Wrong Number 2 (6 page)

They bounced as the car bumped them hard from behind.

“Ohh!” Deena screamed, and her hands slipped off the wheel.

Deena's car lurched to the left. Another horn blared. She saw the blur of a red van swerving out of her way.

Another hard bump.

“He's trying to bump us off the road!” Chuck cried.

“I can't go any faster!” Deena shouted, leaning over the wheel, squinting ahead. The little Civic shook as Deena pumped the gas pedal.

Another hard bump from behind.

And then the other car pulled left. Shot forward. Came up beside them.

Deena turned her eyes from the road. Could she see the other driver?

A blaring horn.

An oncoming pickup.

But Deena and the other car were side by side. Blocking the whole street.

We're going to hit head-on! Deena realized.

Head-on. Head-on. Head-on.

She stomped on the brake.

Too late.

A deafening squeal. A long skid.

The crunch of metal. The high tinkle of shattering glass.

Then everything went dark.

J
ade's high-pitched scream filled the car.

Deena swallowed hard, fighting back the tremors of fear that shook her body.

We're still moving, she realized.

We're still speeding through the darkness.

The darkness.

Why had everything suddenly gone dark? Because the other two cars had collided. Their headlights no longer sweeping over Deena's car.

She raised her eyes to the rearview mirror.

Saw the car and truck nose to nose. Saw the drivers stepping out.

They're okay, Deena realized.

And we're okay. We're not hit. We're moving. Moving toward home.

We got away.

This time.

• • •

They settled into Jade's living room. The house felt warm and comforting. Jade's parents had gone to bed.

Jade made mugs of steaming hot chocolate. Deena sank into a soft armchair and let out a long sigh of relief. She could still feel the bumping of the car, still hear the crash of metal and glass.

“Who was he?” Chuck asked, shaking his head. “Why did he try to kill us?”

“It wasn't a he,” Deena revealed, holding the white mug in her lap, letting it warm both hands.

“Huh?” Jade and Chuck uttered in unison.

“It was a woman,” Deena told them. “I saw her. She had long hair.”

“We have to call the police,” Jade said softly, very pale, her expression still tight with fear.

“We can't,” Chuck replied quickly. “They'll ask us what we were doing back at that house. They'll accuse us of—of looking for trouble.”

“Then we have to tell our parents,” Deena insisted.

“No way!” Chuck replied firmly. “They'll ask the same questions. They'll ground you and Jade forever. I'm out of here next week. But you two will be in major trouble.”

Deena caught the thoughtful expression on Jade's face. “I think I know who it was,” Jade said. “Tell me again what the driver of the car looked like.”

“I saw her for only a second,” Deena said. “She had
blondish hair, a pale face. But maybe that was just from the headlights.”

“Then I know who it was,” Jade replied. “And I'm positive it's the same person who's making the frightening calls.”

“You're kidding!” Deena lowered the white mug to the coffee table. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Think about it,” Jade said, tossing back her hair. “Who is the one person who knows what happened last year—and had a key to the Farberson house?”

“Farberson's girlfriend!” Deena exclaimed.

“Right!” Jade said.

“But it's a year later. Why was she at the house?” Deena demanded. “And why would she come barreling over the front lawn to try to chase us off?”

“I don't know,” Jade admitted. Then her eyes narrowed as she added, “Don't you think we ought to ask her?”

“Whoa! Wait a minute!” Deena went on. “It couldn't be her. The person who made the calls is a man, or have you forgotten that?”

“Anyone can disguise her voice,” Jade reasoned. “In fact, I read about a little electronic gadget that can make a man sound like a woman or a woman sound like a man.”

“But why would Farberson's girlfriend call us? Why would she do any of those things?”

“Only one way to find out,” Jade replied. She opened the drawer in the oak table beside the couch
and pulled out the Shadyside phone book. “Now, what was her name?”

Deena shut her eyes and thought. “Linda? Linda something, right?”

“Morrison!” Jade added. “Linda Morrison. I remember now from the restaurant.” She opened the phone book to the
M
's and ran her finger down the column. “L. M. Morrison. On Pike Street. That's her. I recognize the address.”

“You mean you're just going to call her?” Deena gasped.

“No. I thought it would be better to visit her, and ask in person,” Jade replied, raising her eyes from the phone book.

“Are you crazy?” cried Deena. “She just tried to run us off the road!”

“If we go to her house, it will show her we're not afraid of her,” Jade replied. “She'll know we know what she's doing. And she'll have to stop.”

Deena swallowed hard. “When do you want to visit her?”

Jade slammed the phone book shut. “How about tomorrow?”

T
he next morning Deena awoke to the sound of shouting from downstairs. For a moment she thought she was still dreaming. But then she remembered everything that had happened the day before.

Oh, no, she thought, burying her head under the pillow. Chuck and my parents are at it again.

Couldn't Chuck
try
to get along with them for five minutes?

Maybe I should stay in bed all day, she thought. But she pulled herself up, washed, and brushed her teeth, then slipped into her robe.

The shouting grew louder as Deena made her way down the stairs.

