Framed & Dangerous (9780545443128) (4 page)

“Interesting.” He paused and shifted his weight. “Because I was hoping to run into you. I want to ask, um …”

His voice trailed off. I watched as he tugged on his ear, then ran his fingers through his hair. He seemed suddenly nervous. Was he … about to ask me to the dance?

A tingle of excitement ran through me.

“Yes?” I prodded.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, so are you going to the dance?”

“Yes, I am,” I answered quickly. My heart was doing cartwheels.

His cheeks turned pink. He kept looking up at me, then down at the floor, then back up again.

“Well, then,” he finally said, “I was wondering if you'd like —”

“Zane Munro!”

Zane and I were both startled by the booming voice. Principal Plati was marching down the hallway toward us.

No! He was ruining my moment! Whatever it was could've waited one more minute!

Hopefully, he'd be quick and Zane and I could get right back to our conversation.

“Zane, you need to come to my office.”

Or not.

Zane furrowed his brow. “Is something wrong, Mr. Plati?”

The principal looked from Zane to me. “We need to have this conversation in my office, Zane. Follow me. Now.”

This seemed serious. And, clearly, it was something Mr. Plati wanted to tell Zane in private.

So, obviously, I had to eavesdrop.

After all, Zane might need my help.

As he and Mr. Plati walked toward the office, I pretended to read one of the dance posters up on the wall. The handwriting was round and looping, and a
tiny heart was doodled inside all the lowercase
e
's. Definitely written by a girl.

I looked back over my shoulder, and Mr. Plati and Zane were gone. Now was my chance. I dashed down the hall and went into the school office. The waiting area was empty, and the secretary had either gone home already or was away from her desk. The inner door to Mr. Plati's office was closed, and I snuck up to it.

I couldn't make out the words Mr. Plati was saying, but it was clear that he was using his angry voice. One that Darcy knew very well. It wasn't exactly yelling, but it was loud enough that I could quietly push the door open an inch and he wouldn't notice.

Now I could hear everything. I leaned my ear next to the crack and listened.

“And you're sure you had nothing to do with the fire?” Mr. Plati was asking Zane skeptically.

My heart sped up.

“Yes, sir,” Zane answered with a tremble in his voice. “You know me. I've never been in trouble before. I would never do something like this.”

“And you're saying you weren't even here early Monday morning when the fire started? You weren't in or around the field house?”

“No, sir,” Zane replied. “Well, I mean, I was here at the school. But the field house was already burning.”

There was a long pause. I wished I could put my eye up to the crack to see their expressions. Why didn't Mr. Plati believe Zane? Of course he had nothing to do with the fire. This was Zane we were talking about! He was one of the good kids.

My chest squeezed. Maybe someone called in an anonymous tip. The person who e-mailed Zane and said he'd be blamed. I shook my head. No. That wouldn't work. An anonymous tip is not evidence. It would be some faceless person's word against Zane's. Of course Mr. Plati would believe Zane.

“We have a problem then, Mr. Munro.”

Uh-oh. You knew you were in big trouble when Mr. Plati called you
mister
or
miss
.

“What is it?” Zane asked.

I felt so bad for him, facing this all alone in there. Why would anyone want to put Zane through this?

Mr. Plati let out a long sigh, like he was deeply
disappointed. “The problem is that, in addition to setting the fire, you've also now lied to me. Because I know you were at the field house. I have evidence.”

My mind scrambled. Evidence? What evidence?

I heard the squeak of a drawer opening. And the light thud of something being placed on the desk. Then I heard Zane gasp.

I couldn't take it anymore. I risked it and put my eye up to the crack.

“This was found at the scene of the crime,” Mr. Plati said. “Look familiar?”

He lifted a small black item in his hand. A wallet. Zane's wallet.

I rocked back on my heels like I'd been slapped. Whoever set the fire had stolen Zane's wallet or found it after he'd dropped it. Then they put it at the scene to frame him. I was overcome with anger. My face felt like it was burning.

“Are you going to deny that this is your wallet?” Mr. Plati asked. “Because your student ID is inside.”

Zane paled. “No, I mean yes, that's my wallet. But I lost that a few days ago.”

Mr. Plati raised his eyebrows. “Inside the field house?”

