say something

here. I need to answer him. But her mind had been dealt a dizzying blow and her reaction time had skidded to a standstill. First he had told her that Stephanie hadn't died accidentally. Now he was asking her to the prom? The two things didn't seem to go together at all.

"Margaret, you're making me nervous," Mitch's voice said in her ear. "You're taking way too long to answer." His tone was light, but Margaret knew he meant it.

She snapped out of it. "I'm sorry. I'm still reeling from what you told me about Stephanie. I'd love to go to the prom with you. If it isn't canceled."

"Whew! You had me going there for a minute. Great!" Then he asked, "Have people always called you Margaret?"

"Yes. Why?"

"You don't seem like a Margaret to me. Such a serious name. No one's ever called you Maggie, or Meg?"

"I am a very serious person," Margaret kidded. "No, it's always been Margaret." She hadn't realized until that very moment how much she would like to be a Meg. A Meg would be cute and fun, would date a lot, maybe even on weeknights. A Meg would probably look really pretty on prom night, especially if she allowed her mother to fuss over her the way