“As long as you're living here, you'll follow the house rules!” she heard her father scream.

“Just get out of my face! Stop trying to run my life!” Chuck screamed back.

Deena heard a loud pounding sound. Then Chuck shouted again. “Awww, forget it!” Once again the kitchen door slammed so hard that the entire house shook.

When Deena entered the kitchen, both her parents were staring at the kitchen door. Through the window she could see Chuck disappearing around the side of the house.

“Good morning,” Deena said in a small voice.

“Oh, good morning, dear,” said her mother, chewing her bottom lip.

“More trouble with Chuck, huh? Where'd he go?” Deena asked.

“Who knows?” grumbled her father. “Who cares?” Scowling, he sat at the table and picked up the Sunday paper.

Mrs. Martinson gave him a worried glance, then turned back to the stove. “I'm making blueberry pancakes this morning,” she told Deena. “How many do you want?”

• • •

Deena was starting on her second stack, when she heard a knock at the back door. Jade hurried in without waiting for anyone to open it.

She was wearing a powder-blue wool skirt and turtleneck under a navy jacket, with stockings and navy pumps. Deena had never seen her dressed that way before.

“Good morning, Jade,” said Mrs. Martinson. “Don't you look nice! So grown-up!”

“Thanks,” Jade replied, beaming. “Hi, Deena. Ready to go to that party with me?”

“Party?” Deena asked, not understanding.

“You know,” Jade said, flashing her a meaningful glance. “That business party my mom is giving that I said we'd help her with?”

“Oh,
that
party!” Deena exclaimed, catching on. “I totally forgot.”

“That's obvious,” said Jade, motioning to Deena's bathrobe.

“Can I help Jade with her mom's party?” Deena asked her mother.

“I suppose so,” Mrs. Martinson replied. “Have you finished all your homework?”

“Most of it,” Deena replied. She jumped up, leaving the pancakes, and hurried up to her room. “What's up?” she asked Jade, closing her bedroom door.

“I've figured out how we can find out what's going on with Linda Morrison,” Jade announced in a whisper.

“Oh, no!” protested Deena. “Jade, I'm not—”

“Relax!” Jade instructed. “I'll explain it all on the way. Just change your clothes. What do you have that looks really businessy?”

Deena stared into her open closet, then pulled out a maroon A-line dress that her mother had bought her the year before. Deena never wore it because it made
her look too much like her mother. “How's this?” she asked.

“Perfect,” Jade replied. “We'll just dress it up with a scarf.”

While Deena pulled on the dress, Jade began rummaging through Deena's dresser. She pulled out a black- and gold-striped scarf and knotted it at Deena's throat.

“Come on,” she said. “I've got my mom's car only till one.”

A few moments later Deena slid in beside Jade in the front seat of the Chevy. “Now will you tell me what's going on?”

“Here's the deal,” said Jade. “I figured out a way we can ask questions and snoop around without Linda Morrison suspecting anything. I borrowed some wigs from my mom's beauty shop so Linda won't recognize us.”

“But how are we going to get into her house?”

“I already took care of that,” Jade replied, her eyes lighting up excitedly. “First, I drove by her house this morning. Guess what I saw? A big
for sale by owner
sign in front.”

“Yeah. So what?” Deena demanded. She always had trouble following these schemes of Jade's.

“So I went home and called her,” Jade continued impatiently. “I told her I'm a real estate agent, and that I've sold a lot of homes in her area. I told her I was sure I could find a buyer.”

“And she believed you?”

“What do
you
think?” Jade replied. “I know how real estate people talk. My aunt has been selling houses for years. Anyway, I told her ‘my associate' and I would be over later this morning to examine her property.”

Deena remained silent for a moment. “Jade—even with wigs and these dreadful clothes, Linda Morrison is going to recognize us.”

“She hasn't seen us in a year,” Jade argued. “Besides, when I get through making us up, our own mothers won't know us!”

“I hope you're right.”

“I know I am. Anyway, the important thing is to get in there and find out what's going on.”

She pulled the car into a gas station and parked by the curb. “Come on,” she urged, pulling a big shopping bag out of the backseat.

Deena followed Jade into the ladies' room. Jade had a shoulder-length auburn wig for Deena and a cap of curly black hair for herself. She pulled out a makeup kit and got to work.

A few minutes later Deena stared at a stranger in the mirror. “Wow!” she declared, admiring herself. “I look at least twenty years old!”

“I told you,” Jade replied. “There's no way Linda Morrison will remember who we are.”

Deena turned to Jade's reflection. Jade looked glamorous with the dark curly hair and her sparkling green eyes and creamy-white, perfect skin. She turned
around once in front of the mirror, then folded up the bags.

“Remember,” Jade instructed as they walked back to the car. “Keep your eyes and ears open. And let me do most of the talking.”

The one-story wooden house was small. It sat on a tiny lot, squeezed between two other similar houses.

As they stood on the front porch, Deena felt her heart begin to pound. She swallowed hard, her mouth dry.

What if Jade were wrong? What if Linda Morrison
did
recognize them?