Zane shook his head. “No. I've never been in the field house. It wasn't open yet.”

“But when Mr. Gray ran in to try to stop the fire” — Mr. Plati pointed a finger at the wallet — “he found this on the floor.”

“I — I — I,” Zane stuttered.

I'd never heard him this nervous. My heart went out to him.

“Someone's framing me!” he blurted. “I got a threatening e-mail and everything!”

Mr. Plati leaned forward on his desk and clasped his hands. “Is that really the tactic you're going to use?”

“It's the truth,” Zane said, bewildered. “Why would I burn the field house?”

Mr. Plati let out an aggravated grunt. “I overheard a conversation in the hall last week, between the soccer team and the basketball team. It seems some of you boys on the soccer team were all riled up about the field house.”

Zane's face turned bright red, and he looked down at the floor. “We're just mad because the basketball team gets a brand-new field house and we're basically
kicked out. We used to practice here and now we have to go all the way to the high school for practices. It's not fair.”

Mr. Plati nodded. “I heard that. It would've been hard not to, since you were using such a raised voice.”

“We were angry,” Zane muttered.

“But how angry?” Mr. Plati asked quietly. “Angry enough to ‘burn the field house down'?” He used finger quotes as he said the words.

I nearly slid down to the floor in shock. He was
quoting
Zane? Zane
threatened
to burn the field house down?

Zane's shoulders shook. “I was only joking when I said that. It was just one of those things you say but you don't mean.”

“That's what I assumed at the time,” the principal said. “I thought to myself, ‘Zane Munro is a good kid. He's angry right now and that's why these words are flying, but he certainly doesn't want the field house to burn down.'” He shifted in his seat. “But the problem is, Mr. Munro, that the field house
did
burn down. A week after you said that. And your wallet was found at the scene.” He took a long pause. “Are you sure there's nothing you need to tell me?”

Zane's eyes were glassy. “No, sir.”

Mr. Plati leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I'm disappointed in you, Zane. I hoped that you'd be honest and face what you did. You're better than this.”

Zane banged his hand on the arm of the chair. “I didn't do it, Principal Plati. I swear! Someone is framing me!”

But Mr. Plati only shook his head. “I've already called your parents. They're on their way. The police will be taking over from now on. You can show this supposed e-mail to them. In the meantime, you're suspended from school and banned from school events. No soccer games. No dance.”

My heart broke into a thousand pieces. Only a few minutes ago, it had seemed like Zane was going to ask me to my first dance. I'd been so excited and had so much to look forward to. And now it was all falling apart.

In a deep, sorrowful tone, Mr. Plati ended with, “And the rest depends on the results of the investigation.”

Chairs scraped as they started to get up. I scurried back into the hall. Zane emerged from the office a moment later, looking stricken.

“I heard everything,” I whispered.

Zane looked up at me with eyes that held no hope. “You believe me, right? I did say that about the field house, but only because I was mad. I didn't mean it. I never, ever would have done something like this.”

I put my hand on his shoulder and said firmly, “I believe you. I know you didn't do this.”

For some reason that made a bit of light return to his eyes. But, even still, he said, “You should go. I'm supposed to wait here for my parents. It's going to be bad when they get here.”

“It's not fair!” I snapped. I chewed on my lip to fight back tears. “You didn't do it! I know you didn't. You told me on Sunday that you'd lost your wallet days before.
And
you got this e-mail from someone. Let me go in there and plead with Mr. Plati.”

Zane shot out a hand to stop me. “Norah, no. Stay out of it. He might think you're helping me cover it up. I don't want you to get in trouble, too.”

He wanted to protect me. That was ten thousand kinds of awesome, but I wasn't going to stand here and let this happen.

Zane's shoulders sagged. “I'm in huge trouble, Norah. I'm suspended and I might even get charged with a crime.”

I clenched my fists. Not if I had anything to do with it.

I
walked home from school alone. It felt so unnatural not to have Darcy beside me, bumping my shoulder now and then as we walked. All I could think about was Zane and the fire. Who could have framed him? And why? If Darcy had been with me, that's all we would have talked about.

I let myself into my house and did homework by myself in my room. I got it done in half the amount of time without Darcy chattering on beside me, but it was much less fun. Mom called up when dinner was ready. I went down the stairs, feeling depressed. I felt worse when I smelled cooked mystery meat. I didn't care which meat it was. It wasn't pasta, so … blech.

I ate my potatoes and picked at the meat loaf, cutting it up and pushing it around the plate to make it look like I consumed more of it than I really had. Being a picky eater had made me a master at that. I considered it an art form. For good measure, I also slipped a few bites under the table to Hubble.

“Is something wrong, honey?” Dad asked halfway through the meal. “You seem a little sad.”

I twisted my mouth, not knowing whether or not I wanted to talk about it. The person I really needed to talk to was my best friend. I felt so hopeless. I wanted to help Zane, but I didn't know where to start. I needed Darcy. I was still mad at her about certain things, but those almost seemed less important now.

Mom put her hand over mine and forced me to look into her eyes. “What is it, sweetie?”

They weren't going to give up. I might as well spill. I let out a deep breath. “Darcy and I aren't speaking.”

Mom made a pouty-lipped face and patted my hand. “Oh no. I remember those days. My best friend and I had fights now and then, too.”

“I don't know if this is just a ‘now and then' kind of
fight, Mom. We might never be friends again.” I swallowed down the lump in my throat.

Mom's expression changed from pity to concern. “I hope that's not the case.”

“Same here,” Dad piped up, reaching across the table to squeeze my other hand. “You and Darcy have been inseparable ever since she moved in next door. I thought you guys would be best friends till graduation day.”

Mom clicked her fork against her plate as she thought. “Would you like me to call Darcy's mother?” she suggested. “Try to help?”

Oh,
please
, no. “I'm not in preschool, Mom,” I snapped. “You can't just set up a playdate and make us be friends again.”

Her eyes gazed down at her plate. “I know that.”

I immediately felt bad for the way I'd said it. “I'm sorry, Mom. You're only trying to help. I just think this is something I'm going to have to fix on my own.”

Saying it out loud gave me the confidence to do what I'd been avoiding all afternoon. I looked up at my parents. “I'd actually like to go next door and work on that now. May I be excused?”

 

I
inched my way across the yard between our houses. The basement light was on, so I knew Darcy was down there, probably watching TV. Her finished basement was our hangout, and had been the headquarters of Partners in Crime. I went up to the basement door and stared at it. I usually just walked right in. But now … I felt like I should knock.

I lifted my hand, and right when I was about to beat on the wood, the door whipped open. I pulled my hand down quickly and thankfully avoided knocking on Darcy's face. That wouldn't be a great way to start this already awkward conversation.

“I saw you through the window, walking across the yard,” Darcy explained. Of course she did — it was just like detective Darcy to always be on guard.

I swallowed hard. It felt like there was an apple in my throat.

In a clipped tone, Darcy added, “So what do you want?”

Make that a grapefruit.

“I … I … was hoping we could talk,” I managed to say.

Darcy's face softened a bit. “Come on in.”

I followed her into the finished area where she had a couch, a couple of beanbag chairs, a giant TV, and a Ping-Pong table. It was kind of chilly down here, but I was sweating. I sat on one end of the couch and Darcy sat on the other.

I took a deep breath. “Partners in Crime needs to solve one last case.”

Darcy's expectant face dropped a bit, like she'd been hoping I was here to say something else. “Why should we?” she asked.

“Because this time, it's personal.”

Darcy's eyes widened to the size of golf balls while I told her about the threatening e-mail Zane received, perhaps not coincidentally sent the morning the field house caught fire. And how the wallet he lost sometime last week had ended up at the crime scene. And, despite Zane's pleading that he was framed, Principal Plati didn't believe him because he had said that terrible, dumb thing the week before.

I wrapped up with, “So he's suspended now and the police are going to investigate. He could be in real trouble for this fire, Darcy.”

“Not just the fire, but Mr. Gray was almost killed!” Darcy shook her head in disbelief. “That would be attempted manslaughter, I think. Zane could end up in juvie for years.”

I rubbed my forehead. I didn't doubt Darcy for a second. Her obsession with crime shows made her an expert at this stuff.

“We have to find a way to save him,” I said. “I know we're not …” I swallowed nervously. “
Us
right now. But I'm hoping we can temporarily put that aside to focus on this case.”

Darcy agreed with a slow nod. “Do you still have the anonymous e-mail?”

“Yes. Zane forwarded it to me.”

She handed me her laptop. “Okay, log in and bring it up. Then I'll see what my software can figure out.”

It felt both strange and not-strange to be here with Darcy, getting to work on a case. Things were still tense between us, but it was a relief to just be talking again. I opened her laptop. A Word document was already up on the screen. It looked like she had started a new case file.

“What's this?” I asked, but I'd already started
reading.
The Prom Killer?
“Wait, is this what Hunter and Slade were talking about in the lobby yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Darcy said. She reached over me to save the file and close it.

“What is that all about anyway?” I asked. I had to admit, I'd been a little intrigued when I overheard Hunter and Slade talking about it. No wonder Darcy had decided to look into it.

“It's one of those things where, if you ask five different people, you'll get five different answers,” she said. “But the main legend is that a long time ago, somewhere around here, someone killed everyone at prom.”

An involuntary shiver ran through my body.

Darcy continued, “After I heard those bozos talking about it, I decided to ask around. It might not be made up at all.”

“It really happened?” I asked skeptically.

“Sometimes true crimes are the basis for urban legends and ghost stories,” Darcy explained. “But the information — especially when it's old — gets passed on from person to person and the facts sort of disappear and become myth.”

“How did the people at the prom supposedly die?” I asked.

Darcy looked down at her hands, then back up at me. “In a fire.”

My blood ran cold. But that couldn't be true. If two hundred kids died in the same night, we would hear more about it than whispered stories.

“That's the legend, anyway,” Darcy said. “But I'm looking for the truth underneath it. The real crime.”

I laughed nervously. “Maybe the arsonist came back and burned down the field house.”

Darcy snickered. “Or the ghosts of the Prom Killer's victims did it!”

Even though whatever happened was long ago, I was starting to get freaked out. “Let me log into my e-mail,” I said, leading us back to Zane's case. I double-clicked on the anonymous message and passed the laptop back to Darcy.

She looked at it and nodded. “I'll get to work.”

I was nervous, so I busied myself by flipping channels, but nothing good was on. I pressed
LIST
to see if Darcy had anything interesting on her
DVR, but it was only repeats of
Crime Scene: New York
. I'd complain, but my DVR at home was full of old episodes of
The Universe
. We all have our obsessions.

Finally, after several minutes, Darcy shut her laptop and leaned back against the couch cushions, a triumphant look on her face. “The address is fake,” she said. “It's one of those free services. So anyone could have created it just to send the e-mail.”

I had pretty much known that already. Though I sensed a “but” coming.

“But …” Darcy continued, “using the IP address, I was able to track the ISP and the user's location.”

I rubbed my forehead. “Translation?”

With a devilish spark in her eyes, she explained, “I don't know
who
sent it. But I know
where
they sent it from.”

My heart started racing. “And?”

“The e-mail was sent from our school.”

After a shocked pause, I said, “Someone set the fire, dropped Zane's wallet, then went inside and e-mailed him from the computer lab?”

Darcy nodded. “That is messed up.”

My chest felt tight. “We have to figure out who it is. But I don't even know where to begin.”

“Let's start where we always do.” Darcy reached into her backpack and pulled out the black notebook we used for Partners in Crime cases.

I was surprised she hadn't just tossed it in the trash, with how easily she'd suggested closing the agency. The fact that she'd held on to it gave me a little hope.

Darcy opened the notebook to a new page and pulled out a pen. “Suspects.”

We sat silently, thinking for a few minutes, and came up empty-handed.

“I can't think of anyone who doesn't like Zane,” I said. “He's just so … nice! He doesn't have any enemies.”

Darcy tapped the pen on her chin. “But just because
he's
nice doesn't mean everyone else is. Someone out there is clearly angry at him.”

“But what could they be mad at Zane for?” I threw my hands in the air in frustration.

Darcy stopped playing with the pen and stiffened.

“What?” I said, shifting in my seat. “You just thought of something.”

“Not something,” she said, meeting my gaze. “Someone.”

I grabbed her arm. “You have a theory.”

Darcy nodded. “Get to school early tomorrow morning. It's interrogation time.”

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